Neuroqueering: a Torah-Dharma Talk

Jan 1

I gave this talk on December 28, 2022, at the Hazon Winter Meditation Retreat in Falls Village, CT.

The audio version included two songs and a rather long section generated by Chat GPT (I thought it was funny at the time).

The text below has been edited for online clarity.

This Perfection 🎵

I heard the call and the sound of laugher.
I looked around. I was alone.
I heard this song and the words came after.
That’s how I found we are never alone.

Ha’adam olam katan
[a person is a small world/microcosm]
Ha’olam adam gadol
[the world is a big person/macrocosm]
Everything that we see is an expression/reflection
Of the Great Mystery surrounding and filling me
I submit willingly to this perfection.

A Personal Paradigm Shift

Discovering and embracing my autism was truly a paradigm shift. Jewish Renewal is sometimes referred to as “Paradigm Shift Judaism” so I was well acquainted with the idea of paradigm shift, but I’d never quite embodied or lived the experience. Embracing autistic identity and neuroqueerness is a true paradigm shift, marking the beginning of a process of radical unlearning and relearning.

I came to the revelation about a year after my eldest child’s diagnosis, during the long discernment before and preparation for telling her. I asked myself “who is this diagnosis for? What does it mean? What is the right timing?” I poured through books, articles, and personal accounts shared via social media.

My partner and I decided around the same day that it was time to disclose this diagnosis to our kiddo. So I Googled, as you do, “How do you tell your kid they’re autistic?” As I listened to a parent who had been through a similar process. They asked these reflective questions, “is one parent more likely to get through to the child? Does the parent have a diagnosis of their own that might not ‘other’ or pathologize the child?”

This was the final straw. All the reading and research and reflection came sharply into focus. It struck me like a bell, like a lightning bolt. Was I an undiagnosed autistic?

My body-mind answered unequivocally. YES. That initial impact brought deep Grief and deep Relief simultaneously. I felt self-seen and discovered for the first time. And also ashamed, embarrassed, confused, and profoundly disoriented as I started to relive the frequent, chronic massive misattunements — throughout my family, educational experiences, work situations, environments, and relationships generally.

I dived deep. Having felt profoundly alien to my caregivers and environments my whole lifelong, I used to tell myself a story about this triangular patch of birthmarks on my forearm that would identify me to my true alien parents who would one day return to collect me. So I giggled when I discovered one of the oldest online bulletin boards for and by autistics; it’s called wrongplanet.net. Continuing to immerse myself in autistic culture, I learned about masking and camouflaging; meltdowns and shutdowns; Imploders vs. Exploders.

I experienced total burnout. “Burnout” is another term I’d heard and used but had never personally lived. I imploded, withdrew entirely, fell into the void. I quit my job leading Kol Hai, the Jewish spiritual community I founded seven years prior; I left both as a leader and as a member. I felt that I needed to leave the professional role of spiritual teacher or guide because, while on one hand I had been walking with others and preparing for stark encounters like this for decades, I stumbled into a depth I wouldn’t advertise or couldn’t recommend for the faint of heart.

I spent many hours flat on my back — literally — breathing in and receiving a new body, doing the exquisite and excruciating work of excavating parts of a long-abandoned self. Much of my meditation has been an embodied practice called SATYA — Sensory Awareness Training for Yoga Attunement. I bow to my teacher Tias Little for the grace of this gift.

But in this inwardness — autism is a word that means something like self-ism — I have also discerned an indescribable bliss. Trying to share it is where I hit turbulence. This is only the second time in a year that I’ve led prayer, that I’ve even picked up my guitar. The parts of myself I knew, and some of you recognized, have been shattered and melted down and are slowly becoming some new vessel, some new form.

You, Autistic?

