"I’d rather eat my own hair then speak out about trans issues now.”

So said a friend at a party when I told her I was writing about the experiences of young, trans Jews for this newspaper.

“It’s just impossible to say the right thing,” she said. “You’re either seen as misogynistic or transphobic— there seems to be no middle ground.”

She has a point. It is hardly news that the transgender debate has descended into a deeply polarised dogfight, particularly on social media where much of the scrapping takes place.

On one side, you have transgender people who seethe with anger at any suggestion that their rights should not be met immediately. On the other sit some women who, broadly speaking, see trans activists as militants who don’t know their own mind, let alone gender. They argue that women’s civil rights were hard won and resent another group appropriating them. And they don’t like the idea of trans women who may still have male genitalia, spending a penny in the ladies’, or trying on clothes in female changing rooms. Their adversaries say they’re being transphobic, they say that women are facing erasure.

And then there’s the background to this debate: the fact that between 2012 and 2017, the number of British children being referred to gender identity clinics quadrupled, to more than 2,000 a year.

I knew all this before I met three trans and non-binary Jews who agreed to speak to me, and I admit it made me nervous about our encounter. But my fears proved misplaced. I expected militancy but I found moderation instead: thoughtful Jews who describe themselves as feminists and who feel misunderstood by wider society.

Asher Cox is an English and media student at Cardiff University. “My dad’s work as a journalist meant I grew up in many places, including Singapore, Sweden, America and the UK, ” says Cox.

“On the one hand, it was an amazingly privileged childhood — I’m lucky I saw so much of the world at a young age. But the downside was not having a community and what I’d call a lack of stability and community.”

Embracing Judaism and coming out as a man have finally given him both, he says. But although his parents have both shown him “a lot of love and wanting to understand” it’s been a struggle getting there.

“My mum in particular thought I was upholding gender stereotypes by coming out as a man. She would say to me, ‘why can’t you just be a masculine girl?’ It’s difficult trying to explain the difference between being a tomboy and being male, but what it boils down to is this: I need to change my gender, not my personality type or lifestyle. I’m trapped in the wrong body.

“I think people find it hard to grasp what it means to be transgender because there’s a false and reductive but highly persuasive narrative in circulation that says it’s basically about a rejection of pink and glitter and womanhood. The reality is much more complicated. Being trans or non-binary isn’t a rejection of anything, it isn’t a choice. Just as I was born a Jew, I was born a man.”

What’s more, he believes that the trans and Jewish communities have a lot in common. “Both are small, misunderstood and vilified communities that are always in the news! And I’d add that neither is an easy identity to have. But if you embrace them, both give you an interesting perspective on life.”

JB Levine came out as non-binary last year and uses the pronouns “they” and “their”. A recent graduate of Houston University, in Texas, synagogue has always played a big part in their life and since coming out they have continued as a prayer leader at the suburban Reform shul in the state where they grew up.

“Basically, you have men and women as standard gender categories. People who are non-binary lie somewhere in-between the two — or, they may not identify with a gender at all. That’s why the pronouns they/them are used. It sounds neutral and is all-encompassing.

“Once I started coming to temple openly non-binary and led services in heels and make-up there were a few nasty phone calls, if no face-to-face confrontations. A couple of members even left, citing me and my new appearance as the reason.

“But my synagogue has always backed me, and I also know that however upsetting people’s comments have been, most of our fears come from the unknown. Sometimes we need to be the bigger person in order to reach out to others who currently don’t accept us. I really believe that dialogue and relationships is the way to combat prejudice. The problem is most people talk about transgender and non-binary people instead of to us.”

Although they came out last year, it had taken JB many years previously to realise they fitted the definition of non-binary.

“We should tell young people to take their time if they’re questioning their gender and or sexuality. People should be encouraged to experiment, hesitate and change their minds without being dismissed as confused.”

There are two reasons non-binary Lev Raanan has made New York their home. The first is because they wanted to find “find a queer and non-binary community.” The second — so they “could finally meet some Jews!”

A student at Columbia University, Raanan is “literally and emotionally” a thousand miles from the small town in Utah where they grew up. It was, they say “the least Jewish place ever. Proper Mormon, polygamous marriage and bible worshipping territory.”

In New York, they feel very protected by their “lefty, Jewish, gay bubble. It’s amazing to have found my people, but I’m also aware it’s not really the real world. I think you Brits call it an echo chamber.”

Meanwhile, they declare themselves “not impressed” with the current trans debate.

“We were already such a marginalised and laughed-at group. Trans and non-binary people are twice as likely to be the victim of crime, and half of us have tried to kill ourselves. Can’t society just give us a break?”

Raanan argues that the trans and non-binary person’s fight are one and the same. “I’m not trans but I understand the feeling of your body developing in a way you know it shouldn’t. I know what it’s like to want to change the pronouns that describe you and how it feels to have to find the confidence to ask everyone around you to use them.

“It’s really tough, and you go face these battles when you are young —around the time puberty starts.

“I see it like this. There are so many problems in the world — why hone in on this tiny community? The conspiracy that we’re out to silence voices and ruin lives is just that: a conspiracy. Our existence shouldn’t be controversial.”