I know...I'm a delinquent blogger. I actually can't even think of a good excuse, other than, "life." But I have been thinking about writing and have had a post brewing in my head for a few weeks...so here it is.
Three weeks ago we read parasha Bechukotai, the last parasha in the book of Vayikra. Towards the end of the parasha the Torah speaks about "valuations," that is, how much monetary value gets assigned to a human life should one want to contribute the value of oneself to the Temple. The chapter opens with these verses:
וידבר יהוה אל–משה לאמר: דבר אל–בני ישראל ואמרת אלהם איש כי יפלא נדר בערכך נפשת ליהיה
Hashem spoke to Moses, saying: "Speak to the Children of Israel and say to them: If a man articulates a vow to Hashem regarding a valuation of living beings... (Vayikra 27:1-2)
The Torah then goes on to list how much a person is worth, as follows (in translation):
...the valuation of a male shall be: for someone twenty years to sixty years of age, the valuation shall be fifty silver shekels, of the sacred shekel. If she is female, the valuation shall be thirty shekels. And if from five to twenty years of age, the valuation of a male shall be twenty shekels and of a female ten shekels. And if from one month to five years of age, the valuation of a male shall be five silver shekels; and for a female, the valuation shall be three silver shekels. And if from sixty years and up, if for a male, the valuation shall be fifteen shekels; and for a female, ten shekels. (Vayikra 27: 3-7)
Okay, so I might be the Queen of the Obvious Question, but here it is: Why is a woman always worth less than a man?
The week of that parasha, I heard a beautiful dvar Torah given by Torah scholar and writer Tamar Biala, in which she referenced a contemporary midrash written by Rivka Lubitch. In the midrash, Rivka Lubitch focuses on one word in particular:
בערכך
which, she notes, doesn't actually translate as, "the valuation," but as, "your valuation." What does this mean? It means that it is not G-d who declared that a woman is worth less than a man; rather, it is humans who decided this. In the time that the Torah was given, the general consensus--among both men and women--was that males were worth more than females. Hashem understood this, and so the valuations were written to reflect it.
In other words, the problem is not that women are Divinely decreed to be of a lesser value than men. The problem is that women themselves feel that they are of a lesser value.
Now, I'd like to think that feminism has a strong enough foothold today that most of us would agree that a woman and a man should have equal value. But I know that in many cultures this is not the case, and even in my own culture, women receive messages--both overt and covert--that they are worth less than their male counterparts. These messages are troubling on many levels but they do the most damage when the women themselves buy into them. And we have bought into them. Nearly every woman and girl I've talked to who has a history of an eating disorder has expressed that at the heart of her struggles was the core belief, "I am not worthy."
I am not worthy of taking up space.
I am not worthy of help.
I am not worthy of food.
I am not worthy of love.
How much depression, shame, guilt, and self-hate could be avoided if we had a different view of our own worth?
This idea came up again for me this past week as we read parasha Nasso, specifically, the section about the Sotah or "Wayward Wife." In brief: if a husband suspected his wife of adultery but had no proof of either guilt or innocence, he should bring her before the Kohen. The Kohen would remove the woman's head covering (to shame her) and make her take an oath that if she had not committed adultery, there would be no curse, but if she had strayed, she would die. Then the Kohen would write out the oath on a scroll, dissolve it in water, and force the woman to drink it. If she was innocent, nothing would happen to her, but if she was guilty, she would die an unpleasant death.
I would say that's more than a little troubling and I could go on about it at length, but that's not for here.
Anyway, as I read those verses this past Shabbat and thought about the Sotah in conjunction with the issue of valuations, I began to wonder, "What would have happened if the women of that time had stood up and collectively said, 'ABSOLUTELY NOT!'?" What if they had said no to such a degrading and humiliating ritual? What if they had known that they deserved to be treated with more dignity, just as their husbands were? Now obviously, the women of that time would not have responded this way and it's unfair to project modern sensibilities onto ancient times, and all that. But to me, that is the real tragedy of the Sotah--that both the men and the women believed that was a reasonable way for women to be treated. There was no collective uprising of women who said, "I am too valuable to be subjected to this. I deserve better."
