| | Issue #19.46 :: 06/11/2008 - 06/17/2008 | My moms
The Brelands say they are just like every other family in Augusta, but they’ve had a difficult time making others see it the same way. Cover illustration by Judah Breland, age 4.
| BY AMY FENNELL CHRISTIAN
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AUGUSTA, GA - Judah Breland’s family portrait looks like any other 4-year-old’s might. The three stick figures, hastily sketched, have impossibly long legs and round heads.
There’s a large figure on the left, a slightly smaller one on the right and Judah, of course, is in the middle.
Maybe it’s just that the drawing is from Judah’s perspective, but it looks as if each parent has one of his hands and, together, they are swinging him through the air. With the broad grins on everyone’s faces, one could be forgiven for thinking that.
Your typical family… just like everybody else. Or are they?
Carol and I met while we were each taking art classes at our local college. Carol thought I was annoying and had boundary issues. I thought Carol was too quiet and needed to speak up more. It was amazing that we fell in love. … In the spring of 1997, I was to go live in Israel indefinitely. I cancelled that trip. I was in love (the kind of love where Pepto Bismol was a favorite drink). Carol was everything I wanted in my life and I didn’t want to give that up. — MaLea Breland
It’s a typical evening in the Breland household. Carol just got home from her job at the Aiken UPS office. MaLea, Judah and one of Judah’s friends have recently returned from a day at the Family Y’s water park. The kids are ensconced on the sofa watching “Alvin and the Chipmunks,” absentmindedly eating pasta and vegetables while Carol and MaLea fix dinner for the adults.
“I fell in love with this person who happens to be a woman,” MaLea explains after dinner. “I didn’t realize the baggage that would come with that.”
“Thanks,” Carol says before breaking into a grin.
“Not you,” MaLea replies. “The societal baggage. It was definitely a learning process for me.”
Before the two met, each had considered herself heterosexual. Sort of.
“I dated men,” MaLea says. “But, as far as my sexuality, I never really thought about it. Now I realize that I’m a bisexual in a lesbian relationship.”
Carol had even been married, with a daughter, now 21, that came out of that union.
“That’s a loaded question,” she says when asked about her previous sexual orientation.
“I think outwardly you identified as straight, but, inwardly, you know something was different,” MaLea says as Carol nods in agreement. “I think we had a discovery with each other about who we were.”
For 10 years prior to Carol and me beginning our relationship, I was very active in the local Jewish community. I taught Hebrew and Sunday school and I was an advisor for a youth group. It was a big part of my life. — MaLea Breland
There’s not a clear-cut answer when it comes to the question of Judaism’s stance on homosexuality. It varies depending upon which sect you examine.
Orthodox Judaism is the most conservative of the three dominant modern sects, while Conservative Judaism, despite its name, is the moderate sect. Reform is the most liberal of the three.
One of the many issues the three sects see differently is the Torah — the first five books of the Old Testament. Orthodox Jews see the Torah as a literal interpretation of God’s requirements for his children which are still law today. Conservative and Reform Jews believe it to be the word of God, but have adapted the laws differently in order to better fit (in varying degrees) modern times.
Included in the Torah is the book of Leviticus, often cited by those who look for Biblical support in condemning homosexuality. And that doesn’t just go for Jews; Christian denominations often cite Leviticus 18:22, “Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination,” as well.
Alternately, religious conservatives cite Leviticus 20:13, which is similarly worded, except that it notes the punishment for the sin: death. (It is also interesting to note that this is a law against male homosexuality; there is no mention of female homosexuality.)
Within these three sects of Judaism are several offshoots, including the Reconstructionist movement. Joshua Lesser is a rabbi with the Reconstructionist-affiliated Congregation Bet Haverim in Atlanta, a synagogue Carol and MaLea attended while they lived in Atlanta for a time. In Augusta, they attend Adas Yeshurun, a Conservative synagogue.
“We [the Reconstructionist movement] broke off from the Conservative movement, which is confusing to people,” Rabbi Josh, as he’s known, explains. “Our founder taught at the Jewish Theological Seminary, which is a Conservative school, his entire life.”
Their founder was Mordecai Kaplan, a famous Jewish scholar who sought to make Judaism more socially progressive, yet keep it rooted in ritual and tradition.
