Shanah Tovah!

One of the great words of wisdom I heard many years ago now, and have tried to live by ever since is, "When the world tells you to choose either/or, see if there is any way you can make it both/and."

I spent most of the years of my life raging at organized religious organizations. I saw them - still do, actually - as the primary source of a very vicious form of bigotry known as homophobia, and I hated them for it. Saw them as Enemy Number One, something I would be committed to fighting against as long as I lived. They were people who misrepresented me and others like me, who turned the way I experienced love and affection and compassion into something dirty and shameful. Every time something came out that put organized religion into a bad light, I exulted - the hypocrisy of TV evangelists like Jimmy Swaggart and Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker (him more than her - she was just a goofball) and Ted Haggard, the child sex abuse scandal in the Catholic Church. Good show! I thrilled. Damned hypocrites!

It took me years to recognize that I was doing the same thing to religious people that some religious people were doing to me - painting them with too broad a brush. They were looking at me and other gay people as people selfishly and totally preoccupied with sexual release, and I was looking at all Christians as mean-spirited ignoramuses. It took time for me to talk myself down from such an unworthy black-and-white position, to realize that I had grown up among good Christian people, people who taught me right from wrong, and spread the message of love and forgiveness and compassion.

What was confusing the issue was my failure to buy into the theocratic ideology of people of the Christian faith, the idea that there was a single (male) force who called life into being, created us as sinners whom he then turned around and redeemed by human sacrifice, and commanded us to live by a set of behaviors at the risk of eternal damnation. Just couldn't buy it, and that meant I now had two separate reasons for turning my back on Christianity: the fact that they were homophobic bullies, and the fact that they were living by a set of made-up notions pulled from their left ear.

As the years went by, I learned a lot from watching Jews up close. Many of the Jews I knew could not make sense of the concept of a loving god after experiencing how this god sat back and allowed his "chosen family" to die by the millions under the most miserable of circumstances. But they retained their sense of connection with other Jewish people, many of whom did continue to be believers in the Jewish religion. They lived side by side, these non-religious Jews with religious Jews.

In time I noted something similar was going on in Germany with the many immigrants from places like Turkey, Syria and Egypt who had rejected the Muslim faith of their families as belonging to a pre-modern age. As they became Germans, they took on the modern sectarian cultural values of their countrymen, all the while retaining a sentimental attachment to the language and culture of their original homelands. They became both/and people, as opposed to either/or people.

As I reflected on the many times I have heard political folk, like the commentators on Fox News, speak of "Putting Christ back into Christmas," I came to realize that I had more in common with those Jews and Muslims than I did with religious Christians. I see no need to rewrite Merry Xmas as Merry Christmas, but I love the stained-glass windows of Chartres Cathedral. I love Christmas trees. I love the sound of sleigh bells ringing. I am, and will almost certainly always remain, culturally Christian. It's the culture of the people I grew up with and still identify with. I love the idea of kids sitting on the lap of Santa Claus telling him what they want for Christmas, the fantasy land of snow-covered houses on Christmas cards, and the sing-along Messiahs. I've even participated in one of these and hope to again one day.

One of the most memorable and meaningful times in my life was the time that Harvey Milk was assassinated in San Francisco by a disgruntled former cop. I went to his funeral, which was held at that gorgeous synagogue on the corner of Arguello and Lake Street, Temple Emanu-el. Milk was not a religious Jew, but when the cantor came out and sang the prayer for the dead, I was moved like never before. I couldn't stop the tears. I fancied I heard 5000 years of Jewish suffering encapsulated in the chanting, and if somebody had passed around a sign-up list for becoming Jewish, I would have put my name on it then and there. I can't recall now which prayer it was, exactly, but you can get a sense of what I am talking about by listening to Cantor Azi Schwartz at a memorial for the fallen of 9/11.

It mattered tremendously that this Jewish congregation was acknowledging one of their own in this way, despite and over the protests of its chief rabbi, who didn't hide his homophobia. The message that came through was that although diversity can divide us, it just as frequently brings us together - if we let it.

The sun is about to go down on the Pacific Coast today - September 6th - and when it does local Jews will mark the beginning of a new year: Rosh HaShanah, and a time of reflection. A profoundly moving event, one which joins Jews with Buddhists and others who know the value of meditation and the benefits of prayerful devotion to the things that make life worth living. I grew up among Christians initially, but I've also had time now to live among Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Hindus and others of religious faith. I have no need to concern myself with doctrinal beliefs in order to embrace the richness of the cultures these faiths have produced over the years.

Let me end with a meditation on that wonderful secular Christmas song, "I'm dreaming of a White Christmas" by the Jew, Irving Berlin. Composer and conductor of the Toronto Symphony, Rob Kapilow, analyzes the popular song and tells us he senses here and there a bit of "Yiddishkeit." A wonderful example of both/and. A cultural Jew contributing to Christian America's cultural heritage, in a way that includes us all, lets us be not either Christian or Muslim or Jew but all of those simultaneously.

