I spent this Pesach the other side of the Mediterranean Sea to the water which divided for our ancestors to walk to freedom. We were at a hotel taken over entirely for Pesach – a huge treat which got me and my husband out of any hardcore Pesach preparation. Instead, we spent Pesach on a beach holiday. A beach holiday with matza, Sedarim and lots of shul, that is.
Alongside enjoying the great food, outings and kids club, I couldn’t help but observe the Jewish dynamics all around, particularly when it comes to my area of particular interest – gender in Orthodox Judaism.
The 500 Jewish people on our programme constituted a microcosm of the Orthodox Jewish world. Guests ranged from sheitel and bekeshe-wearing Hareidim, to the more “flexi-dox” and traditional end of the spectrum, the majority being modern orthodox or “yeshivish”. Most were British or Anglo-Israeli. It was the perfect setting for this female Orthodox rabbi to make a few amateur ethnographic observations. So here they are:
Shul – the space and services
Here’s the thing. The singing and energy in this shul was among the best and most rousing I’ve ever witnessed. But this shul was also a hard place to be a woman. I’m accustomed to women being observers to the action in orthodox shuls – whether behind a mechitza or up in a gallery. But in this case, we could not even observe, being behind a high and completely opaque barrier.
Some days I attended shul from my balcony, where I could hear (most things – shul being a thin-walled marquee below) and see (nothing) in the same way as being in the shul itself. And as so often happens in Orthodox spaces, even when the mechitza was lowered for (all-male) speakers, their eye contact was predominantly the men’s side of the room.
The space was arranged such that men coming in and out of the shul had to walk through the women’s area. Many took the easy route through the front rather than back, casually ambling in front of us. My own shul has a mechitza and I believe good boundaries create a sense of safety in prayer. But so often this goes in one direction in Orthodox shuls.
Rabbi Miriam Lorie
The design of our physical spaces creates reality. So it wasn’t surprising that very few women attended the shul, instead chatting in the lobby. I found myself wondering where so many Orthodox women find their own spiritual channels when shul is so clearly coded as being great for men. And men only.
Educational programming
The shiurim (Jewish classes) offered were of a high standard, and were dotted regularly throughout the programme. Of the four different speakers, all were men. With some truly excellent female Orthodox educators out there, this was a missed opportunity. And no, I’m not digging for an invitation – I was all too pleased to have a proper holiday.
While women attended these classes in higher ratios than shul, I did notice that they were more reticent to ask questions or make comments, and those women who did speak up – at least in the sessions I attended – were all Israeli or American. I wonder how our own British educational system can better equip our young women to confidently hold their own alongside their male counterparts.
Attitudes to LGBTQ+
While I don’t have large-scale observations here, one touching story warmed my heart. I became friendly with a family who looked Haredi. The mother shared that she has Chabad roots. Their daughter, in her 20’s, is in a serious relationship with a woman, and coming to terms with this hasn’t been an easy path for her parents. But the mother told me with a smile on her face that her daughter’s girlfriend is “just wonderful”.
She said that her daughter’s happiness is paramount, and that the alternative to accepting the couple would be to lose her daughter, which was “not even an option”. And the daughter? Her sexuality may not be her community’s norm, but she feels she has found her “eishet chayil”.
The Mishna says of Seder night that we should “begin with shame and end with glory”, and while there’s much to improve in my Orthodox world, we also have much to be proud of – both for where we are, and for where we’re heading. Even though the pace of change can feel incrementally slow.
And this past week, with shame and glory present in equal measure, I was thankful for the option of listening to shul from a balcony with a glimpse of that Mediterranean Sea.
- Rabbi Miriam Lorie is a JOFA UK Rabbinic Scholar
