By Jessi Quinn Alperin

For the love of Hashem,

stop excluding me and kicking me out

and taking away my Judaism and replacing it with a broomstick kitchen.

I hate your black cloaked cronies

who refuse eye contact for fear of contracting an STD

or cooties

or—Hashem forbid—womanhood.

Hashem damn, not womanhood! Anything but that!

Not anything that looks like a woman,

which is me.

You couldn’t bear seeing a neither-nor

sitting in your services,

wrapping on your streets,

wearing your kippot.

How dare I live outside your confines.

You can’t understand how your Hashem could create

such a neither-nor with a uterus meant for furthering some made-from-vomit

misconception of life

stealing away your male-ordained “rights” to be better.

So now I’ve got no right to worship in these—your—spaces.

Well, let me tell you,

wide-brimmed femmephobe,

I’m not a woman, haven’t been a woman,

and most importantly,

I’m a better Jew than you’ve ever been and will ever be.

I’ll part ways with a middle finger salute.