I met Vladimir Mukhotaev, 28, at the Metropolitan Council on Jewish Poverty, where he helps low-income New Yorkers access food stamps. After he provided translation for an article I was reporting, I asked him about his path from Russia to the United States. He explained that he had followed his husband to New York and had never planned to leave Russia. I was intrigued: how could he feel so warmly towards his homeland as a gay man? And what had led him to Jewish social work after he was raised Eastern Orthodox? Vladimir’s story is below in his own words.

I was born in Russia in 1989. My native city is Orenburg, which is very close to the Kazakhstan border, but I moved to Moscow when I was 10.

My father, he left our family when I was three. My mother, she used to be a mother and father as well. She was very strong. She had her own business and gave a nice education to me and to my older brother, who didn’t live with us.

Around seven or eight years old, I realized that I like more boys than girls. I didn’t question myself. I was just like, “OK, it’s fine.” It was very natural, very organic. I never struggled with that. Maybe my mom noticed something at some point, but she never asked me.

At age 12, I got my first computer, and I started to chat people online. When I was 17 or 18, I started to go out, but I hid that. I just said, “I went with my friends.” So I never said, “Mom, I’m going with gay people to a gay bar or a gay club.” I don’t think I used to hide that because she would never understand. I did that to make sure she was not getting nervous.

When I started to date this guy, Nikolay, he showed me the first bars and clubs I went to. You have to understand, the gay scene in Russia, it’s so open-minded inside, and so cool and amazing, but outside there are no symbols, or the name of the bar or club. It’s just doors.

Nikolay was my first love, and when we broke up, I couldn’t struggle with my feelings alone, and I had to reveal the situation. So that’s why my mom knew that I am gay. Even at the very emotional moment when I said it, she was very supportive. She said, “It doesn’t matter. I still love you, and it doesn’t matter.” It only took her one or two days to get over that.

During my third year of university, my mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It was a tough time, not just because I had to say goodbye, but because she and I had such a strong and close connection. At one point, I needed a specific medicine for my mom, and one of my friends said, “I have an oncologist who can maybe help you.” So I got connected with him, and he got me the pills for free.

I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, but this doctor, Sergey, and I got to know each other through our souls. When I began dating him, my mom was already back in Orenburg, where she had decided to die. But she talked to Sergey a lot on the phone, and she said, “Please take care of Vladimir.” He really seemed very reliable to her.

After my mom passed away, I tried to find answers to existential questions: why do we exist, why do we love, why do we die? Priests at the Russian Orthodox Church, where I went growing up, couldn’t answer me. They just told me, “Please read the second part of the Bible.” And I did for a few months, but it didn’t help me.

Sergey had been going to a Chabad synagogue in Moscow for a while, and he said, “If you want, you can join me, and take a look.” I started to go, and from the beginning, it really impressed me. The atmosphere of discussing and trying to find answers is so different from Christianity, and there’s not so much distance between you and the rabbi. I really like that, and I was able to ask so many questions.

Judaism gave me hope. It gave me the structure of this life, how it works and why it was created. I was pretty frustrated after my mom’s death; I lost a source of love. And now, in this kind of tough world, I have a manual. I have instruction. So it was very, very powerful to me, and I might convert in the future.

In 2014, Sergey won a green card through the lottery. He’s my family, so I was like, “OK, we have to move.” We got connected with the U.S. Embassy in Russia and asked them what to do, because after the Defense of Marriage Act was repealed, I could apply for a green card with Sergey. They said, “If you get married right now and provide us proof that you’ve been together, we can extend the green card to Vladimir as well.”

We had to be very quick, because the final day the second green card could be issued was in two or three weeks. Only Iceland said we could be married in a few days, so we went with Sergey’s parents, who were our witnesses. It was very sweet.

We moved to New York in 2016. I had never thought about immigration to the United States or anywhere else. I was maybe not a patriot, but I really felt at home in Russia, and I loved my country. And part of that was my law degree, because it makes you feel that you are in service to the people or government. I knew that I had only one motherland.

In Russia, people are more connected to each other, even to someone you don’t know in the street. And here in the U.S., we’re pretty far from each other, and it was very surprising to me. Because life is supposed to be the same, right? You eat, you go out; it’s kind of the same. But the details are so different.     

In a train here, I can’t imagine someone would come up to me and say I’m wearing something that is not appropriate. And over there, a grandmother might come up to a girl and say, “You know what? Your skirt is pretty short.” Because they feel not just that there’s no border between you, but they believe they care about you, and they’re like, “You know what? It would be better for you do that.”  I think the problem of homophobia in Russia comes from that closeness.

