“They should be ashamed of themselves! I can’t believe it.”

“Grandma, what are you talking about?” I asked.

Grandma Lee was 82 and fit, but her hearing was terrible. She had just finished an hour on her stationary bike, pedaling along to The Phil Donahue Show with the television volume set to sonic-jet levels. Dressed in a thin flowered bathrobe and a headband, she wiped away sweat with a schmatte. Visibly upset, she said, “Can you believe these parents? Disowning their own daughter because she’s a lesbian. It’s terrible!”

And yet, my grandmother was still surprised a few years later when I told her I was gay.

“Oh boy,” she said to me afterward. “You must think I’m terrible, always telling you to marry a Jewish girl.”

In that moment, Grandma Lee’s only concerns were whether I still loved her and if she had said something wrong. All I wanted was for her to still love me.

The bond we had was powerful. When I was 6, I used to type her letters that read, “I love you very very very very very very much.”

By the time she passed away at 87, in 2001, I loved her even more.

Grandma Lee’s father had been strictly religious, but by the time I was born, she didn’t even keep kosher. She genuinely liked my first boyfriend when they met, but after we broke up six years later, she didn’t miss a beat before suggesting I find a “nice Jewish boy” next.

I’ll never forget when, as a teenager, Grandma Lee told me she had bought all her grandchildren life memberships to Hadassah. She wanted us to understand how important it was to her that we stay connected to Israel and our heritage well after she was gone. I was surprised a man could belong to Hadassah as an Associate, but I was thrilled.

For years, that membership meant I received Hadassah Magazine, but somewhere along the way, the issues stopped coming. Then one day, my dad mentioned an article he’d read in his magazine. When he realized I was no longer on the mailing list, he handled it immediately. “They just lost track of you through your moves,” he told me. Soon enough, the magazines began arriving again.

Now, at 60, I often sit in my favorite San Diego coffee shop with a flavored latte, reading Hadassah Magazine and catching up on news from Israel and the strides made by Jewish women worldwide. It’s a bit of a paradox: I’m not a woman, I don’t pray and I don’t attend synagogue. Yet here I am, proudly reading Hadassah Magazine and feeling deeply connected to my Judaism—just as my grandmother had hoped.

As a gay man, I feel part of Hadassah. I like to imagine that most members and Associates would welcome me as a friend. I support Israel and remain in awe of the Jewish people’s resilience. Being proudly Jewish is who I am. I know that would make Grandma Lee smile. 

Michael Metzger is an industrial designer living in San Diego. He grew up near his Grandma Lee in upstate New York.