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We don’t have to choose between Dyke and Jewish identities

An inclusive, celebratory, and safe DC Dyke March

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left, gay news, Washington Blade
Dyke March, gay news, Washington Blade
Dyke March (Washington Blade archive photo)

We’re Jewish Dykes. We’re Dyke-ish Jews. We don’t have to choose. 

We love being Jewish and we love being Dykes. As with all identities there have been paths and twists and turns to reach that conclusion, we had to fight for them and we had to grow to love them, at this point it feels amazing to be able to say both of those things with certainty. Sometimes it feels like we had to come out twice in our Jewish communities, once as Dykes (or really over and over again) and again as self-loving Anti-Zionists. 

For that reason, we dedicated time and energy to helping organize the Dyke March as specifically and explicitly Jewish Anti-Zionist Dykes. The Dyke March has been inclusive, supportive and encouraging of our Dyke-y Jewishness and Jewish Dykey-ness. From the first DC Dyke March meeting we’ve been out and proud queer Jewish dykes. Other DC Dyke March organizers have been open and responsive to questions, concerns and ideas we have regarding keeping the DC Dyke March a welcoming space for Jewish dykes. We knew from the start we wanted to be a part of an inclusive, celebratory, and safe as possible Dyke March. 

Recently, a Zionist contacted the DC Dyke March with the deliberate goal of making it sound as though Jews are unwelcome at the DC Dyke March — a claim that erases us Jews who have been organizing so heavily. They contacted a number of news organizations including the Washington Post, and the pinkwashing organization A Wider Bridge. A Wider Bridge is the organization that accused the Chicago Dyke March of anti-Semitism in 2017 because of the group’s anti-Zionist stance. The goal of these groups seems to be to paint the DC Dyke March as a place that’s unwelcome to Jews because of our anti-Zionist views. 

The claim is that we are banning Jewish symbols, which is entirely untrue. We are asking people to not bring nationalist symbols because violent nationalism does not fit with our vision of queer liberation. And because we need the march to be a space that is as welcoming to Palestinian Dykes as it is to Jewish Dykes. The “Jewish Pride Flag” seemed to only rise in popularity after the Chicago Dyke March — it was never a flag that we felt directly connected to, and it does not represent all Jewish Dykes. The flag is a Star of David placed in the center, superimposed over a rainbow flag, and is almost entirely reminiscent of the Israeli flag, swapping out the blue and white for a rainbow. The star of David itself only became publicly popular as a symbol of Judaism in the 19th century — it coincided with the First Zionist Congress choosing the six-sided star for the flag of the future Israeli nation state in 1897. That being said, the Star of David represents more than just Israel when not on a flag and can be brought to the march in many other forms without question. It is not the only symbol available to us. We welcome yarmulkes, tallitot, tefillin, rainbow pomegranates, Lions of Judah, Hamsas, chai, a menorah and anything that doesn’t directly replicate nationalist images and symbols. 

Our Jewish values teach us that our struggles are interconnected and that our liberation is bound up with the liberation of all peoples, Palestinians included. When we hear allegations that the Dyke March is anti-Semitic for taking a pro-Palestine stance, we feel betrayed by the Jewish community. We choose to prioritize Palestinian lives and justice in Palestine over lazy symbols. The Dyke March is about welcoming our whole selves, not about welcoming the politics that harm members of our community. Nationalism is one of those harmful ideologies. As we help build the inclusive, welcoming space of the DC Dyke March, we feel extra proud to be feygeles with a lot of chutzpah — to be openly self-loving Anti-Zionist Dyke Jews. 

When other Jews conflate anti-Semitism with anti-Zionism and anti-nationalism, it makes us angry and sad. It makes us feel like we are further from true liberation. To be a Jew is to have a history of trauma and oppression. We believe we can build a world where we fight against and end further trauma and oppression, not carry it on further. 

The organizers of the Dyke March were incredibly supportive when we wanted to have nuanced conversations about the difference between anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism to further the goal of collective queer liberation. Stephanie Skora said it perfectly in her 2018 article, “Dyke March represents an unfettered quest for justice, and the building of community in diaspora. It is upheld by a deeply cherished shared culture, and ritually gathers around food, music, art, and joy.” 

At every Dyke March meeting we have worn our stars of David and chai around our necks. We never felt like we had to hide that part of ourselves. Yet now we feel like we have to hide parts of ourselves, the parts of us that believe a better world is yet to come, in the Jewish community. We understand the pain and the hurt. We believe that the responsibility of that pain and hurt lies with Zionism. We are angry that Israel has taken Jewish symbols and converted them into symbols of nationalism and xenophobia. We are angry that it has created a hierarchy in which Jewish voices are more valid than others, where Jewish comfort is seen as more important than Palestinian lives. We are angry that it exploits Queers and Pride to pinkwash the occupation and settler colonial violence. We are sad that Zionism has stolen vibrant Diasporic and diverse Jewish identities from us, but slowly, and through tough conversations like these ones, we are taking it back. 

