Reading Moses as Autistic in Parashat Shemot: A Neuroqueer Lens
When we approach Torah, we bring our full selves to the text. The Torah, infinite in its wisdom (and I mean infinite literally), invites us to uncover new meanings with every reading, every time, in every way. The same text will never look the same twice. Today, I want to offer a neuroqueer reading of Moses in Parashat Shemot - one that centers autistic, and more broadly, disabled experiences and challenges us to rethink leadership, community, and belonging. This is not about formally identifying Moses as autistic but about asking: What happens when we see Moses through an autistic lens? What does his story teach us about autism, disability, ableism, and society today?
Reading Moses as autistic is an act of neuroqueering the Torah. Neuroqueer Torah resists neuronormative, ableist, hetero, cis, and male normative assumptions embedded in traditional interpretations of the Torah. It’s not just about finding ourselves in the text - it’s about changing how we see the text altogether. When marginalized people interpret Torah, we uncover layers that challenge normative readings and reveal the richness of difference. Moses has often been read as a reluctant leader, but what if we understood his reluctance as rooted in the struggles of navigating a world not built for him? What if his difference is not just incidental but central to his role as a leader?
Moses’ story in Parashat Shemot begins with disconnection. Though raised in Pharaoh’s palace, he doesn’t belong or ever feel truly at home amongst the Egyptians and their civilization. When he tries to reconnect with his people, the Hebrews, they question his identity and intentions. They’re even openly hostile. Later, in Midian, he finds refuge but remains a stranger in the land. Moses lives between worlds, belonging fully to none.
This resonates deeply with my (and the common) autistic experience of alienation - of being misunderstood or out of sync with societal expectations. Part of masking as an autistic person is always being in a sort of uncanny valley situation where we don’t quite fit in and makes others uncomfortable, leading to more of our own malaise. What must it have been like for Moses to feel at odds in every society he inhabited? And how does this impact his self-esteem when the Divine calls him to leadership? His response, “Who am I to go to Pharaoh?” (Exodus 3:11), is not just humility; it’s the voice of someone who has been told, implicitly or explicitly, that they don’t belong, for decades.
Moses also shows his unique perception and attention to detail in the Parasha, something that many autistics and victims of trauma know very well. When Moses notices the burning bush, he doesn’t just glance at it and move on. He stops. He turns aside. He says, “I must turn aside to look at this marvelous sight; why doesn’t the bush burn up?” (Exodus 3:3).
This moment reflects a kind of perception that sees what others might overlook, a hallmark of neurodivergent thinking. Moses’ willingness to investigate the extraordinary in the mundane leads to his encounter with the Divine. What might this teach us about the value of autistic perception in a world that often prizes speed over depth?
Moses’ communication style and disability has been commented at length in the traditional commentaries, often in an ableist way. Moses describes himself as “slow of speech and tongue” (Exodus 4:10), a phrase that has been interpreted in many ways. For autistic humans, it can resonate with the experience of communication differences - of struggling to express oneself in ways that meet societal expectations.
Traditional commentators offer a range of views here. Rashi affirms Moses' disability, describing him as a "stammerer," which opens up a vision of Moses as a leader with a disability at the center of the Torah narrative. This affirms the possibility of inclusion, even if that was not Rashi’s primary intent. In contrast, Rashbam outright rejects the idea of Moses having a disability, displaying an ableist discomfort with the notion of a disabled prophet. Shadal takes a middle path but frames Moses' leadership as overcoming disability rather than valuing it as integral to his character. These interpretations invite us to wrestle with how we understand Moses’ difference - and how we frame the value of disability in leadership. The traditional commentators typically see disability as a liability and something to be ashamed of at worst, or something to be overcome at best. We reject this thinking as small, unimaginative, and ableist. Jewish tradition, however, is varied, and other possibilities have existed, exist, and will continue to exist (just like God’s name)
Moses’ solution is not to give up but to advocate for his needs. He secures Aaron as his support person, creating a model of how accommodation can enable disabled people to fulfill our needs. This act of advocacy reminds us of the importance of building systems that support, rather than exclude, those with needs which differ from abled people.
Moses has a deep sense of justice that I read as being rooted in his disabled experience. Before Moses becomes a leader, he has a meltdown as a result of his sense of justice being violated. While he is traditionally seen as “intervening" when he sees an Egyptian beating a Hebrew (Exodus 2:11-12) and kills the Egyptian, I see this as a meltdown and a person who loses his sense of self from the trauma of being othered and the deep pain caused by his morals being violated over and over again under the systemic abuse of the Hebrews.
