Trans Day of Visibility falling out just days before  Pesach this year feels serendipitous. As we reflect on freedom, becoming a nation, and pushing beyond the limits others have set for us, Trans Day of Visibility is a reminder that this work is ongoing.

We asked some of our trans and nonbinary participants what this time of year means to them, and it quickly became clear that these two moments are more connected than they might seem.

“I am Jewish and I am queer,” AJ (he/they) says. “But I am both of those things at the same time. They have to be connected. I don’t think there’s a way to rip them apart.”

That understanding didn’t come out of nowhere. AJ first found JQY during virtual programming in 2020, at the height of the pandemic. “It was like, oh wow… there are other people. I can have friends who understand this thing about me.”

What started as a moment of recognition grew into something steadier. Over time, being known became just as meaningful as being understood.

“They knew me by name. They knew stuff about my life… It made me realize people actually think about me when I’m not there. They care about me even when I’m not right in front of them.”

That kind of visibility, being seen consistently and genuinely, can shift something internal. It creates space to exist more fully, without constantly questioning whether you belong.

For Ray (they/them), that process is still unfolding. Growing up Orthodox, they’re navigating what it means to hold both parts of their identity at once. “I want to stay connected to my culture, and I’m still figuring out how to balance my queer identity with my Jewish identity,” they shared. “Thankfully JQY has been an amazing help for me on my journey.”

And sometimes, that journey shows up in small, unexpected ways. “My mom bought me a very gender-affirming shirt,” Ray says. “That was a huge surprise.”

Those moments don’t resolve everything, but they matter. They open the door a little wider. They make it easier to keep showing up.

Freedom, in this sense, isn’t just about big, defining moments. It’s built over time. In conversations. In community. In the quiet shift from feeling alone to feeling seen.

That idea sits at the center of the Seder too. Not just telling a story of freedom, but creating space to explore it, and to live it.

For Ray, it’s the joy woven into the ritual. “I still hide the afikomen and I’m almost 20. There is no age limit on fun.”

For AJ, it’s the openness of the conversation. “We call it a freestyle seder… we just start talking. And then all of a sudden, you understand how people could talk until morning.”

The Seder doesn’t rush to conclusions. It makes room for questions and different perspectives.

In that way, it mirrors what Trans Day of Visibility calls us to do. To make space. To listen. To recognize people as they are, not as we expect them to be. Freedom isn’t only about leaving something behind. It’s also about what you move toward, and what waits for you beyond the effort it takes to change. For many in our community, the ability to show up as both Jewish and queer isn’t just symbolically celebrated once a year; it’s part of the ongoing work of becoming free.