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If I am a Clown and Mentally Ill, So Be It

The articulated reaction of the Haredi Orthodox rabbinical establishment to the recent symbolic achievements of the Reform and Conservative movements in Israel are angry and pejorative in the extreme. Lest we forget the vituperative character of the comments made about us, mark the following for reference:

  1. The Council of the Chief Rabbinate issued a statement saying it was “against bodies that are called ‘liberals’ or ‘progressive’ that have engraved on their shield the uprooting of the Jewish people from its essence and uniqueness.”
  2.  M.K. Moshe Gafni stated that “Reform Jews are a group of clowns who stab the Holy Torah.”
  3. Rabbi David Yosef alleged that the Reform movement “is not Jewish” and its members are “literally idolaters.”
  4.  M.K. Yisrael Eichler compared the Reform Movement ”to someone who is mentally ill”.

Now, while the stream of insulting allegations have seemingly subsided, these same haredi religious and political leaders have mounted a coordinated legislative and political effort to cancel the modest concessions won by the non-Orthodox movements. Thus, in response to haredi political pressure against the agreement to create a pluralist prayer section at the southern end of the kotel in the Robinson’s Arch area, Prime Minister Netanyahu has invited the United Torah Judaism and the Shas Party leaders to prepare an alternate proposal for consideration. This followed the refusal of the Religious Services Minister, David Azouly to sign off on the government’s agreement with the Reform and Conservative movements. This was hardly surprising given the fact that Azouly is known to believe that Reform and Conservative Jews are not Jewish. And now, Haredi Ministers Yaakov Litzman and David Azouly along with M.K. Moshe Gafni, and with the support of Likud Minister Yariv Levin, have collaborated in proposing a law to enable the Chief Rabbinate to assume administrative control of state funded mikvehs. If passed, this law will enable them to circumvent the Supreme Court decision to allow non-Orthodox religious groups use of local mikvoth for conversion purposes.

In light of the political machinations and religious zealotry of our adversaries, one wonders how members of our movement throughout the diaspora, view these developments.? Do they perceive the conflict as threatening and perhaps even correctly dismissive of their identity as progressive Jews?  Have they accepted the thinking of the Orthodox as representative of the Jewish state and concluded that they have no stake in Israel’s future?

How does one explain to our own people the sociological and theological differences which define our legitimate belief system and theirs? Can we describe ourselves in ways which are no less authentic than the way in which the haredim define as their historically correct understanding of Judaism?  Is not our Jewish mindset and lifestyle at least as accurate an expression of Jewish principles of belief and practice?

Let’s remind our people that Haredi Judaism is in large part a result of the reaction to the threatening influence of the European Emancipation on Jewish life. The fundamentalism of haredi Jews expresses itself in what they believe to be the unchanging character of Jewish thought and life. Rather than change in ways which might have challenged their faith and traditions, they took refuge behind the psychological walls of resistance to new ideas and modern thought. First and foremost is their claim to the unchanging and universal truths of the biblical text. Needless to say their fundamentalism expresses itself in their conviction that Jewish law, halacha, as codified in the 16th century Shulchan Aruch, must be fully observed and recognized as the expression of  the true character of Jewish thought and life.

The religious principles of Haredi Orthodoxy are defined therein as binding rules of Jewish observance and practice. The fact that the Shulchan Aruch is stifling and anachronistic for most modern Jews is of little concern to the Orthodox Haredi believer. But to imagine, as they do, that all Jews must live an insular existence in the 21st century is to propose that proper Jewish life can only be expressed in medieval terms. It is as if nothing has changed in the last several hundred years, not to mention in the last millennium since our ancestors received the Torah on Mount Sinai.

How else can one describe this reality than as one of the great tragedies of modern Jewish life? Moreover, the fact that in Israel it is this minority community of faith which controls contemporary Jewish life is restrictive of the forces of normal social evolution. The consequence is that the non-Orthodox majority Israeli Jewish population is subjected to the invective and authoritarian control of the Haredi rabbinate. And when it comes to matters of identity, conversion, marriage, divorce, death and burial rights, etc., Israelis are compelled to function in the shadow of a form of spiritual terrorism. Conformance to the rules and demands of this Rabbinate is obligatory. There are consequences, enforced by law, to rejection of the Orthodox Rabbinate’s authority.

The fact that for many Israeli Jews, particularly those who are secular, Judaism is what the haredim define it to be, is to accept as normative an intellectual distortion of fact.

Contrary to their uncompromising assertions, as we well know, Jewish thought and religious principles have not been frozen in the canons of Orthodox rabbinic literature. To the contrary, the fact that the vast majority of Jews in the world define themselves as non-Orthodox speaks volumes about the evolution of Jewish life.  Reform and Conservative religious Jews in particular define our faith and practice not only in modern terms of reference but substantively with a more comprehensive appreciation of classical Jewish thought and principles.

