Every June, rainbow flags appear, organizations post messages celebrating Pride Month, and communities reaffirm their commitment to inclusion and celebration of LGBTQ identity. Those gestures matter. But for too many LGBTQ Jews, especially those raised in Orthodox spaces, Pride Month can also raise a painful question: Am I actually welcome here?
As a straight ally working for JQY (Jewish Queer Youth), an LGBTQ Jewish mental health organization, I’ve spent years listening to queer Jewish teens describe how they experienced their communities growing up and what would have helped them feel more fully seen and supported within them.
Too often, the answers suggest how much work remains to be done.
One of the most important lessons I’ve learned from working at JQY is that allyship cannot be assumed. It has to be visible.
One particular memory has stayed with me. I was having a conversation with a participant at JQY’s Drop-In Center shortly after I returned from parental leave. We were getting to know each other, they were asking me questions about my pregnancy and family, then suddenly stopped and said, “Oh, you’re straight?”
For many queer Jews, support is unexpected
What struck me wasn’t the question itself. Instead, it was what came next: the participant’s genuine confusion and surprise that someone who wasn’t queer would work in a queer space, advocating for queer people.
This revealed something to me: For many queer Jews, support is still unexpected. Showing up for queer people is often treated as an exception when it should be the norm.
As Jews, we understand this instinct. In times of rising antisemitism, we want allies who will speak out who are not Jewish. Antisemitism should concern all of us, not just Jews, and we hope our neighbors, friends, colleagues, and leaders recognize this and stand beside us.
You don’t need to share someone’s identity to support them. And you don’t need to share the same lived experience to help create a world where they can live safely and openly.
This visibility matters even more because many young queer Jews are navigating spaces where, because of parts of their identities, they are made to feel unwelcome, misunderstood, or unacceptable.
After Oct. 7, I attended the massive rally on the National Mall in Washington, alongside other members of the JQY community, to hand out flyers and swag to those marching with us, and to affirm the importance of Jewish LGBTQ identity. As we were handing out our JQY merch, someone challenged us: “Why does this have to be about the queer community?”
The answer seemed obvious to me: Because queer Jews are Jews, because queer Israelis exist, and because no one should have to set aside their identity to belong. But evidently it was not obvious to the person asking.
I’ve seen this dynamic play out in queer spaces as well, where Jewish participants wonder whether they will be welcomed. Over the past couple of years, many queer Jews have found themselves navigating assumptions about what they believe, where they stand politically, or whether they belong at all. Exclusion can be subtle. It can manifest as uncertainty about whether a conversation will become hostile, or hesitation before attending an event, or the feeling that just showing up will require an explanation.
Too many people assume that Jewish communities and queer communities exist in opposition to one another. In reality, queer Jewish people live at the intersection of both, and deserve communities that recognize the fullness of who they are.
Pride Month offers an important opportunity for allyship. Not because it’s the only time to support queer people, but because it reminds us that inclusion requires action, starting with giving voice to our values.
For members of the Jewish community, that could look like telling your children that queer people are welcome in your home. Challenging homophobic or transphobic comments when you hear them in your circles. Making it clear through words or actions that someone coming out would not threaten their place in your family or community, and recognizing the bravery of their honesty.
Choosing between identities, convinced of ostracism, abandonment
Many young people are making decisions about coming out and maintaining positive relationships within the larger Jewish community based on what they hear or see around them. If they have never heard acceptance expressed for queer people, they may assume it’s not okay and that there isn’t a place for them.
At JQY, I’ve heard stories about queer teens who became convinced they would be kicked out of their homes, ostracized, or forced to abandon their lives. These fears, whether true or not, can have profound consequences.
For members of the queer community, allyship means making space for Jewish voices. Resisting the urge to treat Jews as a monolith or to assume that every Jewish person shares the same beliefs, politics, or experiences as you. And recognizing that Jewish identity, like queer identity, is tremendously diverse.
Jewish tradition offers a concept that feels especially relevant today, and is the founding belief at JQY: Eilu v’Eilu, “both these and those.” Acknowledging that disagreement can exist without exclusion. We need more of that spirit in our communities.
No one should have to choose between being Jewish and being queer. No one should have to leave behind one identity to fully participate in another. And no one should be pushed out of Jewish life because of who they are.
At JQY, I have seen what’s possible when people are welcomed in their entirety. I have watched young people discover they don’t need to hide pieces of themselves to belong. I have seen conversations happen across differences in politics, religious observance, and personal experience. I have seen people find community where they once expected rejection.
That is what allyship makes possible.
This Pride Month, allyship is not just about posting a rainbow flag or attending a parade. It’s about actively welcoming LGBTQ+ Jews into our communities so that Jewish queer people never have to wonder whether they belong.