A meltdown, as many autistic humans know, is not a moral failing but a physiological response to overwhelming distress, triggered when our nervous system can no longer regulate itself. Moses’ action here can be understood as a response to the chronic dysregulation of living in a society that constantly violated his internal moral compass and values. It speaks to the cost of systemic injustice and the toll it takes on those who witness and endure it.
While it’s important to note that most autistic humans do not act violently during meltdowns, Moses’ unique combination of circumstances shaped the outcome of his. As someone who was both disabled and a member of the royal family - a position of immense privilege - his meltdown took a form that was not well-managed and ultimately resulted in violence. The societal power granted to him as a cis man and as a former prince of Egypt intersected with his dysregulation in a way that magnified the impact of his actions. All too often in the autistic community we see men trying to defend their violent actions during meltdown as “part of being autistic”. The violent aspect of these comes from privilege, not being autistic.
However, the physiological and psychological processes underlying his reaction - his nervous system becoming overwhelmed by the injustice he witnessed, triggering a fight response - are not unlike what many autistic humans experience in moments of extreme distress. This framing allows us to see Moses’ action not as a calculated act of aggression but as a deeply human response to systemic abuse, trauma, and an unbearable violation of his moral core. It also reminds us that context matters greatly in how meltdowns manifest and are perceived.
When Jethro’s daughters are harassed at the well (Exodus 2:16-17), we see Moses' profound moral clarity often found in autistic humans, whose commitment to fairness can drive us to act, even at great personal risk and danger. This moment reflects the NEED to advocate and the courage to speak up, even when the stakes are high. Moses’ action here shows how his sense of justice propels him to intervene and protect others, even when it puts him in danger. This act of alignment with his values also becomes a source of connection and refuge as he finds acceptance in Jethro’s household. Living in line with our values isn’t something that “is nice” for us, it’s an actual need and without living with our needs, we cannot live at all.
Shifting to Exodus 32:19 (which we will read in a few weeks), when Moses smashes the tablets after seeing the Golden Calf, we can interpret this as another moment of autistic dysregulation or meltdown. His core values of justice and connection to others are violated, leading to an emotional response that is overwhelming to him. As the text shows, this is not typical behavior for Moses, emphasizing how deeply this transgression impacts him.
A meltdown is the nervous system’s way of signaling that it cannot cope with the current level of distress or violation of its needs. Moses’ reaction highlights the human cost of collective failure - how the actions of a community can deeply affect its most vulnerable members. Understanding this through an autistic lens allows us to see his response as a moment of pain, frustration, and dysregulation, rather than simply anger or pride.
When we read Moses as autistic, we see not just his struggles but his strengths as well. His story challenges us to rethink leadership as something rooted in authenticity and collaboration, not charisma or conformity. It calls us to create communities where difference is celebrated, not erased - where no one feels they must mask to survive. Moses’ journey also reminds us of the power of accommodation, the importance of recognizing and addressing needs to enable individuals to thrive.
But perhaps most importantly, Moses’ story teaches us about the cost of alienation. How many autistic humans today live as Moses did - on the margins of multiple communities, struggling to find a sense of home? And how can we, as a society, do better? The Torah invites us to imagine a world where no one is excluded, where every individual’s unique contributions are valued. That is the world we are called to build.
Moses’ story is not just a tale of leadership but a lesson in the sacredness of difference. Neuroqueer Torah teaches us that when we read the text through the lens of those who have been marginalized - autistic humans, disabled individuals, queer folks - we reveal dimensions of the Torah that have always been there, waiting to be uncovered.
This reading calls us to honor the infinite wisdom of the Torah not as a static document but as a living, breathing tradition that grows richer with every new perspective we bring to it. By reading Moses as autistic and disabled, we challenge ourselves and our communities to build a Judaism that fully embraces difference, where the act of interpreting Torah is itself a sacred act of inclusion and renewal.
The Torah’s wisdom is infinite, and its truths speak to every generation. Let this reading inspire us to honor the diversity within our communities, to advocate for justice, and to create spaces where everyone can unmask and be fully themselves. May we, like Moses, turn aside to notice the extraordinary - in the world, in the Torah, and in one another.
