 | Judaism is all about collective transformation. The Jewish narrative continually has "transformed" its "collective" from a first human eventually to all humans. At the same time, the Jewish narrative continually has "transformed" roles and rights within the "collective," in fits and starts striving for dignity and equality for all. At its best, Judaism's social justice ethic does both at the same time – which is how "women's lib" began. |
With this week's Torah portion, I begin my second Torah cycle with Shir Ami. Click here for last year's D'var Torah on Parashat Pinhas.
At the first congregational Passover seder I ever led as a rabbinical student, a young girl raised her hand with a question. Earnest and enthusiastic like Harry Potter's Hermione Granger, she stood up, hands on her hips, and belted out, "I didn't know rabbis could be boys. I thought all rabbis were girls!"
The room howled with laughter, but left why unsaid. I told her that she could do anything, and we sang Dayeinu.
I didn't tell her that she lived in Judaism's first moment when every rabbi one encountered could be female, or transgender, or nonbinary, or adopted Judaism, or hailed from one of numerous Jewish ethnic communities hardly known to most Europeans during the Jewish Renaissance of the 1700s. In the brief life of this young girl, In the seeming blink of an eye, over 2,000 years of Jewish history was turning on its ear. The first female rabbi was ordained only in 1935 – a one-off unrepeated until the 1970s.
"I thought all rabbis were girls" was a sentence that nobody, nobody, could utter before.
Jewish history charts an ongoing process of collective transformation. From the start, Torah and Jewish life continuously have expanded their reach and concern – from a "first human," to another human, to a family, to a tribe, to 12 tribes, to a nation, to the nations, to the world.
Expanding focus, however, is never enough if it perpetuates historic inequality, exclusion or oppression. That's why, at the same time, Jewish life has passionately cared about roles and rights within the collective. Never fast enough, sometimes with backsliding and always with inertia and churn, Jewish life's unceasing call is to include the excluded, empower the marginalized, and thereby help heal the world.
And this week's Torah portion grippingly shows how.
Reflecting prevalent ancient Mideast practices 3,500 years ago, Torah's laws of inheritance originally favored males and especially firstborns: women could not inherit. In this Torah portion, Tzelofehad died leaving no sons but five daughters. The five – Mahlah, Noah, Moglah, Milkah and Tirzah – approached Moses urging that their father's legacy shouldn't vanish due to gender (Numbers 27:1-4).
In essence, they tell Moses that God and Torah were wrong.
We'd be forgiven for bracing ourselves that the earth would swallow them, a plague would erupt, water would run out, or some other horribles would befall them. After all, until now, the Book of Numbers has been full of complaints, anger, mobs and death.
But not this time. Moses takes the daughters of Tzelofehad's request to God, and God agrees with them. God tells Moses to overrule prior parts of Torah, because the five women were "just" to challenge an unfair status quo (Numbers 27:5-11).
Thus "women's lib" was born – within Torah, by challenging Torah.
Of course, it was only a first step, and a tiny one by our modern lights. Jewish law needed many centuries to truly equalize female inheritance, and plenty of inequalities persisted. (Otherwise, the movie Yentl wouldn't exist, right?) Still, this first step was revolutionary in its day and made way for more.
Next came a first female judge in pre-monarchy Israel (Deborah). Then came Talmud's text of the ketubah (Jewish marriage contract) to shift economic power within marriage so women could assert greater control and not be "chained." Then came Kabbalah to uplift the divine feminine, which began a slow but radical re-positioning of gender continuing today. Modern theologians, including my teacher R. Bonna Haberman z"l (co-founder of Women of the Wall), began re-thinking the Garden of Eden's Havah (Eve) as mother of human consciousness rather than a feeble and duped woman who disobeyed. My own mentor became the first woman to lead a Jewish seminary. Today several Jewish denominations are led by women.
And yet, how many women today were reared believing that they couldn't so much as touch a Torah, never mind chant from it? How many women were denied a Jewish education in part due to gender or gender roles? It breaks my heart that our ancient inheritance would feel distant to anyone, so it's particularly my calling to help repair that legacy.
Judaism has a ways to go – and not just on gender. Ashkenazic and Sefardic, straight and LGBTQ+, age, race, ethnicity – all must truly belong. As at the beginning, our "collective" must continue to evolve and expand, and with them Jewish roles and rights, rituals and priorities. Nor is Judaism alone in needing to leap forward: all religious system embed the systemic prejudices of their founding eras, and thus must transcend them to heed their own callings.