And more.

Shanah Tovah!

Future Delights

Pete and Chasten Buttigieg with Penelope Rose
and Joseph August Buttigieg

Future shock is not always a bad thing, although maybe we should reserve "shock" for the bad events and substitute "delights" for the good ones.

I come from a time and place when gay people hid their sexuality from themselves and others. Part of this was shame, plain and simple. Part of it was practical necessity. To come out in most places in the U.S. back in the 1950s and 60s, back when the nagging thought that I might be "inherently disordered," to put it into the language used even today by the official Roman Catholic Catechism for gay people, would have been to invite scorn, sneers, shame, and possibly physical violence. Some people, I later learned, came out to parents who took their children's gay sexuality in stride, whatever it was, and assured them it made no difference. But I did not have that assurance. One of my earliest memories of the taboo topic ("Where'd you hear about that sort of thing?!") was sitting in the back seat of a car. My father was driving and telling his brother, also in the front seat, about a hitchhiker he had picked up who had put his hand on his knee.

"Should have cut his balls off and shoved them down his throat," my uncle said. My father would never have done such a thing, but he didn't protest. He just sat there in silence, and the message came through to me for future reference there in the back seat.

Fast forward to 2021, past the decades of what I have referred to as the "long hard slog toward gay liberation." Nearly three-quarters of a century have gone by since that time in the back seat. I was able eventually to shed the self-loathing that came with the first realization that we were talking not about "them" but about "people like me." In time, I built a wonderful chosen family among people, some gay, most straight, for whom my sexuality was if anything part of what made me interesting, evidence that I was able to form intimate relationships with people that included sexual attraction and activity.

These days I swing comfortably between "oh, who cares" and "nice to know" when a person is identified to me as gay or lesbian or bi. It's taken a while longer, but I'm also there with people who identify as trans. Have fully embraced the view that you don't tell a person what their sex or their sexuality is or should be; you listen and if they choose to, they will tell you.

The time came when I would hear myself expressing jealousy or envy over the way young gay people could be so openly gay. "They've got it so easy...back in my day..." - you know the stories old people tell about having to hike to school and back for miles through the snow, uphill both ways.

Not any more. These days, I find myself charmed when I see healthy young gay people being healthy and young and gay. I share in their good fortune: to have discovered and embraced their not "normal" sexuality, to have realized that "normal" is not synonymous with "good" or even "desirable," to have found somebody to love and share their lives with. And I celebrate the fact that where in Iran they may still be throwing gay people off of roofs and in Uganda and Ghana and parts of Texas evangelical clerics are still preaching to the masses that gay people are spitting in the face of Jesus, here where I live, gays are all over the place, regular characters on sit-coms, in fashion, in sports, and on school boards. President Biden has even put one of them in his inner circle, to run the Department of Transportation.

I've made a big deal about my respect and admiration for Dustin Lance Black, for his work to advance the gay liberation movement, particularly in his writing, which includes the script for the movie on the life of Harvey Milk. And about the fact that when he teamed up with Olympic diver, Tom Daley, my admiration turned me into some kind of teenager-type fan, who never fails to tune in to their latest YouTube vlog, especially when they feature their adopted son, Robbie. If I were going to change places with another human being, the first person who comes to mind would probably be Robbie.

And now comes another couple to charm my socks off - that Secretary of Transportation I just mentioned, Pete Buttigieg, and his husband Chasten. In the news this morning was the announcement that they had adopted not just one, but two children, a little girl named Penelope Rose and a boy named Joseph August. Charmed they would pick a four-syllable name for a little girl. Charmed they would pick an old-fashioned macho name for a boy like August. Charmed to the point of silliness.

Welcome to the world, Penny Rose and Joe August. May your lives be at least as blessed as the years go by as they would appear to be at the very start.

Your arrival brings smiles from ear to ear.

photo credit

Discarded Covid vaccines

According to an NBC article published just yesterday, 15 million doses of the Covid-19 vaccine have been discarded since March. That's 15 million in six months. Despite protests that it represents only a fraction of all the vaccines administered, 15 million strikes me as one hell of a lot of wasted vaccine.

I am 81 years old and I have pulmonary fibrosis. That means if I get Covid, with limited lung capacity, I could be in the deep doo-doo. That suggests I should be pounding at the doors of Walgreen's, CVS or Rite-Aid to get one of those vaccinations I'm told they're giving out "no questions asked." It would be my third.

Here's my problem. If I go to the CDC or to Kaiser, my health care provider, and ask if I'm eligible, they tell me I'm not. I will become eligible eight months after my second vaccination, which I got on February 27, i.e., October 27. And I understand that "no questions asked" is not entirely true. They do ask a number of questions, such as, "Are you immunocompromised?"

