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 But there are some aspects of traditional religious gender roles that are simply outdated, and yes: sexist.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.