It won't be easy: change never is. But we who are named Israel – literally "Godwrestler," who as a people identify as change agents – cannot shirk this calling. It's who we must be.
So say their names – Mahlah, Noah, Moglah, Milkah and Tirzah – and let's all call on these daughters of Tzelofehad as our eternal teachers.
The room howled with laughter, but left why unsaid. I told her that she could do anything, and we sang Dayeinu.
I didn't tell her that she lived in Judaism's first moment when every rabbi one encountered could be female, or transgender, or nonbinary, or adopted Judaism, or hailed from one of numerous Jewish ethnic communities hardly known to most Europeans during the Jewish Renaissance of the 1700s. In the brief life of this young girl, In the seeming blink of an eye, over 2,000 years of Jewish history was turning on its ear. The first female rabbi was ordained only in 1935 – a one-off unrepeated until the 1970s.
"I thought all rabbis were girls" was a sentence that nobody, nobody, could utter before.
Jewish history charts an ongoing process of collective transformation. From the start, Torah and Jewish life continuously have expanded their reach and concern – from a "first human," to another human, to a family, to a tribe, to 12 tribes, to a nation, to the nations, to the world.
Expanding focus, however, is never enough if it perpetuates historic inequality, exclusion or oppression. That's why, at the same time, Jewish life has passionately cared about roles and rights within the collective. Never fast enough, sometimes with backsliding and always with inertia and churn, Jewish life's unceasing call is to include the excluded, empower the marginalized, and thereby help heal the world.
And this week's Torah portion grippingly shows how.
Reflecting prevalent ancient Mideast practices 3,500 years ago, Torah's laws of inheritance originally favored males and especially firstborns: women could not inherit. In this Torah portion, Tzelofehad died leaving no sons but five daughters. The five – Mahlah, Noah, Moglah, Milkah and Tirzah – approached Moses urging that their father's legacy shouldn't vanish due to gender (Numbers 27:1-4).
In essence, they tell Moses that God and Torah were wrong.
We'd be forgiven for bracing ourselves that the earth would swallow them, a plague would erupt, water would run out, or some other horribles would befall them. After all, until now, the Book of Numbers has been full of complaints, anger, mobs and death.
But not this time. Moses takes the daughters of Tzelofehad's request to God, and God agrees with them. God tells Moses to overrule prior parts of Torah, because the five women were "just" to challenge an unfair status quo (Numbers 27:5-11).
Thus "women's lib" was born – within Torah, by challenging Torah.
Of course, it was only a first step, and a tiny one by our modern lights. Jewish law needed many centuries to truly equalize female inheritance, and plenty of inequalities persisted. (Otherwise, the movie Yentl wouldn't exist, right?) Still, this first step was revolutionary in its day and made way for more.
Next came a first female judge in pre-monarchy Israel (Deborah). Then came Talmud's text of the ketubah (Jewish marriage contract) to shift economic power within marriage so women could assert greater control and not be "chained." Then came Kabbalah to uplift the divine feminine, which began a slow but radical re-positioning of gender continuing today. Modern theologians, including my teacher R. Bonna Haberman z"l (co-founder of Women of the Wall), began re-thinking the Garden of Eden's Havah (Eve) as mother of human consciousness rather than a feeble and duped woman who disobeyed. My own mentor became the first woman to lead a Jewish seminary. Today several Jewish denominations are led by women.
And yet, how many women today were reared believing that they couldn't so much as touch a Torah, never mind chant from it? How many women were denied a Jewish education in part due to gender or gender roles? It breaks my heart that our ancient inheritance would feel distant to anyone, so it's particularly my calling to help repair that legacy.
Judaism has a ways to go – and not just on gender. Ashkenazic and Sefardic, straight and LGBTQ+, age, race, ethnicity – all must truly belong. As at the beginning, our "collective" must continue to evolve and expand, and with them Jewish roles and rights, rituals and priorities. Nor is Judaism alone in needing to leap forward: all religious system embed the systemic prejudices of their founding eras, and thus must transcend them to heed their own callings.
It won't be easy: change never is. But we who are named Israel – literally "Godwrestler," who as a people identify as change agents – cannot shirk this calling. It's who we must be.
So say their names – Mahlah, Noah, Moglah, Milkah and Tirzah – and let's all call on these daughters of Tzelofehad as our eternal teachers.
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