Orthodox – Don't Gel Too Soon

The War for the Souls of Orthodox Jewish Women (and Men) and Why It Matters

The young woman who wrote and recorded this song (watch it if you haven’t; it’s wonderful) is a “Singer/songwriter, vlogger, Orthodox Jew, and English major on the verge of ‘real life.'” Her name is Talia Lakritz.

The young woman who wrote and published this piece, which begins with the word “Hineni” (Here I am – a response to God’s call several times in the Torah) is a Maharat and a pioneer in ritual Orthodox Judaism. Her name is Rachel Kohl Finegold.

The young woman who was my best teacher of all things Jewish (and many other things) is a model for many. Her name is Aliza Sperling.

The young woman who helped to support traumatized victims of the “mikvah rabbi scandal” is a Maharat at The National Synagogue. Her name is Ruth Balinsky Friedman.

The young women who ranked highest among my other great teachers offered wise, knowledgeable, exciting education both in theory and practice. Their names are Laura Shaw Frank (JD and almost PhD), Rachel Weintraub (JD), Brooke Pollack (JD), and Aliza Levine (MD). There were more, too.

They are all treasures in my life; I wish every Jewish seeker could have so stunning an educational-religious posse.

So what’s going on? Why has The Rabbinical Council of America (RCA) stuck a stick in the eye of every Jewish woman, especially women like these – passionate Jews; learners and teachers – by issuing a kind of fatwa against the rabbinic ordination of Orthodox Jewish women. This is just the most recent episode in the soap opera that their effort to keep women from formal religious leadership. Predictably, outrage ensued.

From New York’s towering Modern Orthodox leader Avi Weiss LA’s Rav Yosef Kanevsky, word emerged that this blow was unacceptable.

Why does it matter? RCA claims that there are plenty of ways for women to participate and even lead, they just can’t be ordained. Why the uproar from college women and teachers and rabbis and parents and – generally – people who really like being Jewish?

Because it’s terrible to continue, with even more emphasis than usual, to shut half your community off — by fiat — from the privilege of spiritual leadership. Remember the slogan “If you can see it, you can be it.” Sounds right doesn’t it? But if you’re set apart, part of your soul is set apart too.

The Jewish people lose way too much, kept from 50% of the talent and strength and smarts and love in our own communities.

Read this story by the renowned feminist Letty Cottin Pogrebin, on the death of her mother:*

“One night about twenty people are milling about the house but by Jewish computation there are only nine Jews in our living room. This is because only nine men have shown up for the memorial service. A minyan, the quorum required for Jewish communal prayer, calls for ten men.

“I know the Hebrew.” I say. “You can count me, Daddy.”

I meant I want to count. I meant, don’t count me out just because I am a girl.

“You know it’s not allowed, he replies, frowning.”

“For my own mother’s Kaddish I can be counted in the minyan. For God’s sake, it’s your house! It’s your minyan Daddy.”

“Not allowed!” says my father.

Later she wrote:

“The turning point in my spiritual life….I could point to the shivah experience in my living room, say that my father sent me into the arms of feminism, and leave it at that….No woman who has faced the anguish and insult of exclusion on top of the tragedy of her bereavement forgets that her humiliation was inflicted by Jewish men.”

It’s heartbreaking, isn’t it? Such a loss for those who wish to serve and all of us who need them. Besides, as my friend Chana reminded me, in last week’s parsha God told Abraham “Whatever Sarah says to you, do as she tells you.” If only He’d get in touch with the RCA and remind them, too.

*Deborah, Golda and Me: Being Female and Jewish in America

One Account of the Jerusalem Violence

The murders in Jerusalem were, I believe, the first time terrorists had struck inside a synagogue. The story is terrible; what follows is a truncated account sent to friends of a woman in the neighborhood. I know some of the word are unfamiliar (I have explained a couple) and the names are unfamiliar sounding. I hope you can get past them and, whatever your politics, try to imagine this happening in the neighborhood where you live.

