Carefully, I pull the two small, leather boxes out of their cases.

I remember watching the men at my synagogue perform this morning ritual. Back then, I was just an observer. These boxes, which they wrapped on their arms and placed upon their heads, were foreign objects to myself and to my sex. I had not yet recognized their ritual importance, nor their relevance to my identity.

                               I pull the first strap up my arm, and carefully tighten its worn leather around my bicep.
 

Three years ago, I saw my female teacher fulfilling the ritual which I now participate in each morning. Shocked and intrigued by another woman acting in a way that I had thus only associated with men, I used the arm -- which I now wrap with these sacred objects -- to reach out and tap her shoulder. I wanted to start a conversation. I desired to understand.

                                                        I make sure to position this first box facing my heart.

It was not my brain nor another's that drove me to undertake this morning prayer ritual. It was my heart. Tefillin taught me to allow my heart -- my passions -- to ignite my identity as a Jew and my brain to subsequently navigate. My mind could have become subdued by the centuries of women who were dismissed by, "no," but my heart could not be so easily dissuaded.

                                                               I begin to wrap the worn strap down my arm.

"A pig who defiles what our tradition desires of women." That is what he called me. I had known that my practice is not traditional nor accepted by many, but I had formerly never considered the vulgar words which my actions could inspire. I had been brought up with the comfort and support of Jewish questioning. Teachers, rabbis, and peers all praised the power in and privilege of a Jew who questions. But this boy did not question. He did not wish to understand. To hurt, to demean, and to avoid: those were his goals.

                                                                                  I continued to wrap.

I could not leave myself so unprepared to explain what I inherently believed. Looking back through thousands of years of my faith's oral law, I poured over every text that would support and challenge my identity. Validating my own argument would only defend myself, but truly understanding my opposition would open conversation. My egalitarian, Jewish future will be rooted in the Jewish teachings of yesterday and sparked by the conversations of today.

                        Proudly, I form the words of the blessings which my male ancestors have recited for centuries.

I have mastered how to articulate my religious beliefs in order to explain my practices. I am not extremely pious, nor do I desire to appear so. I believe in my right to forge connections -- despite any conflicting roles which someone else has defined for me. I am not ignorant of Jewish tradition; I have studied it and respect the morals which were set to guide my people. But I will not let the barriers which I do not believe in hinder any pursuit of mine. I will not pretend that I am content, and neither shall my Judaism.

                                                           I place the second box square between my eyes.

There was a time when I superficially worried that this final box would put my hair in disarray and feared that its prominence would constitute judgmental stares. Now, I recognize the importance in this ritual. I let my hair go every which way in order to allow my inner self to feel fulfilled. Each morning I am reminded that my Judaism is not a distraction nor is it shameful. As I complete the final step in laying tefillin, I look my peers straight in the eyes. I may be the only female in the school to bring these small, black boxes into my morning prayers, but I will not let that isolate me.

                                                              Then, I join the rest of my community for prayer.

I lay tefillin each morning: a ritual in the Jewish tradition that is meant to catalyze the remembrance of the words of God. Each day, I am reminded of my prideful identity as a Jew, and that identity only amplifies my holistic one as well. I am not afraid to look or act differently than a crowd. I will not shirk the responsibility of respectfully listening to those who oppose my actions. I am not ashamed of what I believe in. I will not give power to another person's restrictions on my Judaism. My actions are my identity: unafraid, female, Jewish.