Russians also don’t ask “How are you?” to make fun or just to fill up the atmosphere. And we do not smile just to show that we’re not aggressive right now, or you’re fine passing by. The Russian smile is always sincere; it’s if we really have a reason. Saying that these are cultural differences, we forget that they’re very important.

The Gay Pride Parade in New York has been very powerful for me, a moment when you are all together and you don’t feel that it’s wrong. Still, this feeling that I’m not at home… I’m just afraid it will never go away. And it really bothers me that my kids—which I really want to have in the future—will lose my Russian heritage, even though I will do my best. Like in the second generation, they will probably say, “Yeah, we had a father, Vladimir, who used to make Russian dumplings,” but they will be total Americans. So I’m still thinking about whether I want to stay.

The one thing I have to remember is that there is no better or worse place. Russia is a place to live in; it’s not that it’s worse or better. And the same in New York or America. I used to think that it was worse here. But once I tried to connect with people, I understood that this is just another reality.

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I don’t usually read romance novels, since I don’t believe in love, the indulgence of fantasy, or any activity from which people derive pleasure. Kidding! In all seriousness, though, I don’t usually read romance novels, but when a bargain e-book newsletter promoted Learning to Love: An Enemies to Lovers Contemporary Gay Romance by Felice Stevens, I thought feh, why not. It’s 99 cents.

It was the summary, not the title, that convinced me: “Bad boy Gideon Marks is counting on his new catering job at a synagogue to prove he’s not the failure everyone predicted. But when his high school crush — now Rabbi Jonah Fine — ignites long-buried feelings, Gideon will have to face his past and rethink his future in this spellbinding read. “

Interesting! How much gay Jewish representation is in romance novels, especially erotica? Well, some, but it’s easier to come by, say, Amish representation (and there are way more of us in the United States). Even in fan fiction, you’d be hard-pressed to find a rabbinic AU. In fanfic, everyone is either a barista, librarian, professor, or high-fantasy prince. Never a rabbi.

Gideon the caterer is the moody narrator who returns to his hometown to prove he overcame his rough upbringing. He especially wants to stick it to condescending know-it-all Jonah, the Rabbi’s son. But he also wants to stick it to Jonah, if you know what I mean.

Turns out,  the feeling is mutual. There isn’t much of the enemies-to-lover subtitle. Gideon has lingering feelings of resentment for a page or two, but by page ten they’re consummating their relationship.

But problems abound! Gideon storms off about something every other page. Sometimes he’s upset about his dyslexia, or how his father left him when he was young, or how he doesn’t feel he’s good enough for Jonah. If I sound cold and unsympathetic, it’s because these issues aren’t treated as anything more than reasons for Gideon to storm off.

Luckily, Rabbi Jonah is endlessly patient, forgiving, and willing to put up with endless tantrums. His father, also a rabbi, is totally cool with him being gay, which is a nice change from garment-rending homophobia that typically plagues religious gay narratives. In fact, Jonah’s problem is way more traditional— he’s taking over as Rabbi, and he’s worried that his congregants will never love him as much as they love his father.

There isn’t a lot of in-depth exploration of Judaism or what it means to be Jewish. But there are a lot of casual mentions of Judaism: nosy, matchmaking synagogue grandmothers; Jewish cuisine; bar mitzvahs and important Hanukkah dinners; Rabbi angst. There’s some talk about what it means to be a Rabbi, such as:

“Spoken like a true rabbi looking for a higher meaning in simple words.”

He grinned and grabbed my ass, giving it a hard squeeze. “The only worshipping this rabbi will be doing tonight is of your body.”

It must be a Reform synagogue.

At the very end, Jonah announces plans for an interfaith social justice committee. Almost immediately, someone sets fire to the temple. Here we get some after-school-special dialogue, which while trite is sadly more relevant now than when it was published half a year ago:

“Who would do such a thing to us? We’ve never had problems before…Occasionally we’ve had hate mail from people; the usual ‘go away, Jew’ but I’ve always dismissed i as ignorance.”

“It isn’t you. It’s them. It’s a combination of fear that the world is changing around them and they can’t accept that not everyone thinks or looks like them, and ignorance because they are listening to the old hatred and prejudices they grew up with instead of opening their eyes and their minds.”

But then the novel quickly wraps up with a happy ending and epilogue. I don’t expect romance novels to be paragons of great writing, and Learning to Love met my expectations. It’s fine. I’ve read better fanfic. I’ve also read worse.