The fundamental difference between Orthodox Judaism and the modern streams of Judaism can be explained in the difference between living an insular life of religious observance, what moderns refer to as priestly practice as compared to an integrated life of the priestly and prophetic.

In modern Jewish thought the prophetic narrative is accentuated by affirming the moral and ethical principles articulated by Hosea, Amos, Isaiah and other major and minor biblical prophets. For modern progressive Jews, to be Jewish is to strive to live a moral life. To work towards a more just and ethical society. To condemn economic and social inequalities. To fight against racism and intolerance. To affirm the inherent right of all people to life and to help create the conditions which are necessary to ensure social justice. And above all else it is to work to create a world of peace.

We do not reject the tradition, we incorporate it, all of it into our understanding of Judaism and Jewish life. We are religiously observant but we recognize that our symbols and practices carry a profound message of human responsibility and commitment beyond our own community. Although it is rarely acknowledged, the rabbinic tradition does speak to a reality beyond that of our own.

“I call heaven and earth to witness that whether one be Gentile or Jew, man or woman, slave or free, the divine spirit rests on each in accordance with his deeds.” Yalkut Shimeoni in Judges, Section 42.

 

“Upon three things the world rests, upon justice, upon truth and upon peace. And the three are one, for when justice is done, truth prevails and peace is established.”  Jerusalem Talmud, Ta’anit 4:2

As an Israeli Reform Rabbi I recognize my responsibility to act out the principles of my faith in religious observance and social engagement. This is what distinguishes me from Orthodox rabbis. My horizon of responsibility goes beyond the narrow confines of the Jewish community. It encompasses all who live in Israel, Jew and non-Jew alike. And it reaches beyond our own country into the troubled world in which we all live.

In the words of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel: “Morally speaking, there is no limit to the concern one must feel for the suffering of human beings, that indifference to evil is worse than evil itself, that in a free society, some are guilty, but all are responsible.”

Heschel also explained that, “to us, a single act of injustice is a slight; to the prophets, a disaster. To us injustice is injurious to the welfare of the people; to the prophets it is a deathblow to existence; to us, an episode; to them, a catastrophe, a threat to the world.”

If believing and living as I do makes me a “clown” or “mentally ill” so be it. Would that there were many others like me and my colleagues.

Stanley Ringler is an Israeli reform rabbi and social activist.

 

 

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Sarah’s Missing Voice: When Women’s Voices Are Silenced

This week’s Torah portion is Vayera, Genesis 18 to 22. It is the same Torah portion that we read on the morning of Rosh Hashanah. As I said then, this Torah portion might be seen as a three-act play.  The story begins with three angels visiting Abraham and Sarah and proclaiming that, even in their old age, Sarah and Abraham would have a son. Hearing this news, Sarah laughed in disbelief and skepticism. But we don’t usually read that part of the story on Rosh Hashanah. In a Reform synagogue, celebrating one day of Rosh Hashanah, we read the Akedah, the story of the binding of Isaac, from Genesis 22, the third act of the play. It is as if we walked into the theater after intermission. We looked down at our Playbill and noticed that a central character of Act One was absent in Act Three. Most significantly, that character’s voice was missing, silent.

But Sarah is not here in the Akedah, and I suggest that her absence adds to the tragic nature of this tale of near sacrifice of a child.  The Akedah is a story of action, not emotion.  Abraham displays no introspection or doubt. He is not a skeptic. The fact that Sarah is not in this story is, itself, a tragedy. Who was Sarah in that first act?

“The Eternal One appeared to Abraham while he was sitting at the entrance to his tent. Abraham looked up, he saw three men standing near him. Abraham ran to meet them, to welcome them into his tent, to feed them with the finest of his grain and the choicest of his calves, with yogurt and milk.

They asked, “Where is your wife, Sarah?” God said: “I will return to you when life is due, and your wife Sarah shall have a son.” Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in years, the way of women had ceased for Sarah. She LAUGHED within herself, saying, “After I have become worn, is there to be pleasure for me? And my husband so old?”

Sarah LAUGHED. She was the skeptic. She doubted the word of God. Sarah questioned God’s promise and laughed at the very idea of a miracle. Sarah laughed at the seeming absurdity of the prophecy from God. She showed no intimidation or fear. But Sarah is not around when God tests Abraham by telling him to take his son, Isaac, and offer him up as a sacrifice on Mt. Moriah. Abraham answered, “Hineini”—“I am here.” Abraham is commanded to do the unthinkable, to sacrifice his son, and Abraham responds without a question. There was no doubt, no skepticism. Abraham did not laugh.  At the Binding of Isaac, the skeptical voice of Sarah is not heard.

If only Sarah were present in this third act of the play. Perhaps if Sarah had been there, she would have questioned this test as well. The rabbis in the Midrash recognize Sarah’s absence. They look at the text and ask: Why does it say: “And Abraham rose up early in the morning.” Why early in the morning? Because Abraham said to himself, “It may be that Sarah will not give permission for us to go. So, I will get up early while Sarah is still asleep. It is best that no one sees us.”

