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.

Bat Mitzvah at 12 or 13? A Jewish Feminist Question

This January, my oldest daughter will turn 11. Do you know what this means? It does not mean, perhaps to her dismay, that she soon will be whisked away to wizarding school. It means that we are woefully late picking a date for Bella's bat mitzvah.

But picking that date is proving to be a struggle. Should it be when she's 12 or 13?

In 1988, I had my bat mitzvah at age 13, on a Friday evening in my family's non-egalitarian Conservative synagogue. I was allowed to lead the Kabbalat Shabbat service, but not Ma'ariv. I read from Shir HaShirim, a beautiful idea that my father had to allow me to learn trop and chant from the Tanach, since I was not allowed to read the Torah or Haftorah. My bat mitzvah was beautiful, but it was not equal in scale or importance to my brothers' coming-of-age celebrations; on their bar mitzvahs, they each led the tefilot, and read the complete Torah portion and Haftorah before the entire congregation on Shabbat morning.

As I wrote recently in a piece for the New Israel Fund, I grew up with mixed messages; I was encouraged to count and succeed equally to boys in every way, except in the Jewish ritual realm.

As with so much related to boy-rearing compared to girl-rearing, bar mitzvahs are comparatively simple. Sometime after the boy's 13th Hebrew birthday he has an aliyah to the Torah (says the blessings before the torah reading), maybe says a few words about the Torah portion and/or his tzedakah project, and bam, done. In fact, even if he never has an official bar mitzvah ceremony, as soon as he reaches his 13th birthday, he is automatically "bar mitzvah'ed". Being bar mitzvah means that the boy has reached the age of majority, and is therefore obligated to follow the commandments incumbent upon Jewish men.

Perhaps because it's a quite recent addition to Jewish ritual, the bat mitzvah ceremony is less straightforward. For generations, women were all but barred from participating in public religious life. There were no bat mitzvahs, and girls' coming-of-age was not celebrated publicly. The modern bat mitzvah, in which girls are called to the Torah and lead the services just like boys do, is a new(ish) event born of a feminist drive to include women in Jewish communal ritual. It would seem natural to hold it at 13, the traditional age of majority.

image copyright Bitsela, used courtesy of free-bitsela.com

But some say a bat mitzvah should be at age 12 because the Talmud (Jewish law texts written between the 2nd and 5th centuries) says that is when girls are considered mature--and therefore obligated to fast on Yom Kippur. Presumably, the earlier age of maturity--and obligation to mitzvot--for girls is related to when most began menstruating (and might also be marriageable). But the obligations incumbent on women in the Talmud are very different from those incumbent on men. Women are not, for instance, bound to any time-sensitive mitzvot, such as prayer, which is also why historically (and still today in the Orthodox world) women could not count in a minyan or lead a prayer service.

I am far from a Talmud scholar, but it seems to me that the Talmudic source has little to do with the modern concept of bat mitzvah, in which girls are welcomed into the full range of mitzvot traditionally incumbent on men, including daily prayer. And yet, there's a phenomenon that has taken hold in Conservative Jewish communities of late, at least in my area, to celebrate b'not mitzvah at age 12. Many of these impressive girls take on the full commitment of Jewish ritual life-- including donning tallit and tefillin daily--starting a year earlier than boys do.

 I do not dispute that girls often mature faster than their male counterparts--they may indeed be "ready" for the milestone, have the knowledge, poise, etc.--but to me that is beside the point. Is this practice egalitarian? Why, after working so hard to gain ritual and spiritual equality, would we (egalitarian/ feminist Jews) want to separate the genders by age in the onset of their commitment to the mitzvot? And why should girls be obligated to cut their childhoods short by a year?

I am genuinely interested in your responses, and welcome your comments, as well as suggestions for further reading.

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.

Creative Ambition in Mommyville

Did you ever watch a TV show, or see a movie, or read a book, and think: whoever wrote that knows about my life? (I wish I could say that about Girls, but alas, not so much these days.)

Well, that was essentially my experience at a recent staged reading of Anna Fishbeyn's play, Sex in Mommyville. Despite the headline-grabbing title, the play isn't (only) about sex. It's about an under-appreciated writer and mother (Artemis), who struggles with her own intellectual, feminist identity while wrestling with the demands of her family: an over-worked husband (Zeus), two exhausting kids, and overbearing parents. It also happens to be laugh-out-loud funny.

