WUNRN
Utne Reader
The 'Orthodox Feminist Revolution'
1/26/2009
by Rachel
Levitt
Gender
equality is a constant source of controversy within Orthodox Judaism.
According to tradition and interpretation of the Old Testament, women must
remain separate from men in synagogue and cannot go anywhere near the sacred
scrolls of the Torah. They also do not count as part of the minyan, or quorum,
needed to conduct services.
The latest issue of Moment —a magazine of
independent, Jewish thought—profiles Tova Hartman, the "Orthodox feminist
revolutionary" who cofounded Shira Hadasha, a traditional
Orthodox synagogue that allows women privileges unthinkinkable for most
Orthodox communities: the right to handle and read from the Torah. And to lead
services—in front of men.
Hartman's progressive ideas were born of her
own experiences. When Hartman was 15 years old, she moved with her family from
For her ideas, Hartman has come up
against plenty of resistance, both in
______________________________________________________________________
Moment - Jewish Politics, Culture, Religion
http://momentmag.com/Exclusive/2009/2009-02/200902-Tova-Hartman.html
January/February 2009
An Orthodox
Feminist Revolutionary
Tova Hartman is the co-founder of
Shira Hadasha, an Orthodox synagogue where women can read from the Torah and
lead services—in front of men.
By Jessica Ravitz
As a girl, Tova Hartman loved being the rabbi’s daughter and adored her family’s shul. Her father, David Hartman, led a
modern Orthodox synagogue in
When she was 15, Hartman, her
parents, her two brothers and two sisters moved to
Without a shul to call home,
Hartman set out on a decades-long search for a synagogue that felt right. It
was a journey that would eventually lead her to join forces with like-minded
Orthodox Jerusalemites, and in 2001, to co-found Shira Hadasha, which means
“new song” in Hebrew. It is, she explains, “an attempt of a group of men and
women to give the system and the tradition another chance.” Located in
It’s Shabbat morning, and Hartman, 51,
her thick, dark tresses uncovered, is milling about at Shira Hadasha on the
women’s side of the mehitza, the barrier that separates the sexes in an Orthodox sanctuary.
She’s doling out hugs, greeting strangers and leading women to available seats.
Shira Hadasha’s mehitza runs front-to-back
so that both men and women can see the bima and have equal access to it. The mehitza is made of a thin,
sheer fabric that allows everyone in the congregation to see one another.
The shul is packed (200 to 300
on an average Shabbat) with equal numbers of men and women, including visitors
who sometimes arrive en masse on tour buses. The men include those in the
signature modern Orthodox knitted kippot and at least one dressed in the
haredi, black-hat style. “We are not interested in being a women’s group that
is separate from the community,” says Hartman. “People said you’re never going
to be able to get men to come and I’d say, ‘You really underestimate men.’”
Sprinkled into the mix are babies cradled by their parents and toddlers darting
up and down the aisles, chomping on chips. Young twins—a boy and a girl—stand
side by side on the bima.
Women play a major role at
Shira Hadasha. Services can’t begin until there’s a minyan, a quorum, which in
Shira Hadasha means 10 men and 10 women. Women can take the Torah in and out of
the ark—and even dance with it—long the exclusive province of men in the Orthodox
world. Hartman remembers a woman in her 80s who showed up for the first time
one Simchat Torah. The visitor had grown up in Mea She’arim,
Though considered the norm in
the Conservative and Reform Jewish worlds for nearly four decades, the pièce de
résistance at Shira Hadasha is that women here read Torah in front of the
entire community and are honored with aliyot, invitations to stand before the
entire congregation and say prayers before and after the Torah is read, bucking
a 2,000-year-old tradition. Emotion commonly washes over older women like the
Simchat Torah visitor when they step up to the bima. As they dissolve
into tears, doing something they never dreamed was possible, other women
exchange knowing glances, nods and whispers: “First time, huh?”
There is no officiating rabbi.
As is common in what are called partnership minyanim, services are run by members of the
community. Shira Hadasha takes this one step further by including women. Women
lead what the shul’s ritual committee has deemed halachic: The Friday night
Kabbalat Shabbat service, but not the Arvit service that follows it; the
Shabbat morning service, including Pesukei Dezimra, the group of prayers that
are recited early each morning, but not Shacharit and Musaf. What is off limits
is led by men. “The committee is studying what else women can do,” says
Hartman. “After all, this is a process, and we don’t know where it will bring
us.”
