G-d of Bilhah, G-d of Zilpah
I haven’t always been the shul rat you see before you today. Like so many other Bar Mitzvah boys, I was pretty much done with it all as soon as it got to Adon Olam. Years later, when my son - you know, the one who works for NASA – started Hebrew School, I started to drift back.
So much had changed. For one thing, the congregants didn’t seem quite as old as they once had. There were unfamiliar melodies and more of the prayers were recited in English. I was particularly struck by the choice to include the Matriarchs at the beginning of the Amidah.
Even so, the shul I attended exclusively davened a Patriarchs-only Shemoneh Esrai. I was okay with that – my Hebrew was kind of rusty, and I was happy to have a few less syllables to stumble over.
The rabbi had a respectable rationale for holding to this. Although he was quite happy to have women as equals and leaders in the shul, he felt that including the Matriarchs at the beginning of our central prayer was a kind of liturgical vandalism. The bit about the Patriarchs comes straight out of scripture – that whole business with the burning bush. Also, with all these endless schisms within Judaism, this important prayer we all chant should at least start with the same words. He would have no problem with adding a new section to the Amidah focusing on the Matriarchs, and there is precedent to that kind of change.
However, my reason for excluding our mothers was a little more idiosyncratic, of course. My Hebrew School classes were filled with mean girls who bullied me mercilessly, and I was incapable of defending myself or fighting back. It still bothers me sometimes. Leaving out Sarah and the others had a bit of delayed gratification.
Without thinking too much about it, I went forward with the Patriarchs for quite some time until I had an epiphany of sorts. Well, not an epiphany – that’s way too Christian. But once, after services, a woman from a different shul was miffed that we didn’t include the Matriarchs. And that prompted me to become more egalitarian. You’re welcome, ladies!
Sometime later, I met a rabbi at a different shul – a woman rabbi, or a rabbinical woman, if you prefer. In addition to Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah, she included Rachel’s slave Bilhah and Leah’s slave Zilpah in her devotions. To do otherwise would be to deprive these women of any agency. Now, they were slaves, so what agency could they really have? But I liked the thinking. I tried it once or twice, but it was a bit too clunky.
I am inspired to write about Jewish women’s agency, or lack of it, down through history. Before I do, I’d like to relate a story from a generation ago, when I attended Rutgers College.
There was a shadowy group on campus – the College Avenue Feminist Terrorists. A porn movie was to be shown in one of the school’s facilities and they felt it was degrading to women. That’s certainly a conversation to be had. A bomb threat was called in, a device of some sort was planted, but instead of going kaboom, it was just an alarm clock. They didn’t want to hurt anybody, which was nice and ladylike.
A day or so later, some guy, as in, a man, wrote to the Rutger’s Daily Targum in support of the College Avenue Feminist Terrorists. He wanted to form a parallel political branch, one that would play the same role for CAFT as Sinn Fein did for the Irish Republican Army. To which CAFT replied almost at once: stick to your own knitting and keep out of ours.
This begs the question: should I, a man, take it upon myself to speak on this topic? Well, having thought about it at great length, I’m going to wax poetic on Jewish women’s agency whether they like it or not.
I have always been surrounded by motivated, high-achieving women. For example, my wife, and I would probably say that even if she didn’t proofread everything I write. But let’s focus on my formative years, starting with my mother, she should rest in peace.
Mom was the daughter of immigrants. Her father was from a middle-class family but had to flee after drawing the attention of the Czar’s Secret Police. I don’t know the details, but it had something to do with revolutionary activities. I think he was aligned with the Mensheviks.
Mom’s mother came to this country because she was dirt poor.
They pursued the American Dream, and after several false starts, opened a store – the Variety Square. It was what used to be called a “Five and Dime.”
Mom wanted to go to college. Stocking shelves and running a cash register was not what she wanted out of life. Her parents didn’t like the idea. Her father needed her help in the store, which is not as unreasonable as it might sound, especially a century ago. Her mother’s reaction was more telling. After all, her daughter was a businesswoman. How could she possibly top that?
Happily, they reached a compromise, and my mother attended NYU at night. Upon graduation, Mom won an award as top chemistry student in her class. That might not sound like much now. I’m sure women scientists are a dime a dozen these days. But this was back in the 1940’s.
My father, of whom I am a mere shadow, encouraged Mom to pursue medicine. By then she was tired of school and wanted to start a family, eventually giving birth to the shul rat you see before you today.
But before that, she had my sister, which left me destined to be a footnote. Whereas I went to a state school and started out life as a hot mess, she graduated from Yale and became a high-powered corporate attorney. I’d like to think this was due to reverse sex discrimination or affirmative action, but my sister would probably point to her own drive and ambition. Well, it’s certainly true that what I lack in ambition, I don’t make up for in any way at all. But didn’t I invent warp speed? Wait – that’s not right. Must be another one of those senior moments I keep hearing about.
