In Every Stitch, a Story: A Jewish Reflection on the AIDS Memorial Quilt

A quilt can’t talk. But it can tell more than 110,000 stories: each one a name, a life, a loss. More than just fabric and thread, the AIDS Memorial Quilt is a patchwork of grief, love, and remembrance. 

Its 50,000 panels, which span more than 50 miles, represent the many faces of AIDS and the shared stories of the millions of lives lost to the virus. This June, in recognition of Pride Month, Washington Hebrew is displaying eight panels from Quilt Block #1290 in the Temple’s Kaufmann Sanctuary. The exhibit is presented in partnership with the National AIDS Memorial.

The idea to bring a piece of the Quilt to WHC came from the LGBTQ+ Affinity Group. With the congregation not hosting its own Pride Shabbat this year — choosing instead to join other synagogues and Jewish organizations — the group saw the display as a meaningful way to acknowledge the history and resilience of the LGBTQ+ community.

The block on display includes a panel representing Children’s National Hospital, a connection Assistant Cantor Suzanne Hamstra says was intentional. 

“We wanted a block of the Quilt that included a piece of the D.C. community,” Hamstra said. “[The hospital] has played an important role in the lives of many of our members.” 

For WHC member Jeffrey Jackson, the AIDS Memorial Quilt is personal. He came out as a young man in the 1980s — a time when the AIDS epidemic was devastating communities, and fear and stigma loomed large. 

“It was a minefield,” Jackson said. “As I began to know gay people, I began to meet more and more people who were positive or had full-blown AIDS. It was really quite terrifying.” 

He remembers gathering for coffee with friends at what was then the Pop Stop in Dupont Circle, and opening D.C.’s LGBTQ newspaper, The Washington Blade. 

“There’d be several pages of obituaries, and you’d kind of go through and see how many people died who were younger than you,” Jackson said. “It just made it that much more real.” 

Back then, Jackson said, people knew AIDS was a virus, but they didn’t understand how it spread. Much like the disease itself, the fear of the unknown ran rampant. 

“It felt similar to fighting a war you weren’t really aware of,” Jackson said. “People were dying all around you, and you were sort of just…in it.” 

Jackson recalls seeing the AIDS Memorial Quilt several times — including in 1987, when it was unfurled for the first time on the National Mall, during the National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights. 

“I went with a group of friends, mainly runners,” Jackson recalled. “We spent the entire day basically walking around the Quilt, and by the time we left, you were not capable of speaking for hours. We were just overwhelmed by the emotion of it.” 

Each square told a story: a photo, a hobby, a piece of someone’s life. Many of these people were in their 20s, like Jackson was at the time.

“In a sense, it was like looking at a huge graveyard — but in a way, you connected to all these people,” Jackson said. “They were you.”

As a gay Jewish man, Jackson draws parallels between the silence surrounding the AIDS crisis and the indifference shown to Jews during the Holocaust. 

“The feeling at that time was, ‘It’s just gay people dying, so what’s the big deal?’” Jackson said. “It’s very similar to the feelings of being a Jewish person during the Holocaust. ‘Don’t speak up, because it’s just Jews.’” 

That sense of marginalization is echoed by Washington Hebrew Cantorial Assistant Becca Cook, who sees a shared history of persecution and resilience between the Jewish and LGBTQ+ communities. She points to the downward-pointing pink triangle, a symbol once used by the Nazis to identify and shame gay men in concentration camps. Decades later, it was reclaimed by AIDS activists as a symbol of pride and solidarity. 

“LGBTQ+ people have been persecuted alongside Jews since the Holocaust for being who they are,” Cook said. “The lasting legacy of Nazi ideology that has affected both communities in unique ways since 1933 binds the two communities together and urges them to stand with each other in solidarity.” 

Cook sees Washington Hebrew’s display of the AIDS Memorial Quilt as part of that ongoing commitment. 

“We are healing a decades-long trauma that exists in the LGBTQ+ community, which has historically not found a welcome space in religious communities,” Cook said. “By displaying this Quilt, WHC is saying: ‘We see you. We remember your elders and the way they were treated. We are committed to being a place where your history, culture, and identity are celebrated.’” 

Jackson, too, believes standing up for others — especially when they’re being cast aside — is a deeply Jewish value. 

“If I don’t speak up for them, who will speak up for me? That was the position we were very much in at the time,” Jackson said. 

He also emphasizes that the epidemic impacted more than just the gay community.  

“When you see the Quilt, you see these people came from families,” Jackson said. “They had siblings, they had parents, they had friends. It’s sort of the point of the Quilt. It’s everybody.” 

Jackson never imagined he’d become a father — but that changed when he met the love of his life, who had children of his own. Even now, he says, it’s a role that feels surreal.

“[Fatherhood] was not in my realm of thought when I was in my 20s and 30s,” Jackson said. “I dreamed of being a parent, but that wasn’t an option for me. I became a father at 55.”

He celebrates the progress made, but urges younger generations to continue the work. 

“My generation fought very hard to get us to the point where we are now,” Jackson said. “But the war is not over, it’s actually just beginning. We need you to pick up the reins and move us forward.” 

The eight quilt panels will be on display through June 30. If you’re unable to visit in person, we encourage you to check out an interactive display here. 

History of the AIDS Memorial Quilt

The idea for the AIDS Memorial Quilt first came about in 1985, when San Francisco gay rights activist Cleve Jones stitched the first panel to honor his friend Marvin Feldman. In 1987, with 1,920 names sewn onto its fabric, it was unveiled for the first time on the National Mall, during the National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights. The overwhelming response kicked off a national tour in 1988, and as a result, raised nearly half a million dollars for hundreds of AIDS service organizations. Today, the Quilt, considered the largest community art project in the world, has grown to include 110,000 names — and counting. 

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