Yael Horowitz and Rae Gaines are organizers with the DC Dyke March, happening on Friday, June 7.

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Commentary

Returning to the kibbutz: A journey of heartbreak and hope

Hamas militants attacked Kfar Aza on Oct. 7

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Kfar Aza, Israel, after Oct. 7, 2023. (Photo courtesy of K.T. Colin)

Editor’s note: WDG, the Washington Blade’s media partner in Israel, originally published this commentary.

BY K.T. COLIN | In 2019, my first encounter with Israel was through the lens of a sponsored Birthright trip. I embarked on a three-week journey, traversing the diverse landscapes from the northern regions to the eastern territories and finally to the arid southern desert. I had the opportunity to visit different communities within Israel and Palestine. Amidst this exploration, I spent an unforgettable three days and two nights in a kibbutz situated near the Gaza border. The memories etched in my heart were ones of unbridled joy, resilience and the harmonious coexistence of the desert dwellers — an emotional tapestry that forever imprinted itself on my soul. Coming from an Iraqi heritage, I viewed these expressions of coexistence through a lens shaped by my own region’s history of conflict and diversity.

As I recall the Shabbat dinner at the kibbutz, the air resonated with the sacred call to prayers (Adhan) from a nearby Bedouin Arab-Muslim town. The juxtaposition of cultures and faiths was a poignant reminder of the shared humanity that bound the Jewish and Arab Israelis in this region. It was a journey that transcended the ordinary, leaving an indelible mark on my consciousness. Filled with memories of peace and unity, I returned, only to confront a reality far removed from my cherished memories.

Fast forward to last month, when I returned to the Negev Desert, specifically to Kfar Aza — one of the 22 kibbutzim targeted by Hamas on that fateful day, Oct. 7, 2023. The once vibrant oasis, brimming with the light of life, now stood shrouded in the darkness of war-induced death and destruction. The very bench where camaraderie blossomed in 2019, while sharing a moment of connection with an Israeli companion, lay reduced to ashes. The thriving pathways, once bustling with life, had metamorphosed into haunting reminders of blood and rubble. The faces that animated Shabbat gatherings, weaving tales of peace advocacy between Palestinians and Israelis, were now conspicuously absent. In the wake of Hamas’s brutality, no entity — be it human, animal or plant — escaped unscathed. The aftermath resembled scenes from an apocalyptic movie, a tableau of sensory deprivation dominated by the stench of death and the echoes of destruction. This destruction, while uniquely harrowing, echoed the all-too-familiar scenes of conflict from my childhood in Iraq, underscoring the universal tragedy of war.

Kfar Aza, Israel (Photo courtesy of K.T. Colin)

While my roots trace back to Iraq, a land marred by wars and the brutality of conflict, the devastation witnessed in Kfar Aza struck a chord that reverberated with the echoes of my past. My personal journey, from witnessing Saddam’s reign of terror to observing the aftermath in Kfar Aza, underscores a broader narrative of resilience and the enduring hope for peace. Born during the Iraqi-Iranian war, my father’s absence for the first six months of my life spoke volumes about the toll of conflict. The invasion of Kuwait and subsequent wars entrenched the narrative of war as an unwelcome companion in our daily lives. Memories of the U.S. invasion in 2003, the ensuing civil war, and the subsequent loss of rights for women, secular individuals and LGBTQ+ members further underscored the harsh reality of conflict.

Yet, Kfar Aza was a unique chapter in my journey, revealing a form of malevolence that transcended my prior experiences. In their assault, Hamas meticulously targeted specifically peace activists who wanted nothing but peace and prosperity between Israelis and Palestinians, sparing no atrocity in their pursuit. This was not just about taking lives; it was a heinous assault on the very prospect of peace. The evil that unfolded reminded me of the forces mentioned in the Quran — Yaajooj and Maajooj — entities of pure malevolence against whom even Alexander the Great erected a wall, according to Muslim prophecy.

My upbringing in Iraq, under the shadow of Saddam Hussein’s dictatorship, fanned the flames of anti-Semitism. A once diverse Iraq, home to 165,000 Iraqi Jews, witnessed their forced exodus through decades of genocide. Subsequently, Christians, Yazidis and Sabbea Mandaeen fell victim to ethnic cleansing orchestrated by dictatorial regimes, Nazi pogroms, Iranian militias and ISIS. The slow erosion of tolerance and coexistence occurred methodically, propelled by hate campaigns championed by Arab nationalists and later fueled by Islamist movements, plunging Iraq into its darkest era.