Dear friends,

Yesterday at about 7am my daughter Miri called. “Mordechai just came home from shul (synagogue) . He said that Arabs came in and are shooting, and that a man with an axe is hitting everyone. Some of the people threw chairs at them, but it didn’t help”. The twelve year old had hit the floor along with everyone else when the bullets began to fly. He was fully aware of what was going on, and what it meant. He somehow found the courage to let go of his father’s hand, crawl towards the exit and break into a run.

Mordechai is blonde, freckled, and a soft spoken somewhat introverted and studious boy, much like his father, Shmuli. He is not Huck Finn, and the courage he found at those moments were a gift straight from G-d. By the time he finished telling Miri what happened, sirens from Hatzalah ambulances, police cars, and Magen David could be heard telling her that there were casualties.

“Where’s Shmuli” was the thought that entered her mind again and again as the seconds which felt like hours began to tick. She called me and said, “Say Tehillim (NOTE that’s Psalms – often read as a prayer in such circumstances.) There is shooting in Bnei Torah”. I began to say the ancient prayers, knocked on my neighbor’s door and told her to do the same. Chani called and told me to look at the news to see what was really happening. Nothing was reported as yet. Of course not. It was only 7:10.

I realized that the whether or not the attack was over, that no one as yet knew whether the murderers escaped. I called again, asking that everything be done to see that no one leaves the campus, and then called Miri. Thank G-d she had the sense to stay indoors and not run to the besieged synagogue. When Mordechai came home, the shooting was still happening. By 7:20 we both realized that if she didn’t hear from Shmuli, something was very wrong. The police and other services had no information as yet to give to the public, but a family friend who had seen the terror with his own eyes, said that Shmuli had been taken to Haddassah EIn Karem. When Mordechai let go of his hand, he instinctively ran after the child placing himself in the sight of the terrorists. One of them attacked him with his axe, hitting him on the left side of his head, his back and his arm. Somehow he made it to the door. Josh White, a student of Machon Shlomo was riding down Agassi on his bike. He noticed what he described later as “a lot of confusion” in front of Bnei Torah, asked someone what was going on, and the man answered him in Hebrew.

In the midst of what to him was gibberish, he picked up the word Aravim (Arabs) and immediately grasped what was happening. He approached the shul and saw Shmuli who was still aware. The Machon student took of his shirt and stopped the bleeding, a move which may have saved Shmuli’s life. The shooting was still happening inside. It was about 7:15! The emergency crew drew back, but because SHmuli was already outside, they evacuated him thus making him the first of the wounded to be taken to Hadassah, another factor in his survival. Before collapsing, he asked where Mordechai was, and when he was told that the boy ran away from the carnage, he said, “Baruch Hashem”. Inside, the terrorists were continuing their “work”.

When they entered they turned to their left, and immediately cut down Rabbi Twerski and Rav Kalman Levine who were standing in the corner. Reb Kalman was the husband of Chaya, formally Markowitz who was a student and later a madrichah at Neve. Her husband was not a regular attendee of Bnei Torah. He would generally daven (pray) in the earliest possible minyan so he could get in a couple of hours of learning before beginning his day. Yesterday he had a question about something he had learned and had gone after davening to Bnei Torah to put the question to its erudite rav, Rabbi Rubin. The question will now only be resolved in the Heavenly Acadamy. Rev Avraham Goldberg, the third man to be killed is Breina Goldberg’s husband. Many of you know Breina as the warm caring efficient secretary cum mother figure at the front desk in the afternoon. I don’t as yet know how her husband, or Reb Kupinski the fourth victim met their deaths. The only thing that I know, is that it was brutal and swift.

The first policemen to enter were traffic cops who knew what they were facing, and also knew that they were not wearing protective gear. They entered anyway and together with the forces that came afterwards ended the bloodbath. By 7:30 the murderers were apprehended.

