Reflections from Dr. Carla Smith

Parashat Korach, The LGBT Center, and the Power of Becoming
Dr. Carla Smith

I’m Dr. Carla Smith, and I use she/her pronouns. It’s such an honor to share space with you tonight. Deep thanks to Rabbi Hilly for her warm welcome and for the opportunity to speak with you at this beautiful service.

I could not be prouder to stand here in this sacred space with this beautiful community, as a biracial, queer woman—a wife, mother, and person of faith—at what is, once again, a pivotal moment in our history.

This week, we read Parashat Korach—the story of a rebellion.

On the surface, Korach’s words sound like a call for justice and equality, a plea for fairness. They say in part: “The whole community is holy… why then do Moses and Aaron lift themselves above everyone else?”

It sounds like a righteous challenge. But the Torah peels back the layers and shows us something deeper: Korach’s motivation wasn’t justice. It wasn’t fairness. It was ego. A desire for control dressed up as care.

And who suffers in the end? Not just the rebels. It’s the bystanders—the everyday people caught in the middle. They’re left misled, shaken, unsure of what just happened. And then, quite literally, the ground opens beneath them.

That image—the earth swallowing people whole—has been on my mind for months.

Because I know what it feels like to live in a world where the ground beneath you feels unsteady—where every step can bring uncertainty and fear—including as a member of and leader in the LGBTQ+ community when our very existence is questioned and threatened. I want to acknowledge that there may be individuals here tonight carrying that same heaviness, feeling the earth shift beneath their feet for many reasons—whether personal, communal, or the weight of the times we live in. I too feel that weight.

I was born seven days after Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. His voice was silenced before I ever had the chance to hear it - live. But his struggle—and the struggle of my parents, whose interracial relationship was challenged and rejected by many in the community—has shaped my understanding of what it means to be different. To be other.

As a biracial lesbian woman, I have spent my life navigating several different, but deeply intersecting, fault lines: between Black and white, queer and straight, masculine and feminine, and between what’s expected and what’s possible.

Navigating those intersections was never easy, but I was blessed to have someone who modeled unconditional love - what it means to celebrate one's identity, and to live with purpose, grace, and hope.

That person was my paternal grandmother. I called her Nana, and she was a Black woman of deep faith who raised me. She believed in possibility even when the world gave her every reason not to. She passed down her faith, her hope, and her commitment to nourishment.

She kept an empty plate and an open seat at her table—always—for - anyone - who needed to be fed, and she did so without judgment. That was her ministry: service and radical hospitality.

Her love was a sanctuary in a world that often felt unwelcoming. It taught me that true belonging comes when we make space for one another—not just in our homes, but in our hearts.

Her example shaped not only who I am - but how I lead—grounding me in the belief that true leadership grows from humility, service, and deep connection to community.

And because of that legacy, today I stand here as the first person of color to serve as CEO of The LGBT Center in its 40+ year history.

That milestone is not just professional—it is profoundly spiritual.

Because I know, deep in my bones, that leadership is not about being above people. It’s about being among people. For people. With people.

At The Center, I see this kind of leadership every day.

I see trans teens coming in from shelters and finding safety. I see elders who lived through the AIDS crisis walk through our doors with pride and dignity still shining in their eyes. I see immigrants, people of color, queer folks who were rejected by their families creating new ones inside our walls. And I see parents of LGBTQ youth coming together—afraid of the world their children are walking through—to support one another and share resources.

One young person, after attending an event at The Center, told a staff member: “This was the first time I’ve ever been someplace where I didn’t feel like I was apologizing just for being me- where I could safely stand up and say this is who I am.”

This Pride feels different, because the threats we’re facing are different.

While we’ve made extraordinary progress over the decades, we are now witnessing efforts to turn the clock back.

Laws are being proposed that threaten to undo marriage equality. Trans youth are being denied access to healthcare, dignity, and safety in state after state. And closer to home, here in New York—often seen as a safe haven—LGBTQ+ youth still face staggering challenges. Nearly 40% of homeless youth in New York City identify as LGBTQ. Rates of depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation among LGBTQ+ youth are on the rise. Many of these young people have been kicked out of their homes, bullied at school, or left behind by systems that are supposed to support and protect them.

These realities reminds us how vital it is to create spaces where every person can be seen and served—spaces that eliminate the weight of shame and fear, and to allow people to stand tall in their truth.

And we don’t create that space alone.

Center staff work alongside fierce community members, committed board members, and visionaries of every generation—people who model love, resilience, and service every single day.

We are not chasing power. We are cultivating possibilities. Working to close the holes in the ground. One parent of a trans identified kid who had been bullied to the point that they decided to take their own life, expressed how she wished the Center's newly formed mental health clinic that serves individuals 13 and older was around when her child needed it - before the ground opened beneath her- she said it would have saved her life".

Stories like that are not rare. They are the heartbeat of our work and reaffirm the Centers purpose, to- save lives

Let’s be clear: this is not an easy time to lead. Not as a woman. Not as a queer person. Not as a person of color.

In a political moment where access to care is being stripped away, and hate is being repackaged as policy, it can feel—once again—as if the earth is rumbling beneath our feet.

We see some wielding fear as a tool to divide us. Using faith as a weapon to justify exclusion. And making false promises of freedom and advancement—to silence those who identify differently, and harm those who dare to live authentically.

But unlike in Korach’s story, this is not the time to step back in fear. This is the time to plant our staff firmly in the ground—and let them blossom.

Because we—as people who see and honor one another—are the ones who will lead. Not through self-serving rebellion, but through love, through resilience, and through service.

This week’s Torah portion warns us about false leaders. But it also lifts up what true leadership looks like:

Leaders who don’t demand loyalty—but earn trust. Leaders who nurture and help all people bloom.

I was born into a world grieving the loss of Dr King, someone who many considered a prophet—a leader.

But I have spent my life believing in the power of community to raise up new leaders. To build spaces that are inclusive, like The Center, where no one—no one—is ever consumed by fear again.

And in the midst of our current struggle, we still celebrate. We love boldly, dance defiantly, and walk with Pride—knowing that for many, simply showing up as their full, authentic selves requires unimaginable courage. Because to be queer and alive and connected is a celebration in and of itself—a testament to resilience, to hope, and to the power of community - holding us up when the world tries to push us down.

So may we as members of the human race - continue to be—and lift up—those who walk with humility and stand with courage.

May our lives—like Aaron’s staff—be proof that love is stronger than fear, And that from the most unlikely places, beauty can blossom.