“We’re small,” Rabbi Josh says of the movement, “but we’re not an obscure group. We’re less known in the South than in other places. In large measure, our movement has paved the way for the Reform movement to become a little more traditional and for the Conservative movement to become a little more socially progressive.”
Rabbi Josh says that strictly adhering to laws written thousands of years ago simply doesn’t work.
“Our goal has been to be more inclusive and to operate firmly from Jewish values rather than blindly acting on law,” he explains. “While law has been important to us, there are some times when law no longer feels relevant. We feel like Judaism is an evolving tradition. It has to be progressive. It has to be moving towards something.”
Reconstructionism, however, is not simply the homosexual offshoot of Judaism.
“I always hear that Reconstructionist Judaism is gay and lesbian Judaism, which is just simply ignorant,” Rabbi Josh says. “And, after nine years of being here, I still encounter that stereotype.”
“I guess there could be worse stereotypes,” he adds.
My mom always taught me to be true to your self. So I lived by that motto and I was very ignorant to the ramifications of being myself. … In the middle of services, people would turn around and stare at us. We’d attend parties where people would literally talk about us while we were standing right next to them. — MaLea Breland
MaLea moved to Augusta in 1991 and began attending Adas Yeshurun shortly afterwards. She quickly became an active part of the community, teaching Hebrew and Sunday school at the Reform temple on Walton Way and her own synagogue.
That’s why the community’s reaction to her relationship with Carol, who converted to Judaism shortly after they began seeing each other, was such a shock to her.
“I expected people who knew me before to accept me afterwards,” she says. “Before, I was always quiet and reserved. When I first started dating Carol, I had so much more confidence and I thought people would see that and be happy for me.”
MaLea equates it to a child’s coming out to his or her parents: Her Jewish community, she explains, is so close-knit that the entire group felt that sense of anger and betrayal.
“I just did not expect that many people to be involved in my coming out,” MaLea laughs. “It was a communal coming out,”Carol adds.
They laugh about it now, but it wasn’t funny 11 years ago when the two first became a couple. Some told the two that they weren’t welcome in their homes. Others suggested that they weren’t welcome in the synagogue. MaLea and Carol continued to attend, however, even though people wouldn’t sit near them during services.
“I was floored,” MaLea says. “And I hate to say this, but especially from Jews. This is a group of people who knows what it’s like to be outcasts. Who commemorate the Holocaust every year. Yet they can’t spread that out?”
“I have little tolerance for people with no understanding,” Carol jumps in. “MaLea has so much to offer and so much passion for what she does that it hurts me when they turn her away for what I see as an inane reason.”
After five years of being together, MaLea and Carol decided to show their commitment to each other. They held a ceremony in 2002 at the Unitarian Universalist Church.
Despite the fact that they weren’t able to be married in their synagogue, they still drew up a Ketubah, a Jewish marriage contract, which is framed and displayed on the wall in the couple’s home.
The gesture, while not legally binding, was important to them.
“It’s funny,” MaLea says. “For gay and lesbian couples, there was a need to have that sense of commitment. So drawing up this [the Ketubah] and having the ceremony gave us that feeling of commitment.”
And the Brelands say they won’t be traveling to California any time soon, despite the fact that the state supreme court recently overturned a ban on same-sex marriages.
“We’re as legally married as we can get,” Carol says simply.
“I think the best thing for everyone is to stay where they are and fight for it in their own state and get legislation passed,” MaLea adds.
So the two continued as a couple. MaLea legally changed her last name to Breland and they kept attending Adas Yeshurun.
Then they made a decision that would change everyone’s lives. Surprisingly, the long-range implications of their decision have been positive. Like so many life-altering events, however, the situation got worse before it got better.
In the winter of 2002, my partner andI were elated to find out that we were pregnant with our son. Just like any couple, we were excited and we wanted to share the news. Unfortunately, many people in the Jewish community didn’t approve. — MaLea Breland
When they first meet people, MaLea and Carol don’t like to share which of them is Judah’s biological mother. As far as they are concerned, they both are.
Judah calls Carol “Mom,” while MaLea is “Momma.” And he’s sure to correct anyone who gets it wrong.
The couple underwent IUI, or intra-uterine insemination, making sure to choose a donor with a strong personality. They had a feeling Judah might need it.
