Life as a parent has been a masterclass in time dilation. Tasks that were once fleeting now stretch into what feels like epic undertakings. Finding a moment of quiet amidst the beautiful chaos of parenthood is a rare gift. Recently, seeking a sliver of that tranquility, I reached for a book a bit earlier in the season than usual. This Is Real and You Are Completely Unprepared by Rabbi Alan Lew z’l, a text often consulted during Elul to prepare for the Jewish New Year and the Days of Awe, seemed like the right companion. Hoping to absorb its wisdom at my new, slower pace, I barely made it eight pages in before my thoughts veered off in an unexpected direction, sparked by a passage that had previously escaped my notice:
If the purpose of ritual is to render the invisible visible, then what is the profound, universal, unseen, and unspoken reality that all of this ritual reflects? What journey of the soul, what invisible journey of transformation, does [ritual] make visible?
As someone deeply involved in the ritualistic life at SVARA, Rabbi Lew’s idea of ritual as a means to honor transformation deeply resonated. From Teffilat Trans to the Mishnah Collective learning guide, from communal grief rituals within the Communal Loss Adaptation Project to holiday and havdalah celebrations with the Disability Justice Torah Circle, and the personal spiritual practice of DIY Chevruta to our upcoming in-person Day Camps, SVARA is increasingly a space where ritual and Talmud study intertwine. This blending feels particularly potent for queer and trans individuals, for whom the “invisible” journey of transformation is often intensely visible. Our lives are marked by deliberate and defiant change – names, pronouns, stories, partnerships, bodies – constantly evolving. If life is a journey between past and future selves, rituals are the postcards we send ourselves along the way. Reflecting on Lew’s words, I felt fortunate to witness such profound journeys at SVARA. And then, inexplicably, my mind jumped to Chappell Roan’s song, Pink Pony Club.
Chappell Roan, a 26-year-old pop sensation, is undeniably having a moment. While she’s been creating music for years, mainstream American culture has recently embraced her ascent to pop stardom. Acclaim from The New York Times, The Washington Post, and NPR, and even shared headlines with figures like Kamala Harris, signal her arrival. A quick online search reveals images of a striking young woman, exuding confidence, adorned in bold gold jewelry and theatrical makeup reminiscent of Southern vaudeville drag. A Pisces Sun, Sagittarius Rising, with a Libra moon, she captivates many (and yes, many do care about birth charts). Beyond the image, Roan possesses undeniable talent – a vast vocal range and remarkable control over the emotional nuances of her singing. For those new to Chappell Roan, her 2020 single Pink Pony Club serves as an ideal introduction to her artistry. The song is deeply felt, evocative, heart-wrenching, and dynamic. It seamlessly transitions from a tender, Judy Garland-esque ballad to a club-ready anthem, narrating the story of a small-town queer person yearning for the liberation of city lights. So, why dedicate so much space to this in “Hot Off the Shtender”? Because Pink Pony Club encapsulates the very “journey of the soul” Rabbi Lew explored, a journey that resonates deeply with many who find their way to SVARA.
Online, countless videos capture queer individuals and groups passionately singing Pink Pony Club. They are visibly moved by the song, some smiling, some crying, some throwing their heads back in ecstatic release, others singing directly to those around them, or closing their eyes in intense emotion. While many songs evoke similar emotions within the “queer anthem” genre (which we’ll explore further), Pink Pony Club feels distinct. It embodies the “profound, universal, unseen, and unspoken reality” Lew attributes to ritual: the reality that for queer and trans people, life is often a search for belonging.
