This memoir follows Leah Lax, a Jewish woman who grew up in a Reform community in Texas who was drawn into the Chabad Lubavitch movement as a young woman and decades later found herself leaving the movement. Lax’s childhood left her searching for intimacy, belonging, and purpose. Both her parents experienced mental illness, with her mom showing several signs of depression and her father having gone through treatments that left him empty and vacant. She hints early on in the novel towards her initial attraction towards women, long before she ever recognized it. In high school, she learned about the Chabad Lubavitch movement and had her first experiences with it, becoming close with a local Hasidic family and attending a couple programs where she felt drawn in by this world of structure, this world which promised love from the community, from the family, and from God, so long as you follow the rules. College brought her further away from her family and closer to religious life, where an arranged marriage sealed her into the Orthodox lifestyle. As she searches for spiritual fulfilment through the words of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, through her relationship with her husband, through raising her children, Lax remains unfulfilled. She begins to discover herself through discussions with her friends and sister, through the act of writing, and through the ritual of mikvah. This journey of self-discovery leads her to identify as a lesbian and leave her husband, leaving the Chabad movement as well. One key idea that consistently resurfaces is the ritual act of bathing in the mikvah. She discusses the spiritual and emotional meaning of this for her, the acknowledgement of sexuality that goes along with it, and how the act changed for her throughout her life.
A Response to Jay Michaelson’s “On the Religious Significance of Homosexuality; or, Queering God, Torah, and Israel”
What I understood from Michaelson’s essay is that homosexuality and other deviance from the norms of gender and sexuality have a deeper place in theology than the prohibitions that are normally the focus of such discussions. He looks at binaries and structures of power through Othering, using the defining boundaries of Israel as a theological example. Sexual liminality, according to Michaelson, opposes and challenges the boundaries of Judaism. He goes on to describe relationships with Torah and God, and how any Jew approaches those relationships from their own perspective of gender and love. He examines how a male Kabbalist might take on the feminine role when relating to God’s masculinity, while God is also recognized to have a feminine aspect. Michaelson aims to challenge the rules and boundaries that have been understood around Judaism and notice the liminality and boundary crossing that actively occurs.
A Further Response to Yoel Finkelman’s “The Secret of Jewish Masculinity”
The issue of egalitarianism in terms of gender is one of tension in many traditional communities, especially religious communities. Judaism is no different, having patriarchal roots similar to most other ancient religions. While there have been contemporary pushes towards creating more gender equality, certain forms of Judaism remain committed to what they view as the traditionally proper roles for men and women. This is the topic that Yoel Finkelman elucidates in his essay “The Secret of Jewish Masculinity: Contemporary Haredi Gender Ideology.” Finkelman analyzes the “separate but equal” construct of gender roles that is claimed by Haredi communities, as well as the historical and contemporary realities of those roles, in order to understand how gender functions within Haredi culture.
As a woman raised in a Conservative Jewish household and amongst several egalitarian communities, traditional Judaisms such as Haredi and other forms of Orthodoxy have always confused and discomforted me. Having learned in school how to sing along with the prayer services and read Torah, I’ve felt silenced when joining an Orthodox community, relegated to the quiet side of the Mechitzah, or in a balcony left to overlook the men’s participation in the service while not given the opportunity to participate myself. Consequently, I have been curious as to how women in Haredi communities, whether by birth or as ba’alei teshuva, find happiness and contentment in system that seems to demean their power. Finkelman, in studying the construction of Haredi gender roles, attends to that question and more.
The claims made by those speaking out in support of the patriarchal Haredi system label the roles of men and women as “separate but equal,” with women taking responsibility of domestic life while men deal with the public world. There seems an imbalance in roles, as women are left with the responsibilities of creating a properly Jewish home for her husband and children, while only the men are given the obligation and opportunities of Torah study and other positive mitzvot. In objection to that supposed imbalance, Haredi ideology elevates the female role as crucial to the spiritual health of herself, her family, and her community. The Haredi home is perceived as a safe place, protected from the dangers of the secularized outside world. Thus, the domestic role assigned to women is made especially important, as she is “‘the instiller and protector of the vital, internal values of the Jew,’” (Finkelman 291). She is not simply a homemaker, but a guardian against secularization. Additionally, she is not given the obligations of Torah study and other positive mitzvot because she does not need them. She can find meaning in domestic tasks, “‘because women have a greater tendency toward spiritual growth than the men and therefore do not need those mitvos to bring that potential to fruition,’” (Finkelman 292). While some may view the opportunity to fulfill mitzvot as an advantage for the men, this assertion puts women above men, so holy that they do not need mitzvot in order to achieve spiritual success.