My school days were marked by compulsory flag-greeting ceremonies, ostensibly patriotic but laden with hate. The chants of “Death to America; Death to the Zionists; Death to the Jews” echoed through the air, fostering a culture of animosity. Arabization and Nationalism classes further fueled this bigotry, leaving an indelible mark on impressionable minds.

The recent horrors in Kfar Aza echoed memories of a similar brand of terror perpetrated by Saddam’s regime — the Fedaeen of Saddam, a precursor to Hamas’s brutality. The parallels were chilling — beheadings, brutal punishments and a reign of terror continued even after the fall of Saddam, as they joined Al-Qaeda, leaving a trail of atrocities in cities like Fallujah and Ramadi.

As I witnessed the devastation in Kfar Aza, the echoes of war in nearby Beit Hanoun, Gaza, resonated hauntingly. The pain echoed from both sides — the Israeli people enduring Hamas rockets since 2015 and the Palestinians suffering daily under the same regime. My heart shattered for the children left orphaned, the LGBTQ+ Gazans now without shelter or life-saving medications and the vulnerable girls and boys exposed to the horrors of Human trafficking and rape. The theft of humanitarian aid by Hamas left many without food and water, and the lip services to Palestinians by Arab and Muslim majority nations, painting a grim picture of a future hanging in uncertainty for those who survived.

Despite the deep scars of conflict, both in my homeland and here, I see glimmers of hope that guide us toward a shared future. I have endured the darkest chapters of conflict in my past, and I hold onto the belief that one day this war will end. I dream of a future where Israelis and Palestinians coexist in shared spaces, attending the same schools, dining at the same restaurants and dancing in the same nightclubs. Having witnessed such unity among Jews, Druze, Muslims and Christians in Israel, I pray for a day when this reality extends to Gazans and Israelis in the Negev Desert. The journey towards peace is arduous, but the human spirit, resilient and compassionate, holds the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

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Commentary

Why come to Washington Plaza Baptist Church?

It’s about the preaching, the people, and the purpose

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Washington Plaza Baptist Church (Photo courtesy of Washington Plaza Baptist Church's Facebook page)

BY ZITA COLLINS | I grew up in a Lutheran church before I really knew who I was. Before my own opinions and belief system were formed. Before “welcoming and affirming” churches existed.

I did the “expected” thing: got married to a man, had children, became a wife and a mom. But I knew there was more to me than that, the part I had to keep hidden because of the society “norms” so many years ago. I attended a Mormon church because that was the type of church my husband attended. As I became more myself having my own opinions and thoughts, and my husband tried to be more controlling, the marriage, of course, failed. 

I quit church. I moved on in life and met a wonderful woman. I knew there was a God, but I figured since I was “living in sin” He didn’t like me too much. My way of looking at it was “God, you stay in your corner and I’ll stay in mine, and we’ll get along just fine.” Four years later, in September 1982, my partner was diagnosed with cancer. A couple of months later, she passed away.

During those few months my friend invited me to go to her Assembly of God church. I became a regular. One Sunday in January 1983, I gave my heart and life to Christ, becoming a full-fledged believer. And once again, I gradually put away the part of me that was “unacceptable to God.”

As time went on, I attended various churches. I attended an Anglican church for 15 years. I loved God, but I could not reconcile how I felt — my LGBTQ self — with scripture as I knew it at that time. It was at a church leadership meeting, when we were voting on a new marriage policy to exclude gay marriage, that I realized my “calling”: to tell the LGBTQ community that God really loves them and accepts them as they are.

I studied scripture, praying for clarity, and realized that those “clobber verses” have been traditionally misinterpreted, misunderstood, or taken out of context. I began looking for a church that was friendly to the gay community. I learned that the correct terminology is “welcoming and affirming.” 

And I found Washington Plaza Baptist Church!

Warm and welcoming, I felt I had found a home. They knew my identity from the start, as I had let it be known that I was looking for a “welcoming and affirming” church. And they loved and accepted me.

So Who is Washington Plaza Baptist Church?

WPBC is a progressive American Baptist church, located on Lake Anne Plaza, with a long and rich history. It was the first church in Reston, Va., a part of Robert E. Simon’s design for the new town named after him. Washington Plaza Baptist Church is an inclusive Christian Community whose worship, communion, and fellowship are open to all. We are a safe place for all people to worship regardless of race, creed, age, cultural background, gender, or sexual orientation. We affirm that all have access to the love of Christ and service to God.

