My husband and I have long joked that he is more feminist than I. When Sara Hurwitz was first ordained as Maharat, he was much more comfortable with the idea of female clergy than I was. I have never felt an urge to wear a tallit or tefillin. I did not like some of the changes instituted by my former rabbi to increase the role of women in formal ritual, because I felt it served a broader agenda rather than reflected the wishes of female congregants. I was skeptical of R' Avi Weiss and YCT's claims of 'open orthodoxy' because some of the ideas being generated by that institution seemed to push change simply for the sake of change. It seemed to me at the time that YCT's leadership was overly aggressive and unnecessarily alienating much of the established Orthodox world. In a way, I was proud of being un-feminist (not anti-feminist), because I was truly comfortable in both my femininity and my religious observance.I should clarify that I never had an issue with the idea of women wearing tallit or tefillin in non-Orthodox services. The bulk of my objections were not halachic. The neighborhood I lived in had one Orthodox shul, one Conservative, two Reform, and possibly more that I'm forgetting. It bothered me that women who might feel more comfortable than I would in a Conservative or Reform minyan would come to an Orthodox one and wear a tallit. It seemed disrespectful. After all, I would not go into a church and loudly proclaim that I do not believe in Jesus. So why must someone come into my holy space and proclaim that they don't share my beliefs?I don't feel that way anymore. The two largest influences have been motherhood, and recent statements by Orthodox institutions and individuals.First, on motherhood. I rarely get to daven anymore, and when I do, at least half my attention is on the clock, because it is inevitably almost time for one of my kids to eat, nap, or go to the potty. Or I'm distracted because I'm expecting my older son to come looking for me. My children take up my mental space even when they don't need anything. So I deeply envy any woman who can daven with true kevana. I still don't have a desire to wear tallit or tefillin, but I admire the dedication and devotion of the women who do. I wish I could feel that level of connection when I pray.Now, about that second influence. Not that many months ago, my former rabbi, Asher Lopatin, took the position of president at YCT, and was inaugurated at an event featuring non-Orthodox rabbis. Parts of the orthodox world went ballistic, and engaged in some pretty petty, embarrassing behavior. The fear those individuals displayed, the utter terror that they had of interdenominational dialogue, started to push me away from centrist orthodoxy and into YCT's open orthodox arms. The naysayers displayed the same overly aggressive and unnecessarily alienating attitude of which I used to accuse YCT. I don't want to be associated with the people calling names, the people afraid to talk to their fellow Jews just because those Jews practice differently. I want to be with the people engaged in the discussion. I want to sit at that round table, not hide from it.And then, within the past week, came the story of the school that condoned girls davening at school with tefillin. The rabbis of that school issued well reasoned, thorough statements explaining their decision. Their detractors again started with the fear mongering ("Aaah! Change! The end is nigh!") and the disrespect. And that was, for me, the last straw.Some may not recognize me as a feminist. I don't much care for women's megillah readings, women's tefillin groups, etc. I won't wear a tallit myself. But I'll argue and advocate for other women to be able to do any of these things without facing contempt. I keep thinking of John Locke (on): don't tell me what I can't do!So, thank you, faceless men of the internet. Thank you for your sanctimonious snark and fear of change. I think you may have just liberated me.