In 2005, the 90-minute documentary “Hineini: Coming Out in a Jewish High School“ premiered as the first film to center the lived experiences of a queer Jewish teen within a Jewish educational setting. Its title, “Hineini”—Hebrew for “here I am”—is a word that appears in some of the most pivotal moments in Jewish text and tradition. It signals presence, readiness, accountability, and a willingness to step into the unknown. The film intentionally draws on all these layers, inviting viewers to witness a story of courage, community tension, and the evolving formation of identity and culture within a pluralistic Jewish institution.
Watching “Hineini” nearly 20 years later offers a striking duality: a reminder of how far our community has come, and of the work that still remains. Some conversations that were once whispered now happen openly; some barriers that felt immovable have shifted. And yet, many of the core questions—about belonging, safety, identity, and inclusion—are still very much alive.
On Feb. 12, Keshet and The Vilna will host a special anniversary screening of the film. This gathering will reunite key voices from the documentary and leaders in the queer Jewish community to reflect on the progress of the past two decades. Just as importantly, it will ask how each of us can continue the work of building spaces where LGBTQ+ Jewish youth and adults feel fully seen, supported, and celebrated.
Leading up to the event, I spoke with filmmaker Irena Fayngold, whose partnership with Keshet helped transform a moment in one school’s history into a powerful, enduring narrative that continues to teach and inspire. Her filmmaking helped crystallize both the challenges and the impact that motivated Keshet’s founding and ongoing mission.
In my experience, filmmaking is all about being obsessed with an idea. How did you come to be obsessed with this topic?
Yeah, that’s totally true. You have to be obsessed, or at least deeply compelled, to keep pushing through. Filmmaking isn’t easy. With my first short, “Getting to Home Base,” I was driven by a raw need to share a personal story. But with “Hineini,” the obsession developed more gradually as the project took shape. It actually began when Keshet asked me to make a five-minute profile of Shula. Once I heard her story, it became clear that her leadership was not about taking charge but about empowering others. Her story is really the story of everyone she brought along—the students, the teachers, the board, and even the headmaster, Rabbi Lehman. So, what started as a quick profile naturally expanded into a full-length documentary. While Shula is definitely the central figure, the deeper I got into the narrative, the more I saw that the real transformations happen with the people around her, especially the teachers and Rabbi Lehman himself.
Twenty years later, what makes you most proud of this film?
Here in Boston, I’m part of a really diverse documentary film community, and we often trade war stories about distribution. You pour years of effort into telling an incredible story, but in the world of independent film, you suddenly have to become a marketer, a distributor, and build an impact campaign—all when you really just want to be a filmmaker. It’s tough, and I’ve seen so many fantastic films by my peers that never got the exposure they deserve. With “Hineini,” all of that was handled by Keshet. Even now, 20 years later, I can walk into Jewish institutions across the U.S. and even internationally, and when I say I produced and directed “Hineini,” there’s instant recognition. What makes me most proud is the role the film has played in opening doors and transforming lives within the Jewish community.
If you were to make another version of this today, what might it look like? Who might you feature, and why?
If I were making the film now, I’d include members of the “Hineini” school community who were completely invisible in the original film. These were the young people just beginning to realize they were trans, and the boys who, even after the events of the film, still didn’t feel safe being out at school and waited until college to live openly. Given today’s political reality, it’s hard to imagine being able to make this film in many parts of the country at all. It’s devastating to see how much ground has been lost, and that’s why I believe it’s so important to revisit this film 20 years later and continue to push back.
How has the reception of the film over the past two decades shaped your understanding of its legacy? Are there moments—audience reactions, community conversations, or personal notes you’ve received—that have stayed with you and influenced how you think about storytelling and social change?
no posts foundThere are two kinds of reactions from the film that have truly stayed with me. First, certain phrases from the film have resonated within the LGBTQ Jewish community and they’ve taken on a life of their own, almost like early memes, even though memes weren’t really a thing back in 2005. There’s one particularly memorable moment in the film when a student comes out to their teacher, Susie Tanchel, for the first time. Susie responded with a simple and heartfelt, “Mazel tov.” We’ve heard from many teachers inspired by that moment, who, after watching the film, started using the phrase when students come out. In fact, I even found myself saying it when my own child came out.
Another reaction that really stayed with me is about how differently we experience things in the moment versus how we understand them when everyone has the chance to share their perspective. That’s what the film makes possible. A few people who are central to the story told me that, when they watched the film, they realized they hadn’t truly seen the full picture while it was all unfolding. They didn’t know the depth of other people’s feelings or the complexity of the situation at the time. Some even said that if they had known what others were going through back then, as it is laid out in the film, they might have made different choices. To me, that’s such a powerful takeaway. Of course, it would be amazing if everyone could have a documentary made about their lives, but more practically, it speaks to the need for institutions to create space for people to share their stories, even when they’re contradictory or messy. That’s where real understanding happens.
Because I always need to know, what are you working on now?
My next film, “My Mother Cried for Stalin,” builds on this idea of exploring different perspectives, particularly across generations. It’s a deeply personal story about how different members of my family have taken very different lessons from our shared family history. The film follows my mother’s journey from being a committed communist to becoming a refugee fleeing to America. It delves into how the Soviet state betrayed some of its most loyal citizens, like my mother, simply because they were Jewish, and how that early trauma shaped the choices my mother made in America. As the child of Russian Jewish refugees, I grew up in a household shaped by my mother’s worldview, but as I came into my own identity as an American Jew, I found my mother’s values in tension with what I believed. The film is really my way of unpacking those collisions and understanding how history, trauma, and identity get passed down and reshaped through generations.
Join us on Thursday, Feb. 12, from 6-9 p.m. at The Vilna Shul for a special 20th anniversary celebration of “Hineini: Coming Out in a Jewish High School,” the groundbreaking film that helped change the landscape of LGBTQ+ inclusion in Jewish education. The evening includes a screening of the film, a post-screening conversation reflecting on what’s changed—and what hasn’t—since its release, and a celebratory anniversary reception.
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