"The Holy Ark – A Documentary About Us"

Witnessing Courage

She sat in the corner upstairs, in a long dress and a wig.

It was clear how hard it was for her to sit in that hall, how she was fighting herself just to remain in the chair.

I’m used to head coverings, kippahs, and tzitzit—almost every screening has a notable representation of them. But I had never seen ultra-Orthodox clothing in any of the 52 screenings of Aron HaKodesh so far. Despite her struggle, she remained in her seat through all my opening remarks, the entire screening, and the conversation afterward.

A Story Behind the Seat

Later, I would learn her story from a third party. One of her children had come out, and the ultra-Orthodox rabbi she consulted told her to sit shiva over them.

She somehow ended up at a screening in Dimona, likely deceiving her husband, telling no one where she was going. I made this series for her. In her honor.

Every screening has at least one person who made the long journey worthwhile. I remember them all.

Moments That Stayed With Me

• In Jaffa, a religious young man accompanied by his parents. They sat in the front row, never speaking to me. I thought it must be hard for them. How wonderful that they came.

• In Yeruham, a young LGBTQ person spoke painfully about the religion they left behind. It was difficult for them to see their revolving door, to choose again the path they had chosen. I empathized deeply.

• In Jerusalem, there was a young couple—one religious, one secular. They had never seen themselves on screen. The story of Elik and Adam illuminated their relationship, family, and life for them.

• In Givat Shmuel, a 14-year-old boy sat with his mother and brother and asked Omri if he thought life was easier for their generation.

"I have two fathers and a mother," he explained to the 200 audience members, "and from what they told me, it sounded like theirs was harder."

• In Sha’arei Tikva, a 17-year-old girl, a student at an Ulpana, had come out. My revolving door had proven that there is hope for the future.

A Memory from Tel Aviv

Perhaps more than anyone else, I remember the very first pre-premiere of the series in Tel Aviv.

From all the crowds who approached me, one young man stayed in the hall and insisted on escorting me out.

"I’m secular from birth," he said, "but I felt connected to every moment of the series. Do you know why?"

I arrogantly thought I knew the answer.

"Because the first time I was with a man, I cried and asked God for forgiveness," he answered.

Even months later, his words stay with me.

He felt he needed to apologize to God for the most basic aspect of his existence—for his sexuality, for the very right to live it.

The Cost of Screening

These screenings come with a price.

• The emotional toll of standing repeatedly before an audience that isn’t always supportive.

• Facing powerful forces trying to prevent screenings from happening.

• Standing exposed and honest before questions, sharing my story and that of my community.

It’s no small price.

But as long as there is one woman in a wig, whose rabbi told her to sit shiva over her child, who is willing to come, watch, and speak with me,

I will continue to travel—wherever I am invited.

Moran Nakar, creator of the web series Aron HaKodesh, about religious LGBTQ individuals.

20.11.2022