When I was in the second grade, I wore a silver top hat and tails to school every day. It was one of the worst years of my life. I was at a new school that I had started late in the year; I was the fattest kid in my class; I had an abusive teacher and few friends. To make matters worse, we had just moved from a forest in Hawaii to downtown Toronto in the middle of winter, and I was missing the gentle companionship of the trees.
Looking back, I am struck by my choice to stand out instead of trying to blend in. I was being bullied by both my classmates and an authoritarian teacher. Wearing bland clothes would have been the easiest choice. But, like so many queer, trans, nonbinary and gender-nonconforming kids who came before and after me, I chose the armor of clothing that felt fabulous and gender-congruent instead. I didn’t have the language for why at the time, but I think my 7-year-old outfit was a way of refusing erasure. Dressing up is a very queer power that has helped us survive for millennia. It’s more than just fashion; it’s a way to assert that we exist.
Right now, trans, nonbinary and gender non-conforming people are being bullied on a national and global level. It’s as if our highest courts have become the worst school yards of my youth. There is a concerted effort to coerce us into invisibility through denial of legal identification, bans on gender-affirming care, censorship and erasure of trans art and scholarship, as well as state-sanctioned discrimination. All of this aims to eliminate trans people from the public sphere and obliterate our humanity.
My seven-year-old outfit was a way of refusing erasure. Dressing up is a very queer power that has helped us survive for millennia. It’s more than just fashion; it’s a way to assert that we exist.
The Talmud speaks in a different voice. When a child was born in the ancient Jewish world, it could be designated as a baby boy, girl, a tumtum (who is neither clearly male nor female) or an androgynos (who has both male and female characteristics) based on physical features. There are two more gender designations that form later in life. The aylonit is considered female at birth but develops in an atypical direction as she grows. The saris is designated male at birth but later becomes a eunuch. There is not an exact equivalence between these ancient figures and modern gender identities. Some of these designations are based on biology and some on a person’s role in society. But they show us that people who are more than binary have always been here.
When I taught at SVARA in the fall, our learners and I got to meet these figures and decide what they meant to us and our struggles. There is often disagreement about how equivalent these characters are to today’s trans, nonbinary and/or intersex people. However, to me, some of these questions miss the most important mega-point: It’s enough that people who don’t belong in gender and sex categories exist in the ancient Jewish world and are responded to with legal protections, sexual desire and familial love by mainstream Jewish legal authority figures. In the political landscape of 2025, some are hoping that without access to legal identification, health care and other basic services, we will disappear. In the Talmud, we appear hundreds of times and are considered during discussions about childbirth, marriage, inheritance, holidays, ritual leadership and much more. This is a powerful testament to our humanity and persistence throughout millennia.
In fact, Judaism sees us as so ancient that according to the midrash in Bereshit Rabbah, Adam, the first human being, was actually an androgynos. This explains why in the book of Genesis (1:27), it says, “And God created humankind in the Divine image, creating him in the image of God — creating them male and female.” The rabbis asked each other why Adam is referred to as “him” in the first part of the verse and “them” in the latter part. They decided this must refer to the androgynos who is both singular and plural, male and female.
People who don’t belong in gender and sex categories exist in the ancient Jewish world and are responded to in the Talmud with legal protections, sexual desire and familial love by mainstream Jewish legal authority figures.
In other words, in this fifth-century reading of the creation story, the first human being is referred to using a singular “they” pronoun to express the multiplicity of their gender. (So, don’t let anyone tell you that singular “they” pronouns are new!) In another story in the Talmud (Yevamot 64a), Abraham and Sarah, the first mother and father of Judaism, were originally tumtumim and only later transitioned to become male and female.
Not only have we always been here, in the mishnah (Bikkurim), we learn that anyone who kills or harms an androgynos (either accidentally or on purpose) is subject to the exact same ramifications as someone who hurts a man or woman. This feels remarkable in today’s context. The mishnah was compiled nearly 2,000 years ago and lies at the heart of all Jewish law. This law in the mishnah that people beyond the gender binary need to be protected from all forms of harm is so much more comprehensive than anything we have today to shield us from attacks. This idea alone would prevent so much of the dangerous legislation that we are facing.
The growing anti-trans panic in the United States represents not just a trans crisis but a humanitarian crisis. History has shown that governments who attempt to erase the humanity of one group will soon extend these methods to others, as is already evident here in America.
Wearing a silver top hat, either literally or metaphorically, will not be the best or safest form of resistance for everyone at this moment. But we all need to find ways to fight back against trans erasure. The Talmud is an ancient spiritual resource from our transcestors that has helped us survive for millennia. It can serve as a source of strength right now. Our holy texts remind us that we have always been here. And we are not going away.