Finkelman points out that this ideology raises women in an abstract sense, utilizing the desire for spirituality, while continuing to confine their actual power and maintain a patriarchal social structure (292). Haredi ideology claims that women’s responsibility for the domestic sphere is just as vital a task as Torah study is for men. However, this claim is undermined by the economic reality of Haredi women having to enter the public sphere in order to take on work to financially support her family as her husband attends to his studies. This reality demonstrates that in the Haredi hierarchy, men’s Torah study takes precedence over women’s homemaking, contradicting the claims that are often made. Finkelman labels this contradiction as asymmetry, a display of the ambivalence within Haredi gender ideology that pushes and pulls members of the communities in two directions at once. In this case, there is tension between the Haredi woman’s domestic role in strengthening the nuclear family, and the wage-earning role she must take to support the preeminent male Torah study. This position gives the woman power in the form of financial control, which would threaten the patriarchal Haredi culture. Thus, the position of women in the workplace is painted as a necessary evil, a dangerous position that must be taken up. This endorses the notion that the wage-earning work that women perform is unwanted and precarious, downplaying the financial power that the women acquire by creating a distaste for it.
A Response to Malin Fezehai’s “The Disappeared Children of Israel” and Yuval Abraham’s “Mizrahi Jews Renew Calls for Justice Over Stolen Babies”
These three articles come from different news sources focusing on the same controversial incidents that took place in Israel in the 1950s. Thousands of cases from this period in Israel report Yemenite and other Mizrahi immigrants losing young children and infants, believing them to have been abducted by the Israeli government and used for experiments and research or put up for adoption by Ashkenazi families. The New York Times article written by Fezehai focuses mostly on the testimonials of people either searching for or reconnected with missing family members. Fezehai brings up some of the recent actions taken on by the Israeli government in response to rising calls for justice, including the admission by a cabinet member that “children were taken without their parents’ consent” and laws allowing families to access adoption files.
Abraham’s article uses this specific incident to talk about broader issues of racial division and oppression in Israel, bringing up an aversion on Israel’s part towards acknowledging the existence of an Arab-Judeo culture in favor of creating a binary between all things Arab and Jewish. Abraham calls significant attention to the racial prejudices that went into the abduction of Mizrahi babies and their adoption by Ashkenazim. Abraham also wrote one line that points to a particular narrative of Israel’s founding, mentioning “Israel’s occupation of Palestinian lands in 1948.” The use of this phrasing makes it clear that Abraham is acutely aware of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and racial oppression in Israel in this article, likening the treatment of the Mizrahi Jews to that of Palestinians and other non-Jewish Arabs.
Fezehai and Abraham certainly have similar points to make through the articles, but come from different perspectives and different narrative understandings. One question I had that was not addressed was of the adoptive families and their level of participation in these incidents. Were they aware of how these Mizrahi babies had come to them, aware of the abductions and the lack of concept by the biological parents? Were they implicit in the scandal or bystanders to it?
A Response to Naomi Seidman’s “The Erotics of Sexual Segregation”
While I understand the point that Seidman is arguing about the intimacy and desire involved in homosocial settings, I am confused by her use of the term “erotic” to describe these relationships and environments. She never explains her use of this term, which invokes images of a more sexual nature. Seidman repeatedly refers to “the erotic power of the homosocial structure” and other phrasings along the same lines. However, it seems to me that these sexually segregated situations foster intimacy, tenderness, and love, but not eroticism. Despite the title of this essay, she does elaborate on how sexual segregation is erotic.
Response to Yoel Finkelman “The Secret of Jewish Masculinity: Contemporary Haredi Gender Ideology”
The most interesting part of this article to me is the idea of emotional labor. Haredi women are expected to perform all sorts of emotional labor, taking care of her children as well as her husband. She is also, at times, expected to work outside of the house and maintain strict boundaries among men when she must enter the public sector. This introduces another level of emotional labor, as she is expected to maintain Tzniut and emotional boundaries outside of her home as well as in it. Men, on the other hand, are not expected to perform emotional labor. While they are praised for maintaining loving relationships with their children and wives, it is not entirely expected. Additionally, they are built for the public world because of their supposed “rationality”. Thus, it seems that they are expected not to show emotions or vulnerability outside of the home. Therefore, it falls upon their wives to carry the full weight of their husbands’ vulnerability, a heavy amount of emotional labor. The labor extends to also caring for parents, leaving women with a vast amount of emotional labor to perform.