Let’s not forget my sister’s daughters. One is a board-certified pediatrician, and the other was on the engineering team that developed the Apple Watch. My sister’s granddaughter is still a kid but will probably be the first trillionaire on Mars. My sister has always been such a showoff.
Turning to the Tanach, it’s mostly a man’s world. There’s not a lot of distaff agency to be found. Sure, if you look in the psalms or the proverbs you can find occasional fluff about the personification of Divine Wisdom being a woman, as well as reminders to return to the long-suffering wife of your youth. This is eclipsed by warnings about the stranger woman and the dangers of letting the little guy tell the big guy what to do.
Let’s start with the first woman and see where she takes us. What happens to Eve once she’s out of Adam’s sight? She gets tricked by that pesky snake, and what’s worse, that ditz helped him do it. She told the snake that the Almighty had commanded them never to eat nor even touch the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. But what’s up with that? G-d never told her not to touch the tree, and neither did Adam. Who did Eve think she was, putting words in the mouth of the Almighty? Well, the snake pushed her into the tree, and when nothing happened, it was a simple matter to get her to take the next step and eat the fruit. If it wasn’t for that uppity airhead, we’d still be prancing about the Garden of Eden without the benefit of fig leaves. Or at least, that’s how one of my Sunday School teachers explained it.
I should point out that, according to my outstanding and accomplished wife, Eve was framed.
But at least Eve got a name, which is more than Abel’s twin sister rated. Although it doesn’t translate into English, there is a quirk in the grammar of the original Hebrew that points to her existence. There is even an obscure Midrash that Abel married her. I suppose the laws on incest hadn’t been worked out way back then, or maybe it had something to do with the size of the dating pool. And if she hadn’t produced any kids by the time her brother was killed, would Cain have to take her in levirate marriage? Just asking.
But at least Abel’s twin sister got a quirk of Hebrew grammar. Very few women of the antediluvian period are listed at all in the Genesis genealogies. One lady who shows up is Naamah, the daughter of Lamech. And what’s up with her? Even Naamah’s mother Zillah and Zillah’s sister-wife Adah get mentioned as the audience for Lamech’s macho poetry. There is nothing in the text except for Naamah’s name.
Given the Hebrew root of her name, it’s been suggested that Naamah was some sort of ancestral singer. I like to imagine that she was the center of an elaborate tradition that has since been lost. Perhaps there’s a Book of Naamah waiting to be found in a cave at Qumran. Or, and this is cynical of me, maybe a Masoretic redactor didn’t want women to get too many ideas and just dropped everything but her name. Sadly, this type of thinking might be jeopardizing my share in the World to Come.
I’ll come back to the Matriarchs in short order, but now I’ll turn to Jacob’s daughter Dina. One day she left her father’s camp to visit the “daughters of the land.” Shechem the Hivite “saw her, took her, and lay with her by force.” Shechem wanted to make things right by marrying her, and what girl wouldn’t want to be given to her rapist? Jacob tried to arrange a rapprochement, but that deal went south when his sons killed all the men in Shechem’s town.
Several right-wing Christian groups claim that women take on the risk of assault whenever they leave their fathers’ protection, and I imagine they use this story to make the point. I have never heard this interpretation in a synagogue. But leaving that aside, how did Dina end up?
No word. Nothing. Zip. There is a mysterious tradition about Dina’s daughter, the product of the rape. She ended up in Egypt and in the house of Potiphera, priest of On. Her name was Aseneth, and she became Joseph’s wife. Go figure. So when we bless our sons on Friday night and encourage them to become like Ephraim and Manasseh, I suppose we should remember their grandmother Dina. But of course, we don’t.
Then there’s the tale of Jephthah, who was a Judge of somewhat unreputable lineage. He was a kickass warrior. His daughter Pitdah was beautiful, vivacious, had dreams, and was surrounded by friends. Before Jephthah went out to fight his greatest battle against the Amorites, he swore to the Almighty that were he successful, he would sacrifice the first thing that came out of his house upon his return. Sadly, that first thing was his only child Pitdah, who was singing praises for her father’s victory.
Jephthah was shaken and urged Pitdah to run away. She wouldn’t think of it. Pitdah was kind of psyched to fulfill her destiny and partied to the end.
Except, none of that is from the bible. It’s all from “Upon This Evil Earth” by Amos Oz. He even had to make up a name for her.
