I was a Jewish kid in a small redneck town in Southern California. The nearest Synagogue was a small Conservative Synagogue a good 45 minutes away and I was terrified of the Rabbi. My best friend when I was six liked to play war - he was the Nazi and I was the Jew. Neither of us really understood what we were playing at, of course. There was one other Jewish kid in my school and he was always missing class due to "migraines," which I learned about in my mother's whisper, the way people whisper the word "cancer." When I was about ten years old, our neighbor offered to take me and my two younger siblings to a puppet show. She said she'd watch us and it would be fun. We went. What a puppet show it was...Satan came out and described hell to us in graphic detail and explained that we were heading there, like it or not. Then Jesus came along and told us all about how we could avoid ending up in hell with Satan. Then the preacher came out and asked who wanted Jesus to save them. My little sister stood up to be saved. Later, I thought it was me my mother was furious at.
By the time I was a teenager, I was admitting to myself I was a lesbian. Even in the drama club and chorus, there weren't any lesbians. There were a couple gay boys, but that was different. My favorite silent phrase that I would always say to myself was, "I am not of them."
By the time I got to graduate school, I had vowed I wasn't going to be silent anymore. But I also felt that alienating people wasn't going to help change anything. I spoke out all the time. I became known in college as the lesbian you could ask the most insulting questions of, because I refused to ever take it personally or get angry. I'd just answer the questions. I knew I could pass. Nothing about me looks lesbian. Nothing about me looks Jewish. My name isn't even very Jewish sounding. But passing on the outside left me feeling isolated and sad on the inside.
The whole time this boycott drama was unfolding here, another much smaller drama was unfolding on another website I frequent. This website, which I will refrain from naming, is a support site related to my rare genetic health condition, Common Variable Immune Deficiency. That's another thing about me that you can't see, but that separates me in some way from others. The site is an advocacy site, but also provides a discussion board with a variety of topics. You can post questions about treatment, ask for advice about doctors, find out if other people feel like you do. Who else suffers from fatigue all the time, for instance. Or has anyone else had this weird rash that nobody can diagnose? When I first started frequenting that discussion site, it was small and the technology was old. I formed some close friendships there. It's a rare enough disease that I know only one other person in my whole city besides me who has it, so it's nice to meet others who share my concerns.
Then they moved to a new format and the site suddenly exploded with all these new people. That was a hard adjustment. I didn't like the layout. Didn't like all the extra people. Hell, even some of my old friends had signed up under different names and I wasn't always sure who I was talking to. Some good friends disappeared altogether, or started posting less frequently. I was sad, but I hung in there, because I'd gotten so much from it.
Then, over the last year or so, a strange thing started to happen. People who are very vocally Christian started frequenting the discussion board. Every day, I would log in and there would be calls for prayers for someone, and people would be praying. Some people would even write out lengthy prayers, ending with the words, "In Jesus name, amen." I felt nauseous. I felt somehow trapped. At first, when there were calls for prayers, I would write something like, "sending good energy your way." But it felt weird and I found I really resented being forced to come up with something. I felt like I was being put in a position where I either pretended to be Christian and prayed, or I was on the outside of the club. I stopped writing anything in those threads, but then I felt like everyone would think I was callous and uncaring. I felt that, if I ignored the calls for prayers when someone was suffering, maybe they wouldn't answer my questions when I was suffering. It may have been my imagination, but it began to feel like the Christians had taken over the message board and there I was on the outside, again. I am not of them. I tried to stay away, but I missed the support I could get there. I missed my friends.
Finally, this weekend, an old friend reappeared and posted a comment about not liking the new board for a variety of reasons. Others started commenting on what they didn't like about the board. I started to add my thoughts and out it came. I wrote about my discomfort with the whole Christian thing. I left it up there for about 20 minutes then freaked out and erased my comments (I couldn't actually delete my comment box, so ended up with a blank comment box). I was too late. Someone had read it. I know, because I received a private message thanking me for speaking out and saying they shared my feelings. That was it. I went in there and rewrote my thoughts. Now two people have come forward on the board. We shall see what comes next. I was careful to affirm, as was another who came forward, that I didn't think the Christians meant anything by it or realized how it affected those of us who are not Christian. I'm glad I did it. Even if it means I end up feeling less accepted on that board, I'm glad I did it. And I won't leave the board. It just isn't in my nature. I'll stay and try to educate and try to build bridges. Maybe I'll start a discussion group on the board for non-religious people with primary immune deficiency. Maybe I'll manage to change the tone of the board. I don't know.
Anyway, I just wanted to share that story and say I'm still here and not joining the boycott. I'm not going anywhere. I love this place.