More Than Just Body Parts: The Healing Power of Transgender Surgery
In 1896, Rabbi Yosef Pallache received an unusual
shayle (religious question).
“Do not be surprised by this question,” the
shayle cautions, “since all things are possible, and there is nothing new under the sun.”
The question concerns a married woman who spontaneously and inexplicably turned into a man. Through unknown natural causes, her vagina became a penis, and her ovaries became testicles. Is this person still a woman? Or is she a man?
Pallache ruled that this person has
halachically (legally) changed sex and is now fully male, because sex, he holds, is visibly determined by external genitals. However, because God had initially created him as a woman before changing him into a man, he should not recite the traditional morning blessing, “Blessed is God […] who has not made me a woman” (
shelo asani ishah). Rather, he should recite a new blessing, written by Pallache, that more accurately reflects the fluidity of his sex: “Blessed is God […] who has changed me into a man” (
she’hafchani le-ish).
Eighty years later, Pallache’s ruling was cited in a watershed
teshuva (responsum) on transgender surgery. Rabbi Eliezer Yehudah Waldenberg, commonly known as the Tzitz Eliezer, similarly ruled that changing one’s genitals changes one’s sex. To emphasize this change, he instructs post-operative trans women to recite “who has changed me according to God’s will” (
she’hafchani kirtsono) instead of the traditional morning blessing for non-transgender women, “who has created me according to God’s will” (
she’asani kirtsono).
I am a transgender woman. I am also an Orthodox Jew. Two months ago, I underwent gender affirmation surgery. But I do not say “who has changed me,” as prescribed by Pallache and the Tzitz Eliezer, because I do not hold that I was ever a man to begin with. I believe that sex and gender transcend anatomy, being rooted in complex psychological, biological, and genetic phenomena that are not yet fully understood by scientists. I believe that I have always been a woman, my body parts notwithstanding, which is why I felt such an overpowering need to transition. In other words, surgery affirmed my womanhood, rather than causing it. And thus I recite, “who has made me a woman [from birth]” (
she’asani ishah) (a modern alternative to
she’asani kirtsono), and not “who has changed me into a woman [through surgery]” (
she’hafchani le-ishah).
Trans people are too often objectified as Frankenstein’s monsters, defined by others based on our body parts. But we are more than our bodies. We are human beings with souls, like all people created
betselem Elokim (in the image of God). The purpose of my surgery was neither sexual nor cosmetic, but rather therapeutic: to heal my physical and spiritual suffering and to bring my body and soul in alignment with one another. And towards this goal, it was completely
successful.
One week after my surgery, when I was finally able to see my new body for the very first time, I cried. I wailed. And when the doctor left the room, I prayed. I said
shehechiyanu, as an expression of gratitude: “Blessed is God […] who has given us life, sustained us, and brought us to this day.” I said
shekacha lo be’olamo, as an expression of awe: “Blessed is God […] that such things are possible in this world.” And, through uncontrollable tears of relief, I said
she’asani ishah: “Blessed is God […] who has made me a woman.” I filmed myself reciting these prayers, so I would always remember the gratitude, awe, and relief of this soul-healing moment.
I’m sharing that video with you, here, so that you, too, can experience a glimpse of my soul’s relief.
It is impossible for me to express the relief, calm, and tranquility that have engulfed my body and soul in the months since my surgery. It is as if a mountain has been lifted from my chest. It is as if a poison has been drained from my veins. This is the healing power of transgender surgery for those, like me, who desperately need it. It is not sexual. It is not cosmetic. It is
pikuach nefesh – a medical necessity.
My recovery from surgery has not been easy. It has been full of intense physical pain, as my body has been healing from this major, invasive operation. I relied on close friends and my dear, loving parents to care for my most basic needs during my first of three months on bedrest. I am indebted to the support of family, friends, and strangers, who have helped me and my child as I slowly, minimally resume my hourly work from home. But all of this has been tolerable – holy, even – because of the pervasive spiritual calm of finally living in my truest body.
Every surgery comes with risks, and this one is no exception. To maintain the physical changes that were created by the surgery, there are many personal things I must do on a daily basis that are difficult, painful, and exhausting. But I have sanctified these acts through humble prayer and acknowledgment of God’s awesome majesty, as we Jews have done for so many of our tiniest, most easily-unappreciated daily actions.
Every day, as I embark on these difficult tasks, I have sung the prayer
Asher Yatsar: “Blessed is God, Sovereign of the Universe, who has shaped the human body with wisdom and who has created within it openings and closings. It is clear
and known before your holy throne that if one single closing were to open, or if one single opening were to close, it would be impossible to exist and to stand before you. Blessed are you, God, who heals all flesh and performs wonders.” Indeed, I suffered for decades on account of a necessary opening in my body being closed. By reciting this prayer, I acknowledge with gratitude that through surgery what was closed in embryo has now been opened, and I will do what is necessary to prevent it from ever closing again.
After reciting this prayer, I recite another,
Elokai Neshamah: “My God, the soul that you gave me is pure. You created it, you shaped it, you blew it into me, and you keep it secure within my body.” There is a wonderful recording of this prayer by the late Debbie Friedman, who wove it together with
Asher Yatsar in the form of a musical canon. That is, through the wonders of audio editing technology, we can hear her sing
Asher Yatsar and
Elokai Neshamah at exactly the same time. I listen to her recording and sing along, alternating back and forth between the two prayers. This intertwining of body and soul – what our traditional liturgy calls “refuat hanefesh urfuat haguf” (the healing of soul and the healing of body)– is the essence of my gender transition.
Over the past two months, as I have lain in bed recovering from surgery, I have been flooded with harassment on social media. People have called me a fetishist, a predator, and an autogynopheliac. I am none of these. These accusations stem from a fundamental misunderstanding of what it means to be transgender and the reasons so many transgender people undergo this operation. These accusations falsely assume that the purpose of my transition, and of my surgery in particular, is sexual in nature. It is not. It is therapeutic. It is healing. It is
pikuach nefesh – a medical necessity.
My intention in writing about my transition is not to convince you that I am a woman, though, of course, I would hope that you would acknowledge this fundamental component of my physical and spiritual essence. Rather, I want you to understand what I am doing, why I am doing it, and what my experience has been like, to dispel myths and fears. If I can help you deepen your understanding, and if that helps you deepen your empathy and compassion for transgender people like me,
dayenu (it’s enough). That is my intent.
.
