Outrage

The last time I wrote about Women of the Wall, it was about the calm before the prayer. There was nothing else to write about, unless I wanted to write about lending my roommate my siddur and my tallit and watching her pray when she hadn't done so in a long time. The time before that was when we got chairs thrown at us and the police arrested the chair-throwers. At that point, it seemed like the police were on our side. The Haredim were the wrongdoers; we were following the law, and they were still harassing us. But this. How did this happen?

I was not there, as I have been in the States for a month and a half now, but there is a blog post about the experience by Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg here. I am shocked. I am speechless, save for the word "What?" "What?" The women were not doing anything that they hadn't done month after month, year after year since 1988. Daven most of the service at the back of the women's section - march with the Torah, singing, to Robinson's Arch - read the Torah - dance - daven Mussaf. Month after month. So why now? Why are we suddenly the bad guys again? Did they really think we were going to change our pattern now? Was it not just a few months ago when we were almost physically harmed by an army of chairs?

I say "we" this time not because I was physically there, but I feel like the Women of the Wall are still part of me. Watching the video I remember the times when I walked down that path, the first time in the rain with Haredim yelling at us, the time when we sang "Not By Might" in Hebrew and the woman next to me said she'd have to tell Debbie Friedman that someone had translated her song, the time Mr. Dubin was there. There is no video of the women standing outside of the police station, but I can see it in my mind. I know that spirit. I can imagine Nofrat Frenkel standing next to Anat Hoffman as she was arrested for the same charges for which Nofrat was arrested just seven months ago. "We then kept singing for some time, because, Nofrat said, Anat (who was inside the police station somewhere) would be able to hear us. (Nofrat knows from personal experience, natch.)" Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg said. Can you imagine what that must be like? Can you see her reliving that experience?

And why are the Women of the Wall put through this ideal? For being female and wanting to pray on Rosh Chodesh, which Orthodoxy declares a "women's holiday." Because wanting to sing out their prayers loud and proud is somehow wrong. Because reading the very text that is the basis of our religion is somehow wrong.

It's been said before by many people and I'll say it again: the Kotel doesn't belong to the Jewish people. The Kotel belongs to the Haredim, and that's an offense against all of us who call ourselves part of the Jewish people.

Calm

The thing that I like most about Women of the Wall is the walk to get there. There are no buses that take you from Mount Scopus to the Old City; you have to go to Jaffa Rd and then walk from there. This means that a trip to the Kotel involves walking all the way through the Old City at a time of morning when nothing’s open and no one’s there. All the shops that are usually open are closed, all the streets that are usually crowded are completely empty. It’s peaceful. And then you arrive at the Kotel and see all these men and women davening, and all these police cars parked right outside the guard station, and you’re ready to pray. You’re ready to combat the Haredim with your prayer, your love for their hate.

This entry is not really about Women of the Wall, though. I am currently lying on a bed at Kibbutz Yahel, a Reform kibbutz in the Negev, taking a few precious moments between dinner and our campfire. This Shabbat seems to be about a similar kind of calm. We’re out of the city and into the desert, where there’s really nothing around us other than lots of sand, a bit of grass, and the people who live on the kibbutz. I’m also singing and listening to songs that I haven’t heard since camp, and other songs that I haven’t heard since AHA—and even without the words in the book (because Mishkan Tefila was written as a prayerbook, not a songbook), somehow I still remember the words to these songs I haven’t heard since 2001. It’s the peace of nostalgia that I’m feeling right now; even though I know I was never really happy at camp, these songs bring back fond feelings. I came on this Shabbaton because it was a chance to take a Shabbat away from Jerusalem, but I think instead I’m refinding Reform Judaism. Not that I’m going to come away from this Shabbaton a Reform Jew—I’m not—but I’m reminding myself that there are parts that I really like, parts that I really loved as a little kid, and maybe I can recall those images when I think of Reform Judaism rather than thinking of congregations that do yartzeits based on English dates and close down for the summer.