Elie Holzer is an ordained but
not practicing rabbi who teaches education at
In an attempt to balance her love of Judaism
and her belief in feminism, Hartman studied Jewish philosophy at
But when Hartman walked into a
traditional Orthodox synagogue, she checked her feminist spirit at the door. “I
was able to separate my praying self from my inner self,” she says. The
dissonance between her worlds grew deafening after she married and became the
mother of three girls. When the oldest, Nomi, was approaching her bat mitzvah,
the activist in Hartman suddenly swung into action. The modern Orthodox norm in
When some of the boys in Nomi’s
school said that they wouldn’t attend and hurled insults, Hartman’s daughter
showed what she was made of. “God bless her, she called them all back and told
them they weren’t invited,” Hartman says with a broad smile. Being the first
bat mitzvah in her community to read from the Torah before a mixed-gender crowd
“wasn’t easy,” recalls Nomi Hartman Halbertal, now 23 and a dancer. “But I
respect my mother totally for what she does, and I’m very proud of her. She
does what she believes.”
By the time Hartman’s second
daughter, Racheli, had her bat mitzvah two years later, several girls in the
community had had ceremonies similar to Nomi’s. And all the boys came out to
see and hear Racheli read from the sacred scroll.
Hartman continued struggling to
find a religious community that fit. It had to be Orthodox and have a mehitza. Hartman is
passionate about the mehitza: She sees it as a great equalizer, a way to get rid of the “pews
of family order.” For people who don’t have nuclear families to sit with or who
just lost a spouse, the mehitza helps them find a seat, a place where they belong. Although
grateful for and empowered by Conservative and Reform Judaism, which were the
first “to bring feminism into their space,” she never wanted to give up on
Orthodoxy. “This is my home,” she says. “I wasn’t ready to leave my home.”
Instead, she came to believe
that Orthodox Judaism needed to change. There were many ways, as she understood
it, that further inclusion of women was halachically permissible. “The dignity
of the people was given at Sinai and this is a very deep idea in the Jewish
tradition,” she says. “That women deserve this dignity is something that
modernity gave to the world. Feminism enhances the Jewish tradition. It is not
only about women. It is about how we as a community of men and women stand
before God.”
For years she sat on synagogue
committees arguing on behalf of expanding women’s roles. “Rosa Parks can be
celebrated as a cultural hero and be brought to the front of the bus,” she
writes in her 2007 book, Feminism
Encounters Traditional Judaism: Resistance and Accommodation. “But when religious women ask to be brought up from the back to
the front of shuls…far from being lauded as cultural heroes, they are repelled
in no uncertain terms and branded as insatiable kvetches.”
That women could read from the Torah at
Shira Hadasha set off a chain reaction of rulings in the world of Orthodox
Judaism, where changes in women’s status have been slow in coming, especially
in
The jumping off point for
almost any debate involving women and Torah comes from the Babylonian Talmud,
Megillah 23a, which essentially says anyone—including women and minors —may be
counted among the seven called to read from the Torah on Shabbat. But the sages
weighed in after the fact, saying that women shouldn’t read because of kevod ha’tsibur, the dignity of the congregation.
The traditional criticism of
women’s participation in Torah services is that by stepping up to fulfill an
obligation required of men and not of them, women are effectively embarrassing
the congregation, because it makes it look as if men are not available to do
the job.
This position, rooted in 300
years of discussions compiled in the fifth century, was challenged in 2000 by
Rabbi Mendel Shapiro, a graduate of both Yeshiva and
This article set off a boxing
match of written responses. Rabbi Yehuda Herzl Henkin, an influential posek (a legal scholar
who can issue decisions when questions arise), serves as the rabbinic advisor
at Nishmat, the Jerusalem Center for Advanced Jewish Study for Women, founded
by his wife Chana. He stepped in on the side of tradition, arguing that because
women’s aliyot remain “outside the consensus,” any “congregation that institutes
them is not Orthodox in name and will not long remain Orthodox in practice.”
This led Rabbi Daniel Sperber of Congregation Menachem Zion in the Old City of
Jerusalem to step out of his corner, taking Shapiro’s position even further.
Sperber wrote that in certain cases kevod ha’beriyot, individual
dignity, trumps kevod
ha’tsibur, congregational dignity, and that if women are
hurting in a shul community because they cannot read Torah or prayers, they
should be allowed to do so. “We have to be more client friendly in our rabbinic
rulings,” Sperber says. If people want to remain part of the Orthodox community,
“they should not be pushed out of the Orthodox orbit. Rather than rejecting
them, we should include them.”
Sperber and others point out
that there’s plenty of room for different interpretations of Jewish law within
the Orthodox tradition. Hearing aids can be worn on Shabbat, even though
technically that constitutes “carrying,” which is prohibited. Jewish law says
you’re “not allowed to take interest on loans,” a mandate that if followed
would paralyze the economy, and the literal law to institute a “sabbatical year
for crops” would devastate those whose livelihood is agriculture.
There’s good reason to
reinterpret women’s roles because many of the old arguments just don’t hold up,
says Sylvia Barack Fishman, a
Nevertheless, some rabbis argue
that people should be forbidden to step foot in a place like Shira Hadasha.