Book Review Project Proposal
For my Book Review project, I am interested in the memoir Uncovered by Leah Lax. I knew initially that I was interested in the lives of women in more Orthodox Jewish communities, so I began my search in that direction. Using the Trexler Library and Google Scholar websites, I found several books that fit my interests. However, they were not necessarily grabbing my attention very much. I kept searching further and began to question my original subject. I had been focusing on the issue of gender in Judaism, while ignoring the subject of sexuality, the other main topic of this course. So, I decided to switch up my search, continuing to look for books about Orthodox communities, but focusing on experiences of queer members of those communities. While I found a couple, the one that most strongly caught my eye fit into both of my fields of inquiry – the experience of a queer woman in the Orthodox Jewish world. Leah Lax’s memoir, titled Uncovered: How I Left Hasidic Life and Finally Came Home, appears to be the first story told of its kind, that of a gay woman finding, living within, and subsequently leaving the Hasidic community. Leah Lax’s experience not only fits the subject matter of this course, but also seems to be capable of answering my own questions about life within Orthodox communities. The personal nature of this book will likely provide a biased account of Hasidism, but there is much to gain from such story-telling. The emotions that go along with such a unique journey interest me, as I can only imagine those emotions for myself. I hope that from Leah Lax’s telling of what she has gone through, she can enlighten me on her own experience and possibly the experiences that others may have in comparable situations. Though I have grown up within various Jewish communities, I have spent little time interacting with Hasidic communities. They are therefore mostly unknown to me, and I have always been wary of them. This wariness comes partially from my own experiences in Orthodox services, as I find mechitzah’s to be uncomfortable and inconducive to prayers. But mostly, this cautionary feeling comes from what I have heard of Orthodox communities, which may very well have been exaggerations. I hope that from Leah Lax’s memoir, I can gain a deeper understanding of what it is like to be a woman within a Hasidic Orthodox community.
A Response to Dvora E. Weisberg’s “Women and Torah Study in Aggadah”
In this essay, Weisberg confronts a similar issue to that of Aryeh Cohen in “The Sage and the Other Woman,” in regards to the position of women in comparison to that of the study of Torah. However, Cohen is much more concerned in his essay about the rabbis in question and their relationship to these objects of desire, women and Torah. He defends the position of the study of Torah being above that of women. Weisberg, on the other hand, questions this hierarchy, putting the women of the Talmudic era at the center of her argument. She focuses on how gender can be studied using rabbinic texts, while recognizing that the texts are inherently male-focused but can still merit a deeper understanding through feminist study. Unlike Cohen, Weisberg argues on the side of women, searching through multiple stories rather than one to give a wider perspective on the issue of Talmudic gender. Additionally, Weisberg goes further by asking about the study of Torah performed by women, whether that happened at all or was even allowed.
Thoughts on Possible Book Review Topics
For my book review, I think I would like to read into the roles and rules surrounding women in modern Judaism, particularly in Hasidic communities. I would be interested in reading more in detail about Tzniut or possibly the role women in these communities play. In recent decades, women’s rights and responsibilities have been brought to light, with many fighting for change towards equality. However, Hasidic communities are known to be fairly conservative and traditional, so I am curious about how modern women in these communities live. Have there been any significant changes to the role that women play, or what sectors of life they can participate in? Have there been more recent interpretations of Tzniut, possibly written by women rather than men? Or reinterpretations of other laws done by women in Hasidic communities?
Alternatively, I would be interested in studying the stories of biblical women. There are certainly stories of women in the Tanakh that I only vaguely know, or recognize by name, and I am sure that there are more that I am completely unaware of. This would include midrashim, like those we read about Lilith. I think it is important to better understand these stories, so as to better give voice to these and other women in Judaism who have often gone unheard.
Some short thoughts in response to Judith Plaskow’s “Standing Again at Sinai” and Aryeh Cohen’s “The Sage and the Other Woman”
Both of these readings point to how women have been historically left out of the Jewish experience, from as far back as at least Sinai. Plaskow focuses on this story of Sinai, and how it is only part of the Jewish story. Therefore, women have the liberty to expand and retell this story and others, including themselves in this history. Cohen’s essay acknowledges a similar issue of Jewish literature speaking only to men, and not to women, using Talmudic analogies as her example. There are centuries between the two stories of Moses at Sinai and the widow confronting the Sages, and yet little changed at that point in terms of the principle audience of Jewish law and literature; it was all directed at men. I was surprised at how Cohen did not explicitly bring up the lack of acknowledgment of a female audience in the way that Plaskow did.
