I’m not the first to interpret The Book of Esther as a coming out story. Just google, “Esther coming out story” and you will be overwhelmed by the number of articles and essays viewing Esther through a queer lens. For those of you not familiar with The Book of Esther, here are the key parts for our purposes:
Esther is a simple Jewish young woman living in the Persian empire when she is selected to go and live in the palace with King Ahashverosh. She is hiding that she is Jewish but maintains her Jewish practices in secret. When the prime minister, Haman (boo!), devises a plan to kill all the Jews, Esther has no choice but to tell the king that she is Jewish. The king, suddenly realizing he doesn't want his own wife to die, has Haman (boo!) killed and appoints a Jewish prime minister instead. The one and only Mordechai.
So, when Esther “comes out” as Jewish, she not only saves her own life, but the lives of her people. And King Ahashverosh doesn’t stop Haman’s (boo!) plot until it affects him, directly – his own family.
Yeah, this book is primed for queer analysis. But here’s the thing, this story doesn’t only work through a queer lens. It also, very much, is about exactly what it is about. Coming out as Jewish.
Lucky for me, I’ve come out as both, in different ways and at different times.
The queer story begins in college. I had just fallen in love with one of my friends and was utterly terrified I’d be found out. So, I did what anyone would do, I avoided her. But also stole glances whenever I could. In my troubled heart I decided that if I liked her in that way, and kept hanging out with her, I was being unfair or tricking her. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel taken advantage of. So, I retreated.
But soon, after immersing myself in queer media, journaling, and the beginnings of community, I decided to tell a few friends. It was still a secret, but being shared more and more.
And then I made the phone call. See, being the subtle and non-expressive person I am (that’s a joke), I decided to write a poem called “Coming Out Human” and was selected to be the featured Slam Poet at a UCLA poetry event. I was excited about the poem and again, being such an oh-so-private soul, I wanted to call my parents and tell them about this achievement. I told myself this would be the moment I “came out” and got up the nerve to dial home.
They answered the phone and I started talking about school, frisbee, life. And then I said, “You know, I have been selected to perform a poem I wrote.” They were so proud and wanted to know more – could they read the poem? This was the moment. I said, “Here’s the thing…I need to tell you…the poem is about something I need to talk to you about.” It was at that moment I chose my words very carefully and declared, “Mom, Dad, I’m not totally, 100% straight.”
They took this somewhat limp declaration and totally understood. I was crying and speaking slowly so they knew it was a big deal to share this. They said they loved me no matter what. After this call, we didn’t talk about it. And over the next few years, I become more and more comfortable just being myself and talking about what I wanted to talk about around them.
What I didn’t know is I’d have to come out as gay, queer, whatever, over and over and over again.
It has been 10 years since that phone call and I am beyond lucky to say that I have rarely been met with anything other than complete and total acceptance. Being gay today is kinda boring in the places I’ve been living – Los Angeles, the Bay Area, and New Haven. And my wife’s family is from Denver, so evening traveling to see the in-laws is uneventful, queerly speaking. In fact, I don’t come out as gay anymore, almost at all. I just assume people assume I’m gay. Although what I’m about to say is embedded in sometime painful stereotypes, we joke that I can’t even pass as straight anymore. And wow, what unbelievable privilege I experience. I am well aware this is not the case throughout our country and world today. May my life be proof of possibility – a testament to the dream of a world where all people can fully be, as they are.
But you know what I come out as now? Jewish. See, I used to be Jewish much more casually. Like, yeah, I’m Jewish, it’s fine. I was raised Jewish. My family is Jewish. It’s whatever. But now, as my Jewish life has changed, coming out as Jewish means coming out as choosing a more observant life. It means sharing not just a thing about me, but a very intentional choice I’ve made.
Here is one very small example. The other night we had dinner with some new friends and I asked if I could bring our candles over to light them all together – my wife and I light candles and say blessings every shabbat. Of course, these new friends are completely wonderful people and were more than happy to share in our rituals. But as I chanted the Hebrew in front of them, I felt nervous that they might be judging me – thinking my traditions strange or anti-intellectual or what have you. I realized that coming out as Jewish meant sharing just how un-casual it was for me. How Jewish life is central to my being. In this way, as stated earlier, coming out meant sharing my choices, which in some ways feels even more vulnerable.
Unlike Esther, none of my experiences with coming out have been at risk of death (baruch HaShem). Not like the Jews and queers before me, upon whose shoulders I stand. I am, as my teacher Jhos Singer says, riding the waves, and am so grateful for the risks other people took that have resulted in my current comfort. We are forever indebted to so many people that we have never met, and will never meet.
And while gratitude is enough of a resting place for this piece, I feel a call to action bubbling up. What is it? Politically, maybe it’s obvious. There are more than enough court cases and pieces of legislation concerning all manner of queer rights, from Florida to Texas, to follow and get involved with. Here is a place to start.
But what about the right-now-in-your-heart level? How can we be like Esther – who was brought to power through her visibility? Coming out, after all, means showing yourself.
What can you reveal that might save someone – maybe even yourself? How can your daily acts of courageous vulnerability set free generations to come?
Coming Out Esther