I think the lesson here is twofold:
1) G-d really does value all humans equally--it's just the humans themselves who have a different idea.
2) We cannot expect others to consider us worthy if we do not consider ourselves worthy.
And we are worthy. Of food, of love, of respect, of support, of happiness. G-d already knows this. He's just waiting for us to catch on.
Showing posts with label women. Show all posts
Showing posts with label women. Show all posts
Sunday, June 19, 2016
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Esther vs. Vashti? Really?
I know Purim has come and gone, and I know I've said (twice now) that I don't even really enjoy that holiday very much, but I've decided to dedicate yet another blog post to it, and here's why: I've spent the past week stewing over the Purim story, and now I need to vent. Hopefully, it will be somewhat organized.
Every year, I read the story of Purim and then hear it filtered through various people's perspectives. Most interpretations I hear fall into two main categories:
1) Vashti is an evil and dangerous woman who defies Hashem's rules for how women should behave. Because she dared to refuse to dance in front of her husband and his friends, one can only assume that she must have been covered with some unsightly rash or perhaps had suddenly sprouted a tail. She deserved every bit of the punishment she got. Esther, on the other hand, is pure, virtuous, and beautiful. She was chosen to be queen for her grace and obedience. Not only does she save the Jewish people, but she represents the quintessential Jewish woman.
2) Vashti is a strong, independent woman who refuses to let any man dictate what she should do. She was a victim of the sexist culture of her time and had she lived today, she probably would have been a valiant feminist. She was wrongly punished and she deserves to be admired by women everywhere for her fierce self-determination. Esther, however, is simple and vain. She plays on her good looks and depends on her sexuality to get what she wants. Unlike Vashti, she is not particularly independent-minded and doesn't model positive assertiveness for girls and women today.
I don't agree with either one of these stories.
That said, I do find them both interesting, mostly because it is striking to me how each of these interpretations relies so heavily on the "good girl/bad girl" dichotomy. If Esther is going to be the heroine, then Vashti must be the villain. On the other hand, if Vashti is the admirable and charismatic one, then Esther must be contemptible and bland. It's almost as if these women gain validity in their respective roles only by being compared to each other. The danger here is that we end up pigeonholing both Vashti and Esther, and we don't allow either of them to be the dynamic women that they probably actually were. Looking beyond the Purim story, how often do we do this to people in our own lives? How often do people do this to us? I think we can probably agree that no one is a completely monochromatic character. Contrary to popular belief, the female species is not divided into "good girls" and "bad girls." We should give ourselves credit for being far more complex than that. We each make thousands of choices in our lives; some will be positive and some will not. Sometimes we will conform with the majority, and sometimes we won't. Our nuances are what make us interesting. Although forcing everyone into the "good girl/bad girl" binary might make life less complicated, when we do this we squeeze the life out of all of us.
My teacher in Israel helped me tease out the "real" women underneath the simplistic images depicted in both of the above versions of the Purim story. Vashti, it seems, is neither the dangerous vixen of the first story nor the radical feminist of the second. Instead, she is a woman who preserved her morality by refusing to attend a party full of drinking men and dancing girls--and, incidentally, it was considered inappropriate in ancient Persia for wives of rulers to be present at such parties. Vashti deserves credit for standing her ground even in the face of harsh consequences. However, she isn't really a feminist because she doesn't demand equality--she just wants to be treated in the manner befitting the wife of a ruler in her society. Because Esther enters the picture only as a result of Vashti's departure, one can only assume that she is aware of the circumstances surrounding the fall of her predecessor. She understands that blatant defiance of the king leads to disaster, so she knows she needs to take a more subtle approach. Yes, Esther is more demure than Vashti, and although this can be considered a virtue it is also the trait that nearly led her to pass up the opportunity to save her people. Some people profess that Esther's beauty and docility are what made her the ideal queen; I would argue that these characteristics merely make her the ideal ornament for a powerful king. When Esther truly becomes a queen is when she taps into the fire in her spirit and steps up to be a leader.
