It started about two weeks ago — the instant messages while I was at work, asking me about my New Year’s Eve plans and the incessant text messages, sending my phone into a vibrating jig while I made the rounds at holiday parties. I was shocked at the extent to which the simple question, “What are you doing New Year’s Eve?” made my blood boil. I thought that this year I had the perfect excuse to avoid getting fussed up, drunk and spending money: Shabbat.
Now, I don’t mean to be the grinch of New Year’s. However, the holiday presents peer-pressure at its extreme. Almost every single conversation with friends in the last few weeks has included the words “I hate New Year’s.” One friend explained, “I can drink any other weekend”; another one asked “Mah nishtanah halyla hazeh?” Why is this night different from all other nights?
This year, New Year’s Eve falls on Friday night, the night usually reserved for festivities of a different sort, and more thoughtful conversation. Add a little champagne to the scenario, and it sounds like the perfect start to 2011 (especially when compared to finding myself miles away from home in hard-to-walk-in heels). Observing Shabbat will preclude me from going too far, spending money or using electronics.
Until I was a teenager, I had little interest in large social gatherings featuring other people, with one exception — the all-night New Year’s Eve skating party in town. This happened every year at the local rink, and I was never allowed to go. In the revisionist history in my head, everyone I knew was going to this party, and it made their New Year’s Eve, and the year that ensued, charmed. I, on the other hand, staying home and watching the ball drop with my mother, felt as though I was missing out on a pivotal experience.
I’ve always found the moment when the ball drops always manages to be both painful and unremarkable, fueled by adrenaline and dread. And when it was over, I was still the same person, standing in someone’s living room or in my kitchen. If I stop to consider it, a lot of the hype back then was about boys — if I was with one, who he was, who he wasn’t, and who I was because of him. In spite of being a black sheep of sorts, I still desperately wanted to fit in, even if I didn’t really know what that meant.
Former President of Israel Moshe Katsav was convicted Thursday on two counts of rape and other counts of sexual harassment and indecent acts by force against three women who worked for him while he was in government.
The conviction, which caps a 19-month-long trial, concludes the first criminal trial of a former Israeli president in Israel’s history.
The lengthy decision rendered by the three judge panel found that the testimony of “Aleph,” who worked for Katsav in the Ministry of Tourism and accused him of two counts of rape, was supported by new evidence that came to light during trial. The judges also rejected Katsav’s claim that he was indicted by the media, and added that he brought the media attention on himself — in particular with his three and a half hour televised rant in March 2009 following which several of his own advisers resigned.
The “rebbetzin” is a specious title. The wife of a rabbi, she gains her status from nothing more than the happenstance of marriage. Although a person seeking out medical counsel from a doctor’s spouse is likely to be met with curiosity if not an actual straitjacket, we in the Jewish community have a cultural history of affording the rebbetzin a particular status of knower or counselor. There may have been a certain historical-sociological legitimacy to this. After all, in past worlds where women were excluded from formal education and men were deemed emotional boors, the rabbi’s wife would fill in for the rabbi in all matters “feminine” — such as say, questions involving birth or human feelings.
Nevertheless, in today’s world, in which women can study and achieve their own titles, when we no longer live in shtetls and people can freely choose their own counselors, I find it odd that the contemporary rebbetzin is still considered in some circles to be an automatically qualified educator. This is particularly jarring in Israel, where the Hebrew title for rabbi’s wife, “rabbanit,” which should really mean “female rabbi,” is dubiously used by certain women to grant themselves a stature based solely on the qualification of owning this particular marriage certificate. Some of us worked for many years to attain our certifications and titles. Moreover, some of my experiences as a student of certain rebbetzins have been, frankly, less than enthralling. At this point in time, the opportunity to learn from a rebbetzin holds no particular attraction or interest for me.
My overall wariness about the educational predilections of the rebbetzin was exacerbated this week by news that 27 rebbetzins from an organization calling itself “Lehava” signed a letter calling on Jewish girls to stay far away from Arab boys.