Miri, my daughter Guli, and her husband were in Hadassah. Miri’s other kids were watched by relatives and friends for the day. Mordechai was urged to speak about what he saw again and again in order to diminish the damage of the trauma he had undergone. The rest of the family flowed in, saying Tehillim and waiting for updates. The hospital social worker, Aviva, who is blessed with the rare gift of being empathic without being overbearing, and the women of Ezer Mitzion (a volunteer organization) kept us well supplied with food, calming conversation and practical advice. We were allowed to see Shmuli who was put under anesthesia. We don’t know if he heard us or not, but we were talking to him stressing that Mordechai was fine. In the hours before the surgery was done, we found ourselves with Risa Rotman. Her husband, Chaim Yechiel ben Malka, was also attacked, and the extent of his wounds are very serious. Some of you may know Risa (who if I am not mistaken also is an OBG) and those of you whose husbands learned in Ohr Sameach or who recall Reb Meir Shuster who he helped unstintingly for years, may know him as Howie. The policeman who entered first, passed away. May Hashem (God) avenge his blood.
Please please continue saying Tehillim (praying) for Shmuel Yerucham ben Baila and the other victims. Daven that Hashem give strength to the five new widows and 24 new orphans.

NOTE: Some of what I removed is about news coverage, which was not exemplary. Some other material of a personal nature and I felt that I did not have the right to post it.

Jewish Women, Feminists, and Esther — Across the Centuries

How can there be a women's story that women are not allowed to tell? Today is Purim – the celebration of the rescue of the Jews from the Persian King Asueras' evil adviser Haman. In a classic (and highly fortunate) intermarriage, she became the favorite wife of the powerful king. Unaware that she's Jewish, he's chosen her from all the maidens of Shushan and fallen for her – hard. The story is intricate but it ends with a bad guy trying to get the King to kill all the Jews (sound familiar?) and the Jewish Queen Esther convincing the King that the bad guy is indeed bad, and thus saving the day.

It's an old story with both sexist and feminist implications but today it emerged with a new life – at least for me. Here's why: it's required that Jews hear the story of Esther, the Megiila Esther, read twice during the holiday. It's read with a melody – a "trope" that's quite lovely. Usually, in observant Judaism, men preside. Prayers and readings are the domain of the male voice. But women are "permitted" to read the Megilla for a gathering of women. It's a act of Jewish feminism. And that's what happened this morning.

I wish I could describe the emotion that arises as one hears the women's voices together, and the single voices, one by one, reading out the story. It's an act of faith, an act of love, really, but it's also an act of community – the community of women coming together to share the story of a feisty queen who overcame fear to save her people.

Of course you would be correct to suggest that the simplest solution would be to choose a branch of Judaism that has made its way past such rules and you'd be correct. But we've chosen, despite the difficulties, to live this life, partly because of the very community that produced this day. And it comes, as a friend reminded me last night, as a package. So there will be moments – many of them – of frustration and anger. Of a sense of deprivation and loss. And the, just when it seems terrible — something lovely happens. Something like today.

JERUSALEM DIARY 2.0 DAY EIGHT: WEDDING SONGS, ARTISTS, MUSIC AND MEMORIES — THE BEST ARE THE THINGS YOU WEREN’T LOOKING FOR

You know it’s true: we never know the best things are coming until they’re there. I can read this! It’s Kol Nishma, a song I really wanted to learn. I’ve twice heard it sung as a groom makes his way to his bride surrounded by friends — all singing (hollering) with energy and joy. A friend found the title for me, our Hebrew teacher typed out the lyrics in nice, big, first-grader font – and I can read it – even sing it in the limited tune-carrying that passes for me singing. Wasn’t expecting that one…

Later we visited the studio of a designer whose work we thought we might like. He shares his gallery with his 80 year old mother, whose extraordinary art hangs over tables where his is displayed. It’s quite a scene. That artist, Malla Carl, whose work was enchanting, grew up in Switzerland after her family fled the Nazis and landed in Lucerne.

Her father, she told us, had been a Chasidic rabbi. Even so, he gave her permission to go to art school – quite revolutionary at the time for an Orthodox Jewish girl. When I asked how this was possible in such a traditional environment, she explained, a bit tongue-in-cheek, that the chief Rabbi of Lucerne had come “from Berlin” – dramatic pause – and been influenced by Rabbi Samson Rafael Hirsch. The father of Modern Orthodoxy, Hirsch apparently believed even then that women should be educated and gladly gave his permission for her to continue her studies.