Wait, how can you be autistic? When I have had the courage to share, one thing I often hear is that I don’t fit the mold of what people know about ASD. Well, I too was pretty ignorant of what it was. That’s one way it hid in plain sight for 44 years. I even had a half-sister with an Asperger's diagnosis. But in part because of the dominant fear-based pathology paradigm, partly due to my idiosyncratic family dynamics, and partly due to my own internalized ableism, I couldn’t see those connections. It breaks my heart that I couldn’t embrace and share this identity with Laurie before she died. I’m very grateful that I could help her sip thickened water the day before she died from complications of other disabilities that made her embodiment so painful and her lifelong social isolation so excruciating.

So I educated myself and I’d like to educate you a little bit too. In my turn to embrace autism, I was helped along by, amongst many other resources, a website called — of all things! — Embrace Autism. One of the first healing Aha! Moments was reading their list of Superpowers and Kryptonites.

Our Super Powers (by which we mean unusual talents, skills, qualities, and advantages—often beyond the normal range of human experience) can set autistic people apart in positive ways that allow us to make unique contributions to society.
While not every autistic person will have all the strengths listed below, scientific research has found these traits to be common.
The reason we find it useful to keep a list like this is that—like us—you may very well discover some strengths you didn’t even know you had. And getting to know our strengths can be both validating and empowering!

[Check out the full list of Superpowers and Kryptonites that I read during my talk; or listen to the audio for personal examples of how both they showed up in my life.]

Another wonderful article called “Autism is a Spectrum” Doesn’t Mean What You Think also really helped me on my journey thus far.

“My son is on the severe end of the autism spectrum.”
“We’re all a little autistic– it’s a spectrum.”
“I’m not autistic but I’m definitely ‘on the spectrum.'”
If only people knew what a spectrum is… because they are talking about autism all wrong.
Let’s use the visible spectrum as an example… The various parts of the spectrum are noticeably different from each other. Blue looks very different from red, but they are both on the visible light spectrum.
Red is not “more blue” than blue is. Red is not “more spectrum” than blue is.
When people discuss colours, they don’t talk about how “far along” the spectrum a colour is. They don’t say “my walls are on the high end of the spectrum” or “I look best in colours that are on the low end of the spectrum.”
But when people talk about autism they talk as if it were a gradient, not a spectrum at all.
People think you can be “a little autistic” or “extremely autistic,” the way a paint colour could be a little red or extremely red.
In fact, one of the distinguishing features of autism is what the DSM-V calls an “uneven profile of abilities.” There’s a reason people like to say that “if you have met one person with autism, you’ve met one person with autism.” Every autistic person presents slightly differently.
That’s because autism isn’t one condition. It is a collection of related neurological conditions that are so intertwined and so impossible to pick apart that professionals have stopped trying.

So if you’ve ever taken a chemistry class you may have done a spectral analysis of a material. You can shine a light or use a solvent to separate out the solid into its constituent colored parts. Serge Kahili King, the Huna Polynesian author and teacher, warns us, though, when writing about the various parts of the soul in his book The Urban Shaman, reminds us that while we can talk about the rind and flesh and seeds, let’s not forget we’re still the whole papaya. Nonetheless, I find it helpful to think about so of the colors of the rainbow of the autism spectrum. Each autist might find their make-up to be “bright” or “dull,” or absent of these colors altogether, in their personal prismatic presentation. If we are all truly בצלם אלהים/BETZELEM ELOHIM, in the Image of the Infinite, then we each must refract that light uniquely.

Some of the “Colors” of the Autistic Spectrum 🌈

Pragmatic language: The way language is used in social contexts, including the ability to understand and use language appropriately in different situations, such as maintaining a conversation or following social norms.
Social awareness: The ability to understand and interpret social cues, such as facial expressions and body language, and to respond appropriately in social situations.
Monotropic mindset: An inflexible or narrow focus on a particular interest or activity, often to the exclusion of other interests or activities.
Information processing: The way in which the brain receives, organizes and responds to information.
Sensory processing: The way in which the brain processes and interprets sensory information, such as sights, sounds, and touch.
Repetitive behaviors: The tendency to engage in repetitive or ritualistic behaviors, such as hand-flapping or repeating phrases.
Neuromotor differences: Differences in the way in which the brain controls movement and coordination, which can affect balance, coordination, and fine motor skills.