I am one of those retrospective people who loves to reflect and analyze the events of the past 12 months at the end of each calendar year. So this weekend, while snowed in at my parents’ home in western Massachusetts, I set out to answer this: What were the top 10 moments for Jewish women in 2010? Here’s the countdown:
10). The “First Lights” of Women Rabbis Came Together To Light the Hanukkah Candles
Sally Priesand, Sandy Eisenberg Sasso, Amy Eilberg, and Sara Hurwitz, the first-ordained North American Reform, Reconstructionist and Conservative women rabbis, and Open Orthodox rabba, respectively, gathered together for the first time to light the Hanukkah candles, to share their inspirational stories, to celebrate the progress that has been made across the Jewish movements, and to discuss what still needs to be done.
9). Keshet’s Pledge To Save Lives
Keshet led the Jewish community in response to a wave of bullying that drove a number of youths to suicide this year. The pledge is a commitment to ending homophobic bullying or harassment of any kind in our synagogues, schools, organizations, and communities, and a promise to speak out when anyone is demeaned for their actual or perceived sexual orientation or gender identity. There are currently more than 10,000 signatures on Keshet’s online pledge.
Judith Viorst has long been an eyewitness to the quirks of the human life cycle. She is a renowned children’s author — producing such gems as the storybook “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” — and has written several adult nonfiction books, including the best-selling “Necessary Losses: The Loves, Illusions, Dependencies, and Impossible Expectations That All of Us Have to Give Up in Order to Grow.” She has also published books of poems reflecting on what it’s like to realize that you might no longer qualify as “young”; she has written about turning 30, 40, 50, 60, 70 — and now, 80.
In “Unexpectedly Eighty: And Other Adaptations,” Viorst offers droll, poignant meditations on growing older and wiser, and on what it means to become more limited. She offers odes to continued health, and boasts of her status as a “three-desserts grandmother.” And in this volume, her pithy observations give way to weightier considerations, such as the inevitability of death, and the possibility of an afterlife.
At nearly 80 — she doesn’t officially pass that threshold until February 2011 — Viorst still has a full plate, having come out last fall with a new children’s book, “Lulu and the Brontosaurus.” Viorst, who is married to the prominent critic of Israeli policy Milton Viorst, spoke recently with The Sisterhood about her favorite decade, her evolving perspective on aging and loss, and writing for children as an (almost) octogenarian.
As the year comes to a close, the New York Times Magazine published “The Lives They Lived,” an annual feature celebrating the lives of people who died over the last year. The collage is a mix of people known and unknown. This assortment of stories is more gender-balanced than the regular obituary section of the New York Times, which received criticism this year for it’s editorial policies regarding whose stories are important enough to record.
The Jewish Women’s Archive — whose blog crossposts regularly with The Sisterhood — makes an effort to record the stories of great Jewish women who fly under the radar. This year, we said goodbye to a number of impressive Jewish women — some of whom were recognized in the media, others not so much. So, today we present JWA’s edition of “The Lives They Lived.” I hope you find these women’s stories as inspiring as we do.
According to police Lieutenant Commander Yigal Ben Shalom, who is coordinating the investigation, the man would ask women to undress, explaining that this was part of their treatment, and then he would rape them. One pregnant woman speaking on the Army Radio (Galatz) about her experience with him said, “I did not want to believe that this would happen. And there it was, exactly what you were afraid of, what you didn’t want to believe, is exactly what happened. I’m still in shock.”
Accusations against the doula initially emerged in birth and pregnancy forums on the Hebrew-language web portal Tapuz. Ben Shalom urges all women who may have been victimized to come forward.
Today is Christmas. As someone who is in the process of converting to Judaism, — and blogging about it here — this is the first Christmas that I won’t be celebrating. Since just after Halloween — when the Christmas decorations started appearing all over stores, and when the Christmas music began playing everywhere from Duane Reade to Barney’s — I’ve been “in training” for how to mark the holiday as a Jew.
Two years ago was the first time in my New York life that I picked a fresh Christmas tree from a seller on the street. I was living with roommates on the Upper West Side and my Jewish partner amused me by patiently waiting for me to select the perfect tree, barter with the seller, and lug it home, over our shoulders. She watched as my roommates and I acted like small children with twinkles in our eyes as we decorated the tree with white lights and carefully selected ornaments. When we were finished, we admired our handy work with glasses of wine in hand. I casually asked her if she’d had a tree growing up; she had not. Why would she? She’s Jewish.