I wish I could describe the animation, the humor and charm, the sheer joy of our time with this spectacular woman. She told us great stories; some, involving others, I’m not able to relay. Suffice it to say she’s a pistol. She took us through folders of her work – not as customers but fascinated visitors – and her content and execution are memorable and evocative. They are not the work of an “old” person but of one always alive and aware.

We just went on and on — asking questions and receiving remarkable responses. Somehow our conversation moved to facts surrounding our move toward Orthodox Judaism. She was pretty shocked. As we prepared to leave, our newly purchased print rolled up safely in a tube, the story of our gradual move from no affiliation to such a commanding observance fascinated her. Finally, we left. From the top of the stairs, after giving us farewell greetings (a kiss for Rick, a motherly caress for me because I have a cold and she couldn’t hug me) Mrs. Carl continued our conversation. Upon learning, from one flight down, that Rick and I have a Kosher home, she saluted! I don’t know if I have the skills to describe it: A small, grey haired woman in glasses, standing in the dim light of the stair well, saluting us for embarking on this stage of life with such a radically different reality. The whole scene represents an idea dear to Baby Boomers like me — and the basis for the title of this blog. Whatever you do, DON’T stand still. Grow and change and explore and wonder and respond. Not so dramatic; just be alive while you’re living. The drama was reserved for a tiny woman, learning of our journey of discovery — (sometimes so so hard) — and saluting. It took about a block to be able to speak; both of us were enormously moved. Honored, too, not only by her gesture, but by the opportunity, however brief, to share the reality of such a gigantic life. They say Jerusalem is full of history – and it isn’t all built into the stones and walls. Every person leaving the old country and coming here to build a new life — every one of them is a figure of history. Today we met one of the best. You’d know it, too, if you’d been with us, seeing her grand salute from the shadows at the top of the stairs. I never expected that, either.

A REBIRTH OF WONDER — DEATH AND LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI

In A Coney Island of the Mind, San Francisco poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti wrote of a search for a rebirth of wonder.* It’s out there – that wonder — sometimes in the strangest places.

Here is what I know: Some things in life surprise us — not with shock but with wonder. Today we flew to Boston for Rick’s dad’s funeral. It was a beautiful day – sunny and almost as warm as spring. With Rick and me traveled not only our remarkable rabbi, but also two of Rick’s dearest friends. Despite the mid-week madness of Washington, they had chosen to leave their work and fly north to support us. In addition, the sisters of two friends unable to come arrived as their surrogates. That was the first wondrous thing.

An Orthodox funeral is deceptively simple. The coffin is a plain pine box held together with pegs. As it leaves the hearse it is borne by the mourners to its place over the grave. On the way, Psalm 91 is recited and the procession stops seven times. Once the coffin – reverently referred to as the “aron” is in place, the service proceeds.

With our rabbi leading the service, each step along the way was accompanied by warm and loving exposition: Why do we do this? — How should we participate? — What is the blessing of bearing the aron and seeing to its burial? As he led the prayers and answered these questions, it was with such love and individuality that participation became a privilege and a comfort. That is the second wondrous thing.

As the service moved toward conclusion the rabbi explained the final act. We, not the cemetery employees, would bury the coffin – my husband’s father. One by one, we took up the shovels and poured earth into the grave. Not until the grave was full and the coffin covered did we leave… and then, all those in attendance formed a double line so that Rick and his brother could pass through, moving from the funeral to the initial mourning period, or Shiva.

This last, loving duty is perhaps the most remarkable of what an Orthodox Jewish funeral offers mourners. At the funerals of each of my parents, way before we moved into this new life, the cemetery distributed little envelopes of “dirt from Israel” which attendees dropped on the coffin. We all left then, and the cemetery employees finished the job.

I told my sister about the custom that mourners fill the grave, thinking that she, who is not thrilled with our decision to live a more observant life, would be appalled. Instead, she said “That’s so great – leaving them covered and at peace. I felt so badly leaving Daddy there so exposed….” That’s probably the most critical. Imagine the difference, at the close of such a painful day, filled with loss and grief, if you knew you’d bid a farewell that leaves your loved one cared for and at peace. Imagine, too, that those you love – beloved friends and family members – have all left a part of themselves there in the grave; that the final resting place includes their loving labor. That’s the final wondrous thing.