Rabbi Aryeh Frimer, who considers himself an Orthodox feminist—“although
Orthodox always comes first,” he says—has a more tempered objection. He doesn’t
mind people doing what they do at Shira Hadasha; he just wishes they didn’t
call themselves Orthodox and had waited and gone through different channels
before opening their doors. “If someone is going to follow an isolated minority
opinion because it gets you where you want to go, it’s intellectually
dishonest…. We always have to be careful not to create Judaism in our image.
You have to create it in God’s image.”
“That’s a very nice thing to
say but totally impractical because these scholars would never agree on
anything,” says Sperber, a Talmud professor for 40 years, who is considered an
expert on Jewish customs and was the recipient of the 1992 Israel Prize for
Judaism.
“Our intention was never to argue that ours
was the only way to pray but merely that it is a traditionally valid mode in
which to stand before God,” Hartman says. She finds it odd that rabbis spend
their time writing negatively about Shira Hadasha. “How do you have five
seconds extra to look at what someone else is doing and criticize it?” she
asks. “Is it bringing your community any more holiness?”
Still, she adds that there are
many who view further inclusion of women as a slippery slope. “I don’t agree.
However, even if I accept the slippery slope metaphor, I say that we are trying
to go up the slope, toward God, toward the heavens, toward spiritual integrity,
toward making things more meaningful for those who choose it.”
She also addresses fears that
Shira Hadasha’s version of Orthodox feminism might split the community. “The
feminist wave in Orthodoxy has split the community. The split is between people who believe
feminism is a religious calling and those who think it is dangerous,” she says.
“People ask, how can you women
cause a split in the community? I say splitting is not new. There’s the left
and the right, the settler movement and the haredi. Jews split when Hasidism
came about. The Jewish people split all the time. I sometimes make the
comparison with Zionism. Zionism also split the Orthodox community. There were
those who thought it would challenge and enhance the religious spirit and those
who thought, ‘How can you take history into your own hands?’ The unity of the
Jewish people is very important. But I believe we can be a unified people who
are very different. We can feel deep solidarity with one another. In fact, we
are a divided people, and in Israel this is even more intense than elsewhere.”
“One of the beauties of
Orthodox Judaism is that it has room for very different ‘styles,’” says Naomi
Cohen, a teacher of Talmud to women and a founding member of the Israel Women’s
Network, as well as Kolech, Religious Women’s Forum. “Take synagogues like
Lincoln Square on the Upper West Side, Breslov and Messianic Chabad. Though
many people object strenuously to one or another of these, they all exist under
the same roof and none of them have been read out of the fold.”
Daniel Sperber’s approval was good enough for
Barbara Sofer of Jerusalem. A Jerusalem Post columnist and the
Israel director of Hadassah’s public relations, Sofer sought an Orthodox shul
with a complete Shabbat service with a secluded area for women and wanted to be
a part of a community where people share her level of observance. In Shira
Hadasha, she found an Orthodox shul that met her requirements. “I can live with
not everybody agreeing,” she says, “as long as I have a strong rabbinic
authority telling me it’s okay.”
Her interest in Shira Hadasha
was born after her five children were grown, when she felt the urge to explore
her own spiritual needs—a freedom, she says, to “find something for me.” The
transition wasn’t seamless. Sofer was used to what she’d known, taking a seat
behind a curtain, never expecting a woman to read from the Torah, accepting
that men took charge. The fact that not all women dressed with the same
standards of modesty threw her. On any given Shabbat, there are women in
sleeveless shirts amid those fit for an inconspicuous stroll through Mea
She’arim. But being in this synagogue—she says she goes more often than she
ever did to her previous shul—helped her to grow and become more accepting.
“When you go from one step of the ladder to the next, you feel a little
unsteady,” Sofer says, referring to a passage in the Zohar, the most important
of Kabbalistic writings. “But I definitely felt like this was a higher rung.”
Shira Hadasha points to a
determination by both men and women to stay within Orthodoxy while responding
to “new cultural values that come knocking at our door,” says Blu Greenberg, a
prolific American writer and rebbetzin who co-founded the Jewish Orthodox
Feminist Alliance. “Can the feminist critique enhance Judaism? Can it purify
Judaism? Can it elevate Judaism and expand it without destroying it?”
These questions are core ones,
and Greenberg, who prays in Shira Hadasha whenever she visits Israel, says that
for traditionalists in the Orthodox community, this Jerusalem congregation will
take time getting used to. “It’s strange, it’s unfamiliar, a break from
tradition, and prayer is very emotional. It’s the most difficult area to
institute change,” she says.