I was delighted to realize how much Artemis and I had in common: advanced, under-utilized degrees in literature, novels under the proverbial bed, successful husbands whom we love but sometimes seem to have grown Blackberry tumors on the tips of their fingers. (The similarity ended with her insatiable randiness, it must be said.)

The play is autobiographical fiction: similar to the story of the playwright's life, but with significant changes of her choosing (an age-old genre, really). And it is very brave. Like some of the very best humorists and essayists, Fishbeyn is not afraid to mine her own life, and the lives of her family members, for humor and pathos (think: Nora Ephron or David Sedaris).

While the struggle of the mother at the center of a busy family might have been generic--an everywoman--Artemis is not every woman. She is frisky, not cold. She is intellectual, staying up all night reading philosophy, not watching Real Housewives. She has Russian immigrant parents, whom she loves even though they take her husband's side and let themselves into her apartment at exactly the wrong times.

A lot has been said about the gulf between feminist ambition and the reality of motherhood, and this play adds a whole new thread to that discussion. For writers and artists who can't or don't escape the home to an office, finding balance and maintaining ambition can be herculean tasks.

Sex in Mommyville is currently in pre-production, and hopes to come to an Off-Broadway theater soon. Here's hoping lots of other mommies (and daddies) get to see it.

Cultural Clash: The Woman in the Niqab and I

During a summer trip to Southeast Asia in 2001, Josh, Nina and I spent about a week in northern Malaysia. In Georgetown, the former colonial town with an intoxicating mixture of British, Chinese, and Indian influences, we took a funicular up to the top of Penang Hill. It was a rather ordinary touristy thing to do: a cool mode of transportation, with a view at the top.

I remember that day not because of what we saw out the window, but because of our fellow tourist passengers inside the car. We travelled up the hill with what seemed to be an extended Saudi Arabian family. The men were dressed like tourists from anywhere: plaid short sleeve shirts, jeans, sneakers. The kids--both boys and girls--also looked pretty typical, as I recall, wearing shorts and t-shirts. But the women looked different. They were each wearing a black niqab: full body, head, and face coverings, leaving only their eyes exposed.

The woman sitting directly across from me had carefully made-up eyes, with dark eyeliner, sparkly eye shadow, and thick mascara. As she spoke to her family in a language I couldn't understand, those eyes, huge against the vast blackness of her coverings, seemed to keep tabs on me. I wondered what it was like to be her. And on her behalf, I felt angry. Angry that she had to hide, as if in shame, while the rest of her family was free to live in daylight.

And at the same time, I imagined that she was doing the same to me. I felt her eyes looking me over. I can't remember but I was wearing, but my best guess would be shorts and a tank top. It was summer in Malaysia, after all. Was she scandalized by my exposed skin? Or was she desperately jealous of my freedom?

I'm thinking about all of this today because the New York Times has a Room For Debate discussion on the recent feminist protests against the hijab, or Muslim headscarf. A counter-protest by a group of Muslim women defending their right to wear the hijab points to the problem with outsiders like me engaging in the fantasy of imagining that we understand the motivations of people of other faiths and cultures.

I believe in women's autonomy, so if women want to wear a covering or veil, that is their right. But sometimes practices are so culturally entrenched that the people most hurt by them will argue in their defense. (See: women spitting and shouting at other women praying aloud at the Kotel in Jerusalem).

I can't help but having a strong reaction to seeing women (and girls) hiding under fabric. My understanding is that females in Muslim societies cover themselves at least in part to protect men from sexual longing and/or misdeeds. Because of course, men are animals who can't control themselves, and of course, that problem falls squarely on the shoulders of women.

Here's when I admit that I don't understand Jewish women who cover their heads after marriage, either. I don't believe that women belong to men; I do believe that men are capable of controlling their sexual impulses; and, most importantly, I don't believe that whether or not men are tempted by women is at all a woman's problem. I have trouble seeing women covering and/or shaving their hair after marriage as anything but a sign of old-fashioned patriarchy. Unfortunately, patriarchy is woven deeply into the fabric of Judaism, and it's those aspects that are hardest for me to reconcile as a modern woman and as a feminist.

That said, I fully admit that I am limited by my own world view. That day in Malaysia, sitting across from that intriguing pair of unknowable eyes, there was no conversation between us tourists from opposite parts of the world. But there was an abundance of wonder.

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. 

