Translator: Theresa Ranft Reviewer: Denise RQ
What is, isn't and what isn't, is.
That is how I lived most of my life.
How I saw myself, no one else did.
How everyone else saw me, I surely did not.
One time, when I was around 5 years old,
I remember watching my mom prepare to go out for the evening.
I was entranced. When I grew up I wanted to be just like her.
Suddenly, she said to me,
"Why don't you go into the bathroom and watch your father while he shaves?"
Confused, I asked her, "Why?"
I asked myself, "What part of me would rather watch my dad
than gaze at my mom?"
Waking me out of my trance, she said, "Because you are a boy."
I said to myself, "A boy?"
From that point on I knew I was a girl,
who somehow was held captive in the body of a boy.
I began to live a life that was not true.
I hope that telling my story today will help inspire others
who are struggling to live lives of truth and authenticity.
At 20, I am running.
I'm not sure if I'm running away from myself or to myself.
But I know I'm running, in utter despair.
And in that year, in 1971, I ran to Israel to work on a kibbutz.
A place where the "we" is more important than the "me".
A place where maybe I could forget, should forget about myself,
and the demons that are haunting me day and night.
I visit the ancient Western Wall in Jerusalem,
a special place of prayer in Jewish history.
I am excited to touch the stones,
yet, I am overwhelmed by pain, my daily chronic anxiety.
As with others religions,
traditional Judaism requires a separate space for the men to pray,
and one for the women, with a divider between the two.
I have to choose: am I male or female?
What do I do?
So simple for most, so heart-wrenching and anything but simple for me.
I feel such inner turmoil. I say to myself,
"If I enter the women's side, where I know I belong, I will cause unwanted attention.
If I enter the men's side, where the world dictates to me I should,
I will experience feelings of self-betrayal."
But I sensed I just had to touch those stones.
So, with mixed emotions, I entered the men's side,
excited, but despising myself
for once again not being authentic about who I really am,
especially in such a holy place.
On that hot summer day, as I rested my aching head against those cool stones,
I felt embraced.
I felt something other than pain inside of me,
I felt home.
What a surprise!
Right then and there, something changes inside of me.
As I walk away from the wall,
for the first time in my life, I'm excited to be Jewish.
I also feel that I've just made two new best friends:
clarity and confusion.
(Laughter)
I am sure I want to experience more of my Jewish identity
and learn about Israel.
But...
...where do I fit in?
Just like at the wall. Can I fit in?
At 24, in New York, I am immersed in the Jewish orthodox religious world,
and I'm making deals with God.
I'm saying, "God, I will be observant and maybe you will release me
from those demons that are haunting me day and night.
Please, please, help me feel I'm no longer a woman,
or change my body so it's no longer that of a man."
Well, as probably all of you can imagine, nothing changes.
(Laughter)
I tell myself, "Oh, God wants me to try harder."
So, out of desperation, I do.
By 34, I am now living in Jerusalem,
as an "ultra" orthodox man, with a growing family and a growing beard.
And then as I turn 40, in 1991,
everything I've built my life on begins to crumble.
As Iraq is firing missiles towards Israel, I am feeling under attack inside of me.
I had built this huge, tall skyscraper of a life,
whose weak foundation was fear and desperation.
The life I led fell out from under me,
I go through a painful divorce, breaking up a loving family.
I lose all my teaching positions.
Due to my divorce, I am told I am now damaged goods, unwanted.
And then, a prominent rabbi tells me,
"You should leave."
After 20 years of trying my best to live someone else's life,
I felt like such a fraud, that in fact, I did leave my home,
the Jewish way of life, and Israel.
I realized I kept my end of the deal,
but God did not keep his.
So, I returned to New York, lonely and alone, blundering.
I asked myself, "How can I be authentic in a world that doesn't encourage me so,
and actually makes it so difficult?"
And then, on my 50th birthday, I woke up
to the most painful, disconnecting, lonely day in my life.
I had no more energy left
to breath air into someone else's body,
while I myself was becoming lifeless.
On that day, I made the monumental decision
to begin my gender transition journey.
(Applause)
It actually wasn't so difficult, it had to be made,
it saved my life, in a flash.
My dark, lonely life became illuminated with the awareness
that the time have arrived for me to begin living the truth.
At that point, I just called up to God, and said,
"Will you help me?"
And help there was.
To me, authentic living meant no longer living
in fear with the shame and guilt that accompanied my life,
of infidelity to myself,
and enslavement to others' expectations of how I should be living my life.
Authentic living granted me freedom and a sense of self-worth
to now being faithful to my essence, my soul.
My journey was as much spiritual and healing
as it was that of a gender transition.
I began to feel quiet inside, serene, even gratitude.
But more importantly,
I began to feel a part of the world,
rather than apart from the world.
I did return to traditional Jewish living, but now, in truth, as a woman.
And then the day came for me to return to Jerusalem, where my journey began.
On my 60th birthday in 2011,
for the first time, I approached the wall as Yiscah.
Wow! What a miracle!
(Applause)
Forty years before, at this wall, as a 20 year old,
I painfully entered the men's section.
And now, as a healed woman,
I proudly entered the women's section where I always knew I belonged.
And on that hot summer day, as I gently brushed against those cool stones,
I realized something, something startling:
if a man stands as close to the divider as possible, and a woman does the same,
there are only a few centimeters between them.
Those few centimeters became my 40-year journey
in my personal wilderness.
It took me 40 years
to cross over those few centimeters.
So indeed, my life has transitioned into
what is, is and what isn't, isn't.
Thank you.
(Applause)