If I’d known that that tree would have been my last tree I would’ve taken more pictures of it. Instead I thought nothing of it as I took it down a few weeks later.
When I was 23, I interviewed a Lubavitch matchmaker for a story I was writing. The more she explained her profession to me, the more appealing the whole idea sounded: Your parents get together with a professional and find someone for you. You’ve got a say in who you match with, but none of this agony of hoping a mixture of chemistry and fate will bring you your true love.
In the 10 years since that interview, many yentas young and old, across continents and denominations, have tried to play a role in matching me. But most of my actual affairs have been fleeting, foreign and decidedly goyish. My longest relationships have been with a Catholic from Rio, a Muslim from Tunis, and an agnostic from Vermont who shares the name of a very unkosher cut of meat. None have been result of a self-appointed matchmaker’s efforts.
Last night Rachel Maddow interviewed Michael Moore at that stalwart Jewish cultural institution, the 92 street Y. Maddow had been under tremendous pressure from the feminist community to bring up the issue of Julian Assange’s rape charges — Moore’s overly flip dismissal of which I wrote about here last week.
Since then, the movement to get Moore to re-address the rape allegations has swelled on twitter under the #mooreandme hashtag and even spawned an intense intra-Jewish feminist smackdown between Naomi Wolf and Jaclyn Friedman on the Democracy Now! program.
So when Maddow and Moore took the stage last night, there was a maelstrom swirling around them, and they both sat under a spotlight of “don’t screw up” scrutiny. Maddow, to her credit, came out of the gate swinging — asking Moore to address the allegations, and getting him to make this statement.
Four years ago, an Israeli man calling himself “Roso” posted a blog about his “successful seduction” of a Czech tourist in a supermarket in Tel Aviv, thanks to techniques he learned at the Center for the Art of Seduction. These techniques, according to an article by Dmitri Reider in last week’s Haaretz, include putting her down to erode her confidence, ignoring her pleas to stop (“Who listens to girls?” Roso wrote. “A girl is a confused creature with a lot of feelings. She’ll do anything you tell her in this confused state.”), and forcing himself on her to what the course calls a “F**k Close” (FC):
The second time I see H. is on a Sunday morning at the bus stop near my apartment. It’s the kind of rainy day in New York that makes you feel hopeless; the rain comes at you sideways, umbrellas blow inside out, and by the time you reach anywhere, you are sopping and angry and frustrated and wish you’d never even tried.
H. and I had met a few days earlier in the middle of woods, at a training for very courageous people planning to journey to remote locations with many young Jewish adults in our charge. She and I, and a few other women, had been part of one evening’s networking group.
Networking is the ultimate demonstration of privilege. That is, if you know what networking is, why it’s important, what to do with networks and know other people who also know these things, you are privileged. You’ve probably been to college, or even graduate school; you probably have had access to some kind of money and/or community that values connections and speaks about how it’s all about who you know. In the Jewish community, this is especially true; if you can manage to penetrate the walls of the organized Jewish establishment, you have a network that might last you as long as you want it, and maybe even beyond.
A recent front-page article in The New York Times looks at how civil unions are gaining on marriage as the preferred method of commitment for heterosexual couples in France. (For homosexual couples, it is their only choice) The pacte civil de solidarité, known as PACS, have become increasingly common over the last 10 years with heterosexual couples, who made up 95% of the 173,045 registered civil unions in 2009.
Some of the couples explain their choice as a generational thing, explaining that marriage, and divorce, was for their parents. They think of marriage as being “very institutional, very square and religious” and that civil unions feel freer. This is despite the fact, as the story reports, that French marriage ceremonies are held in town halls with no religious aspect to them.
Though this dislike for marriage doesn’t seem to be stopping them from taking part in a number of traditions long associated with marriage.
It long ago became common here to speak of “getting PACSed” (se pacser, in French). More recently, wedding fairs have been renamed to include the PACS, department stores now offer PACS gift registries and travel agencies offer PACS honeymoon packages.
In the L.A. Jewish Journal, actress Annie Korzen writes about being too Jewish to play an “Annie Korzen type” in Hollywood.
The lesbian pop culture site After Ellen profiles four rising Jewish lesbian comediennes.