Wisdom from an Israeli writer

In Hebrew class today we read part of a poem by an Israeli writer, Yehuda Amichai, entited "Tourists":

פעם ישבתי על מדרגות ליד שער במצודת דוד, את שני הסלים הכבדים שמתי לידי. עמדה שם קבוצת תיירים סביב המדריך ושימשתי להם נקודת ציון. "אתם רואים את האיש הזה עם הסלים? קצת ימינה מראשו נמצאת קשת מן התקופ הרומית. קצת ימינה מראשו". "אבל הוא זז, הוא זז!" אמרתי בלבי: הגאולה תבוא רק אם יגידו להם: אתם רואים שם את הקשת מן התקופה הרומית? לא חשוב: אבל לידה, קצת שמאלה ולמטה ממנה, יושב אדם שקנה פֵּרות וירקות לביתו.

Once I was sitting on the steps near the gate at David's Citadel and I put down my two heavy baskets beside me. A group of tourists stood there around their guide, and I became their point of reference. "You see that man over there with the baskets? A little to the right of his head there's an arch from the Roman period. A little to the right of his head." "But he's moving, he's moving!" I said to myself: Redemption will come only when they are told, "Do you see that arch over there from the Roman period? It doesn't matter, but near it, a little to the left and then down a bit, there's a man who has just bought fruit and vegetables for his family."

We as American--and Canadians, and whatever else we are--could learn a lot from this piece of writing. We come to Jerusalem because it's a holy city, but is that really what Jerusalem is? What should we be focusing on when we come here, Jerusalem as it was or Jerusalem as it is? Jerusalem isn't frozen in time; it's a modern city with modern citizens, modern life, and modern problems. When I go to Women of the Wall, it's the people I'm focusing on, not the history. The wall itself isn't what's important; the treatment of women there in modern-day Jerusalem is what matters. The same goes for any human rights issues you might look at--the problems of the Palestinians, the problems of the GLBT population, etc. These are real people living today; can we really come to this country and ignore them? If we do that, Israel is nothing. "Next year in Jerusalem" will always be just a saying, whether or not there really is a place called Jerusalem and whether or not Jews can come there. We have to look at today, not just yesterday. Tomorrow all of this will be history--is this really what we want to see?

Police make all the difference

Police make all the difference in the world. Remember my first trip to Women of the Wall? It was pretty miserable, both due to the rain and due to the haredim's hatred. There were police around, but we didn't feel guarded; this was just a month after Nofrat Frankel was arrested. The next month the police made a barrier between us and the haredi women and it went better, though one woman was hit by a haredi. This month--G-d. What a difference.

The assault from the men's side was totally unexpected. They did not wait for us to start davening, but instead threw a bunch of chairs over the mechitza while we were still gathering, even breaking a leg off one of them. It wasn't even 7am, and the police hadn't arrived yet. Lots of chairs (and a video starting in the middle of it):

Notice how the women attempt to make light of it. This is how you have to think at Women of the Wall--ironic comments are about all we can do.

Needless to say, I thought that the early chair throwing was an indication of a very bad morning ahead. It's not exactly a good sign. However, the men eventually stopped throwing chairs and the police came over to ask what happened and help clean up the chairs. Someone also said that they arrested the chair-thrower, which was the first good sign of the day. (According to YNet, they arrested two chair-throwers even!)

Once we started davening, the police formed a wall between us and the haredim. Surprisingly, the haredi women didn't bother us this time--one woman muttered about how the moshiach was never going to come this way when she walked past us, but that was it. The men were also surprisingly subdued. There was a little bit of shouting, but that didn't last. They mostly walked/danced around in a circle singing, supposedly drowning us out in their ears. For the first time ever I could hear every word the service leader said; the sounds from the men's side didn't overpower us at all us. Oh--and Mr. Recite Hallel at Us was back today, too. That was sorta weird--it almost seemed as if he was supporting us, except we knew better. (He was screaming "gevalt" last month.)

