My Time Is Now

It's been two weeks of intense feelings, both positive and negative. Last week, I heard speakers about the Israeli and American elections, met the head of The American Conservative Union (who thought it was okay if I was not served in a restaurant because I am gay). The news about the elections is only good because no one believes the Republicans have a credible candidate. As far as Israel, there is a sense of hopelessness that there is any leadership that will solve the problems there.

Then the Mormon Church effectively kicked out same-gender couples and their children. At least many of their own church members rebelled. We heard about the attacks in Paris, and less-publicized attacks in Kenya, Afghanistan and Iraq.

We attended a service and dinner as guests of WVU Hillel Friday. Saturday, I spent most of the day in bed, not willing to deal with the hordes around a WVU football game, and feeling physically and emotionally exhausted.

Things picked up for me Saturday night, when we saw Morgantown Theatre Company's production of "Oliver!" This is the children's theater group where I played the rabbi in "Fiddler on the Roof" in the winter of 2014. Joe and I were blown away by the professionalism of these kids, who range in age from six to eighteen. After ten years of acting classes, I could not have done what the nine-year-old who played Oliver did. It was beautiful and heartbreaking.

Last Sunday we dined at the home of a gay couple we have come to know in Greene County, Pennsylvania, just north of here. It was a chance to let down our (virtual) hair, away from any professional connection, with three other long-time same-gender male couples. I'm grateful to them for adding us to their clan.

I was back at WVU for the Women and Gender Studies Department Fair on Monday and Transgender Day of Remembrance on Wednesday. It's amazing how college has changed since my graduation in 1971. Johns Hopkins, where I was an undergraduate, did not admit women until 1970 (four transferred into my junior class in 1969). They thought they were liberal because they added a "History of Africa" that year. There was no study of women, of gender as a concept, nothing Jewish, certainly nothing gay.

At some point in the spring of 1970, my junior year, the spring of Kent State, I walked down Calvert Street in Baltimore to 29th. I was wearing bell bottomed jeans, a plain t-shirt with a blue ring collar, and a brown "wet look" belted jacket. My already-thinning shoulder length hair was flying in the breeze. I  flashed a peace sign at a passing police car, and a policeman growled at me from the car. Maybe I misremember the details after forty-five years. Or maybe it was a dream. I remember feeling  that this was my time in the world.

I rode the PRT, Morgantown's "futuristic" rail transit line (from 1973) into town Wednesday to the LGBT Equity meeting on WVU's downtown campus. It's a half-mile walk from our house to the last station on the line. It was unseasonably warm and sunny. I had my iPod on, playing "Little Black Submarines" by The Black Keys. And for a minute, I had that same 1970 feeling that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Maybe it was the weather or my heart being fixed with new stents or running for office, or just being a part of something on campus. The world is falling apart and our country is a mess, much like 1970. Perhaps my euphoria is that I understand how bad everything is, but I know that I am doing well.

Our meeting was short, and the Transgender Day of Remembrance after was more moving than I expected it to be. I met some students who came to support transgender people on campus. One young woman told me she was Jewish and confided that she had heard that the rabbi in Morgantown is gay. I was delighted to introduce myself as the rabbi's spouse.

It's Sunday night now as I finish this. It is cold out. There was no sun today. ISIS has united Russia, France and the United States. What the Republicans have been saying about Syrian refugees not being welcome here has resonated with Jewish people, and, for once,  all segments of the Jewish community are together, remembering the Jews who were turned away from the U.S. in the late 1930s.

I would like to think that good will come from the events of the past week, even the tragic events. Despite my advanced age and creaky body, I plan to be part of what happens here in West Virginia, in the United States and in the world, for as long as I am able.