I don't think it's a stretch to see that both Esther and Vashti are admirable women who are also flawed, and that neither one of them exemplifies the "ideal woman"--instead, we need a little bit of both of them inside ourselves. A virtuous woman is not necessarily someone who is submissive, dainty, and conformist; nor is she necessarily a bold, fearless rebel. A woman can possess all of these qualities in varying proportions and still be just as worthy of respect and belonging as the woman standing next to her. Girls do not need to strive to be like Esther and scorn Vashti; nor do they need to emulate Vashti at the expense of Esther. Rather, they should be encouraged to evaluate honestly the choices of both women and to find ways in which they can identify with both Esther and Vashti. Perhaps, if we can respect these two characters of long ago, we will begin to be more compassionate with our own complex, multifaceted selves.
Every year, I read the story of Purim and then hear it filtered through various people's perspectives. Most interpretations I hear fall into two main categories:
1) Vashti is an evil and dangerous woman who defies Hashem's rules for how women should behave. Because she dared to refuse to dance in front of her husband and his friends, one can only assume that she must have been covered with some unsightly rash or perhaps had suddenly sprouted a tail. She deserved every bit of the punishment she got. Esther, on the other hand, is pure, virtuous, and beautiful. She was chosen to be queen for her grace and obedience. Not only does she save the Jewish people, but she represents the quintessential Jewish woman.
2) Vashti is a strong, independent woman who refuses to let any man dictate what she should do. She was a victim of the sexist culture of her time and had she lived today, she probably would have been a valiant feminist. She was wrongly punished and she deserves to be admired by women everywhere for her fierce self-determination. Esther, however, is simple and vain. She plays on her good looks and depends on her sexuality to get what she wants. Unlike Vashti, she is not particularly independent-minded and doesn't model positive assertiveness for girls and women today.
I don't agree with either one of these stories.
That said, I do find them both interesting, mostly because it is striking to me how each of these interpretations relies so heavily on the "good girl/bad girl" dichotomy. If Esther is going to be the heroine, then Vashti must be the villain. On the other hand, if Vashti is the admirable and charismatic one, then Esther must be contemptible and bland. It's almost as if these women gain validity in their respective roles only by being compared to each other. The danger here is that we end up pigeonholing both Vashti and Esther, and we don't allow either of them to be the dynamic women that they probably actually were. Looking beyond the Purim story, how often do we do this to people in our own lives? How often do people do this to us? I think we can probably agree that no one is a completely monochromatic character. Contrary to popular belief, the female species is not divided into "good girls" and "bad girls." We should give ourselves credit for being far more complex than that. We each make thousands of choices in our lives; some will be positive and some will not. Sometimes we will conform with the majority, and sometimes we won't. Our nuances are what make us interesting. Although forcing everyone into the "good girl/bad girl" binary might make life less complicated, when we do this we squeeze the life out of all of us.
My teacher in Israel helped me tease out the "real" women underneath the simplistic images depicted in both of the above versions of the Purim story. Vashti, it seems, is neither the dangerous vixen of the first story nor the radical feminist of the second. Instead, she is a woman who preserved her morality by refusing to attend a party full of drinking men and dancing girls--and, incidentally, it was considered inappropriate in ancient Persia for wives of rulers to be present at such parties. Vashti deserves credit for standing her ground even in the face of harsh consequences. However, she isn't really a feminist because she doesn't demand equality--she just wants to be treated in the manner befitting the wife of a ruler in her society. Because Esther enters the picture only as a result of Vashti's departure, one can only assume that she is aware of the circumstances surrounding the fall of her predecessor. She understands that blatant defiance of the king leads to disaster, so she knows she needs to take a more subtle approach. Yes, Esther is more demure than Vashti, and although this can be considered a virtue it is also the trait that nearly led her to pass up the opportunity to save her people. Some people profess that Esther's beauty and docility are what made her the ideal queen; I would argue that these characteristics merely make her the ideal ornament for a powerful king. When Esther truly becomes a queen is when she taps into the fire in her spirit and steps up to be a leader.