Standing with the Women of the Wall

When I was growing up in a Conservative synagogue and day school on Long Island, it was still controversial for a woman to wear a tallit and tefilin. In USY back in my day, there was a subtle prejudice against egalitarianism--the serious Jews went to the "traditional" minyan. The synagogue that I grew up was torn apart when a faction demanded expanded rights for women. Adolescence was a confusing time for me, as I was an well-educated Conservative Jew, but my education was not equal. My brothers were taught to read Torah and lead services, and I was not. It didn't make sense that I was taught and encouraged to achieve in most every way, but my voice counted less in the context of formal prayers. My personal experience of Jewish practice gave me a real taste of what it means to be a feminist.

As the mother of three daughters, I believe very strongly in religious freedom and pluralism. All people should be able to practice the religion that they believe, without persecution. This is true here in the US, and it should also be true in Israel.

Yesterday in Israel, ten women, including two Conservative woman rabbis, were arrested for the crime of wearing a tallit. (Described here in the New York Times). I am well aware that women's religious freedom at the Kotel is an issue that resonates more strongly in the diaspora than it does in Israel. But then again, perhaps the the Kotel itself is more important to diaspora Jews than to Israelis. There is not a single journey to Israel that would omit that important destination. I have been there many times, and every single time I have felt alienated, because the Kotel is an Ultra-Orthodox synagogue. It doesn't feel like home, to me.

Next Rosh Hodesh, Tuesday March 12th, there will be a public egalitarian shacharit minyan here in NYC to show solidarity and support for the Women of the Wall. Time and location TBD (please get in touch with me for details). I pray for a day when Jews worldwide will respect one another for their commonalities, rather than shun one another for their differences.

See below for a message from organizer Rabbi Iris Richman:

It is customary, each day and especially as we welcome each new month - that people gather to pray at the Kotel, the Western Wall in Jerusalem.  The beginning of this month of Adar, in which Purim falls and joy is traditionally the greatest - be happy, it's Adar! - is celebrated yesterday and today.  Notable among groups who specifically come to celebrate at the Kotel is Nashot haKotel - Women of the Wall.  It is a group of women who have the idea that they should be free to engage in Jewish worship at the Kotel, including wearing tallit and tefillin. There is a "separate but equal" area of the Kotel where women are "supposed" to gather - not at the main western area with the wide plaza, but around the corner and down some stairs, at the Southern side, called Robinson's Arch.  That is the same "separate but equal" area where Conservative groups of both genders are also supposed to worship, so as not to disturb the sensibilities of the Orthodox Jews at the main area of the Kotel, since the government of Israel, in concert with Israel's rabbinic establishment, have designated the Kotel, liberated by Israel in the Six Day War in 1967, as an "Orthodox prayer site".   

And of course, I use the words "separate but equal" advisedly. In 1898 the US Supreme Court decided in the case of Plessy v. Ferguson that segregation, characterized by the court as "separate but equal", should be the law of the land in the US.  It was not until that court reversed itself and decided Brown v. Board of Education in 1954, that our government even began to acknowledge that segregation should not be the policy of our country. 

Unfortunately, this has not yet happened in israel. With increasing regularity, women who gather to pray at the Kotel to welcome Rosh Hodesh, the beginning of the month, have begun to wear a tallit, as many of us do - and take for granted - in defiance of the Israeli law that prohibits them from doing so, because they are women.  Over the last few months a few women have been arrested for doing so.  Some Israeli women, a Reform rabbi.  Yesterday, it hit much closer to home when two Conservative woman rabbis, including one whose congregation is in Queens, R. Robin Fryer Bodzin, together with R. Debra Cantor, were arrested for the crime of wearing a tallit. 

So what do we do as we stand, possibly, at the cusp of possible change? There is a possibility that the new government, for the first time in many years, may not include Haredim (the religious parties), which might allow for some changes in the way the government involves itself in excluding Conservative, Reform and even some Modern Orthodox rabbis, from Israeli religious life. 

I propose that we organize an egalitarian Rosh Hodesh outdoor prayer service here in NY, in celebration of our religious freedom in this country and as a statement of encouragement to those who do not yet enjoy that freedom, hopefully attended by many Jews.  As the new Israeli government forms, and we celebrate the next Rosh Hodesh on Tuesday March 12, welcoming the month of Nissan, biblically, our first month, and the month of our liberation from slavery, we shall not continue to remain silent. 

--R. Iris Richman