If some or all of this is hitting very close to home, I’m happy to share with you resources that might support you — including free self-tests (@ embrace-autism.com although I do not recommend their assessment team; personally, I used Spectrum Services NYC and can highly recommend them, no matter where you live), support groups (AANE has been a life-saver), and favorite books (shortlist at the end of this post). I also offer spiritual direction in 1:1 sessions and have quite a few neurodiverse clients. But I also want to mention here the BAP.

Broader autism phenotype (BAP)

The broader autism phenotype (BAP) refers to the ways in which family members of people with autism spectrum disorder (ASD) may show some traits or characteristics that are similar to ASD, but not severe enough to be diagnosed with the disorder themselves. These traits can include challenges with social interaction, communication skills, and behaviors such as a need for routine or repetitive activities. Researchers are interested in studying the BAP because it may help them understand more about the genetic and biological factors that contribute to ASD. It may also be helpful for clinicians to consider BAP traits when creating treatment plans for children with ASD, as the presence of these traits in a child's family may influence how the child responds to treatment. However, it's important to remember that most people with the BAP do not have ASD and do not experience significant problems in their daily lives because of these traits.

I mentioned before that I came to self-revelation or self-diagnosis on my own. Within the autistic community, this is wholly valid. I’m not interested in gatekeeping. Countless things are problematic with the pathology paradigm — including medical misogyny, racism, heteronormativity, and financial and class access issues. The list goes on. Furthermore, research suggested that most people who do self-identify are validated in their self-understanding by the use of more recent testing protocols. But I wanted and could pursue a clinical diagnosis to try to put my analytical mind at rest. So I own and acknowledge that I leveraged the privileges of passing as both white and male, and being able to afford, access to neuropsychological evaluations. After spending months and thousands of dollars on diagnostics, clinical confirmation of my Autism eventually arrived (along with a side of Generalized Anxiety Disorder thrown in, no extra charge).

But before that, one of the most confusing things for me and my partner when we were trying to understand if I was autistic was the stereotypical notion of Special Interests. Emily and I both agreed that I seemed to have the opposite tendency; there’s nothing I can’t nerd out about if it captures my attention. My own form of “special interests” or “monotropic mindset” as it’s also known seemed elusive… until my diagnostic clinician pointed out that Judaism itself has been one of my special interests!

Judaism: my special interest? 🤔

So, what does this have to do with us, now, here on this meditation retreat?

A popular Australian writer on Autism, Tony Atwood, pointed out that our special interests empower us and give us some agency — we can find community and belonging through them — and that can also serve, at times, as buffers. “The special interest gives you a sense of identity or success but it's also a blocker of negative emotions.”

As I have been unmasking, I’ve also been released in some ways from Judaism as a special interest. It’s perilous as it puts me in a direct relationship with buried shame, trauma, rage, and fear. I’m living in deep inquiry as to how Judaism has served at times as both spiritual and intellectual bypass. Through contemplative practices, therapy, psychedelics, and plant medicines, I’m peeling back onion layer after onion layer and trying to stay curious about what lives underneath all the masks.

I spent over two decades mastering the rabbi role. I dived into communities with clearly established, predictable, and negotiable norms. I learned what my friend Amichai Lau-Lavie called all the passcodes. One person would say, Modaim Lesimcha! And I would know the acceptable and expected reply: Chagim Uzmanim Le’sasson! I could learn the script. And if not knowing how to initiate or maintain a conversation was ever an issue, we could always talk about the Parsha… Or, if social engagement was truly too much, I could always dive into my prayerbook, tunnel-visioned, shaking and shuckling and stimming to my heart’s content. (Stimming is a term shorting the words self-stimulation that refers to some of the repetitive or random-seeming movements that bring autistics self-regulation… and, when not judged or shut down or pathologized, can also allow us to conduct symphonic currents of joy.) And I’ve long given myself permission to close my eyes — to manage the intensity of eye contact — when I sing to you…

