It was a few weeks[i]
after the Inauguration, in early February 2017, when a good friend, a
rabbinical school classmate, shared a picture on the Rabbis Facebook
Group. There stood a cartoon woman stood
in a pink pants suit with her back to us.
Surrounding here were dozens of comment bubbles, such as: “Your clothing
is distracting the boys,” “That’s a man’s job,” “She was asking for it,” “Aren’t
you cute.” At the bottom of the picture
were the words: “Nevertheless She Persisted.”
My friend posed this question: “Woman Rabbi Edition. What true comments have you
experienced?” With that introduction,
there was an outpouring from my fellow rabbis.
1,000 comments in a little over two days, mostly by rabbis who happen to
be women. Here were a couple that
rattled me to my core:
“Great legs, Rabbi”
“I’m sorry, but do you know a male rabbi who
can do the wedding? We’d just prefer a
male rabbi. It’s nothing personal.”
“Calm down Rabbi, you’re getting emotional”
“Are you the rabbi’s secretary?”
“If my rabbi growing up looked like
you, I would have gone to synagogue much more often.”
“There just isn’t any more money in
the budget. Can’t your husband earn
more?”
“Honey, Sweetheart, Sugar, Baby.”
“You don’t look like a rabbi.”
These are my colleagues and friends. To hear such demeaning, ugly, and hurtful
comments about their bodies and their gender was deeply upsetting. We went through the same rabbinic training
together. They are bright, thoughtful,
and charismatic leaders. Yet, the truth
is, my rabbinic colleagues still face discrimination and disrespect solely
because they are women. Even in our
Reform Movement, rabbis who are women are paid significantly less than their
male counterparts.
And we know, this is just the tip of
the iceberg. This past year, every
#MeToo has left me struggling and upset.
And it continues, in the news this week!
I’ve been shaken by the many stories of trauma: of psychological and
physical abuse. Too many in our
community have experienced uncomfortable words, inappropriate touching, and
unwanted glances.
During Yom Kippur, the prayer leader,
the Cantor or Rabbi, stands before the community and shares a personal
confession called the Hin’ni. This prayer
is an admission of inadequacy of self-doubt in the face of the daunting
responsibility of leading the community. Tomorrow, I’ll recite these words:
“Hin’ni. Here I am. So poor in deeds, I tremble in fear,
overwhelmed and apprehensive. Although
unworthy, I rise and seek favor, for my community had entrusted me in this
task… Accept my prayer as though it were
offered by one more worthy of this task.”
Tonight, I offer my own Hin’ni. Here I am.
I recognize that I am a man. As a
man, I have privilege and power.
Hin’ni. Here I am. Who am I to give this sermon? I don’t know what it’s like to be a
woman. I don’t know what it’s like to be
silenced or face discrimination because of my gender.
Hin’ni. Here I am.
I am nervous. I may say the wrong
thing. I might offend. I might stir up an emotion or trigger a past
experience. Nervous as I am, I ask for
your forgiveness. If I say the wrong
thing, I ask for your willingness to teach me.
I believe that the alternative is to say nothing at all. And if there’s one thing that I have learned
from my colleagues, is that even I, especially I, as a man, must not stay
silent.
Hin’ni. Here I stand, I am called to
give voice to our transgressions of humiliation and abuse. For #MeToo is everywhere, including our wider
Jewish Community. Yes, men of every
nationality, background, and religion have made the headlines, but there is a
surprising number of stories reported about Jewish men. [ii] We know about Harvey Weinstein. The list also
includes the likes of Al Franken, Dustin Hoffman, Mark Halperin, Woody Allen,
Israel Horowitz, Brett Ratner, and Anthony Weiner. We’ve seen major figures in our Jewish
Community from Professor Steven M. Cohen of the Hebrew Union College, Israeli
Activist Ari Shavit, to local rabbis in both Baltimore and Washington who have
faced accusations. That is a lot of
Jewish men with some serious accusations.
Those who are guilty must repent for
their sins. They must seek forgiveness
and change their ways. Yet, there is
something deeper going on in our society.
As the famous Kabbalist, Rabbi Isaac Luria teaches: “The people of
Israel may be likened to a body of which every Jew is a living part. The vitality of the whole depends upon the
health of every organ and limb. That is
how deeply we are connected to one another.
Each individual sin inflicts damage on the entire body. All of us share in the responsibility of
healing the body of Israel”[iii]
The transgressions of humiliation and
abuse are a poison upon our society.
These sins don’t just affect one person, they affect us all. We are all deeply intertwined with each
other. It’s not enough for us to point
fingers at those who have been accused and blame them. It’s not enough for us to wipe our hands
clean. Each of us, in some way is
responsible for allowing these horrible actions to continue, with little
repercussions at all.
Or to put it differently, there’s the
story of my colleague and rabbinic school classmate, Rabbi Leah Berkowitz, who
a few months ago attended a Jewish Federation Gala. The comedian that evening signaled her out publicly. Here’s her account and her response to him: [iv]
“’Are there any female rabbis in the room?’
This isn’t like when you ask if anyone is from
Cleveland. Everyone in that room knew who I was. It was just me. In a brightly
colored dress. Dead center.
If I had chosen to not raise my hand—like I
could have done in a comedy club—any number of people would have ‘outed’ me. So
I raised my hand.
‘You’re a rabbi?’ you asked. I nodded. ‘Well
that’s great! I support that!’ Great, I thought. The comedian
supports my professional ambitions.
But you didn’t stop there. You gave me the
once-over. ‘Wow, you’re really pretty,’ you said. ‘Are you married?’
‘No, I am not.’ I smiled through gritted
teeth. You couldn’t read my body language, but I was shooting daggers at you with
my eyes. I didn’t like where this was going.