“We have talked to him about it and told him that not everyone is going to understand,” Carol says. “Or be nice.”
At 4, Judah seems to take the situation in stride. He came home from Open Door Preschool one day, MaLea recalls, and told her that a girl in his class had a mommy and a daddy. He called the arrangement “interesting.”
“I was really proud of him,” MaLea says. “He didn’t say ‘weird’ or ‘unusual.’ At first, it was funny but then I thought, ‘Duh. We are his normal world.’ It’s the one with the mom and dad that’s the unusual one.”
In 2002, however, some used the couple’s pregnancy as another exhibit in the case against them. They again made it clear that the couple wasn’t welcome and, this time,the Brelands gave in.
“That was the only time Carol put her foot down,” MaLea says about the decision to leave Adas Yeshurun. “And that’s one of the only times I listened.”
“I’ve never felt pain like that before,” she continues. “I was really married to the Jewish community and really looked up to them and I naively expected that in return. That was a hard hurt to have to take.”
On August 10, 2003, our beautiful son, Judah, was born. He was a blessing. We vowed to teach him the true meaning of love and kindness. — MaLea Breland
Carol describes Judah’s birth at University Hospital as something of a spectacle. Some nurses, she says, refused to even step foot in their room. One went out of her way to let the couple know that both their names could not be listed on the birth certificate.
Shortly afterwards, however, they received an unexpected call from Adas Yeshurun asking them to return.
“The Jewish faith places a high priority on family and children,” MaLea explains. “So, basically, they thought they couldn’t exclude Judah just because of his parents.”
Judah does have two legal parents. Thanks to a second-parent adoption, both women’s names are now on Judah’s birth certificate and no one will be able to contest either of their legal standing should something happen to the other.
While slow, they are finding acceptance both in and out of the Jewish community.
Within the community, they have had many advocates over the years, including an older woman named Laura who happened to live in their apartment complex.
“She made it her mission to make people accept us,” Carol says.
They also count Carol’s parents, who live in North Augusta and have been married for 55 years, as a support system without which they couldn’t have made it as far as they have.
“They accept Judah as their own,” MaLea says.
The Brelands still wish that simply living their lives didn’t translate as “in your face” to heterosexuals. They wish that every curious look didn’t make them paranoid. Because sometimes they have been pleasantly surprised.
One of MaLea’s favorite stories is of a trip she and Judah took to a local grocery store. While checking out, Judah was helping the cashier place their items on the scanner, to which she remarked on how grown-up he was. “You’re Mom must be so proud.”
Judah’s reply was “No, this is my momma. My mom’s at home.”
The cashier looked shocked but, a few weeks later, when Carol and Judah made another trip to the store, the same cashier appeared with three small bags of jellybeans.
“This one is for you,” she told Judah, “this one is for your mom and this one is for your momma.”
The Brelands’ persistence in living their lives as normally as possible is something Rabbi Josh says is making a difference. Despite the fact that some congregations in the Conservative movement, of which Adas Yeshurun is part, are less accepting of LGBT couples than others, when you put a face on an issue, he explains, it’s more difficult for people to make sweeping generalizations.
“I’ve been to Augusta and Macon and Columbus doing activist work for the LGBT community, so I know what it’s like for people to despise me without ever getting to know me,” he says. “Their [the Brelands’] path is not for everybody because there is some righteous anger when people don’t treat you like a human being. But they’re not just out for themselves, they want to make a contribution to society as well as be themselves as a family. I guarantee that they’ve changed the hearts and minds of the people they know.”
Families come in all shapes and sizes. The Brelands fell in love, got married (as legally as they could), had a child, stayed in Augusta and continue to let their faith and their involvement in the Adas Yeshurun community guide them.
They and the community are changing.
“It’s been their evolution as well as ours,” Carol says.
So when they attend a Yom Kippur service, for instance, during which individual families are invited to stand at the altar, no one bats an eyelash when it’s their turn. MaLea’s Sunday school students also recognize their family.
“It’s wonderful to hear these kids say, ‘Hey MaLea. Where’s Carol? Where’s Judah?’” she says. “That’s their acknowledgment.That’s normal.”
Just like everybody else.
Editor’s Note: The italicized text that runs throughout the story was taken from an essay MaLea submitted to the Family Equality Council. Judah’s family drawing also won second place in a council contest. | |
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