The world is changing rapidly. And so we, too, must change.
Judaism teaches us the concept of tikkun olam: the responsibility to improve a broken world.
Buddhism teaches us that human suffering comes from a refusal to accept what currently is.
So which is it: do we accept that things just are the way they are? Or do we fight to change the status quo?
I have decided that in order for me to not become completely overwhelmed by the present moment we are in, these seemingly contradictory philosophies must come to coexist. In order to survive the day, I must accept that America’s federal leadership has been placed into the hands of a party that seems hellbent on the destruction (or at least, the crushing demoralization) of a community I dearly adore. But in order to survive the next four years, I must do everything in my power to protect, uplift, and empower this same community. To heal this broken world.
When I co-authored the children’s book, I Am Jazz, back in 2014 with transgender icon Jazz Jennings (then a pre-teen), the idea of trans kids being openly supported by their synagogues, schools, and families was still a foreign one. I would participate in diversity trainings with teachers, only to have one of them belligerently say to me, “If a student asks me for the meaning of the word, ‘gay,’ I’m going to tell them it means ‘happy,’ because that is the truth.” When I took the book to elementary schools to read it aloud in their libraries, a crowd of parents would often be waiting for me outside, angry and agitated and telling me that they didn’t want me “teaching their children about sex.” (This would be my first indication that they had never read the book.) When Jazz’s family began filming a tv show for the TLC network, in the hopes of showing America that a family with a trans kid is just a regular family with regular day-to-day challenges, she received anonymous emails calling her a “pervert” and accusing her parents of being pedophiles.
But then a change happened: trans characters began appearing on mainstream tv shows, like Orange Is the New Black, not as punchlines or crime victims but as protagonists. Caitlyn Jenner (no comment) announced her transition and was warmly received by the ESPY Awards. President Obama condemned the vilification of LGBTQ people in his State of the Union address. Suddenly, I Am Jazz was being displayed in classrooms and libraries all across the country, so much so that the Human Rights Campaign launched an annual “Jazz and Friends” book reading event, which continues to this day.
Of course, this hopeful moment was short-lived. On day one of the first Trump administration, he announced a ban on transgender military members (warning: déjà vu). Schools, fearing parental pushback, began quietly withdrawing LGBTQ inclusivity efforts. I Am Jazz started popping up on banned books lists far and wide. And when I received calls to say that my upcoming speaking engagements had been canceled, I was given this justification: “Sorry, it’s just too political now.”
Yet this reasoning has a fatal flaw: the safety of children—whether they are trans or gender non-conforming or nonbinary or gay; or just a ten-year-old sitting in a history classroom—is not a subject of political debate. Until we are a society that places the well-being of its most vulnerable populations outside of the partisan arena, we are failing the most basic test of a civilized society.
I came to LGBTQ advocacy with no skin in the game. I do not identify as queer, nor do any of my three children. The origin of the Jazz book was the eye-opening experience I had observing my kids, the youngest of whom was four at the time, meeting Jazz for the first time at a restaurant: before their introduction, I had simply explained that Jazz was a super smart girl who also transgender, meaning she just happened to be born in the shape of a boy. Minutes after ordering their ice cream, they all scampered off to talk about mermaids and artwork and YouTube. The fact that she was trans was of zero consequence to my kids! And this is when I realized that we, as adults, overcomplicate things. My daughters were merely excited about gaining a new friend; hence the book, with its themes of compassion and empathy. No “teaching about sex” at all.
This is also the approach I used when diffusing the tension with the angry parents outside the school. I wasn’t there as the mom of a trans kid, begging them for permission to let my kid live. I was there as a mom, just like they were, urging them to extend their ferocious mama bear instincts to the safety of every child. Even the transgender ones.
The first Trump administration forced a lot of my advocacy work underground, as the personal threats to Jazz and me became louder. I stopped publishing articles and started doing private consulting. I gave up public speaking in favor of opening a local PFLAG chapter. The work never stopped, but it did have to adapt.
And so I will adapt again, this time creating an online support service in the hopes of reaching families in red states who are going to be increasingly isolated and attacked.
I now ask you to do the same: adapt. Do not disappear. If you have the privilege of being an ally, make your commitment loudly known, whether through a bumper sticker or a charitable donation or the patronage of an LGBTQ-owned small business. If you have the privilege of being queer in a safe state or county, hold your head up high to demonstrate that you refuse to be erased. And if you have neither of these privileges, I ask you to just exist. Eat lots of chocolate and pet your cat and binge your favorite tv show. This, for now, is more than enough.
Your only job in this present moment is to minimize your suffering.
But for the rest of us, Judaism dictates that we have work to do.
“It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.” – Pirkei Avot
I’ll see you there.
Jessica Herthel
Jessica Herthel is the co-author of the critically acclaimed children’s picture book about a transgender girl, entitled I Am Jazz.