Apparently, I am not. I say "apparently," but actually I've checked with my pulmonologist and he tells me I am not. My current lung capacity, tested just short of a month ago, came in at 73%. Since I don't get out and exercise very much I have no idea how out-of-breath I would get. I suspect I'm hiding from reality here, but in my own defense, I don't feel winded. I go up and down three flights of stairs a dozen times a day or more and I don't get out of breath. So there's that.

Furthermore, if you follow the guidelines put out by John Muir, another agency, besides the pharmacies, I mean, offering vaccines these days, they offer you this:

Effective August 13, 2021, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) and Food & Drug Administration (FDA) recommend that people who are moderately to severely immunocompromised receive an additional dose of an mRNA COVID-19 Vaccine (Pfizer-BioNTech or Moderna) at least 28 days after the completion of the initial mRNA COVID-19 vaccine series.

They also say:

When you schedule your appointment, you will be asked to attest to meeting the CDC criteria for immunocompromised people. It’s important to be truthful so that we can ensure that those people who are immunocompromised can get a COVID-19 booster shot sooner. We appreciate your understanding and integrity, which helps us care for our most vulnerable patients first.

What we have here is a genuine moral dilemma. One the one hand, I don't fit the criteria. On the other hand, what do I do with the information that they are throwing away unused doses? If I could be sure that by not using one of their vaccine doses it would go to somebody in Bangladesh or Togo, I would have no hesitation. I would follow the CDC guidelines and wait till after October 27. 

Frankly, my motives are colored by the fact that I live in a country which has just spent three hundred million dollars a day for twenty years straight making Boeing, Raytheon, Lockheed Martin, General Dynamics and Northrop Grumman rich, where as much as a third of the population followed a liar into believing Covid was a hoax and vaccinations were a dumb idea, and where people are now joking that we need Biden to send in the marines to fly women and children out of Texas, as they did in Afghanistan, because the Supreme Court has thrown women in poverty under the bus. (Rich Texas women can get to California for an abortion. Poor women cannot. They will seek bleach or coat hanger solutions.) And where "me first" has been the actual official slogan of our ruling elite for years now.  I've been fighting depression for I don't know how long at the fact that while it touts itself as valuing justice and freedom, its more conspicuous values are me-first, truth-is-whatever-you-want-it-to-be, smart people are better than dumb people and you can tell a smart person by how much money he has.

I don't know how to respond to such misplaced values other than not embrace them myself. I want very much not to surrender to temptations to deceive or become violent. Not because I like being self-righteous or think I have the power to change the world, but so that when I try to identify with the Germans, like Bonhoeffer, and others who stood up to Hitler, and with Americans who fought against the Confederacy, I can do so without being a hypocrite.

My husband and at least two of my friends are pushing hard for me to go get the third vaccine. They are clearly acting in what they believe is my best interest (theirs too, of course, but primarily mine) and I love them for it. But first I want a couple questions answered:

1. If I get the vaccine, do I have to lie about being immunocompromised? (I am not, remember.)

2. I I get the vaccine, will I be jumping the line and taking it from somebody whose life could be at risk by not getting that particular dose?

The argument that they'll only throw away the dosage I might have gotten if I don't take it is countered by the argument that my applying for a vaccination could cause them to open another vial which then doesn't get used up. This argument goes both ways, in other words.

Last night I phoned the CDC and explained my dilemma. The person I spoke with, instead of addressing it, simply read off the list of guidelines. I listened patiently, and then explained that I already had carefully read those guidelines many times before and asked her to address my questions. Her answer: that's an ethical question. We can't answer ethical questions. That's up to you.

I protested that it was not just an ethical dilemma, that there were issues of fact involved - will my jumping the gun actually make a difference? If not, why do you have the guidelines? That was apparently taken as an insulting question. The person I was speaking to hung up. To be fair, she had actually mentioned in passing that the CDC had no say in who gets the virus, that for that answer I needed to go to Pfizer directly.

I then contacted Pfizer. You can't get a person, but I filled out a form with my ethical dilemma outlined and tried to e-mail it to them. When I clicked "send," nothing happened. Apparently they let you ask a question on their e-mail form, but they don't have a working system for processing your e-mail. I tried a half dozen different times, checking carefully to see I had filled in all the blanks. No luck. I leave it to you to discover whether Pfizer is simply overwhelmed or is deliberately being evasive.

I understand why an institution would not want to take responsibility for answering your ethical questions. And, in particular, why they would not want to have to answer the question, "Am I justified in jumping the line?"  But institutions should be able to provide you with the technical information you need to reach an ethical conclusion.

Pushing ahead in line should not be the only way to go.