Parashah Korach - Pride Month 2026

When looking at Parashah Korach, you might think there are some obvious places to start when reading it through an LGBT+ lens. It could be Korach’s line that the whole community is holy- sometimes as LGBT+ Jews we are made to feel that we are outside the community of full holiness. It could be to rehabilitate Korach slightly and ask why his rebellion gained so many followers, is this a result of large numbers of people feeling unseen or unheard as many LGBT+ Jews often are? Maybe you could consider it as the need to sometimes question power and authority but being mindful of doing it in a constructive way otherwise you face being swallowed by the earth.  

But where I want to focus isn’t about whether Korach was right or wrong. The Torah is quite clear in Korach being wrong. I want to focus on that visceral, painful image of the earth swallowing people up. Whether he was right or wrong, it doesn't really matter here, because what I want us to think about is how it must feel to disappear from your community. 

I know that as a child, a young adult and sometimes as an adult today I disappeared in some spaces. When you’re young and you know you’re different, you start to realise that life’s just a bit easier if you hide aspects of who you are. You stop dancing and singing to Steps on the radio because boys don’t do that. You paint your nails once because you thought it looked pretty and after the reaction from your family and the bullies at school, you make sure you never do that again. Part of you disappears. As you grow up, you realise you don’t feel the same as the other boys. You start to understand why you feel so different but for me, this was during the era of Section 28 when it was illegal for schools to talk about LGBT+ people. And so, you disappear some more.  

As an adult you go to synagogue and in your head start to consider how much you can share about your life. Should I mention my partner is a man? Should I speak up that I feel uncomfortable when we read Leviticus 18:22, the passage traditionally interpreted to condemn homosexuality? I know that in my shul where I know my community, I could be myself. I didn’t need to disappear. But what about when I go for lunch with my partner at that Kosher restaurant? When I attend meetings with people from across the community that I do not know, do I need to disappear then?  

Post October 7^th, more LGBT+ spaces have become more challenging to be openly Jewish, we have started to be excluded from spaces supposed to include us. When walking down Canal Street, going to meet new people in a new city. Should I hide my Magen David? Take off my kippah? Tell them that I’m Jewish? Again, I disappear.  

So for many LGBT+ Jews those choices are a reality. We disappear whether that’s physically by stopping going to synagogue or to a Jewish school or whether it's more quiet by slowly hiding parts of who we are.  

We can see what it's like when people physically disappear from our communities. Fewer people at services. Fewer volunteers. Empty seats at events. Those losses are visible. What does it mean for a community when people do not leave physically, but disappear emotionally? 

A person can still be sitting in synagogue every week and yet feel unseen. They can still volunteer, still attend communal events, still show up for family simchas, but slowly learn that certain parts of themselves are not welcome in the room. Perhaps they avoid talking about their relationships. Perhaps they stay silent when conversations turn to family life. Perhaps they carefully edit their stories, choosing which details are safe to share and which must remain hidden. 

From the outside, nothing has changed. They are still present. But a community is not only diminished when it loses people. It is diminished when people feel unable to bring their whole selves into it. And when enough people do that, something precious is lost. Not only for them, but for all of us. We lose their honesty, their wisdom, their experiences, their gifts. We lose the richness that comes when people know they belong. 

What is the opposite of being swallowed by the earth? Perhaps the opposite is not simply surviving. Perhaps it is not even remaining present. The opposite is being seen. The opposite is being able to stand in a community as your full self, knowing that you belong there. And perhaps that is why it is so striking that immediately after this story of people disappearing beneath the earth, the Torah gives us a very different image. Aaron's staff blossoms. A piece of dead wood produces buds and flowers. 

Parashah Korach is often read as a story about who is right and who is wrong. But immediately afterwards, the Torah seems to ask a different question: what does flourishing look like? 

The Torah could have ended the story with the defeat of Korach. Instead, it moves us from a story about authority to a story about growth. The test of leadership is not merely authority, it is whether life grows around it. The test of a community is not simply whether people show up. It is whether people can thrive. 

Through our work at KeshetUK, we have had the privilege of seeing so many Jewish communities asking exactly that question. How do we create spaces where LGBT+ Jews can flourish?  

Every year we work with over 6,000 people across the UK with no government funding, supporting Jewish communities to become more LGBT+ inclusive. We work across the entirety of the denominational spectrum from progressive through to Charedi spaces. We meet people wherever they are and we support them to build spaces where fewer LGBT+ Jews feel forced to choose between two inseparable parts of their identity. When we started 12 years ago, KeshetUK’s primary focus was London but I am so proud as a Manchester resident to be growing our work in Manchester as well as Leeds and Scotland. We are making sure that every LGBT+ Jew feels seen and supported whether they are secular or religious, Northern or Southern, Lesbian, Gay, Bi or Trans.  

The communities we work with are asking themselves ‘how do we ensure that nobody feels they must leave part of themselves at the door in order to belong?’ and I have seen communities answer that challenge beautifully. Communities where LGBT+ Jews are not simply present, but visible. Not merely tolerated, but valued. Not rebels standing outside Judaism, but role models helping to shape its future. We see it in synagogues adapting their membership paperwork to ensure it’s inclusive, a simple act with profound impact. We’ve seen it in our work with Jewish Care and The Fed, ensuring that older LGBT+ Jews can receive care without fear and with dignity. Our Belonging in Ritual project aims to help more LGBT+ Jews find their place through inclusive ritual practice. Weddings, liturgy and lifelong spiritual approaches which recognise and celebrate their intersecting identities. Our work with Manchester Jewish Museum has celebrated LGBT+ Jewish stories from the North and our new partnership with the national LGBT+ helpline, Switchboard is the start of ensuring LGBT+ Jews are supported in non-Jewish spaces as well.  

Like Aaron's staff, those communities and organisations bear fruit. When people are able to bring their whole selves into Jewish life and into LGBT+ life, everyone benefits. The community becomes richer, stronger and more vibrant. As we mark Pride Month, perhaps that is the challenge that Parashat Korach leaves us with. Not simply to ask who belongs, but to ask what kind of community we are building. One in which people disappear beneath the surface or one in which they are able to blossom.