And then there’s Bathsheba. Her name is usually translated as “daughter of the oath”, but sometimes as “daughter of seven.” That’s supposed to be some sort of dig at her mother’s virtue. And just what do we know about Bathsheba? First, she looked great naked. Second, she was Solomon’s mother. And third, she pretty much changed the trajectory of David’s life. As a young man, David was always sure of himself, daring, and in control. Whether he was taking Goliath down with his slingshot, cutting off a piece of Saul’s robe, or drooling for the Philistines, he always came out on top. But one peek at some hottie taking a bath, and he loses his grip. Nathan prophesies the punishment in store for David, proclaiming that “the sword shall never depart from your house.” Bathsheba was pregnant with David’s child, but that child, a son, would die. Another son of David, Absalom, would revolt and drive David from Jerusalem. Although David regained power, years later, another son, Adonijah, tried to undermine David’s succession plan for Solomon.
How’s that for impact? Bathsheba’s nubility did all that! Except, really?
In his book “Behold a People”, Rabbi Avigdor Miller has a different perspective. For starters, the generations described in scriptures were vastly more righteous than we are, and what might seem sinful about their actions was not that way at all. For example, Jeroboam I of the Northern Kingdom of Israel commissioned golden calves for the sanctuaries in Bethel and Dan. Surely this was a big no-no – remember that nasty business during the Wanderings? But not so much. These golden calves were just symbolic. Sure, they were unnecessary, but hardly sinful. And even if this was a sin, it could not be blamed on Jeroboam. The main shortfall of the men of those days was that they were too permissive of their women, who were constantly pushing their guys in bad directions.
Here’s Rabbi Miller’s take on David: an Israelite soldier had to divorce his wife before going into battle. If he returned alive, the reunited couple could pick up where they left off. If he fell in combat and his body was not recovered, the wife was free to remarry. I’ve heard that before, and it’s awesome. But as regards Bathsheba, it means that there was no adultery.
What’s more, it turns out that Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah the Hittite, had betrayed David in some lese-majeste kind of way, and David was going to have to execute his good friend. David engineered Uriah’s death in battle as a way of sparing him the ignominy of a trial. What a sweet guy!
In these modern, me-too sensitive days, we might guess about the power differential between David and Bathsheba. But back then, it was good to be the king! In other words, when you’re the king they let you do it.
The women I’ve just described are all either props or victims. There are many others who have had more of an impact. And as promised, back to the Matriarchs.
Well, back to one Matriarch in particular. I’ve always had a soft spot for Rebecca. Yes, Sarah did give history a push in the right direction by having Hagar and Ishmael booted from camp, but that seems crueler than necessary. Was there no other way to make this happen?
How did Leah and Rachel show up in the biblical narrative? Leah’s main contribution was to go along with Laban’s deception. To be sure, Jacob needed a bit of comeuppance. And Rachel stole Laban’s house gods. Yes, her father was a jerk, and we’re all supposed to abhor idolatry. But this is no way for Daddy’s Little Girl to behave.
But Rebecca – there’s a mover and shaker for you. When Abraham’s servant arrived in Nahor to find a bride for Isaac, there was Rebecca, drawing water for him and his ten camels. And you know how thirsty camels can be after a long trek through the desert.
And let’s face it, Isaac was a bit of a dim bulb. Well, maybe I should rephrase that – after all, my father’s father was named for him. Let’s just say that Isaac had a bit of a blind spot when it came to his sons. Rebecca had been made aware of the Almighty’s plans when the twins were still in utero. With all the subtlety and feminine acumen at her disposal, she ensured the right outcome. Isaac was none the wiser.
I could go on and on with remarkable women of the bible. Tamar fought back against the humiliation foisted on her by Judah. Jochebed and Miriam, Moses’s mother and sister, saved our greatest prophet from Pharaoh. Rahab, a mere prostitute and not yet accepted as an Israelite, rescued Jacob’s spies. Showing a little leg, Jael finished off Sisera. Although her book is not in our canon, Judith did much the same, saving Jerusalem from destruction. And need I say anything at all about Ruth or Esther?
As spectacular as these ladies are, they all made their marks using their sexuality or working within their families. Which is not nothing. The greatest chapters in history involve honey traps and the real power behind the throne. But when I started to look at more recent times, I wanted to find something beyond that. She Who Must Be Obeyed suggested that given the limited role of women within this man’s patriarchy, I might come up a little short finding women who made grandiose gestures. G-d knows, my wife is never wrong, but in this case, she was a little weak on being right.