‘Oh,’ you said. ‘Maybe I’ll divorce my shiksa
wife and marry you!’
Some people laughed. Later some people told me
they were offended and wanted to write an angry letter. One of my
congregants—the one being honored—told me he nearly stood up and shouted, ‘Leave
her alone!’ But he didn’t. We all just sat there.”
We know how easy it is to laugh it
off, ignore what’s happening, or to just sit there stone faced. We know the repercussions of remaining
silent. Nothing will change unless we
stand up against misogyny and any inappropriate behavior.
Even the litany of sins that we
recite during Yom Kippur are expressed in the plural. We don’t say: “I sinned, I
transgressed.” No, we say: “We sinned,
we transgressed.” Later tonight, we’ll
chant these sins together: “We betray.
We steal. We scorn. We act perversely.” Reciting in the plural reminds us that all of
us are culpable, all responsible for the sins of society.
Tonight, I recite a confessional for
the sins of #MeToo. Here is a new litany
of sins written by Rabbi Mary L. Zamore:[v]
“Al Cheit Shechatanu, for the sin we
have committed before You…
By not believing the victims
By being silent while women were
bullied, harassed or undermined
By claiming to be ready to listen
when we were not
By claiming equality exists for all
By not supporting the victims
By accepting the sexist comments made
every day
By blaming the victims
By explaining away harassment
By promising change and not
fulfilling this promise
Al Cheit Shechatanu…
For the sin we have committed before
You, we ask forgiveness.”
It seems that only now are we
acknowledging that there is a problem.
We have a long way to go. We all
share responsibility for these sins, but those of us who are men, myself included,
have a particular role in this. Men have
influence over other men. What are we as
men doing to address this? Are we
laughing at the sexist jokes or saying that it’s not ok? Are we speaking out when we see bad
behavior? Are we being exemplars for our
sons and grandsons? Are we recognizing
our mistakes and apologizing for our behavior?
Are we always acting like mensches?
Rabbi Rachel Bregman reminds us that
sexual violence thrives when power is unevenly distributed. As she writes: “Ultimately, #MeToo is a call
to fix a deep wound that is a symptom of a much larger systemic disease: Men
have privilege, and the power that comes with it.”[vi]
Our Jewish tradition is based upon
centuries of cultural norms and Jewish practice that describe specific gender
roles in Jewish life. It’s time for us
to reflect upon the gendered Judaism we have inherited. Even as a liberal community, we must continue
to expand the roles and responsibility of leading our community, to make sure
that all of us share privilege and power.
It’s easy is to quote male rabbis or to teach the stories of Abraham or
Moses. What about modern female rabbis
and scholars, as well as biblical heroes such as Deborah, Miriam, Esther, and
Sarah? It’s time to reframe the Judaism
bequeathed to us, and to expand the voices in the room so all our thoughts and
perspectives are heard.
As your rabbi, I want to make sure
that our Bolton Street Synagogue is a place where all are respected and
valued. I want all of us to be present
for each other and support each other during times of challenge and pain. And I believe that we do that by
listening.
Sh’ma Yisrael. Hear O Israel is our quintessential
prayer. Hearing, listening, being truly
present for each other is a key foundation of what it means to be a Jew. We take in each other’s words and provide
encouragement. We express our empathy
and kindness. We hear each other’s stories without commentary and without
judgment. We listen without blaming the
victims or refusing to accept their account.
In the Torah, two letters of the
Sh’ma (an Ayin and a Dalet) are larger and more prominent than the others. The rabbis teach that these letters form the
word “Eid” which means witness. What
would it look like to be a witness for each other? To believe the victims, to be truly present
to them, and to support them unconditionally.
What would it look like to be an active witness? Perhaps it’s just to listen or perhaps to
stand with a friend against a perpetrator. As a community, we listen, we bear
witness, and together begin teshuvah, that long road towards change.
We know that change does come
slowly. It might not happen overnight
and perhaps not even in a generation.
But things are changing for the better.
Women are bravely standing up and courageously sharing their stories. Women and men are risking their futures by
not staying silent, modeling for us all, what it means to speak truth to
power. It’s their bravery and
outspokenness, as well as our willingness to listen, to be a witness, and to
decry all misconduct, that will help us change this world for the better. It might not be a Herculean change, but it’s
effects will be. A dream where every,
woman, man, and child, will be respected, valued, and honored for who they
are.
[i] In
gratitude to my dear friends and rabbinic colleagues Rabbi Jessy Dressin and
Rabbi Heather Miller for their guidance, advice, and help in writing this sermon. You are my teachers, my chevrutah, and my
friends.
[ii]
Rabbi Daniel Brenner “Are Jewish Men Pigs” in Medium.com, January 19, 2018 (https://medium.com/@danielbrenner/are-jewish-men-pigs-7bd05fd79b05)
[iii] Mishkan HaNefesh: Yom Kippur, p. 83
[iv]
Rabbi Leah Berkowitz “Dear Male Comedian” in Jewish Women’s Archive May 23, 2018 (https://jwa.org/blog/dear-male-comedian). Thank you to Rabbi Berkowitz for allowing me
to share her story.
[v] “A
#MeToo/#GamAni Confession for the High Holy Days” by Rabbi Mary L. Zamore
(adapted) http://ravblog.ccarnet.org/2018/08/metoo-gamani-confession-high-holy-days/
[vi]
Rabbi Rachel Bregman “4 Critical Ways Jewish Institutions Cane Learn from
#MeToo” in The Forward, March 15,
2018 (https://forward.com/scribe/396625/4-critical-ways-jewish-institutions-can-learn-from-metoo/)
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