Sabbath Queen
(USA, 105 min.)
Dir. Sandi Dubowski
There’s a moment late in the documentary Sabbath Queen when Amichai Lau-Lavie joins a group of protesters advocating for Palestine. The gay Jewish spiritual advisor, and now rabbi, holds a sign that says he mourns for Gaza. Jewish counter-protesters aggressively confront him and other advocates. They tell him he’s on the wrong side of history. Lau-Lavie passionately replies that his father, also a rabbi, survived the Holocaust. The woman replies, “You should have died with them.”
That scene from Sabbath Queen chronicles Lau-Lavie’s advocacy during the 2014 escalation of violence against Gaza by Israel. It’s a pivotal moment in this documentary by Sandi Dubowski (Trembling Before G-d). It comes a bit late, but it arguably saves the film.
Prior to that 2014 protest, the documentary, which premiered in 2024 after following the rabbi for over two decades, seems like it’s not going to mention Palestine at all. Lau-Lavie’s story offers a wealth of contradictions and there’s lots of talk about his status as an outsider, as his Orthodox upbringing and family lineage of 38 consecutive generations of rabbis, dating back over 1000 years, doesn’t accept his queer identity. The film observes as he tries to square his criticisms of the state of Israel with his loyalty to it, as well as his deep belief in a form of organized religion that doesn’t accept his right to love.
A recurring image in the film sees Lau-Lavie adopt a shroud under his drag persona and step into the Dead Sea. This film explores what it means to navigate seemingly incompatible currents of faith, belonging, place, tradition, heritage, and identity on personal terms, rather than institutional ones.
But Sabbath Queen has lots of material and many contradictions to reconcile in the 21 years of footage upon which Dubowski draws. Simply put, there’s so much terrain to cover here that the portrait inevitably feels lacking and somewhat dated, if very well-intentioned and both thematically and representationally significant. This doc is an expansive portrait of the complexity entailed in keeping the faith as a member of the LGBTQ+ community, but not necessarily a dramatically satisfying one.
With Lau-Lavie’s story, though, Sabbath Queen thoroughly explores the complexity of faith in contemporary culture. The rabbi and drag performer gives full access to his life to illustrate how religion benefits from adaptation to contemporary views. He explains this dynamic very well by drawing upon his own upbringing in Israel and reflecting upon a life that seemed preordained for rabbinical duties. He tells how his father, Naphtali served as Israel’s consul general in New York. Meanwhile, his uncle, Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau, served as Chief Rabbi of Israel from 1993 to 2003. Being gay, therefore, is a pretty big deal to a family with two figureheads in a very patriarchal and conservative faith.
But Lau-Lavie, who proves an engaging participant and raconteur, offers a refreshing perspective by sharing how he forged his own path. He admits that a newspaper profile outed him during his twenties, so he couldn’t control how his parents and peers learned about his true self. His family members speak in interviews captured over the years and don’t express much support. But they also frame it from perspectives of shame and disappointment, inspiring Lau-Lavie to leave Israel.
Sabbath Queen tells how Lau-Lavie found himself anew in New York City. This oasis of openness allows him to thrive, especially because he encounters like-minded queer people who crave compatibility between their gender identities, sexual orientations, and religious beliefs. He joins a group called the Radical Faeries—a sort of melting pot of belief systems governed by dynamics of peace, love, and acceptance. He finds love with a partner, Pie (now deceased), and builds a community that nourishes his soul in ways that the Orthodox life does not.
Sabbath Queen admittedly proves overly expository as Lau-Lavie’s story progresses through the years. But the film often hits its stride when it features his drag persona Rebbetzin Hadassah Gross, a Hungarian Jewish widow whose husbands never stay alive for too long. Her performances allow her to offer unfiltered views about the need to make faith both relevant and engaging. Hadassah seems to connect with people in ways that dry lectures in the temple do not. But his family doesn’t accept this leadership role, either. His brother finds drag “inconsistent” messaging.
This level for contemporary engagement inspires Lau-Lavie to co-found Lab/Shul an “everybody-friendly, God-optional, artist-driven, pop-up experimental congregation.” As one of its chief spiritual advisors, the congregation offers progressive approaches to nurture faith and draw people into the community, rather than continue the conservative garrison mentality of orthodoxy. His efforts prove especially significant while officiating inter-faith marriages. This controversial practice becomes especially touchy among Jews, who view the union between a Jew and a goy as the loss of one of the chosen people. Lau-Lavie encourages others to instead see interfaith marriage as gaining an ally.
Dubowski situates this conflict of cultural survival within the greater loss of the Holocaust. Lau-Lavie looks back upon his family’s tumultuous time at Buchenwald where his grandfather died in the gas chambers alongside his congregation, and his father protected his uncle so that the family name could survive. Lau-Lavie knows that his place on Earth is something of a miracle. He doesn’t take that weight lightly.
The contradictions of his life come full circle when he heeds the family’s rabbinical call. Lau-Lavie decides to pursue full-fledged rabbi status, a decision that invites controversy within his circle at Lab/Shul. This choice means that leader of a progressive congregation wants to return to his conservative roots. But being faithful also means following his heart, and Lau-Lavie continues to officiate interfaith marriages.
Equally complex is his choice to become a biological father as two women in his life seek a donor for a child. But they want an involved parents, and Lau-Lavie admittedly relishes the newfound approval he receives from his family for stepping back into the heteronormative order of things. The film doesn’t quite reinforce the status quo that it sets out to critique. Rather, Lau-Lavie navigates what it means to straddle that fine line of rebellion while trying to bring incremental changes from within.
Dubowski gives Lau-Lavie lots of opportunities to reflect upon his the twists in his life. Sometimes these interviews prove introspective, while others seem shaky and tense. (In one scene, the rabbi can’t go on.) There’s a lot to resolve in Lau-Lavie’s story and Sabbath Queen raises many complexities within the Jewish faith. There’s too much here for one person or one story to reckon with, and the film’s abrupt conclusion invites people to continue the conversation. But Sabbath Queen offers a provocative exercise in asking the hard questions. Its subject refreshingly recognizes that he can’t ask people to look deep within themselves without doing some soul-searching of its own.
