When I was eleven years old, my sister threw a phone at me. Granted, we had been fighting. Exchanging ear-piercing screams and clawing at each others faces like two Jerusalem cats hissing over territory.
I don’t remember what we were fighting about. (My hunch is it was clothing.) But, I remember the feeling as I turned to leave, and the clunky plastic phone slammed against my back, falling to pieces beside my feet.
My sister has no memory of the event. I have never forgotten. To this day, when that spot on my back still twinges and hurts, I think of my sister and that clunky phone. The injury I have convinced myself she created. Yet, I find myself smiling at the memory.
I have two sisters. Contrary to popular mythology, we were not born friends. There is no one on this planet who can frustrate me more, upset me more or anger me more than those two people. But, we were also not born enemies. In truth, there is no one who understands me more, supports me more and loves me more than those two people. The great irony of sisterhood is it is a circumstance people have to practice to be good at.
Which is why there is nothing I want to do less then engage in a tit-for-tat debate that divides women rather than unites us:
The story begins this year, when the Jewish Week reported that female rabbinic graduates of JTS were struggling to find jobs in Conservative Synagogues. As it turned out, Conservative congregations were not just denying employment to young women, but senior females Rabbis as well, as reported by the Star Tribune.
Following these reports, Rabbi Jill Levy, newly ordained and having had a front row seat to the events of this year’s graduating class, wrote an article which expressed her concern that motherhood negatively impacted her employment opportunities.
Chasya-Uriel Steinbauer, a JTS Rabbinical Student, responded with an article that questioned the mothering choices of Rabbi Levy and urged women to “choose” motherhood over their careers noting that eventually a mother might return to the bima. The response to Steinbauer was quick and vehement.
The irony that this week’s Torah portion is Pinchas is not lost on me. In Pinchas, the daughters of Zelophedad appear before Moses to ask for the inheritance of their father’s estate.
During this time, only sons could inherit land. Zelophedad died without sons, leaving the five sisters in a precarious position. Without land, they would have nothing. And, to be a woman without a husband and a plot in biblical times was certain disaster.
Thus, the request from the daughters of Zelophedad is important enough for Moses to seek the counsel of God directly. God responds, “The plea of Zelophedad’s daughter is just: you should give them a hereditary holding among their father’s kinsmen; transfer their fathers share to them.”
The daughters are granted their inheritance.
Pinchas is often used as the quintessential Jewish text for arguing egalitarianism. Yet, what strikes me the most about this portion, is not what the women demand, but how they demand it. They come together as five sisters. They speak with a unified voice. Yet, they are all named. Not once – but three times. They are individuals.
I can’t help but wonder about these five sisters in relationship to my own sisters. In truth, I imagine them growing up together. I imagine them fighting over whose turn it is to bake bread. I imagine them falling into each others arms when their father died. They hate each other. They love each other.
But, when they need to — they stand together.
I will not add to the criticism that Chasya-Uriel Steinbaur has received for her article. I will say, however, that I do not agree with what she wrote. Personally, I see the human experience as more muddy than clear. Personally, I find ideals problematic and boxes dangerous. Personally, I believe that most parents love their children. And, I believe that when parents make choices for their children – it is with deep thoughtfulness and profound care.
But, I respect her for speaking her truth.
However, the issue of women being denied employment in the Conservative movement is not about reproduction. To assume so creates a false supposition of what the female rabbinic model looks like – young, heterosexual, married and waiting to get pregnant. I will tell you from personal experience that female rabbis (like their male counterparts) run the spectrum on age, sexuality, relationship status and desire for children.
We have moved the question so far away from its original subject matter, I fear we shall never return to the crux of the problem.
There are so many conversations we as women need to be having in the Jewish world. But, if we continue to strip the voices of women from our synagogues – who will facilitate these conversations? And, while our institutions continue to bicker over Israel, and our male colleagues remain eerily silent, my friends have been forgotten.
I cannot forget these women.
These are the women I studied Torah with and shared Shabbat meals with. These are the women who cried with me when my husband deployed to Iraq and brought me food when I was crippled by illness. And, yes – these are the women who have infuriated me, challenged me, exasperated me and annoyed me.
But, I stand with these women.
We may not agree. We may not be friends. But, we are sisters. And, our inheritance rests precariously on our ability to stand together. Because the sad truth of the matter is, the daughters of Zelophedad came together to speak – because no one else would speak for them.
Jean Meltzer-Maskuli is currently a rabbinical student at the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College in Wyncote, PA. Prior to transferring to RRC, Jean spent three years as a rabbinical student at the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York.