Let’s delve into “queer anthems.” This genre encompasses several subcategories. Firstly, there are mainstream love songs, not inherently queer in origin or intent, but adaptable due to their lack of gender specificity. Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” and Celine Dion’s “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” are prime examples, easily embraced by queer audiences. Then, there are songs quickly reclaimed and reinterpreted by queer communities, playfully subverting the original gender dynamics. Think of The Weather Girls’ “It’s Raining Men,” ABBA’s “Dancing Queen,” and Aretha Franklin’s house-infused banger “A Deeper Love” (rumored to have inspired the synthesizer hook in Rihanna’s “We Found Love”). However, Pink Pony Club surpasses these, meeting a unique queer anthem litmus test and, by Lew’s definition, functioning unequivocally as ritual. It’s a queer song by a queer artist about a quintessential queer rite of passage: the defiant departure from a restrictive past in pursuit of a liberating future. This departure can be self-initiated, yet often feels like expulsion – painful, terrifying, emotional, physical, and spiritual. For queer Jews, the echoes of Exodus are undeniable. Many SVARA community members share stories of their powerful experiences within our bet midrash stemming from the stark contrast to less accepting environments they’ve encountered. This dissonance, this feeling of disempowerment, often catalyzes action, leading them to SVARA. Similarly, in Pink Pony Club, Chappell Roan finds herself at the Pink Pony Club, a fantastical queer haven in West Hollywood, validating her wildest dreams in stark contrast to her upbringing.
The song opens with a dramatic piano trill, descending from the highest to lowest notes, reminiscent of “I Will Survive” and evoking a sense of anticipation, like distant lightning heralding a coming storm. Roan’s voice enters like a gathering cloud, both searching and self-assured:
I know you wanted me to stay, But I can’t ignore the crazy visions of me in L.A. And I heard that there’s a special place, Where boys and girls can all be queens every single day
This opening verse encapsulates the uncertainty of one’s current place and future aspirations. It’s the thrilling and daunting realization of possibilities beyond the familiar, like Dorothy stepping into Oz. For those who feel like societal outliers, Roan’s mention of California, a known sanctuary for “freaks, misfits,” and “queens,” serves as a coded invitation, a queer reimagining of “go west, young man.”
The song progresses, the piano becoming both more subdued and intense, building in the spaces between notes. Roan’s vocals continue, charting her emotional and geographical location. This verse is heavy with the guilt and anxiety of pursuing dreams that may cause pain to loved ones, a familiar feeling for many queer individuals:
I’m having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee Oh, Santa Monica, I swear it’s calling me Won’t make my mama proud It’s gonna cause a scene She sees her baby girl I know she’s gonna scream
Then, the song undergoes a radical transformation, almost unrecognizable as it surges forward. The piano fades into a hazy, early 90s electronica soundscape, shedding the initial naïveté and wistfulness. A more self-assured Roan moves into the realization of her fantasy, and a throbbing synthesizer emerges in the lower register (resembling a technicolor shofar). Roan’s voice reaches a fever pitch, verging on a passionate cry. Anxiety gives way to certainty, and the music mirrors this shift:
God, what have you done? You’re a pink pony girl And you dance at the club, oh mama
Her earlier fear of causing a scene transcends the confines of “should” and “shouldn’t.” Roan embraces a sense of spiritual conviction, unapologetically:
I’m just having fun On the stage in my heels It’s where I belong, down at the Pink Pony Club I’m gonna keep on dancing at the Pink Pony Club
Many spend lifetimes seeking the certainty found in the chorus of Pink Pony Club. It’s in this chorus that the song’s ritualistic power becomes undeniable. It utilizes the painful memories of the past to illuminate the beauty of the present. It maps a transformative journey central to the queer experience, a journey that, willingly or not, shapes who we are. Perhaps Pink Pony Club will be a fleeting trend, and perhaps I’m overanalyzing its lyrics. But SVARA has taught me that meaning is ours to create. If my journey toward queer belonging positions Pink Pony Club as ritual, our tradition is enriched by it.
At SVARA, we welcome each other as the inquisitive, resolute, and weary travelers we are. We recognize each other as whole individuals with rich histories before arriving at the bet midrash. SVARA strives to create learning environments that honor every journey, including those yet to begin. In the coming weeks, we’ll share exciting news about Fall Zman, a season at SVARA poised to ignite and sustain transformative journeys. My hope is that our fall learning will celebrate the courageous voyages we all undertake from past to present, and – through Talmud study – back to the past. I envision Fall Zman holding space for dialogues across time: between us and our queer ancestors, between our past and present selves, and even between Rabbi Alan Lew and Chappell Roan. Perhaps when Lew asks, “what journey of the soul does all of this make visible?” Roan answers, “I’m just having fun, on the stage in my heels—it’s where I belong.”
