The pitfalls of dating for queer Australian Jews

Finding a Jewish partner can be challenging — but for queer Jewish Australians, it can feel nearly impossible. While straight Jewish singles have matchmaking options through singles events run by organisations like Young Jewish Professionals, and even the occasional rabbi or rebbetzin eager to play matchmaker, queer Jews are often left navigating uncharted territory.

In a community that places such a high value on marrying Jewish and having Jewish babies, the absence of meaningful resources to help partner LGBTQIA+ Jews stands out. So, what happens when you’re searching for someone who shares both your identity and your faith?

“Sometimes it feels like you know everyone in the queer Jewish community,” says Speedy Shatari, 26, an LGBTQI leader, a member of an Orthodox synagogue and part of the grassroots Sydney queer women, non-binary, and trans Jewish group, Hasodot.

"As someone who is trans, non-binary, and queer, it’s not as simple as looking over the mechitza or asking the rabbi to play matchmaker."  

Finding a Jewish partner is important to Shatari and has become even more so in a post-October 7 world. “As soon as you are on a queer dating site, there are lots of politics,” says Shatari, referring to the common sight of watermelons in people’s bios and opinions about the Middle East.

While this phenomenon is not unique to queer dating sites, it complicates an already smaller dating pool. “Sometimes it feels like you’re walking on eggshells in dating spaces, trying to figure out if you share enough values to truly connect,” they add. “It’s not just about finding someone Jewish, it’s about finding someone who understands the nuances of your world and identities.”

While Hasodot provides a small but supportive space for queer Jewish people in Sydney, its grassroots nature highlights a broader gap. “It’s clear there’s room for more opportunities to connect, especially with the community’s current needs,” Shatari says.

For a community known for its abundance of niche programs and organisations, there remains a striking lack of institutional support to help LGBTQIA+ Jewish individuals build relationships and find meaningful connections.

Julie Leder, who is in her sixties, and lives in Melbourne, has been a member of the Jewish Lesbian Group of Victoria for more than 30 years. Most members of Leder’s group are now aged in their fifties, sixties and seventies. Leder, whose long-term partner of more than 20 years converted to Judaism, thinks  the Jewish queer community in Australia is too niche to sustain a matchmaking organisation.

“There are not enough people. If you meet somebody who is Jewish and queer, I say: good luck. It doesn’t happen often. The community is just too small,” she says.

Leder, who grew up in a traditional home rooted in Orthodox tradition, also notes that in her generation, many queer Jewish people chose to leave the community, making the dating pool even smaller. “A lot of people have made the decision that if I can’t be queer in my Jewish community then I will leave. I don’t know many queer people who are observant,” she says.

Leder acknowledges the difficult time that the entire Jewish community in Australia has had since October 7 and the need for greater collaboration and inclusion of all Jewish people in communal organisations. “Every Jew in Melbourne has been traumatised since October 7, we just have to self-care and be with people who make us feel good,” she says.

While Leder emphasises the need for unity and care in these difficult times, others see an opportunity to reflect on the broader gaps within communal life — particularly for queer Jews seeking connection.

Brandon Srot is a Sydney-based psychotherapist in his thirties “I just don’t think it’s been a communal priority for the mainstream. I don’t think the queer agenda has been a major agenda until more recent years. Even with so many Jewish organisations around the country, [queer dating] is something that needs funding and infrastructure,” he says.

Srot, who is married to a Jewish American man, believes  that the events of October 7 have deeply impacted many in the community, intensifying the need for Jews to connect with others who share their faith and identity. “For a lot of Jewish people, post-October 7, finding someone Jewish has become more important than it was before,” he says,

“There’s even this term, ‘October 8 Jews,’ referring to those who, after October 7, felt their Jewish identity move up the priority list.”

While mainstream Jewish organisations have made strides toward greater inclusion of LGBTQIA+ members, Srot notes lingering concerns within the LGBQTIA+ Jewish community.

“For some queer Jews, there’s a hesitation and even suspicion of anything overly organised,” he says. “There’s still a cloud of rejection, of feeling excommunicated or unfairly treated by the broader Jewish establishment.”

In interviews across both Melbourne and Sydney, and across a wide age range, most people I spoke to confirmed that the most successful attempts at helping people find partners had been through informal, grassroots initiatives by individual members of the queer Jewish Australian community.

“There are people in the Sydney gay community who are trying to do things, trying to mobilise people to gather socially and that has been quite successful. In the mainstream, it’s still quite off the beaten track,” says Srot.

An example of a successful grassroots group called JAG, Jewish and Gay, was founded by Wayne Green, who recently moved back to Melbourne after a stint living in New York. The group ran two successful Australian retreats and a range of events, all without any institutional funding.

“Theres no institutional money for this that I am aware of. I don’t know, why, there may have been in the past, but [today] I don’t know any [Jewish] foundation that wants to invest in creating a Jewish gay group,” says Green, while noting that there may be occasional funding for a one-off event like a Shabbat dinner for the gay community. 

Green, in his forties, would love to meet a Jewish partner.

“As gays have gotten more rights in terms of marriage equality and more gay couples are having children, the need and want to have a Jewish partner is becoming much stronger. For those that want to have children and raise them Jewish, finding a partner that is very accepting to the Jewish faith or open convert or Jewish themselves, is important,” he says.

Today, Green, a professional in philanthropy, is channelling his energy into launching a new grassroots initiative for gay Jewish men called Mensch. Set to debut next month in time for Hanukkah, Mensch will be a giving circle aimed at fostering deeper connections within Melbourne’s gay Jewish community. While matchmaking isn’t its primary focus, Green hopes the group will create opportunities for meaningful relationships and a stronger sense of belonging.

“Because our Jewish gay community is relatively small, when we come out, we have this ideal that we grew up with, to meet another Jew and get married and have a family. [However], when we come out, we recognise that the community is so small, there isn’t necessarily the numbers to match with another gay Jew,” he said.

In Sydney, David Klarnett is the current president of Dayenu, established 25 years ago, which is one of Australia’s oldest and best known Jewish LGBQTIA+ groups. It has more than 500 members across Australia and includes international members from New Zealand, Israel and America. Klarnett took up the presidency of Dayenu just before October 7.

Last year, after decades of participating in Sydney’s Mardi Gras, Dayenu pulled out after hostility from other participating groups, which some saw as antisemitism. “There has been a greater urgency since October 7, even for heterosexual community, it’s become a hurdle to get over, when you are revealing your Jewish identity to someone and [waiting to see] how they will react,” he says.

While Dayenu has annual events like a large Shabbat dinner at Emmanuel Synagogue, it is  looking at potentially setting up an opportunity for its members to meet. “The Jewish heterosexual dating scene is a small pond, but the Jewish queer dating is probably more of a puddle” he says.

While the exact plans of what Dayenu may offer are still firming, Klarnett hopes that any events they run will help members of the community to mingle and meet each other.

“I would be interested in setting up events where we can help people make friends, sort of like friend speed dating,” Klarnett says, laughing that he wanted to take the pressure off dating, while allowing prospective partners to meet each other in a more casual setting.  

“Twenty-five years ago Dayenu started because members of the community wanted to know they belonged and wanted to know they were accepted,” he adds. “With these things having been achieved over the past 25 years, we need to see where else we need to go.”