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April 15, 2011
Inequality’s invisible mechitzah
Achieving true egalitarianism takes education, gentle encouragement and consistency.
GAYLYN YOUNG
My rabbi and I have a running debate over whether the shul is “totally and completely” egalitarian. He says, “yes”; I say, “no.” It’s a friendly disagreement and a large part of it is semantic. As a liberal congregation, it is technically egalitarian: women are not barred from any aspect of shul life; women are welcome to sit on the board and it’s had several female presidents; women davening may wear a tallit and many, both young and old, do; I’ve never witnessed a Shabbat service where at least one woman wasn’t asked to have an aliyah; and the regular Torah reader is a woman. But do those things mean a synagogue is “totally and completely” egalitarian? I say, “no.”
On the subject of female rabbis, Rabbi Joseph Telushkin wrote, “A characteristic problem besetting many women rabbis … is one of acceptance and authenticity. Women rabbis complain of being told, ‘You’re too pretty to be a rabbi,’ and of sometimes being addressed as rebbetzin (the Yiddish word for a rabbi’s wife). While all women professionals have to cope with the competing demands of motherhood, the problem is particularly acute in the rabbinate, where hours of work are undefined and, hence, often never ending.”
At my synagogue, women participate in both the religious and business aspects of shul life, but I’ve observed that women often do not take advantage of these opportunities. Many do not wear a tallit or head covering and they do not accept an aliyah. Fewer women compared with men can read and understand Hebrew and lead services and their knowledge of halachah falls short of their male counterparts.
I understand that there are some very good reasons for this. Most of the women in my congregation, for instance, were raised at a time when they were not allowed to fully participate in the ritual life of the synagogue.
I also have friends who have told me that they see a tallit as something men wear; that it feels wrong to them to wear one. While I respect their perspective, I think it’s somewhat contradictory that they are comfortable wearing what was once considered to be men’s clothes (pant suits, slacks, jackets) to services, but draw the line at a tallit.
It would, of course, be an absurd contradiction for rabbis to enforce egalitarian principles by compelling women to don tallitot and head covers or participate in Hebrew and Judaism classes. But I strongly believe women who shun wearing a tallit and head cover, learning Hebrew, accepting aliyot, etc., are missing out on making a special connection to the Torah and to Israel.
Rabbi Kerry M. Olitzky illustrates the spiritual connection to God that can be made when wearing a tallit in the book Life’s Daily Blessings: “While we find comfort in wrapping ourselves in the tallit, the tzitziyot are there to remind us of our responsibility to follow God’s direction in our lives. That is why there is a way to count 613 threads and knots in the tzitzit, the traditional number of Divine commandments.
“So wrap yourself in a tallit. Feel God’s presence. Take a look at the tzitziyot. Touch them gently as a reminder of the role of these sacred instructions in your life. Then go out and become a channel through which God’s blessings can flow into the world,” she writes. Clearly, here, the traditional restriction of such symbols to men diminishes the possibilities of religious experience for women.
It remains a delicate balance. Liberal shuls need to promote increased participation while, at the same time, respecting those who don’t yet, and may never, feel comfortable assuming a larger role. And that’s the hard part. How do we move forward while respecting those who don’t feel the same? Obviously, this is difficult. But forced compliance is offensive.
I’ve often found that I am the only woman wearing a head cover in an adult education class or while eating with a group of Jewish women. Being informed about the reasons for these traditions, or even just being reminded of the option in the first place, might help a woman be more comfortable in what she perceives as “men’s garb.” Quiet, gentle, encouragement might move women – and girls – to try it out to see if it’s something with which they can grow comfortable.
I want the place where I worship to be moving in a more egalitarian direction, but on Friday night, when candles are lit, I’ve never seen a man do it, although I have seen many a woman asked to say Kiddush. It’s a mitzvah for both men and women to light Shabbat candles, but we have come to view this mitzvah as a “woman’s place.” Wouldn’t it be lovely, however, to see a husband and wife light the candles and say the blessing together?