Before settling on rabbi as a role I could attempt to perform neuronormativity within there were thousands of signals, both subtle and overt, that were conditioning me to “be a good boy.” I’m peeling back those relational layers too. I’m learning the heartbreaking and soul-shaking truth of an old joke. Inspired and joyful as they walk home after shul one Shabbat afternoon, a young boy turns to his grandmother and exclaims, “when I grow up, I want to be a rabbi!” The grandmother replies, “That’s a terrible job for a good Jewish boy!”

So my soul excavation is reaching not only through 44 years of this lifetime’s detritus but also transpersonal and intergenerational wounds.

This unmasking is bringing me deep, deep, deep. And, honestly, I’d still be cocooning, lying on the floor of my house, if I didn’t have bills to pay. Or my partner lovingly, gently saying: come on schmuck, get up and do something.

Or a niggling sense of a responsibility to contribute; a trust and transmission placed in me by our teachers and ancestors.

So you may see, I’m in process. In between. In transition.

Gabriel García Márquez wrote, “All human beings have three lives: public, private, and secret.” While playing with makeup and dresses (and all sorts of things) in the safety of my home is one thing, this is the first time I’m wearing makeup and painted nails, and a dress in front of a room while giving a partially AI-generated torah dharma talk. It’s a leap of faith!

Synesthesia makes it difficult to find edges. It’s challenging when your experience of boundaries is different than others; a constant negotiation. Prentis Hemphill encourages me, writing that ‘boundaries are the distance at which I can love me and you simultaneously.’ I’m beginning to learn to ride my unique edges, to surf the sea of self-love.

I have put down the name Shir Yaakov and am trying on a feminized form of the name of two of my ancestors: shir meira. When we’re back to talking — although my how my social anxiety loves that there’s no small talk this week! — I’d like you to know I prefer they/them pronouns. This reminds me:

Do you know the chocolate bar’s preferred pronouns? Her/she [Hershey]

Loving the Strangeness Within

In this talk on Monday, Jay [Michaelson] mentioned the multiple times the Torah commands us: “do not oppress the stranger.” וְגֵר לֹא־תוֹנֶה וְלֹא תִלְחָצֶנּוּ כִּי־גֵרִים הֱיִיתֶם בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם Mentions of the GER, the sojourner, appear 74 times in the book of Genesis alone and throughout the Torah we instructed at least 36 times in ways we should love, support, not oppress, not vilify, the stranger amongst us.

On Kol Nidre, the holiest night of the Hebrew calendar, we chant וְנִסְלַח לְכָל עֲדַת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְלַגֵּר הַגָּר בְּתוֹכָם. We pray for forgiveness and release of all the children of Israel and all the journeyers. The stranger dwelling not only amongst us but the strangeness within us. Famously, in the telling of the fabrication of the MISHKAN, the portable meeting place for the Divine That We Are, the voice of god speaks: וְעָשׂוּ לִי מִקְדָּשׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹכָם (Ex. 25:8) “Make me a dwelling place and I will dwell within you.” G!d will not dwell in “it,” the structure, the form, the norm — but in you. In your fluid, portable, traveling, becoming self.

Do not oppress the stranger that lives within you. Do not squeeze out (וְלֹא תִלְחָצֶנּוּ LO TIL’CHATZENU) the neurodivergence within you for some imagined normalcy or homogeneity. I’m reading a book on the history of psychology now called, Nobody’s Normal. The title says it all. וַאֲהַבְתֶּם אֶת־הַגֵּר כִּי־גֵרִים הֱיִיתֶם בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם “Love the stranger: for you were strangers in the land of Miżrayim.” (Deut. 10:19) From the MERCHAV YAH, an expansive, non-judgmental space, learn to love the stranger within.