WPBC is very active in Pride. We were involved with the formation of the first Reston Pride and continue to participate each year. We open our fellowship hall for the performers to change and to cool off, and we have a table on the Plaza where we give away free Pride paraphernalia as well as hugs. WPBC has held weddings for same-sex couples — including my wife’s and mine — with most of our members helping in some way to make the day special.

At Washington Plaza Baptist Church, I have been fully embraced for who I am. I have been in leadership from early on. The pastor, Rev. Michelle Nickens, delivers sermons that are powerful and relevant, with a focus on being Christ-like in all areas, including social justice. The people live out their claim of inclusivity and affirmation. The church community truly loves and cares about the people within the church as well as those outside its doors. 

Our address is 1615 Washington Plaza West, Reston, Va. Reach us at 703-471 5225, [email protected]. (We’re on Lake Anne Plaza, right next door to the Lake Anne Coffee House and Wine Bar.)

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Commentary

Hur knew the political ramifications of his report

The case against Biden is over while Trump’s continues

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Special Counsel Robert Hur testifies before the House Judiciary Committee on March 12, 2024. (C-SPAN YouTube screenshot)

I read the transcript of President’s Biden’s sit down with Special Counsel Robert Hur, then listened to Hur, who actually resigned before he testified before Congress, and found him totally unbelievable. 

He’s a man looking for something. That something is most likely a job in Trump’s administration should he win. He refused to answer that question when asked. When asked by Rep. Adam Schiff (D-Calif.) if he realized what political games would be played with his report, he said it was it was in no way political. Hur gets credit for being smart. He went to Harvard and Stanford, and was a law clerk for Chief Justice William Rehnquist. He served as Special Assistant and Counsel to Christopher Wray, then assistant attorney general in charge of the Justice Department’s Criminal Division. There is no way a smart, accomplished man like Hur wouldn’t recognize the political implications of what he wrote.

I think once he found he couldn’t actually indict the president, because there was no indictable offense, he had to come up with a reason that would satisfy the Republicans he was trying to impress. So, what better than going along with the Republican playbook saying Biden was an old man who couldn’t remember anything and writing that is how a jury would see him? What a pile of BS. The reason they wouldn’t convict is there was no crime committed. 

Interestingly, Hur went even further down the Republican rabbit hole, and said Biden was only looking for money when he wanted to use the information from a high security paper in a book he was writing. But of course, like any former president or vice president, he was going to get a great book deal, which was in no way dependent on him having any high-level security papers in his possession to share. Again, ridiculous to pin it on that especially when you think about all the grift in the Trump family. 

Clearly, Jim Jordan (R-Ohio), who chairs the committee, the same Jim Jordan who I was most likely bumped out of a first-class seat on a recent American Airlines flight for, jumped on that to say Biden and his family only wanted to make money even if illegally. Again, it is beyond rational belief that Hur, a smart guy, wouldn’t understand he played right into Jordan’s hand. I think he put that in specifically for Jordan, and other Republicans, to use. Now he had to have some balance to his report, so he explained why Biden didn’t do what Trump did, Biden having cooperated with the feds, while Trump did just the opposite. But the reality is this didn’t make any difference to the Trump case, and didn’t break new ground in any way. Smart thing to do by Hur, but then I keep giving Hur credit for being smart.

The State of the Union speech put to rest Biden being an old man who couldn’t think on his feet. He clearly did, and even managed to make Marjorie Taylor Greene look like a bigger fool than she is. He had Speaker Johnson sitting behind him, actually having to clap for some things he said, even if he tried to hide those claps beneath the camera’s range. This is the same Speaker who in a press conference recently confused Israel with Iran, saying repeatedly the Congress would approve funds for Iran. President Biden delivered a strong and clear speech, which put many Democrats’, and independents’, minds at ease. 

The case investigating Biden taking documents is now over, at least with regard to any of the legal issues. That doesn’t mean Republicans will drop it, and Hur gave them the grist for their lies to continue. Hur kept saying he didn’t exonerate Biden, we can debate the meaning of the word exonerate, but again this shows how smart Hur is, and he did this for the Republicans he wants to impress. Despite this, his final report showed there was nothing to prosecute Biden on. 

The president can put this behind him, while Trump still has to deal with his case. The president is moving forward with a campaign that will show the American people why he, and Kamala Harris, should be reelected. He is out campaigning across the country making a strong case for his vision of the future, and talking about issues like abortion, and protecting democracy. If I am right, and Trump loses, Hur will realize what a big mistake he made, placing his bets on the wrong horse. 

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