So, at this point, I am proposing two positive suggestions: on the one hand, place more emphasis on the profound spiritual rewards, for women, that may derive from wearing the head cover and, on the other hand, encourage men to share with women the lighting of the Shabbat candles. This would show that, when it comes to defending true egalitarianism, we not only talk the talk, but that we walk the walk.
What about more education? How about small, even one-on-one workshops to learn the blessings for the Torah, in the Hebrew or in transliteration to start. One summer day a couple of years ago when my shul could hardly guarantee a minyan, an older woman accepted her first aliyah. Her Hebrew, read from transliteration, was halting, but she got through it. It was an incredibly spiritual moment. Quiet, gentle encouragement.
One day, I was sitting waiting in my shul’s foyer. A young girl came along and found a pretty white lace head cover in with the black ones. She was really taken by it and put it on. A woman came along and told her that she couldn’t wear it until she was bat mitzvah. I pointed out that there actually was no such restriction. The woman immediately agreed and told the girl that she’d made a mistake. But the damage was done. The pretty lace head cover was off the girl’s head and back in the basket. Wouldn’t it have been wonderful if the girl had been praised for putting on the head cover and perhaps given a quick lesson in why Jews wear them? I regret that this girl, and so many others like her, is not being made aware of the depth of spiritual meaning involved in the wearing of a head cover. Quiet, gentle encouragement.
I attended a class years ago and heard an older woman talk about her tallit and why she wears one. She was one of the first women to wear one at her shul and it was very special for her. Her words had moved another woman to buy a tallit when she visited Israel. Quiet, gentle encouragement.
A couple of years ago, I went to services on Sunday. I began to wear tefillin, a practice quite alien to many modern Jews, both men and women. I felt that I needed to take on this mitzvah, needed to feel and see if it were right for me and if it moved me. I was very nervous to put tefillin on in front of other people, especially the group of men who regularly attended (I was usually the only woman), but I knew I had to “put my money where my mouth is.” After the first day, a man came up to me and congratulated me for my courage and conviction. The next time, it was a lot easier to put on my tefillin. Quiet, gentle encouragement.
I’ve been told, out of what I believe to be misplaced kindness, that I “don’t have to” wear a head cover, especially when I’m not davening. When I hear someone say that, even though I know it’s true and that they are being well-meaning, I can’t help but hear, “Men don’t want to, but they have to.” Maybe that’s true. Maybe men have also lost touch with the beautiful message that wearing a kippah sends: that we are Jews and that God is there above and beyond us all the time. Perhaps if men and boys saw their wives, mothers and sisters take on these traditions, their spirituality would be deepened.
Aleza Goldsmith quotes Susannah Heschel in an article for San Francisco’s JWeekly (“Orange-on-seder-plate tale is flawed, feminist says,” April 5, 2011): “The old roles of women are maintained under the guise of liberal Judaism,” Heschel is quoted as saying. “We’re still marginalized even though we have supposed equality…. It’s an invisible mechitzah.”
In the final analysis, the true litmus test of egalitarianism is how we present ourselves to each other and the world. While we must continue to respect those who feel differently, if we are to really move forward, our liberal shuls must ensure that the rules we have are upheld consistently and that the congregation is educated – gently and with quiet encouragement – in such a way that we actively promote egalitarianism and remove that invisible mechitzah once and for all.
Yes, some woman and men may feel uncomfortable as boundaries expand. However, I would argue that being complacent and preserving the status quo is going too far in accommodating those to whom change is uncomfortable, standing still, rather than striding toward true equality. Young Jewish women should be learning that it’s not that they “have to,” but that they can choose to embrace their Judaism, wrapping themselves in tradition.
Gaylyn Young is marketing and administrative coordinator for the Hebrew Free Loan Association and assistant editor of Canadian Human Rights Reporter.
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