At the end of Hallel we were actually able to dance around in a circle ourselves, which one of the women said had never happened before. No videos of that because I was participating, but I think this is proof of what police--and overseas--support can do. When the chair-thrower was arrested I think it really changed the dynamics. The haredim no longer had the upper hand, and there were consequences to their hatred. They were in the position that we were in back in December, and even more so probably November. And why were the police guarding us? I think that has something to do with overseas--particularly North American--support for Women of the Wall. I mean, politics make my head spin, but when 29 Canadian rabbis send a letter to their Israeli ambassador supporting Women of the Wall and there is enough American support that the ambassador to the United States made a statement about the issue, that's gotta mean something, right? If nothing else, it'd probably make Israel look pretty bad if/when something bad happened to the Women of the Wall while they were davening, assuming they were following the law (not reading from the Torah and not wearing talitot). Why else would the police go from arresting Nofrat Frenkel to protecting us from the haredim, if not for international pressure?

I have to say, I will be perfectly happy if the Haredi men keep drowning us out by singing and dancing and reciting Hallel at us. These are all things that belong at the Kotel. Screaming insults and throwing chairs--those do not. What are the chances that they'll find this solution satisfactory, or that next month will be even slightly like this month? One thing I've learned over the past three months is that the reaction to our davening is unpredictable. Totally and completely unpredictable.

We went from our peaceful davening at the Kotel to an even more peaceful Torah reading with rotating Torah readers, including Devora, a fellow Rothberg student. Notice how you can hear the birds singing. Isn't that a nice end to it all?

Purim x2

Israel is one of only two places in the world where you can celebrate Purim, drive to another city, and then find that it's (Shushan) Purim all over again the next day. While this is an interesting phenomenon, it's one that I hadn't intended on taking part of. Purim is not my favorite holiday ever - there's too much partying and drinking and too little meaning. Still, when I mentioned to my friend Ri that it would technically be possible for me to get from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv for Saturday night's megillah reading at the Gay Center and she offered to let me stay over for the night, I figured I might as well. It's not like I'm going to get this chance ever again.

The evening at the gay center began with a havdallah that wasn't so impressive, though it did allow me time to scan the room with my camera. Havdallah's usually my favorite Shabbat service, but it wasn't like anyone was joining in with the singing, and the leaders botched the words enough to make me wonder whether they normally do this or not. It's also the first time I had ever seen havdallah done without dimming the lights.

The megillah reading was your typical megillah reading. Lots of people in costumes, lots of noise whenever Haman's name was said. I was actually really surprised at one point when a cowboy went up to read and I recognized "his" voice--it was Nofrat Frenkel from Women of the Wall. My camera failed me on that reading, though, so I have to leave you with the reading of a sailor and a cute mother/daughter pair instead.

After the megillah reading most people left for other parties around the city, but a few stayed for dancing at the gay center. I stood or sat against the wall the whole time, but it was still pretty entertaining to watch. I really like the fact that alcohol wasn't the center, which is usually the problem with Purim since it's supposedly a mitzvah to drink until you can't tell the difference between Mordechai and Haman. There was one girl walking around with a bottle of something, but that was about it. It was mostly dancing--again, a bad camera time. There were some really cute moments, like a Haradi woman dancing with a gay guy dressed up like a fairy and a woman in a lion suit dancing with a little girl dressed up like snow white. Unfortunately, all I caught on camera was the normal dancing stuff, none of the really good moments.

We got back to Ri's house around 1am on Saturday night, slept in until noon, and then headed off to the bus and train stations and back to Jerusalem for Purim Part II. We had planned to go to a megillah reading and possibly to another gay Purim party at HaKatze, but we didn't end up getting back to the Kfar until 8pm and we decided to just stay in and make some hamentashen dough. This morning, however, was a totally different story as we went to the Kotel for the Women of the Wall's megillah reading.

This was the first time I have ever heard a delayed reaction when it comes to drowning out Haman's name. People are usually jumping at it - I'm used to megillah readings where the reader says "ha" and someone starts making noise, whether or not that word is actually supposed to be Haman. This is the first time I've ever seen the reader pause without being forced into the pause by the overwhelming noise, and the noise lasted significantly less time than, say, at the gay center megillah reading.

What's even stranger than Haman, though, is the fact that the Women of the Wall megillah reading went without a hitch. There were about a million people at the Kotel, on both sides of the mechitza, and there was a bar mitzvah going on on the men's side. Yet, we were completely ignored by everyone. I don't understand; if the problem with women praying out loud is a problem of kol isha, why doesn't apply to megillah reading? If it isn't a problem with kol isha, what is the problem? Why can't they just leave us alone? I should be thankful that no one screamed at us this time (though I confess I was was sorta looking forward to chalking it down to an over-enthusiastic drowning out of Haman's name), but it's left me more confused than anything. Politics. Religious politics.

