Dr. Lori Beth Bisbey has spent decades helping people navigate relationships, sexuality, and trauma. But in the wake of October 7th, she found herself facing a different kind of challenge—one of identity, belonging, and the painful realization that many of her peers had turned their backs on her as a Jew. In this conversation, she opens up about the loneliness of being Jewish in progressive circles, the impact of growing antisemitism, and why she’s learning Hebrew again.

Hi Lori! It’s great to meet you. First things first—where are you joining us from?

I’m in Scotland, in a little village in the north of Scotland, right on the edge of the Highlands. I’ve been in the UK for more than 30 years now, but I grew up in the U.S.—mostly in New Jersey. 

Can you tell me a bit about your journey? How did you end up in your field?

It’s a long and winding road. I knew from a very young age that I was different in terms of sexuality, but I didn’t have the words for it. I grew up in a Jewish but mostly cultural household, and I went to a conservative synagogue school. I was really into spirituality—I even considered becoming a rabbi—until a youth group leader told me that women couldn’t participate in certain rituals. He also behaved inappropriately toward me, which pushed me away from that community and made me start questioning a lot of things.

In university, I had a catastrophic trauma that left me with PTSD. I was studying broadcast journalism at the time, but after what happened, I switched to psychology. When I sought therapy for PTSD, I quickly realized something disturbing. Because I wasn’t “typical” in my sexuality, many therapists made that the issue, instead of what I was actually there for. That’s when I knew I wanted to become the kind of therapist people like me needed—someone they wouldn’t have to educate about their own identity before getting help. So I specialized in trauma and alternative sexuality.

Your career has evolved in so many directions—therapy, writing, television. How did that happen?

I’ve been working in this field for almost 40 years, and I’ve always liked combining different mediums. I started writing early on—first a book about a therapy method I developed, then an erotic memoir, and later a self-help book for survivors of trauma and gaslighting.

During the pandemic, when I couldn’t do in-person therapy, I leaned into speaking engagements. That led to The Psychology of Fetish and Kink, a tour that blends education and stand-up comedy. It’s been incredibly fun. Around the same time, I became the resident therapist on Open House: The Great Sex Experiment, a reality show about ethical non-monogamy. That opened up a whole new audience for me.

Now, I still do some therapy, but my main focus is speaking, writing, and hopefully more television. I love helping people understand themselves better, whether it’s through direct conversations or through media that reaches thousands.

How did October 7th impact you, both personally and professionally?

It’s changed everything. I grew up in a Jewish area in the U.S., so I didn’t experience much antisemitism. The first time I encountered it was when I moved to the South for a year—it was a shock. Then I moved to California, where things felt more integrated. Even in the UK, I felt relatively safe—until October 7th.

The shift was immediate. The therapist community, which I’d been part of for decades, suddenly had people chanting “Free Palestine” instead of condemning terrorism. I was shocked. Two non-Jewish friends checked in on me. That’s it. London, where I used to feel welcome, suddenly felt hostile. I got into a taxi in January, and the driver—who happened to be Jewish—asked me, “How are you?” I said, “Not okay.” And he said, “Me neither.” It was this unspoken understanding of how isolated we’d become overnight. The queer spaces I was part of? Gone. They held “healing circles” where everyone was welcome—except Jews.

So, as someone who has always navigated multiple identities—Jewish, LGBTQ+, non-monogamous—how has that changed for you since then?

Honestly? It’s been devastating. For years, I worked toward a space where I could be fully myself—openly Jewish, openly in non-traditional relationships. And now, I don’t have that space anymore. In Jewish spaces, I sometimes have to hide my queerness. In queer spaces, I have to hide my Jewishness. I used to use the term queer, but I don’t anymore—because the queer community has become so hostile to Jews.

You recently started learning Hebrew with Citizen Café. What made you decide to do that?

A Jewish woman I met in Scotland recommended it, and I checked it out. Part of it was just wanting to reconnect with Hebrew—I learned it as a kid but forgot most of it.

But honestly? A big reason was that I just wanted to be in a space where I could be openly Jewish without it being a problem. I wanted a place where I didn’t have to brace myself for people turning against me.

There’s also a practical side to it. With the way things are going in the UK, I wanted at least one of us in my family to be able to speak Hebrew. If we ever need to leave, I want that option to be open.

Do you think about leaving?

I love where I live. It’s peaceful, it’s beautiful, and it’s my home. But I won’t be stupid. If it becomes too dangerous, we’ll leave.

I don’t know if Israel would be my first choice—it’s too hot, and I prefer quieter places—but it’s the only country where I know for sure that we’d always be welcome. That knowledge means something.

For now, my focus is on supporting my people however I can. I’m not someone who screams about my views online—I know the cost of that. But I refuse to hide either. I make sure Jewish people know I’m a safe therapist for them, because right now, we really need to look out for each other.

Follow Dr. Lori Beth Bisbey

To learn more about Dr. Bisbey’s work, you can find her here:

• Website: drloribethbisbey.com
• Instagram: @drbisbey
• TikTok: @loribethuk
• X (Twitter): @drbisbey