Plenty of Orthodox women are
uncomfortable with Shira Hadasha’s redrawing of boundaries. Shira Leibowitz
Schmidt, a faculty member at the Haredi College for Women, visited Shira
Hadasha but did not pray there. She salutes the congregation’s ability to reach
out, its warmth and lack of ostentation. “These are qualities that often go
wanting in mainstream Orthodox synagogues. Shira Hadasha could be a role model
in these areas for all congregations.” Ultimately, however, for Schmidt, Shira
Hadasha’s “basic halachic premises are deeply problematic.” The fact that women
read from the Torah and receive aliyot “has placed the congregation
outside the rubric of Orthodox,” she says. “Although many claim we live in a
post-denominational world, if I were asked to describe Shira Hadasha, I would
say it is not Orthodox-lite, rather it is Conservative-maximalist.”
The struggle to make Orthodox Judaism more
inclusive of women is an uphill battle and the kind of Orthodox feminism
practiced at Shira Hadasha is still quite rare. Influenced by the feminist
movement and subsequent changes in Conservative and Reform Judaism, Orthodox
women began pushing for more participation in the 1970s, organizing into highly
controversial prayer groups that met separately from men, often in synagogue cloakrooms
or in private homes. These groups, often called tefillah groups, blossomed
in cities across the United States and gave women the liturgical skills and
confidence that made future innovations possible, says Sylvia Barack Fishman.
Women’s prayer groups helped
provide the foundation for the three-decades-old and highly successful Women’s
Tefillah at Rabbi Avi Weiss’ Hebrew Institute of Riverdale in New York, and
Yedidya, a Jerusalem congregation founded in 1980 that runs a mehitza from
front to back. Women can only read from the Torah, however, in a separate
women’s group.
“Most of what they do at Shira Hadasha, not only do we do as well, but these
were our innovations,” says Yedidya’s founder, Deborah Weissman. “They have
simply carried them further.”
A backlash against women’s
prayer groups in traditional Orthodox synagogues has helped fuel the growth of
alternative Orthodox spiritual communities. Diaspora Jews who’ve crossed Shira
Hadasha’s threshold have helped spawn about 25 similar congregations around the
world.
Shira, a Melbourne, Australia,
community that has been around for more than three years is one such
congregation. “Most of our active congregants have spent time in Jerusalem and
were directly influenced by the Shira Hadasha community,” says Mark Baker,
director of the Australian Centre for Jewish Civilisation at Monash University
and president and founder of Shira. The Melbourne congregation encountered
fierce opposition, including a rabbinic ban on attendance of its services.
But attitudes are changing,
Baker says. “We have now become more mainstream as this trend in Orthodoxy is
spreading worldwide.” During the most recent High Holy Day services, the
Melbourne congregation had some 600 attendees.
Rachel Milner Gillers, 32, is
one of the co-founders of Minyan Tehillah in Cambridge, Massachusetts, which
was established in the fall of 2003. It was also inspired by Shira Hadasha. As
a graduate student at Harvard University, Gillers discovered others who, like
her, were looking for their Jewish place in the university. Some had been to
Shira Hadasha in Jerusalem and came back asking, “Why can’t we do this?”
For those who are not Orthodox
and might never have considered praying in or even visiting a shul with a mehitza, Shira Hadasha
makes that world less daunting or strange. “It’s almost like a great ambassador
for Orthodoxy,” Blu Greenberg says. “Jews are responding to this.... They’ve
tasted the apple and know how sweet this can be.”
Although she herself never considered
becoming a rabbi—because it was an impossible dream—Hartman would like to see
other Orthodox women realize that goal. “It’s an embarrassment that half the
population can’t be the religious leaders of their shuls.”
She contends that although
there is room for debate about women’s participation in rituals, there is no
reason why women cannot be rabbis. “Rabbis are people who have studied certain
laws and are allowed to teach. That’s all they are. That women can’t be rabbis
is just a social thing.” Women, she adds, also are barred from acting as
witnesses for marriage, divorce and conversion. This, she believes, can and
should be changed.
Aware that greater equality for
women will only occur if women push for it, Hartman intends to keep stretching
the boundaries of Orthodox Judaism. Still, she is delighted with what Shira
Hadasha has already accomplished. On a personal level, she is pleased that she
didn’t have to orchestrate the bat mitzvah of her youngest daughter, Shira, now
14, which was held at Shira Hadasha. “Fortunately, Shira has a natural
community where she is growing up. It’s incredible how in such a short amount
of time, Orthodox girls are taking it for granted that it is absolutely natural
for them to have aliyot, to read from the Torah and have a bat mitzvah.”
Hartman feels blessed to have
found a spiritual home. “My family is my biggest cheering squad,” she says.
“They didn’t want to start a new shul but once it started, everyone rallied. My
parents and my siblings are very supportive. This is now the shul where my
family goes. I feel fortunate that I can daven with my mother on one side of me
and my girls on the other, and my dad across the mehitza. We can see each
other, so we really are together. It means a lot to me.”
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