Transgender and Jewish
I’m trans. I’m non-binary, meaning I do not have a gender. I’m Jewish, and have lived my entire life as a reform Jew. I’ve experienced transphobia and antisemitism directly, and had to deal with people who either hate who I am or don’t believe my identity exists. But these past few weeks in particular have been harder than most.
Being a trans Jew these past few weeks has had a few effects.
I’m so tired. One week after the next there have been news stories that remind me how much people hate marginalized groups and any difference they can blame. I have spent so much of my energy being worried about the news that I barely have time for the schoolwork I’m here to do.
The place I went to preschool was vandalized with swastikas. I had to be hundreds of miles away and watch the place I know so we’ll be shown a horrible act of hate.
I’m being simultaneously written out of documents and unavoidably being talked about all over social media. It’s impossible to get away from certain parts of discourse on social media, and at the same time the administration is actively re-writing documents to get rid of gender identity.
I’ve been forgotten. #WontBeErased lasted all of half a day before it got erased. There’s too much for everyone to pay attention to and that means the most vulnerable get left behind. This usually means trans women of color.
I watched a holocaust survivor be slaughtered in the most deadly antisemetic hate crime in modern us history. Think of surviving the most horrific act of antisemitism ever only to be brutally murdered 70 years later from the same hate.
I’ve been doing everything I can to take care of myself but I don’t know what I need to actively feel safer and more loved.
Sometimes the only thing that’s left to do is cry and hope for a better tomorrow. To pray for peace and to trust in the goodness of others.
Sometimes all you can do is hold tight to the other people at your intersections of identity and recognize that it hurts. Recognize that you are all feeling the same thing, and that no one wins if you isolate yourself.
Sometimes you can just sit together and mourn what it feels like to not feel safe or accepted.
And sometimes the best people reach out to say, “I don’t have your intersections of identity, but I’m sorry this is happening. I want to let you know that I love you.” That happened to me a few times this week with people that I know genuinely care.
Those individual acts of solidarity remind me of the goodness that is in each and every one of us fighting for justice and peace in this world. As long as there is good in every person, there is hope that a world can be better. But if you need to step back and feel sad, that’s okay too. You don’t always have to be fighting, sometimes you can be existing and that can be enough.
That’s what I’ve been reminding myself these past few weeks.