The rabbis of ancient times recognized that Sarah was missing from the story, so they wrote her back in and acknowledged that she never would have allowed this frightening story to play out as it did. I am also suggesting that the story is a cautionary tale, telling us that Abraham’s blind obedience is an example of what happens when the voice of the woman is silenced. The story seems to cry out for the mitigating presence of the voice of Sarah. I am certainly not saying that there are no women who are blind believers. Not every woman would doubt the voice of God, or be skeptical or laugh, but Sarah is that paradigm. She is the voice of the skeptic. The story of the Akedah reminds us of the danger inherent in not hearing her voice.

A number of recent events have reminded me of the need for the voice of Sarah in our world. We are hearing the voice of women on the college campuses, demanding that they be heard in cases of sexual harassment and violence. Emma Sulkowicz, a senior at Columbia University, has been recognized for her performance piece, “Carry That Weight, ” as she has carried her mattress around the campus as a protest against sexual assault on campus and the failure of university officials to adequately address those assaults and punish the perpetrators. Similar voices are being heard on other campuses, in the military, and in other fields.

When the NFL domestic abuse scandals occurred, the New York Times ran a story on the front page of the Sports section, titled: “In coverage of NFL scandals, Female Voices Puncture the Din.” It mentioned ESPN anchor, Hannah Storm, Rachel Nichols of CNN, and Katie Nolan of Fox Sports. The Times pointed out that the domestic abuse story was seen differently through women’s eyes, and their voices helped to define the issue of a culture of violence and misogyny.

In my own profession, the American rabbinate has been transformed by the presence of women rabbis. I consider myself fortunate indeed that I became a rabbinic student and then a rabbi at the very beginning of that movement. Sally Priesand had been ordained the first woman rabbi in the Reform movement in 1972. I have spent my entire career working with women rabbis as equal colleagues. I still remember my first CCAR Convention in Pittsburgh in 1980. Reverend William Sloane Coffin spoke and stated that the most important issue in the Women’s Liberation Movement was liberating the female within each male.

The American rabbinate has been profoundly changed for the better by the entrance of women rabbis who have been fully integrated into the leadership of the American Jewish world. That is true for the Reform, Conservative, and Reconstructionist movements, but it is still not the case within Orthodox Judaism. While some progress is being made in the Open Orthodox group within Orthodoxy, it still does not approach equality in the role of women.

A recent scandal in Washington demonstrates the danger of exclusive male rabbinic authority. Rabbi Barry Freundel, a highly respected Modern Orthodox rabbi, was arrested and charged with setting up cameras in the showers and changing areas of the mikvah, the ritual bath, attached to his synagogue. This was an incredible violation of privacy, trust, and authority. Rabbi Freundel was a leading figure in conversion within the Orthodox community, and it appears that he particularly targeted women studying for conversion, as well as the many Orthodox women who use the mikvah on a monthly basis.

The human impact was enormous. The female victims of his voyeurism were often in their most vulnerable and powerless state. Indeed, the very nature of Orthodox Judaism creates a power imbalance between male rabbis and their female students and congregants. Women studying for traditional conversion are particularly dependent on Orthodox male rabbis who exercise complete control of the process.

Within Orthodox Judaism, women still cannot be rabbis, judicial witnesses, or members of the court determining conversion status. The voice of the woman is largely silent within Orthodoxy. The Freundel case is a result of an all male system of religious authority. Male rabbis maintain exclusive control over the laws of Orthodox conversions, and that power can too often be used capriciously and irrationally. While Orthodox rabbinic authority seldom results in sexual abuse, the power imbalance is very real. It might be possible to argue that Rabbi Freundel was a deeply flawed individual whose alleged sexually exploitative acts have no wider implications. But I would disagree. The absence within Orthodoxy of women rabbis of equal stature and authority to the male rabbis creates a culture where abuse of authority is more likely. When women’s voices are silenced, it can lead to terrible consequences. In contrast, the role of women rabbis in liberal Judaism serves as a counterbalance to an anachronistic patriarchal tradition.

So I return to this week’s Torah portion of Vayera. How might the story have been different had Sarah’s voice been heard? What would the mother of Isaac have answered if she had been the one to be tested by God? Where was her laugh, her doubt, her skepticism? We regret not hearing Sarah’s voice, but we do know the result of that silence. The very next chapter is Chaye Sarah—Sarah’s life. But the story isn’t about Sarah’s life. Genesis, Chapter 24 begins: “The life of Sarah came to 127 years. And Sarah died in Kiryat Arba—Hebron.”

If there were an Act Four to this play, it would be very brief. Sarah died. The curtain descends. The lesson is learned. Sarah’s voice brought life, laughter, skepticism, and doubt.  Without that voice, there was silence; there was death. So it is that we must hear the voice of women and men, of children and the aged, of the native born and the stranger.