“Refusing to perform neurotypicality,” Devon Price writes in Unmasking Autism, “is a revolutionary act of disability justice. It's also a radical act of self-love.”

I want to reread a poem that Miriam shared with us last night. It was my first time hearing it but feel it fits so well with the themes of this talk.

The way we treat our planet is rooted in the way we treat our people.
The way we treat our people is rooted in the way we treat ourselves.
The way we treat ourselves is rooted in the way we treat
those parts of ourselves we have been taught to abandon.
It all starts with unlearning.
It all starts with a radical relearning.

–hannah kendaru

I want to end this section by reading from a luminary that has supported me this year, author of a fabulous collection of essays called Neuroqueer Heresies, Dr. Nick Walker. She writes:

I originally conceived of neuroqueer as a verb: neuroqueering as the practice of queering (subverting, defying, disrupting, liberating oneself from) neuronormativity and heteronormativity simultaneously. It was an extension of the way queer is used as a verb in Queer Theory; I was expanding the Queer Theory conceptualization of queering to encompass the queering of neurocognitive norms as well as gender norms—and, in the process, I was examining how socially-imposed neuronormativity and socially-imposed heteronormativity were entwined with one another, and how the queering of either of those two forms of normativity entwined with and blended into the queering of the other one…
So what does it mean to neuroqueer, as a verb? What are the various practices that fall within the definition of neuroqueering?

[There are eight practices listed in the original article, but I only want to share three that I think have specific bearing on what we might be doing here.]

3. Engaging in practices intended to undo and subvert one’s own cultural conditioning and one’s ingrained habits of neuronormative and heteronormative performance, with the aim of reclaiming one’s capacity to give more full expression to one’s uniquely weird potentials and inclinations.
4. Engaging in the queering of one’s own neurocognitive processes (and one’s outward embodiment and expression of those processes) by intentionally altering them in ways that create significant and lasting increase in one’s divergence from prevailing cultural standards of neuronormativity and heteronormativity.
8. Working to transform social and cultural environments in order to create spaces and communities – and ultimately a society – in which engagement in any or all of the above practices is permitted, accepted, supported, and encouraged.

If that’s not what we’re doing here, or at least that’s amongst the potentialities, then I’m not sure what we are doing at all.

The following poem lands me in the feeling of what it might be like to live into these postnormal possibilities. It is a prayer from the Osage Nation, a Midwestern Native American tribe of the Great Plains. It is called “The Song of Entering the Village.”

I am home, I am home, I am home,
I have now come to the land that is home.
I have now come to the border of the village.
I have now come to the foot worn soil of the village.
I have now come to the rear of the sacred house.
I have now come to the end of the sacred house.
I have now come to the door of the sacred house.
I have now come to the inside of the sacred house.
I have now come to the kettle pole of the sacred house.
I have now come to the fireplace of the sacred house.
I have now come to the middle of the sacred house.
I have now come to the smoke vent of the sacred house.
I have now come into the midst of the light of day.

Not funny jokes

I also asked Chat-GPT to add some humor to my talk. Here are a few [not funny] jokes on the topic of neurodiversity:

What did the neurodiverse person say when their friend asked them what they were thinking about?
"I was just trying to process that."
How did the neurodiverse person describe their day?
"It was a sensory overload."
What did the neurodiverse person say when their friend asked them if they wanted to go out?
"I'm sorry, I have social anxiety."
What did the neurodiverse person say when their friend asked them if they were okay?
"I'm fine, I just have dysregulation."
What did the neurodiverse person say when their friend asked them if they wanted to play a game?
"I'm sorry, I have executive dysfunction."

If you do want an actually funny book written by an autist, try The Journal of Best Practices: A Memoir of Marriage, Asperger Syndrome, and One Man's Quest to Be a Better Husband by David Finch. On the dust jacket he describes his journey as going from “the most-trying husband to the husband trying most,” and it includes a chapter called “Parties are Supposed to be Fun.”