Johnny Weir's Fabulous Olympics

Since I wrote my Olympics-fever post, I've been thinking about Tablet magazine's very righteous or, even, self-righteous declaration that in order to protest Russia's persecution of gays, they are boycotting the Olympics, and, in fact we should ALL boycott the Olympics: "By turning off our TVs, we’ll be sending an unmistakable message that we wish to have no part in the Kremlin’s glories."

Now, Tablet, "a daily online magazine of Jewish news, ideas, and culture," is not exactly Sports Illustrated. I wouldn't have expected them to cover the Olympics, nor would I go there to look for my Olympics coverage. So it's rather easy for them to refuse to cover an event that they didn't really have to cover, anyway. But, still, is their response the correct one? The New York Times, a consistent defender of gay rights, is covering the games in full tilt (I subscribe to their daily email Olympics updates...so as not. to. miss. a. thing.) Am I effectively high-fiving Putin by following these games? 

Consider the athletes. Think about the three American men who swept the slopestyle skiing in the event's first-ever appearance at the Olympics. Think about the women ski jumpers who after years of petitioning a sexist Olympic committee, were finally given their due, and a berth at the Olympics. Think about Matthew Mortensen, a luger from Long Island, who narrowly missed qualifying for the Olympics in 2010. Here's what he said on WNYC about making it this year: "I've been literally working towards a single goal for sixteen years. And to get that goal is such an incredible feeling." 

To boycott the Olympics because of Russia's unquestionably detestable human rights abuses is to punish these and other amazing athletes who have dedicated their lives to their pursuits. So we ignore them, and their accomplishments, to punish Russia? Somehow, I think Russia doesn't care. But I know the athletes do. 

Since I've been watching, and not boycotting, I've had the pleasure of witnessing what may be an even more effective form of protest. Johnny Weir, the former figure skater, has been rocking it as an NBC commentator for these games. Each time he appears on screen, he looks more fabulous. He has impeccable make-up, gigantic jewelry, and a beautiful television presence. He is the gay man that the Russians are so afraid of, and he is appearing in Sochi full-on "out." No rainbows, sure. No need. The rainbows are radiating from his jewels. 

Why would Johnny Weir even agree to go to Russia, knowing what we all do? One would assume he wanted to be on TV, and he's good at it. But maybe he also went because he wanted to boost up those athletes, gay and straight, who have worked so hard to be there, and weren't about to give up their dreams. Maybe he wanted to tell the world, and Russia, that gay people are an integral part of sports, just like they are integral part of all of our communities. Maybe he just wanted to say, "Hey, look! I'm not scared of you." 

Well, thank you, Johnny. You're teaching us as much about pride as you are about triple axel salchows. Tablet, you don't know what you're missing.

Bat Mitzvah Debate Follow-Up

Drumroll . . . we made the decision regarding when we should celebrate Bella's bat mitzvah.

It was fascinating discussing this question with so many deeply engaged, thinking people: rabbis, educators, and parents. Some rabbis prefer bat mitzvah at 13 because it keeps girls in Hebrew school another year. Several people I consider "professional" Conservative Jews told me they had never really pondered the question. One clergy member told me that in her congregation, bat mitzvahs are usually at 13, although 12-year-old girls are counted in the minyan. "We are consistently inconsistent!" she said.

The contemporary feminist arguments for bat mitzvah at 13 are strong. As my rabbi, Rabbi Jeremy Kalmanofsky, added to a Facebook discussion:

"one has to ask why rabbinic tradition assigned girls maturity to 12. I think it is not a modern assessment of intellectual or emotional maturity - though these may be real - but a less nuanced report about menarche. In other words: It was time to get busy! I would prefer that such considerations vanish from contemporary ritual decisions."

On the other hand, Professor of Rabbinics Rabbi Gail Labovitz said this, also on Facebook:

"I lean towards 12, though I get that it does not seem egalitarian, and I am very much, generally, committed to egalitarianism. The age [of bar/ bat mitzvah] does indeed have a link to the onset of puberty, but this is true for both boys and girls - indeed, well into the rabbinic period one can find contesting voices in rabbinic lit. as to whether bar and bat mitzvah should be decided by a universal age limit, or by demonstrating actual physical signs of puberty. At the same time, the rabbis did imagine that a girl "became" bat mitzvah at 12 just like a boy becomes "bar mitzvah" at 13 . . . . So in our day, if we are expanding the realm of mitzvot that we think women should be responsible for . . . . then those responsibilities kick in at 12 - and girls who don't fulfill them until a year later might be thought of as sinning..."

Compellingly, several people told me that bat mitzvah at 12 is a feminist ritual, because it celebrates girls' coming of age in a different way to how boys' maturity is celebrated; it breaks the pattern of using the masculine as the standard.

Then there are the practical issues. One rabbi/parent told me that her daughter was unhappy with her Hebrew school class, so holding her bat mitzvah at 12 was a way to "graduate" and move on to Prozdor (Hebrew school for high schoolers, in NYC). She was not the only rabbi who told me that they based their decision of when to hold their own daughters' bat mitzvah ceremonies primarily on the particular circumstances and needs of that child.

