my yidden transfems, listen to me. the cry in your heart that leaps to your throat and compels you to say “i would rather become a new woman than be stranded to live as the same man” is the the cry of ruth to naomi, begging that she walk with her forever, to be one people and to know one Gd.
when you are among women and you do not stay your tongue, when you speak what is true you are adding your own thread to the tapestry of tales girls tell to one another when night falls, and we feel bold. don’t be afraid.
when the undeniable hunger to be known draws your gaze across the mechitza, where you know you should not look, shut your eyes and dare to imagine what it is like to be there instead of here.
the strong line of your shoulders is the polished wood of a harp your foremother played as a song of Hashem, her nimble fingers leaping from string to string like a hind in a dappled wood.
rummaging through boxes of tarnished judaica, seek a pair of fine earrings, find a mirror and hold them up. do they suit you? do you dare to wonder if you might wear them as well as your mother, and her mother, and her mother before?
a chasid approaches you and asks you if you want to wrap tefillin today. do you? is it a sense of affection for Gd’s law, or ritual, or a sense of obligation that gnaws at you? ask yourself this kindly, without moral judgement.
know that the way you may shrink from fact of the dark bristle at your cheeks, the heaviness of your hair, the thickness of your fingers is a shame known to all the women come before, their chafing laughter brandished as a burning iron to frighten and deny them the right they had to be women so brash and unyielding. affirm yourself that right they could not for themselves.
when shabbos approaches, when the bride and her procession are just down the street, ask that you may greet her. draw the match, light the wicks, dousing the wood with a flick of your hand. cup your hands over the flame like you are drawing water into your palms, bring this gentle water to your eyes, may it kiss your skin with its cool touch.
if you find a timbrel, give it a shake. the song of your foremothers is there, of miriam and all the women leading us from from bondage— can you hear it? if you find yourself thirsty, lost in the barren wilderness— and trust that, someday, you will— do not despair. listen. listen for the sound of running water that only you know how to summon.
be meek before Gd, but never a man. be shrill or shrewish or kind or mean, but do not be ashamed.
i love you and i will always defend you.
blakekathryn
dededos
areudirty
ellievsbear
origamiaround
vaporwave
discoholicmusic
izzy806
jbbartram-illu
annaxmalina
stormborns