We’re nowhere near the Age of Wonder, that’s for sure. But we are occasionally given a peek. Today the window opened and a bit emerged — not quite a rebirth but present nonetheless — just enough to help us see what’s possible. If that’s not wonder, I don’t know what is.

*I Am Waiting
I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder

HATS OFF (???) Part 2

You thought we were finished with this, didn’t you? Sorry. Laura Shaw Frank (scholar of such magnitude and teacher of such openness) this weekend continued her lectures on the issue of modesty. She made two points which greatly enhance this conversation — which follows from this earlier post.

The first was that the term "modesty" which includes not only hair covering and clothing but also a gender-neutral moral, ethical and spiritual modesty, is meant to bring us closer to God. So, although many of the most conservative Orthodox Jews set what appear (to me) to be unjust and unnecessary conditions, as we consider what’s modest and what isn’t, where, how and if to cover hair and why, we need to remember the overarching concept of a private relationship with a higher power, enhanced and empowered by a modest body AND spirit; as we consider how intense the rules should be – and indeed why they must exist at all — we need to do so in the context of the intent — male or female — of living modestly.

The second issue she raised was about something called "habituation." "Habituation" is change in social climate – in habit, really. Does the fact that so few women cover their hair make it no longer a form of "nakedness" to leave the hair uncovered? I have to tell you – half of me boils over still at the idea that we even need to have this conversation. In fact, at the discussion, one of my friends asked why she had to listen to rules and Talmudic interpretations of how women should behave, proffered by men. Frank cited valid, respected sources on both sides. Some say that many of the most critical prayers may not be recited in the presence of a woman with uncovered hair; others say that "since most women go that way now, it has become like an exposed part of the body." In other words, "It’s all around you so why would it harm your thoughts or seem like nakedness? You must be inured to it by now."

The thing is – if modesty is also a key to internal connection to God, what is the point of defying the concept? Why not find a way for men and women to pursue modesty as part of the pursuit of God? What Laura Frank maintains is that as we decide how to apply these ideas we need to know the sources. To struggle or condemn rules, as I am wont to do, only by applying current political standards without understanding of the deeper intention is not fair to those who interpret the rules or to oneself. You need a historic and biblical context.

Beyond that – the biggest question: IF WE DO ACCEPT THE CONCEPT OF HABITUATION – WHERE DO WE DRAW THE LINE???? You may remember my link to Cooper Munroe’s site – BEEN THERE, where she posted a New York Times piece called Middle School Girls Gone Wild. It’s a troubling description of very suggestive dance performances by tween-aged girls. No sensible person wants that for her child; it’s that end of the spectrum that underlines the question of "how far do we habituate? How do we maintain the decorum we do seek? Must the slippery slope govern everything?"

I realize that to non-Orthodox Jews this is probably a bizarre post but the idea behind it – living a life without showiness or improper behavior as each of us sees it — is not limited to our small community. The fact that the TIMES story was one of the "most emailed" for some time proves that.

THE HARD PARTS

This picture, pulled from an image file because my camera battery died, is of a sign that appears all over the Jerusalem neighborhood called Mea Shearim. The article I linked to here calls it a “living museum” but somehow to me it’s always been oppressive. I go to an Orthodox synagogue and am accustomed to some painful facts about the role of women in Orthodox Judaism but this is different. To me it feels so joyless and heavy – I feel it sitting on my chest. No one smiles. No one will exchange a nod or even a glance as you pass them on the street – not the men who technically aren’t allowed to look at women not their wives, not the women – I’m not sure why — or even the kids. They are as closed off from us as if we were on two sides of a glass.

Sure you can buy things but that’s it. And it seems so strange to me that their stores are tangles of goods — no displays, no efforts to make things attractive – just piles and jumbles. I keep telling myself that it’s because the material world is so irrelevant to them. Their lives – every moment – belong to God. And to many I know that’s laudable. In some ways it is… but — and I’m thinking out loud here — in my view God gave us the rest of the world — why shouldn’t we enjoy it, too?