Bella goes to a Conservative day school where the practice is for girls to celebrate an in-school bat mitzvah at 12. Bella is eager to get the party started, so to speak, and wants to do what her friends will do. The bat mitzvah is a celebration of a change in status for the child, and as such, it makes sense to have the in-school bat mitzvah at the same time as the synagogue celebration.

In addition, I'm all for celebrating milestones at once. In general, I try to make the kids' birthday celebrations as close to their birthdays as possible--no month-long birthdays for me, if you know what I'm sayin'.

Taking all of the above into consideration, and needing to make a practical decision, we decided to hold Bella's bat mitzvah soon after her 12th birthday. In March 2015, we will be the proud parents of a bat mitzvah girl. Mazel Tov!

And now I officially feel old.

Gender Equality in Judaism, at Home and in Israel

It continues to amaze me, when I think about it, that we are living in a moment in history when social change in Judaism, and in the world, is actively happening every day. Women are still gaining ground as equal members of society; feminism has not finished its business.

When I heard Anat Hoffman speak last spring, the part of her message that most resonated with me was this: many חִלּוֹנִי Israelis don't know that Judaism can be anything but ultra-Orthodoxy. As such, they are automatically excluded, and exclude themselves, from religious life. Imagine a world where Israelis of all stripes felt free to lay claim to their own religious heritage, the way we can and do here in the US. I've heard Israelis say "We [Israelis] don't go to shul". Well, no wonder. I might not go to shul either, if I felt that my beliefs were dismissed as deviant by the sole official religious governing body of the nation.

As part of the New Israel Fund's Taking Our Place campaign in honor of the 25th anniversary of Women of the Wall, they asked for submissions of personal stories that explain "how YOUR connection to your Jewish heritage has been strengthened by the Jewish community's move to more gender equality." 

Given that gender equality in Judaism (and in life) is something that I care deeply about (plus, let's face it, I can't resist a good writing assignment), I jotted down the story below, which can also be found on the NIF website, here.

I grew up with mixed messages. My parents encouraged me to succeed academically, and I always felt my prospects were limitless; when I grew up, I could be anything my brothers could be. With one exception. In our Conservative non-egalitarian synagogue, my brothers, once of age, could read Torah and lead tefilot and count in the minyan, and I could not. It was a jarring inconsistency in what was otherwise a thoroughly modern household.

As a young adult, I had to find a way to reconcile my Jewish identity and my progressive feminist identity. Forsaking either one was never an option. For a time, I infrequently visited a synagogue. When my first child was born, it felt natural and necessary to join a spiritual community. It was finally my chance to choose the community that I wanted to be a part of; how lucky for me to live in New York City, where we joined a thriving intellectual, egalitarian, and socially progressive synagogue. Every time I listened to our talented woman cantor beautifully lead the tefilot, my Jewish identity and feminist identities were affirmed.

I have three young daughters, and already their education has been different from mine. They expect equal opportunities for men and women, in both the religious and secular spheres. I look forward to celebrating my oldest’s bat mitzvah and watching her proudly read the Torah and don a talit. And I dream of a day when she will be able to practice Judaism as she sees fit, no matter where she is in the world; even at the Kotel.

I encourage you to share your story with the NIF as well. If you do, please send it to me, too, so I can share it here.

People Can Marry Whoever They Want, Right, Mom?

When Bella was a year old and attended her first music class, she became friends with a set of twins who had two dads. In her preschool class, she had two classmates, each with two moms. And there was another classmate whose mom was a single parent by choice. My kids have grown up in an environment where families come in all shapes and sizes. Two moms, two dads, one mom--all of that is normal. So it was with complete wonder that Bella asked me not long ago why they were talking about gay marriage on the radio news. People can marry whoever they want, right, Mom? 

As parents, we all do our best to instill our values in our kids. Often we don't even have to try; they hear us talking, they follow our example, and they learn about the world through the communities that we bring them into.

One of the more unsettling things about raising kids is having to teach them about the truths of the world that look different from what they know. Gradually, they learn about racism, and they learn about war, and they learn that in many synagogues women are not allowed to wear a tallit or lead the prayers.

I cherish Bella's incredulity whenever these discussions arise. Inequality baffles her. And that is a beautiful thing. The young people of our nation already overwhelmingly support same-sex marriage rights. One day my daughters will grow up, and they will join in that majority.

I hope and pray that it won't take that long for gay couples to receive equal treatment under the national laws of our land. But no matter if it happens in weeks, days, or years, the waves of change are washing over our shores, starting from a toddler music class, and inching forward.

On Beauty, Controversy, and Being a Jewish Feminist

It occurred to me that a blogger won't find success until she says something controversial: something that makes people think, and possibly challenge their own assumptions. On Monday, I wrote a post that was more widely seen than anything I've written before on this blog. 