A recent article by Dan Brown at eJewish Philanthropy argues that Jewish communal leaders have a dismal track record of recognizing and rewarding the talented women in their midst. Brown makes an excellent case for taking action to right such disparities — disparities that have been covered extensively in the Forward. But how?
How can communal leaders enable their employees — male and female — to serve and grow to best effect? Our own personal experience informs how we see the answer. We both hold meaningful positions in the Jewish communal world with flexible, part-time work arrangements. These situations afford us opportunities for professional growth, while enabling us to fulfill our responsibilities as caregivers and communal volunteers. We hope and expect that these positions will lead us to positions of top leadership in the Jewish communal workforce. Our central piece of advice to communal employers is this: Make work arrangements flexible, formal and meaningful. Here’s why:
Ms. Kohn, the Austrian-born, fervently Orthodox founder of Bank Medici, reportedly steered more than $9 billion from investors into Madoff’s hands for at least $62 million in kickbacks. She and her bank were named last week by Irving Picard, the Madoff estate’s trustee, in a civil racketeering lawsuit as part of his effort to recover $19.6 billion for Madoff’s victims.
The suit was filed a day before Madoff’s older son, Mark Madoff, committed suicide.
Somewhere between Philly and Phoenix, I picked up a nasty cold. It started as a small sniffle as I was squished between two large men during the take-off during this second leg of my 28-hour journey. If I had been on my way to anywhere else other than Hawaii, where I was once again invited for by the Jewish Congregation of Maui to consult on Jewish education and development, I might have considered that this wasn’t worth the effort. By the time I took off from Phoenix, I clearly had a temperature, as well as that horrible lump in the throat which felt depressingly like strep, and I begged the flight attendant to switch me to a row with no other passengers so I could just lay down for six hours and nurse myself back to health in the clouds. It’s terrible to be sick anytime. But when you’re on your way to a mere 14 days in paradise, you don’t want to waste even one moment.
I learned this lesson from my relatively new but deeply cherished friend Leslie Granat. Born in Brooklyn — like a remarkable number of people I’ve met here — Leslie retired to Maui several years ago after a series of very successful business ventures. When Leslie realized I was still coughing my second night here, she gave me some tissues to use as a mask, in order to make sure that neither she nor any of her friends would catch my germs. “We’re a bit fanatic here about not getting sick,” she explained apologetically as I breathed out the window. “When you live in paradise, you do not want to lose even one day.”
It’s been another “bang your head against a wall” kind of week for progressive feminists. Many of us may appreciate the fact that Julian Assange, the founder of WikiLeaks, has done a service for transparency and government oversight and is probably being persecuted for political reasons. But we also fervently believe that the outstanding rape accusations against him in Sweden — for which he is now sitting in a British prison — should be taken seriously, as all rape accusations should be, until the evidence is marshaled and heard.
We’ve watched in horror as the false meme that Assange was accused of having sex without a condom or “sex by surprise” or having a condom malfunction was picked up, spread and run with by erstwhile feminist (and a Jewess who claims to have had a vision of Jesus) Naomi Wolf and progressive heroes like Michael Moore.
In fact, as Jezebel’s Anna North writes, the charges are very serious: “[T]he British extradition hearings make it clear that Assange is accused of such crimes as holding a woman down during sex, and having nonconsensual, unprotected sex with a woman while she was sleeping.”
Dr. Jayne Guberman felt two things when her adopted daughter announced at a pre-bat mitzvah family education program eight years ago, “I don’t know how I feel about being Jewish.” Guberman felt it was incredibly courageous of her daughter to share this in public. She also felt very alone as an adoptive parent in the Jewish community.
Although things are changing, Guberman believes that the message many adoptive parents are still getting is this: “It’s okay to be in the community as long as your kids are feeling the right things.” In many cases, there is “not a lot of room for adopted kids to explore their other identity,” she said in a recent interview.
Her daughter now grown up and in college, Guberman, the former Director of Oral History and Online Collecting at the Jewish Women’s Archive, is partnering with Dr. Jennifer Sartori, Associate Director of Jewish Studies at Northeastern University, on the Adoption and Jewish Identity Project. Sartori, like Guberman, has a professional interest in Jewish identity, having focused on the subject for her doctoral dissertation in Jewish History. However, as the adoptive mother of a 4-year-old daughter from China, she, like Guberman, also has a personal stake in the project.