I would only recommend Learning to Love if you’re interested in the novelty factor of the relatively uncornered niche market of gay Jewish pulp erotica. And, if you want a different salad of romance tropes with Jewish dressing, other Felice Stevens novels feature such characters as Micah Steinberg, Josh Rosen, and Daniel Friedman, although I can’t personally attest to the other novels’ Jewishness beyond the names.

Plus, I’m sure they’re all better love stories than Twilight.

Image via Jessie G Books

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THURSDAY, DECEMBER 23, 2010

The Jewbilee returns for a 4th year – this year, a day early so all can join the fun. So, join your fellow Hebrews for New York’s hottest gay Jewish dance and lounge party.

SLATE
54 West 21st Street
(Between 5th and 6th Avenues)
9pm-2am
$10 admission all night

A portion of the proceeds will benefit Israel Gay Youth. IGY works to provide a social support network for Israel’s LGBT youth community.

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This article originally appeared on Repair the World.

Here’s what we’ve learned about gay teen suicides: it takes a village to make them happen, and also to make them stop. Yes, those kids who recently took their lives, in cities across the country, were particularly targeted by particular bullies. But both the bullies and their victims were caught up in systemic webs of hatred, ideology, and culture. Our rabbis, politicians, and community leaders are all responsible, as are all of us, for spreading the fundamental message that gay is not okay — a message that is lethal, and insidious.

The good news is that, since we’re all responsible, if you’re outraged and want to do something, there are a lot of things you can do.

First and most importantly is to “come out,” whether you’re gay, straight, bisexual, questioning, transgender, lesbian, queer, or Whatever, as a supporter of equality. Every study that has been done on homophobia and public opinion of gays has shown the same thing: the most important factor is knowing gay people, or at least knowing visible allies. It’s not geography or ideology — it’s personal contact. If you’re LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender), just being yourself is a form of activism. Obviously, you have to decide when it’s safe to be flamboyant and when it’s wise to be discreet. But know that simply by showing up, you are opening people’s minds.

This is true for allies as well. It can be as simple as wearing rainbow pins, or “Gay? Fine By Me” t-shirts, or other ways to show your solidarity.  But that’s just the beginning. When someone in school says “that’s so gay!” let them know that “gay” is not a synonym for “stupid.” If you’re in an all-straight crowd and someone makes a homophobic remark, don’t let it slide – call them on it, just like you (hopefully) would if they said something anti-Semitic or racist.

In terms of formal volunteering, one way students can get involved is by starting gay-straight alliances (GSA’s) at schools, camps, yeshivas, youth groups, and just about anywhere else. Of course, it’s kind of weird to have a GSA with no (out) gay people in it. But think about it — if you were gay, and not so sure it was safe to come out, imagine how important it is simply that the GSA exists. Even if no gay kid ever joins your GSA, its mere existence has a huge impact on closeted kids, and on would-be homophobes and bullies. There are resources for how to do this online.

You can also take action in your Jewish communities. Here’s the thing: GLBT people have been actively excluded from Jewish life for 2,000 years. So, if synagogues really want to be welcoming, they have to be pro-active. There should be a “GLBT” tab on their websites. Rabbis should periodically talk about GLBT issues. And you, as a gay person or an ally, can help make that happen.

Chances are, your rabbi or community leader will say “But we are welcoming! We just don’t have any gay people!” Ask them how they know that. Ask them what they’ve done to balance out those 2,000 years of oppression with pro-active statements and deeds. Once again, even if no gay people actually come out of the woodwork, just taking these public statements can have a massive impact. They send a clear message: that sexual diversity is natural and healthy, and that all people are truly welcome – even, if you like, made in God’s image.

There are a lot of problems in the world today. Millions of people die every year from preventable disease, our economic system is in disarray, and the world is getting hotter every day. Equality for GLBT people is only one of many important issues — but it is one about which we can act effectively in our home communities. Unlike some of those other macro-problems, equality for GLBT people is ultimately local. We’re not going to change hearts from the top down; we’re going to do it person to person, neighbor to neighbor. You can make a difference, because as the saying says, kol yisrael arevim zeh la’zeh — all of us are responsible for one another.

Sign the Jewish community pledge against homophobic bullying See also: “Paladino’s Bias And The Charedim: Time To Speak Out” by Jeremy Burton and “The Cost Of Standing Idly By” by Rabbi Steven Greenberg.

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