own instruction about the death penalty—He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her—but he had also connected it to an issue that was far more personal. “Didn’t your mom have your oldest brother out of wedlock?” David had asked me. “That’s another sin that deserves the death penalty, isn’t it?” Until that moment, I had never thought through that fact that if my mother had been killed for her sin, she wouldn’t have had the opportunity to repent and be forgiven.
That without mercy, my beloved family would not exist.
Pacing around the inn’s dining room table, I finished explaining to David why I had suddenly stopped speaking to him two years earlier.
“I was terrified. The points you made about the DEATH PENALTY FOR FAGS sign—that was the first time I consciously rejected one of the church’s doctrines. It was the first time I believed that I could be right about something, and that the rest of the church could be wrong. It gave me some little bit of confidence in my own thoughts, and helped me not to just blindly trust the elders. It might seem like such a small point, but it was huge for me—a loose thread of contradiction in our tightly woven arguments. I doubt I would have ever had the confidence to challenge other Westboro doctrines without that.”
I suddenly remembered that even my cousin Jael had realized the significant role that David had played in my departure from Westboro. I read him the text message she had sent me the day after I left, specifically alluding to both David (“Jewlicious”) and C.G. (“FKA”).
I think over some years you turned aside to try to persuade Satan through clever argument on Twitter, etc. Speaking to Jewlicious, FKA, & others—you let Satan nibble on your ear and flatter your vanity—during long and continual conversations. Whether that was with one or many Satan-inspired minions, it has caused you to dig for doctrinal fallacy—when you know better.
I had rejected my cousin’s accusations the instant I read them. Being influenced by outsiders was a moral failing, and I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge that I had allowed it to happen—and on Twitter, no less. But as I considered Jael’s assertions, I stopped seeing my change of mind as a sign of weakness or vulnerability. At the root of my shame was the assumption that I had nothing to learn from people like David and C.G.—a premise that had so clearly proved false. Bit by bit, my shame was being replaced by profound gratitude to Twitter for its commitment to being “the free speech wing of the free speech party.” Instead of booting me from the platform for “hate speech,” as many had demanded, it had put me in conversation with people and ideas that effectively challenged beliefs that had been hammered into me since I was a child—and that conversation had been far more illuminating than decades’ worth of rage, isolation, and efforts to shame and silence. It struck me as ironic that this very idea had been repeatedly referenced by church members when they spoke of the First Amendment, a quote from 1920s-era Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandeis: “If there be time to expose through discussion the falsehood and fallacies, to avert the evil by the processes of education, the remedy to be applied is more speech, not enforced silence.”
“Listen,” David said, after listening to all this, “you have to come to Jewlicious next month. You should meet some of the people you protested here three years ago. You can come and see what Judaism is really about.”
I chose my words carefully. “Uh, I don’t … think that’s a good idea.” In fact, it specifically went against the plan that Grace and I had concocted, to wit, disappear into the ether forever.
“I’m sure it’s a good idea,” David countered. “And listen, I know you’re afraid to talk about this stuff. I know the wounds are still fresh and that we were ‘the enemy’ and all of that … but I think this will help you, and I know it will help others. It could bring a lot of healing to a lot of people. If you can bring yourself to do it, you absolutely should.”
I told him I didn’t think I could do it.
“If it would make you feel better, we’ll do it on Saturday. It’ll be Shabbat, so there won’t be any recording—no photos or videos. Just a conversation. Just you and us.”