Abby Stein in her bedroom with her 6 year old son’s photographs hanging above her. Now a trans activist, just 5 years ago Abby was an ultra-Orthodox rabbi from a high-ranking Hasidic dynasty. Although she followed the traditional path of a young Hasidic man - Yeshiva, an arranged marriage at 18, Abby always felt different, but didn’t understand what that exactly meant. Abby's first language is Yiddish even though she grew up in Brooklyn. She had no access to the internet, TV, music, literature, so at the age of 20 she taught herself English. A breakthrough came when she used her friends tablet to connect to wi-fi and typed “a boy turning into a girl”. She quickly learned she was not alone and started to question the hermetically sealed community she was raised in. She also knew leaving would come at tremendous cost. She could lose her son. She said, "To some extent, leaving the community was even harder than transitioning. I had no idea what I was getting into. I didn't know anyone, couldn't speak the language, and didn't have an education. I didn't know how to dress. I didn't know how to talk. I remember the first time walking into a Starbucks, I was like, 'OK, what's happening here?' The culture shock is just in every level, every way...it’s like being an immigrant in your own country…It was a slow process it didn’t happen overnight.” Abby is now a student at Columbia University and sends her family a text every week wishing them a good Shabbat. They haven’t responded to her yet.

This is Melissa Weisz in her Williamsburg apartment wearing traditional Hasidic clothing. She dresses like this when she goes to visit her family who are still deeply religious. She left the Satmar community in Borough Park 10 years ago when she was 24 years old. She said leaving her community, especially her husband, parents, six sisters, and two brothers, was the most terrifying and liberating moment in her life. “I wish I could’ve stayed. After trying for years, I was finally ready to lose and risk everything to live the life that felt right to me. But I had so much guilt and shame for leaving, hurting the people I love most. It was a painful process. My family is so important to me and I didn’t want to hurt my husband. He’s a good person. When I first left, I had a roommate who also left the religious community. She struggled a lot and took her own life. It was scary. I think my family worried that would happen to me if I felt alone and not supported. They have made a lot of effort to accept my choices and we’ve worked hard on our relationship. I don’t feel alone, but I often feel like a foreigner in my own city. That’s why most of my friends are European. Maybe we connect as outsiders living in this big unfamiliar world together.”

This is Melissa in her bedroom wearing her everyday clothes. She is a producer and actor, often cast in yiddish speaking roles.

L is an anonymous woman, born into a Hasidic sect. L's family arranged a marriage for her and she met her husband an hour before they got engaged. L is agnostic and secretly lives a secular life. When she takes the train from Brooklyn to Manhattan she removes her wig and long skirt and becomes a secular woman. She said it’s a double life and has constant anxiety of being discovered for fear of being kicked out and losing her children. L says “In this patriarchal society, making life choices is seen as a rebellion instead of an informed adult decision. I stay because I’m afraid of losing my children. They could be brainwashed against me."

Chapin Langenheim was raised in Detroit and born into the ultra-Orthodox Yeshivish community. Chapin identifies as agender and asexual. When Chapin was 13 years old, their family moved to a religious neighborhood in Ramat Beit Shemesh, Israel. In Ramat Beit Shemesh, a young girl had bleach thrown at her for wearing a denim skirt, and stones were thrown at cars caught driving on Shabbat. Chapin said they always felt like an outsider and never fit in. They moved back to the US to attend Hebrew Theological College in Illinois. Chapin says: “I was very close to my Rabbi, but I was also secretly queer. One day he said that we all have to love everyone, but he would never let a gay person come into his shul. The same day that the Supreme Court ruled marriage equality, I showed up to his shul with purple hair and a rainbow tongue ring. He just stared at me. But I knew I had to leave when I was raped by a guy who left my college the previous year. I went to the hospital and it was confirmed with evidence from the rape kit. Yet, I was the one treated like a pariah and was questioned if saying it was rape was my way to get the Plan B pill and was criticized for not being modest. I took a mental health year off then worked 4 jobs so I could pay for Columbia College Chicago to study creative fiction. I’ve worked hard to build a life for myself. My sister who also left the community said it perfectly, ‘I knew I wanted something better than the options I was given.’ That gave me motivation. Now I am writing a novel about Judaism and leaving and am the editor at large at Wolfram Research in Illinois. All of the tattoos on my body have a lot of meaning. The sword is a reminder to be the protective person I needed when I was a child. The bat and skull are the logo for the band Avenged Sevenfold, who saved my life."

Perel was the first of 10 siblings and left the ultra-Orthodox Yeshivish sect in Flatbush when she was 14. Her mother is Japanese and made an Orthodox conversion when she married Yehoshua. Perel never felt like she fit in because she was mixed race. She says, “A lot of people decided I was the other, so I didn’t want to be part of a community that deemed me an outsider from the beginning. It felt racist. Religion is an easy lifestyle. Everything is set up for you. You have a whole community to support you and set up all the boundaries. But I will always have one foot in the door though because I am so close with my whole family. Many people who left around the same age as me didn’t make it to where I am today. They didn’t have the support I’ve had and many were escaping sexual abuse in the community. They have turned to drugs or suicide. I know too many people who have died than someone my age should know.” Perel is about to graduate John Jay College of Criminal Justice and wants to enroll in law school.

Silberstein, 26, left her [Hasidic] Bobov sect more than 10 years ago. She recalls babysitting through her teens, which provided her the extra income to purchase DVDs. “Every chance I got, I’d go to Best Buy or Circuit City,” she says. “I come from a big family, so it was hard to focus on one kid. I think I slipped through the cracks, but they would try to discipline me, so they would raid my room and confiscate my DVDs.” (Non-Jewish movies, music, and books are forbidden in many ultra-Orthodox sects). By the time she entered high school, she began to isolate herself. “I was trying to stay a step ahead,” she says. Silberstein currently works in an office and is also a personal trainer. Aside from two of her siblings, who she sees perhaps once a year, she does not speak with her family.