Before Shanee Markovitz and Tani Kay get married this May, the couple gathered their close friends together recently to celebrate … their prenup.

“I want my friends to see this as a huge part of our wedding. It’s as important as every other piece, if not more,” says Markovitz, 20. “We’re going to announce it at our wedding and put it in our programs, too.”

While many prenuptial agreements are kept hush-hush and often seen as unromantic, for this couple — who have been together since they were high-school sophomores — it’s a sign of liberation.

And not everyone is happy about it.

Markovitz and her groom-to-be Kay, 21, are of the modern Orthodox Jewish faith and signed what’s known as a “Halachic” prenup. Rather than litigating alimony, these contracts protect a woman from becoming an “agunah” — which translates from Hebrew as “chained woman” — by compelling her husband to grant a Jewish writ of divorce, or “get.”

Otherwise, “the woman is stuck in a dead marriage. It’s functionally over but without her get, she can’t move on and be [re]married within the traditional Jewish community,” explained Keshet Starr, who runs the Organization for the Resolution of Agunot (ORA), which aims to help these women navigate the law.

The Post previously reported on Gital Dodelson, an Orthodox woman in Lakewood, New Jersey, who pursued a religious divorce for three years — and was granted one only after her husband finally agreed.

“We define withholding a get as a form of domestic abuse,” said Starr.

Under the Halachic mutual arbitration agreement, which was written in 1994 by a head of the Jewish court Beth Din of America, a husband’s refusal to grant a get would be penalized with a $150-per-day fine, or nearly $55,000 annually.

While the Rabbinical Council of America passed a resolution in 2016 that barred modern Orthodox rabbis from officiating prenup-free unions, only about 84 percent abide by the rule, according to Beth Din — and most couples don’t flaunt their contract the way Markovitz and Kay are.

“When you’re entering a marriage, it’s really important to say that you love each other enough to shield the other person from your worst self,” said Markovitz, who is studying prelaw at Manhattan’s Yeshiva University at Stern College. She believes in the “romantic” cause so much, she’s now registered as a notary public to officiate friends’ prenups.

“I think everyone should do this, so publicizing it is an important way to make that happen,” said Kay, an engineering student at Washington University in St. Louis.

But some — especially in more Orthodox communities — remain dead set against it.

“We’re going to announce the prenup at our wedding and put it in our programs, too.”

“I couldn’t be more against the so-called Halachic prenup,” says Yehoishophot Oliver, who runs a religious men’s-rights group on Facebook, and lives in Houston. “When you’re getting married, divorce should be a dirty word. The prenup is fundamentally a divorce settlement.”

He calls ORA’s efforts to protect women “harassment” and “out­rageous” and believes the agunah issue should be dealt with outside the law.

“There should be community pressure applied on the guy like there’s always been,” said Oliver. In recent years, there have been stories of Robin Hood-style vigilantes. The Post reported in 2015 about a New Jersey rabbi for hire who would “use brutal methods, including martial-arts beatings, handcuffs and electric cattle prods, to torture [a man] into granting the divorce.”

Markovitz admitted, “A couple of my dad’s friends were like, ‘Why are you doing this?’ … We still have a way to go in terms of normalizing this in more Orthodox circles.”

And while Oliver said the halachic “makes a husband forfeit his rights,” Starr calls that a common misconception.

“The only thing you’re giving up is the opportunity to be a jerk about the get later,” she says.