Aaaaaaand--Purim is not yet over. When Ri gets back from her seuda we're going to finish making hamentashen and then hopefully head off to the drag show at HaKatze. Perhaps I will test out my new camera there, since the old one completely failed at the drag show last time.

Women of the Wall - Rosh Chodesh Adar

As I walked down to the Kotel from the Jewish Quarter this morning, the first thing I noticed was the large amount of men davening on the men's side--so much larger than the group there last time (see my post). There were more women, too, but what I noticed was the men--I suppose I saw them as more of a threat, and there were so many more of them. I know it's probably because it wasn't raining cats and dogs this time, unlike in December, but as I walked down the steps I got a bit nervous. More people means more chance of trouble, and there were a large number of police cars in the parking lot, too.

I got there early, so I went up to the Kotel for a little alone time and spontaneous prayer, something I can only seem to do at the Kotel. When I got back--the Women of the Wall meet just outside the women's section--I found some familiar faces, and it wasn't long until davening started.

I was surprised by how quiet it was at first. For all the men in the men's section, most of them ignored us, and in the beginning there was only one guy yelling "gevalt" at us. It was easy to hear Nofrat Frenkel, who was leading the davening--unlike last time, when we had to strain to hear the leader. Eventually more people started yelling at us, but it was the women who made more of a fuss at us, pointing and yelling. There were plenty of soldiers and police officers guarding us, though; they stood between us and the women, though I think I saw a bit of shoving at one point. I was in the back, up against the wall that marks the end of the women's section. I figured it would give me a bit of emotional support if necessary, since getting two hours of sleep doesn't so much make for stability. Overall, though, I thought it was pretty much okay. It wasn't until Hallel that we had to strain to hear Nofrat, when other men joined in the "gevalt" and the women were screaming. By that point our original gevalter was reciting Hallel at us--though I don't understand what the point of that was. Yes, we know. We were just reciting that, thank you very much.

As we left the Kotel plaza for Robinson's Arch, a few men joined our group, including Noam and Mr. Dubin. This made me think a little bit; I've told people a few times that (in high school, at least) I felt that one of the worst parts of being a woman was not being able to help make a minyan in circumstances that required adherence to Orthodox law. How must these men feel, who want to support Women of the Wall but can't because of their gender? Is it similar to the way I feel when I can't help make a minyan? Perhaps I'll ask next time I see Mr. Dubin.

The rest of the service went without a hitch--we walked over to Robinson's Arch singing Mishe Nichnas Adar, but no one followed us over. We read the Torah with no screaming people and no rain to disrupt us. There was a little bit of dancing at the end of the Musaf amidah, but not so much. It was just calm, really, a big contrast to the davening at the Kotel itself. Out of sight, out of mind?

It's hard to come up with concluding thoughts right now, as I am writing this before going back to sleep--and if two hours isn't enough for emotional stability, it sure isn't enough for thinking. Thinking back to December, though, when most of the men on the men's side were screaming at us, it's amazing how many people ignored us. It's even more amazing to me that the women were the ones who gave us the hardest time; I understand, sorta, that there's a problem with kol isha for the men, but what's the problem with the women? Do they feel like we're reflecting badly on womenkind? If anything, I think they're the ones doing that. All we want to do is pray.

I'm grateful for the soldiers and police officers who came to protect us. I'm glad that no one got arrested. I'm glad that my initial fears were largely unfounded--though, perhaps I didn't get the full experience standing in the back. Those in the front may have a different story.

Women of the Wall

This morning I got up really early to head down to the Kotel for Women of the Wall’s monthly Rosh Chodesh minyan. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have made it: it was rainy and windy enough that my umbrella kept turning inside out; the friend who was supposed to go with me slept in; I wasn’t exactly awake at 5:50am when I had to leave the apartment; and I don’t really go out of my way for feminism in the first place. (Blame it on reading books and articles from the 1970s.) However, last month’s arrest of Nofrat Frankel made me determined to attend, if only to support a fellow queer Jew who wanted nothing more than to daven at the holiest Jewish place in the world. Besides, I haven’t been to shacharit for a while, and I miss singing Hallel.

