I am a feminist Jew because I am the mother of a daughter and a son.
I am a feminist Jew because the God of my foremothers doesn't recognize a caste system. When my God blessed Jacob's children, he also blessed Jacob's concubines, Bilhah and Zilpah. Yet it astounds that mentioning the God of my foremothers - the imahot - is still optional in the Conservative Jewish liturgy. To my mind, this sends a message that the imahot can be optional in the hearts and souls of our children.
I am a feminist Jew because I'm angry over the injustices too frequently lorded over Jewish women.
A few years ago, my children's day school finally included the imahot in every prayer service. But it came after a struggle. The message that landed in my mailbox announced that in consultation with local Conservative rabbis, the school decided to include the imahot in the Amidah as standard practice. Amen. And yet the message felt perfunctory to me, as if our foremothers were shadowy figures. Had Abraham, Isaac and Jacob finally decided to share their God?
Perhaps lost in redaction, our foremothers are not mentioned as a group in the Bible, but thank goodness they star in many ancient and modern midrashim as role models and prophets.
I am a feminist Jew because Sarah was said to be a greater prophet than Abraham. She understood that God didn't demand the sacrifice of her first-born son. During her pregnancy, Rebekah knew that she had two great nations inside of her, but that the fate of the Jewish people rested with her younger son. These women triumphed over infertility and infidelity (even when they sanctioned it). I am a feminist Jew because the imahot are summoned to help the Jewish people in times of distress. Rachel was buried at a strategic place on the road where she can hear the cries of her people in captivity. Her prayers uniquely move God on their behalf.
I am a feminist Jew because prayer is instinctively beautiful for Jewish women.
Prior to the modern debate over whether to include the imahot in the liturgy, women had the wisdom and clarity to call upon them in their own prayers throughout the centuries. The imahot are front and center in the techinot, prayers of Jewish women from medieval times through the 19th century.
I am a feminist Jew because our foremothers were called upon to help Jewish women express their deepest desires and most fervent hopes in both set and spontaneous prayer.
I am a feminist Jew because I can frequently call upon the God of my foremothers. God of Sarah, hear my prayers to keep my children safe in planes, trains, automobiles and all manner of place and time. God of Rebekah, help me to recognize perilous situations. God of Rachel, help me guide my children through disappointment and desperation. God of Leah, comfort me when someone doesn't love my children the way they deserve to be cherished.
I am a feminist Jew because the G0d of Bilhah and Zilpah brings women to the foreground where they belong.
Some sources - the sources that shaped my vision as a feminist Jew - acknowledge Jacob's concubines, Bilhah and Zilpah - the mothers of four of Israel's 12 tribes - as matriarchs, bringing the number of imahot to six. In terms of Jewish symbolism, six corresponds to the six days of creation. Who on earth has been more responsible for the creation of the Jewish people than Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, Leah, Bilhah and Zilpah?
I've read about the brouhaha of nursing a child in a public space. I am a feminist Jew because I know that Sarah, a mother who weaned her own child when he was 3 years old, would have defended these women asserting their right to be mothers. Rachel would have heard the cries of those hungry babies and interceded so that their mothers could do the most natural and loving thing in the world for their children - nourish them.
Leah continues to hear the prayers of all mothers who send their children to serve their countries in dangerous places. Rebekah hovers near mothers who must make tough choices for their children. Bilhah and Zilpah understand women who feel marginalized.
I am a feminist Jew because women recovered Leah's story to teach my children and their children that the woman thought to be plain with weak eyes, was as strong and holy as her husband.
One of my favorite midrashim on the imahot addresses the order in which the matriarchs appear in the liturgy - God of Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah. After the name Leah appears in the text, the next word is Ha-el - The God. Ha-el is Leah spelled backwards. This wordplay elevates Leah from second class wife to matriarch. Hers is the last name to linger after the initial blessing. Hers is the name that inverts the name of God.
The Purim story begins in the palace of Shushan with King Ahasuerus and his wife, Queen Vashti, hosting separate men and women's feasts for the people of the town. After seven straight days of partying, the King sends for the Queen, commanding her to appear, wearing her royal crown, to parade her beauty before the men's feast. Vashti refuses. A classic commentary explains her reluctance by saying that the King asked her to appear "wearing only her crown," though that's not in the original text. The King is horrified at her refusal and consults his adviser, who points out that if Vashti is punished, all the women of the kingdom will get the wrong idea and begin to look down on their husbands. So Queen Vashti gets booted out of the castle, and for good measure, the King sends out a decree that man is the master of the home. Vashti's story doesn't end in triumph -- she was a few thousand years before her time, perhaps -- but I have admire the woman's principles.
With Vashti gone, Ahasuerus needs a new queen, and he decides to choose his wife by inviting the virgins of his kingdom to compete in a beauty pageant. One of these young women is Esther, also called Hadassah, a Jewish orphan being raised by her uncle, Mordechai. Esther joins the other contestants for full year of beauty treatments, and at the end, the King selects her as the winner. As instructed by her uncle Mordechai, Queen Esther never reveals her Jewish roots. Some time later, Esther finds out that her people are in danger: The King's evil adviser Haman, infuriated by Mordechai's refusal to bow down to him, has recommended that the king kill all the Jews. Mordechai calls upon Esther to help, sending her a pointed message that if the massacre occurs, she shouldn't expect to be spared, and perhaps this was the very reason she had risen to such a position of power. Despite the risks (after all, her husband has already shown himself to be intolerant of uppity wives) Queen Esther embarks on a complicated diplomatic effort. Through a series of planned feasts, subtle hints and well-timed revelations, she convinces the King to rescind his decree. She saves her people, and the evil Haman is punished.