I guess I’ll just have to continue to struggle. I never could stand not being able to connect with people. Maybe I just want the connection that I have no right to expect. My husband says that I’m looking at THEIR lives through MY eyes and I have to open my mind to the acceptable differences between us. But they transmit such disapproval and so clearly feel none of the commonality that I want to feel with others who choose to practice Judaism that it’s tough. I’m thinking as I’m typing that it’s my bad – that I have to simply accept without comment the lives of others and stop wanting them to love me. Wow. Maybe that’s the whole thing — that and what I feel about the women and their very constrained lives. More to come on this I suspect.

Spent the rest of the day wandering around Jerusalem. In the morning we took a two hour class on the story of the Rape of Dina in Genesis. Because it was particularly important to me to read, particularly as a woman, it was quite exciting to spend two hours on it and the views of the sages about it. I love the intellectual activity that is part of Jewish study. Questions — then answers… but always more than one — shared observations, shared theories and opinions. To me the idea that Judaism is not a destination but a journey informed by shared study is wonderful and among the best aspects of it. Just the opposite of what seems to be going on in Mea Shearim. Gotta keep thinking… but right now I’m just going to sleep. Signing off from the City of Gold.

ART AND POLITICS

Just to the left is a famous mosaic of Tel Aviv scenes that’s stood in the middle of town since the early 70s. We went with our friends Joel and Nurith to the Nahum Gutman Museum and saw photos of the work, which I loved. Naturally, Joel immediately decided that we had to go see it. And we did. It’s a dear. lovely, loving and evocative work of the three columns you see here, surrounded by a ring of more scenes that serves as a kind of frame — really lovely.

The museum currently features a retrospective of the work of Duda Geva, an Israeli cartoonist who died recently, quite young. His work was kind of disconcerting; much of it joking about the absence of God. He appeared prominently in Israeli newspapers — and the tiny museum was jammed. It’s so fascinating, in a Jewish country, that this very secular man had such a wide following. Typical of the enigmatic nature of Israel in the 21st century – battling between the disproportionately powerful 15% who are super-orthodox and the rest of the country and of the frightful battle for the soul of the country between militant, militaristic right and the progressives. There is such pain and despair — on both sides. I’m going to try to write about it some here in future posts — after two years in progressive and highly secular Tel Aviv we go to Jerusalem tomorrow where religion and more conservative politics rule.

MAD MAX[INE] – KOSHER ON THE ROAD

This is the first time I’ve tried to eat only kosher food on the road. We called the hotel where we were going to stay (they have been really nice so I’m not saying where) and the guy asked if we needed a special dining room too. (No, we aren’t germ-averse, just food-specific) We got the dinner we had ordered and it came in paper containers (soup) and plastic plates (bread, good rare rib roast slice and green beans) and Styrofoam (tea.) I asked about the caterer — it was the local Jewish Home for the Aged! Lunch is later today so can’t report on that.

I’m having trouble getting used to this.

I want my mobility. I want my connection to the rest of the world through food. I want to walk into a diner at the beach or a middle eastern place in LA and just sit down.

I want — that’s the issue, isn’t it? I have to learn when to slam the “I want” into the drawer and just go with the rules. I’m perfectly comfortable doing it at home – but I don’t have to give anything up to do that, really. It’s just a matter of careful logistics. On the road it’s different. I feel the pull of the “outside world” that keeping kosher seems to limit in some ways. I need to learn how to handle this – and I don’t want to write too much about it right now. I just wanted to document this experiment in kosher road warriorhood. And to mention that in a hotel where they had no idea of the scope or reason for our requests they went out of their way to make it pleasant. That’s a lovely thing. If they can bother – I have to learn how to bother too without complaining.

If I’m really honest I have to say that my biggest fear is imposing anything on my non-kosher kids. They were not raised in all this and there’s no reason to expect then to live as we do. But I’m afraid it will become a burden between us – — not because of them — they are caring and considerate and will help us to do what we need — but because I’ll be guilty and apologetic and make everything harder for all of us by overcompensating – both at their homes and at ours. I know I’ll figure it all out but some days I’m more aware than others of the “giving up stuff’ side that is part of what has brought us to all the peace and beauty of this new life.