A Tale of Three Synagogues
April 22, 2024
This isn’t a post about theological questions. I feel Judaism has space for our polyamorous triad, but I am certainly no rabbi. What this is, instead, is a post about working through the practicalities of engaging in spiritual practices as a polyamorous triad.
If you have an issue with any of that, feel free to take it up with God, as I am wildly uninterested in someone else’s opinion of how I view the Divine.
A Household Overview
We’re a Jewish triad. How we became a Jewish triad could be a novel of its own.
J was raised both Jewish and Christian, with a Jewish father and Christian mother. He never identified with either. When his father passed, he decided to take an Intro to Judaism course to better understand who his father was. Somehow the one who embraced Judaism during that class was not J but myself. I formally converted, and soon afterwards J also chose to embrace that part of his identity.
D respected our Jewish identities, but as a deeply atheist person, did not feel it was appropriate to become Jewish himself. Eventually, he also converted, finding beauty in the culture and identity even if belief in a Deity was not for him.
Both marriages took place under chuppahs, though of course only one is legally or religiously valid. Our daughter had a Jewish naming ceremony, we belong to a local synagogue, and we light Shabbat candles weekly. Does that make us very Jewish? Or does our polyamory diminish our Jewishness? Well, I don’t know. I’m not a rabbi, nor do I have a direct line to God.
Perhaps we are very bad Jews. But we remain Jews. And it turns out being Jewish in America in the 2020s is a lot less about what you believe and a lot more about adapting to organizational structures not intended to include us.
Synagogue #1 – “Where have you been keeping him?”
My conversion took place in a rather progressive little synagogue in Los Angeles. The clergy and support staff was diverse, especially when it came to queer Jews, and I felt so at home that I decided to convert two sessions into the class.
That being said, I didn’t feel comfortable being completely open with my bet din. I was asked about whether I planned to raise my children Jewish, what I felt made up a Jewish home, and I answered those questions honestly. But I never mentioned that second partner of mine. Part of me worried my conversion would not be approved if I mentioned him. So I bit my tongue, despite wanting to talk about this important part of my life. J accompanied me to the mikveh, and D did not. I still have a lot of Feelings about that.
A few services following my conversion, though, I was done. Hiding felt like admitting I was doing something wrong, and I firmly believed I was not. We decided to be low key about it. After a Shabbat service, we went up to the Rabbi and introduced D.
“And who is this?” asked the Rabbi.
“This is our boyfriend,” I responded, terrified.
He took a beat, then asked if he was Jewish. I responded that no, D was not Jewish, but he was part of our Jewish family.
The rabbi smiled, “So where have you been keeping him then?”
It was the last time we hid our triad in a synagogue. And, in many ways, it was the first time I felt fully comfortable as a polyamorous Jew. I owe that Rabbi quite a bit (including my chosen name, Yonah!). I hope, one day, he discovers the impact he had.
Synagogue #2 – “I accept you, but this congregation probably isn’t for you.”
Our second synagogue was chosen purely due to location. D wanted to convert, and it was the closest synagogue with a Judaism 101 class. It was not the sort of synagogue that we would frequent. Higher income, minimal social activism. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it didn’t fit us. We just needed his conversion to be finalized and we would be on our way.
It was a beautiful class. I stopped attending early on due to the pandemic, but D raved about it, especially the Rabbi who he absolutely adored.
As the time drew closer for his mikveh immersion, we asked the Rabbi if she felt the synagogue was the right fit for us as a polyamorous triad. She was completely open with us.
“I accept you,” she said, “but this congregation probably isn’t for you.”
Translation: you belong to the People Israel, and you are part of my people, but there are places you would be more comfortable.
We appreciated her honesty. Better to take time to find the right fit than try to work with a synagogue not set up to spiritually sustain us.
Synagogue #3 – “God doesn’t discriminate, but our database software does!”
Our third, and hopefully final, synagogue took time to locate. We bought a house and settled down to try and have a child. This synagogue was no longer about us alone; we were now seeking a synagogue that would embrace our child.
And we certainly found it.
The Rabbi was happy to meet us and discuss our concerns. At some point during the conversation, I mentioned that I wanted a place where our child would not be asked to explain our family. The Rabbi politely disagreed.
“Questions are good,” he smiled, “Respectful questions are how we educate. Welcome questions!”
I pointed out this was a good ideal, but I didn’t want our child to feel there was something wrong with her.
“And she won’t,” he assured, “We will make sure of that. She will be safe here. But let people ask you questions. It is the only way your family can be better understood.”
I had grown so jaded by comments in the form of a question that I had forgotten some questions are actually well-intentioned. The Rabbi was right. It was no longer just about our triad, or even our growing family. We could make space for other families like ours.
Which made it all the more hilarious when a panicked Rabbi called us the week after we registered.
“God doesn’t discriminate, but our database software does!” he cackled as we tried to fit three adults into a framework built for two.
I hope we’ll spend decades here. Maybe someday, there will be better database software.
It’s All About Family
Ultimately, finding a synagogue is not as important as non-Jews might think. Most of our holidays take place within the home. It is entirely possible to spend a lifetime never attending services in-person. Remote attendance has become even easier now that the pandemic has forced synagogues to livestream holiday services.
Most Jewish ritual takes place at home, within our family. And in that, we are no different from any other Jewish family.
Shabbat is Shabbat no matter what your family looks like. We speak the same blessings over our daughter that might be said by a single parent, or divorced parents making it work, or a weird little triad like ours. But we do plan to use Shabbat in such a way as to educate our daughter about her differences.
We will tell Hannah that our family is different, yes, and it doesn’t look like anyone else’s. But it’s a Jewish family. And this Jewish family has value in the world today and the World To Come.