Bear with me on this one. The setup is complicated, but the story is worth it. Tamar is a young widow whose first husband, Er, has died and left her childless. According to custom, Er's father Judah arranges for Tamar to marry his second son, Onan, to provide her with a child who will carry on Er's name. Onan, however, displeases God (with onanism, actually) and dies without giving Tamar a child, at which point she should by law be entitled to marry the next brother in line, Shelah. But Judah, afraid to lose a third son, keeps Shelah away from Tamar, putting her in an tremendously vulnerable position as a childless widow. One day, Tamar hears that Judah will be traveling north. She veils herself in the manner of a prostitute and sits at a major crossroads waiting for him to pass by. When he does, he solicits her services, but says he has no payment on him. Tamar insists that he leave his cord, seal and staff -- the personal ID of the day -- with her as collateral. Judah agrees and spends the night with this mysterious prostitute, having no idea it's his double-ex-daughter-in-law. But when Judah sends a servant to pay the woman and retrieve his ID items, she is nowhere to be found. Three months later, Tamar reveals that she is pregnant. Judah's response is that she should be burned alive for harlotry. Tamar appears with Judah's ID items and says, "I am with child by the man who owns these." And to his credit, Judah immediately admits his wrong and apologizes. Tamar becomes the mother of twins, and it's worth noting that from those twins will eventually come the lineage of King David and the Messiah.
Miriam, the older sister of Moses, is the first female prophet. She has a remarkably active role in the redemption from Egypt: as a girl, she saves her little brother's life at least once; after crossing the sea, she leads the women in song; and during the 40 years of desert wandering, she provides the Israelites with water. (Miriam also endures a seemingly unfair episode, mid-desert-wandering, when she's stricken with leprosy after criticizing Moses; elsewhere I've focused on that moment, but here I'll focus on the positive and celebrate her leadership.) Miriam's two-verse song at the sea is considered by many scholars to be among the oldest words of Torah. The fact that the text preserves the image of a woman leading a song, and the words of that song, especially when Moses has already led a full song of his own -- all of these make Miriam the first rock star of Torah.
Full disclosure: the story of Judith is in some Bibles and not others. The book containing Judith's story is apocryphal in Judaism and Protestant Christianity, meaning it didn't make it into the core Jewish Bible of those traditions. Catholics and Eastern Orthodox Christians do include it. But it's still part of the broader Jewish text-family. In fact, the rabbis connect this story to Hanukkah. And Judith herself is just too badass to leave out of this list. Judith is a beautiful young widow; her husband died unexpectedly three years ago, and she's been in mourning ever since. It's a time of war, and her city is surrounded by the enemy army, who are preventing supplies from coming in. The children are starting to starve, and all the men in power say it's time to surrender and that it must be God's will. Judith hears this and asks them to let her try one thing before they surrender. Judith takes off her sackcloth and ashes, dresses in her finest clothes, and grabs a bag with some salty cheese and wine. Under cover of darkness, Judith and her maid sneak out of the city and straight into the enemy army's camp. It takes a while, but they eventually manage to reach the tent of the general Holofernes himself, using Judith's good looks and false promises of information. As her maid waits outside, Judith sits down beside Holofernes in his tent. She feeds him bits of salty cheese until he grows thirsty; then, sips of wine until he grows tired; then, as he drifts off to sleep, she takes his own sword from the bedpost and cuts off his head. Judith brings the head back to her city, where they hang it on the gate. When the enemy soldiers wake up and see Holofernes up there, they flee, and the war is won. Definitely badass, but the story extends into art history. Judith with the head of Holofernes was a favorite subject of Old Masters painters. Among them was a woman, Artemesia Gentilleschi, who was the victim of a rape. In <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:GENTILESCHI_Judith.jpg" target="_hplink">Gentilleschi's painting</a> (pictured here), Judith looks a lot like the artist -- and the beheaded general bears an uncanny resemblance to her rapist.
In Egypt, Pharoah devises numerous methods of oppressing the Jews. One of the most violent is attempted infanticide. Pharoah calls the Israelite midwives, Shifrah and Puah. He instructs them to allow newborn girls to live, but to kill any boys immediately. Shifrah and Puah, though, disobey Pharoah's order. They save the boys, and when Pharoah calls for an explanation, Shifrah and Puah explain that the Israelite women give birth so quickly that the babies arrive before the midwives, giving them no chance to kill the babies. This answer seems to satisfy Pharoah. He moves on to other murderous tactics, but thanks to the midwives' act of quiet resistance, a next generation of male Israelites survives infancy -- including Moses, future leader of the Exodus.
What are the chances? Quite similar to Judith, except this story is alcohol-free. In this war story, the female general and prophetess Deborah has already predicted that the enemy would be delivered into the hands of a woman. The Israelites indeed win the battle and the enemy general, Sisera, is fleeing. Yael, wife of Heber, invites him into her tent. He's thirsty and asks for water, and instead she gives him milk. Sisera falls asleep on the floor and Yael drives a tent-peg through his head with a hammer. Gruesome, yes, but definitely bad-ass.
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