In response, many people have reached out with positive, inspired reactions. I heard personal stories of struggles to find a meaningful spiritual practice and community. One commenter said she was educated in Haredi schools, and started wearing tallit with Women of the Wall. She advised that I practice the bracha in advance, as I might find myself tearing up. One friend wrote to tell me that she didn't start wearing tallit and tefillin until she was in college, but her daughter, now in high school, began at her bat mitzvah: "It has been very joyous for me to watch this be a natural and comfortable ritual for my daughter, rather than a vexed one, as it has been for me." 

But there was also this, on Twitter: 

@rachelmannnyc @JVoicesTogether There's so many beautiful things to do as a Jewish woman and wearing a talit isn't one of them.

Really? Like keep quiet, mind the kids, and let the men pray for us? Remember, a hundred years ago many people would have agreed with the above statement if you delete "Jewish" and replace "tallit" with "trousers."  I'm quite familiar with the traditional women's role in Judaism, and I am very happy lighting the Shabbat candles with my family every week. But there are some aspects of traditional religious gender roles that are simply outdated, and yes: sexist. 

Standing yesterday with an overflow crowd at my home shul, I saw hundreds of Jewish women (and men) proudly davening in tallit. And I have to tell you: they were beautiful. It was beautiful to see that despite the rain, so many people cared enough to miss a couple hours of work or school to come together and pray. It was beautiful to hear an inspired, educated, and unified congregation, which was really an amalgamation of dozens, sing the Hallel together. It was beautiful to see the future of pluralistic Judaism join in the service: middle school students from Hannah Senesh and Schechter Manhattan. It was beautiful to sit with my daughters by my side and yes, it was beautiful wearing a tallit. 

Most importantly, it is beautiful to know that there is a large, committed group of people who believe that a small segment of Jews should not have carte blanche to decide how people can pray at the Kotel, or anywhere. 

I asked Bella, my 10-year-old, to write her reflections on the service and the cause. Here's what she wrote:

I definitely agree with the Women of the Wall because I think that it is very important that all Jews have equal rights especially when it comes to the precious Kotel. I thought that the service was special and that it showed that we believe in equality as Jews. If women don’t wear tallit or tefillin then Jewish women don’t have any clothing to represent their religion. I am planning on wearing tallit and tefillin after my bat-mitzvah and that is one of the reasons this is important to me.

I was not the only one who wore a tallit for the first time yesterday. The woman sitting directly behind me at the service told me that she was, too. Another woman like us was honored with an aliyah. And, more famously, three female Knesset members also wore tallitot yesterday at the Kotel, participating in a service with Women of the Wall. This time, no one was arrested.

I can't say that wearing a tallit will become a permanent part of my practice. Time will tell. But I feel certain that yesterday, it was just the right thing to do.

P.S. Please "like" the new Facebook page for this blog. And thanks for being here. 

Why Tomorrow I'll Wear a Tallit for the First Time

Last night my dad and I were discussing, via g-chat, tomorrow's NYC solidarity minyan in support of Women of the Wall, which we are both planning to attend. I told him that I was thinking of borrowing my husband's tallit to wear to the minyan. I've never worn a tallit before in my life. He was, needless to say, surprised.

What, you might ask? You don't wear a tallit and yet you attend an egalitarian synagogue, send your kids to an egalitarian Jewish day school, and believe very strongly in the rights of all Jews, male and female, to pray outwardly as they wish, in any and all locales, especially the most holy one? Here's why:

Growing up entrenched in the NY Conservative movement of the 80s, I had no role models of women who participated equally with men in Jewish prayer and leadership. There were no women rabbis. There were no women in my Schechter school who put on tallit or tefillin or even a kippah. At my bat mitzvah, I did not learn to read torah or haftorah. It's really no wonder that these rituals never became a part of my personal practice. When and where would I have picked them up? My personal spiritual journey took a backseat in my twenties as I was trying to figure out who to be and what to do (while suffering through graduate school). I did a lot of yoga. Probably more om-ing than davening, to be honest. I did come into my own opinions about women's role in the world, and also in Judaism. For my and Josh's aufruf, I decided to learn to read haftorah. That was a big step. The service was held in my parents' back yard because their shul does not allow women to participate.

Then motherhood took over. I discovered a different kind of spiritual practice: the kind with pushed-beyond-exhausted visions of godliness in my baby's smile.

I have three daughters, and I've already begun thinking about how my example will affect them in their spiritual practice. I want them to feel like equal members of the minyanim that they take part in, and I want them to feel comfortable wearing tallit and tefillin. So I've been thinking, for some time, that I should try it. Even though it feels about as comfortable to me as putting on my husband's suit and tie. Perhaps this minyan is just the right time to give it a go. It can't hurt. And it could be, like the minyan itself, a powerful message to my daughters.

My father's views don't always jive with mine, but he and I both believe in religious pluralism. Which means that even if you don't subscribe to a practice yourself, you respect other people for their beliefs. I can't tell you how proud I am of my dad for coming with me tomorrow, and for teaching me that tolerance and compassion are central tenets to leading a Jewish life.