Let’s start with Doña Gracia Mendes Nasi. I copied the following from Amazon:
“‘The Woman Who Defied Kings’ (by Andrée Aelion Brooks) is the first modern, comprehensive biography of Doña Gracia Nasi, an outstanding Jewish international banker during the Renaissance. A courageous leader, she used her wealth and connections to operate an underground railroad that saved hundreds of her fellow Spanish and Portuguese conversos (Jews who had been forced to convert to Catholicism) from the horrors of the Inquisition. Born in Lisbon in 1510, she later moved onto Antwerp, Venice, and Ferrara where she was constantly negotiating with kings and emperors for better conditions for her people. Doña Gracia Nasi helped lead a boycott of the Italian port of Ancona in retaliation for the burning of 23 of her people by the Inquisition - an outrageous act in an era when Jews were more accustomed to appeasement. Finally settling in Constantinople, she persuaded Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent to grant her a long-term lease on the Tiberias region of Palestine, where she spearheaded one of the earliest attempts to start an independent state for Jews in Israel. Doña Gracia Nasi is equally important to history because she shatters the stereotype of how women, especially Jewish women, conducted their lives during the Renaissance period. Some historians have called her the most important Jewish woman since Biblical times.”
Let’s not forget the Jewish “Ghetto Girls”. Here’s a summary of “The Light of Days” by Judy Batalion, also from Amazon:
“Witnesses to the brutal murder of their families and neighbors and the violent destruction of their communities, a cadre of Jewish women in Poland—some still in their teens—helped transform the Jewish youth groups into resistance cells to fight the Nazis. With courage, guile, and nerves of steel, these ‘ghetto girls’ paid off Gestapo guards, hid revolvers in loaves of bread and jars of marmalade, and helped build systems of underground bunkers. They flirted with German soldiers, bribed them with wine, whiskey, and home cooking, used their Aryan looks to seduce them, and shot and killed them. They bombed German train lines and blew up a town’s water supply. They also nursed the sick, taught children, and hid families.”
Then there’s this poem:
Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame. Blessed is the flame that burns in the secret fastness of the heart. Blessed is the heart with strength to stop its beating for honor's sake. Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame.
That was written by Hannah Szenes. She was the only woman in a group of Palestinian Jews who infiltrated into Nazi-occupied Hungary to organize escape and resistance. This was her last poem, and she wrote it after parachuting into a partisan camp in Yugoslavia. The mission was doomed from the start. She was captured almost immediately, then tortured and executed. She knew the risk and went anyway. Compare that level of bravery to the fear of losing a primary, being taunted at an airport, or being deprived of access to Mar-a-Lago.
I just finished “A Tapestry of Hadassah Memories” by Miriam Rosenthal. The book is chock-full of stories about these fine ladies, many of whom are members of our synagogue. I was blown away by how much this organization has done for Israel. Talk about agency – these women have it coming out the kazoo. I do have one small complaint about the book. The thing I enjoy most about reading history are the conflicts. You know, the Karaites and the Rabbanites, the Chassidim and the Mitnagdim, the Hatfields and the McCoys. The Hadassah gals like each other way too much and work together way too well. What’s the fun in that? When I read about the Workmen’s Circle, for example, there was the struggle to keep the Communists from taking over the organization and a vicious dispute between defined benefit and defined contribution pensions. That last bit might be a bit too deep in the actuarial weeds, but at least it’s something. The only tension I could get out of Hadassah was a 14-year-old girl whose mother’s activities occasionally kept her waiting for dinner.
Even though I do not mention Bilhah and Zilpah, I am very comfortable including the Matriarchs in the Amidah. I do understand why Rabbi Miller never would. He taught me a lot, and through his books, he continues to do so. Sadly, I only met him three times. Rabbi Mordechai Dolinsky, one of his closest disciples for decades, authored an intriguing book of memories: “Walking with Rabbi Miller.” Here’s one of the stories.
Rabbi Miller, steeped in Mussar, was an “All Torah, All The Time” kind of guy. He avoided secular literature and recommended that his followers do the same. It caused a bit of stir when word got out that there was a secular work that he really enjoyed: “How to Win Friends & Influence People” by Dale Carnegie. Naturally, members of his congregation asked if they should read this as well. The rabbi gave his permission somewhat reluctantly but added that there was really nothing in the book that wasn’t also in Torah.
Rabbi Dolinsky added a postscript of sorts to this episode. Be sure to get an early edition of the book because portions were left out in later versions, presumably to avoid offending the Women’s Liberation movement. He forgot this fundamental truth:
Let us put men and women together - See which one is smarter - Some say men, but I say no - The women got the men like a puppet show - Believe me, it's the people that say - That the men are leading women astray - But I say that the women today - Are smarter than the men in every way - That's right, the women are smarter - That's right, the women are smarter - That's right, the women are smarter - The women are smarter than the men today.
It is not so much where we are, as where we are going. It is useful to look at where we are and compare it to where we’ve been. And as the poet said:
You’ve come a long way baby, to get where you’ve got to today. You’ve got your own cigarette now, baby, you’ve come a long, long way.
Not to mention, your own rabbis, your own cantors, and your own Torah readers.
And lest the College Avenue Feminist Terrorists feel left out, you’ve got your own feminist porn, produced by women for viewing by women.
Now, go and study.