As I mentioned, the weather was miserable, but there was still a nice group of us huddled together under umbrellas. Someone behind me commented that if they wanted to break up the Women of the Wall by arresting one of their members, they failed and did the opposite; I’m inclined to agree, since someone else said that this was the worst weather she could remember meeting in.

For the first few prayers, everything was fine. But by the time we got to Psalm 150, men were gathering next to the mechitza and behind the women’s section shouting something at us—maybe “ki va,” maybe “toeva,” maybe “give up.” Of these “toeva” makes the most sense, except that… it doesn’t. What were we doing wrong? We were on the women’s side of the wall. We were in the back, so we weren’t interfering with religious women who wanted to go up to the wall. We didn’t do any parts of the service which require a minyan, even though there were definitely at least a minyan of us there who count women. I saw very few women wearing tallitot, at least outside of their jackets (I didn’t even bring mine, since I was warned that being an American meant I could get deported if I made trouble) and while this is something Orthodoxy forbids, it isn’t listed as a toeva (abomination) in the Bible. Also, while one woman came up to us and started screaming, everyone else was a boy or a full-grown man standing on the periphery. They didn’t have to look at us. They didn’t even have to listen to us; we weren’t being very loud, and they certainly could have overpowered us with their own prayers rather than shouting at us. Of course, their shouting forced us to raise our volume; we spent the rest of the service struggling to hear where we were in the service, and when one of us picked it up we had to sing loudly to signal others of our place.

After we finished the Amidah, we headed—slowly, so as not to slip on the wet Jerusalem stones and drop the Torah—to Robinson’s Arch, the area designated for women and mixed groups to read from the Torah. The men followed us, still screaming, held back by the police. To drown out the screaming, we sang—Al HaNisim, Banu Choshech, Ahavah Raba, Esa Enai—songs of strength and hope. Because it was raining we were told we could read the Torah in a covered space near the Arch, but then that permission got revoked. “It’s an archeological site,” we were told, “tourists are going to be coming through.” (Even though the site didn’t open until 9am, and it wasn’t even 8:30 at this point.) We ended up going to the actual Arch, huddled once again under our umbrellas, where Nofrat Frankel chanted the Torah portion out of a chumash rather than risk the Torah getting wet. We, of course, did not get this privilege; I left the service soaked through multiple layers, and too cold and wet to walk to the bus stop. I paid 40NIS to take a taxi home, but at that point I didn’t care.

I’ve read people wonder why the Women of the Wall can’t be satisfied with praying at Robinson’s Arch in the first place, since it is, after all, still part of the Wall. But from what I saw this morning, I have to wonder how anyone can pray there. There’s just one long path leading up to the wall, no space to really gather. It is, after all, an archeological site and not a prayer site (but somehow still acceptable for us to use, and whereas the space indoors is not?) Imagine praying in a synagogue the width of your bathroom; that’s about the width of the space at the Arch. And they wonder why we can’t be content to pray there!

You may notice that I’ve been using the word “we” a lot in this entry. This is natural for an entry about an event I attended, but I feel like it’s more than that. As I get more and more fed up with the Orthodoxy of this city (more about that to come), I’ve come to identify with this group of women a little bit. All they want is to pray, once a month, at a holy site where some people pray every day. They’re not there to be disruptive; they just want to be themselves and practice their religion in a way that’s meaningful to them. And if this minyan is a way to carve out a little space each month to do that, and in the process perhaps show those bigots that there are other people in this world who are entitled to pray at the Kotel too, all the more power to them. They’re not meeting next month—nor will I be here—but come February, I’m definitely going again.

If anyone is interested, the New York Times ran an article about this same minyan. I'm under the rainbow umbrella, and no it isn't mine.

Added 11 March 2010 - Youtube now has two videos from the December meeting of Women of the Wall. The first gives the overall experience (minus the bulk of the service where we were being screamed at); the second shows the Haredi reaction to our davening.