I don't think it's a stretch to see that both Esther and Vashti are admirable women who are also flawed, and that neither one of them exemplifies the "ideal woman"--instead, we need a little bit of both of them inside ourselves. A virtuous woman is not necessarily someone who is submissive, dainty, and conformist; nor is she necessarily a bold, fearless rebel. A woman can possess all of these qualities in varying proportions and still be just as worthy of respect and belonging as the woman standing next to her. Girls do not need to strive to be like Esther and scorn Vashti; nor do they need to emulate Vashti at the expense of Esther. Rather, they should be encouraged to evaluate honestly the choices of both women and to find ways in which they can identify with both Esther and Vashti. Perhaps, if we can respect these two characters of long ago, we will begin to be more compassionate with our own complex, multifaceted selves.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Faith in Purpose
I'll be honest: Purim is not my favorite holiday. It's very noisy; there's a lot of alcohol involved; things are supposed to be mixed up and out of order. None of that meshes well with my aforementioned penchant for rules.
Still, Megillat Esther is some fabulous drama. One of my favorite moments occurs in chapter 4. Mordechai has just told Esther about Haman's plot to annihilate the Jews, and he calls upon Esther to go to the king and plead with him to save the Jewish people. Esther is doubtful that she could pull this off--who is she, to think that she could hold such power with the king? But Mordechai insists. He says, "...who knows? Perhaps you have attained to royal position for just such a crisis" (Book of Esther 4:14).
What I love about this part is the message that each of us is created to fulfill a unique purpose and that we should not doubt our ability to effect change. Initially, Esther does not present as a particularly self-confident or empowered woman. The text often refers to her in the passive voice: she "was taken," or she "would be summoned," etc. She is quiet, obedient, and eager to please. And yet...within her she has a spark, of which she is all but unaware. It is she who is best positioned to save the Jewish people, and this is not an accident. Esther has inside of her more power than she ever thought possible.
When I read this section of Megillat Esther, I am reminded that I, too, have a purpose in life that only I can serve. The same is true for each of us. The eating disorder has made us very good at believing that we are nothing special...when the truth is that Hashem created each of us to fulfill a need of the world. I'm reminded of one of my all-time favorite quotes, by Marianne Williamson:
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
I think Esther would agree.
Still, Megillat Esther is some fabulous drama. One of my favorite moments occurs in chapter 4. Mordechai has just told Esther about Haman's plot to annihilate the Jews, and he calls upon Esther to go to the king and plead with him to save the Jewish people. Esther is doubtful that she could pull this off--who is she, to think that she could hold such power with the king? But Mordechai insists. He says, "...who knows? Perhaps you have attained to royal position for just such a crisis" (Book of Esther 4:14).
What I love about this part is the message that each of us is created to fulfill a unique purpose and that we should not doubt our ability to effect change. Initially, Esther does not present as a particularly self-confident or empowered woman. The text often refers to her in the passive voice: she "was taken," or she "would be summoned," etc. She is quiet, obedient, and eager to please. And yet...within her she has a spark, of which she is all but unaware. It is she who is best positioned to save the Jewish people, and this is not an accident. Esther has inside of her more power than she ever thought possible.
When I read this section of Megillat Esther, I am reminded that I, too, have a purpose in life that only I can serve. The same is true for each of us. The eating disorder has made us very good at believing that we are nothing special...when the truth is that Hashem created each of us to fulfill a need of the world. I'm reminded of one of my all-time favorite quotes, by Marianne Williamson:
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
I think Esther would agree.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Soul Sisters #1---Sarah
"Soul Sisters" is a new series on this blog, in which I will spotlight various historical Jewish women who, through their stories, have much to teach us in our own recovery-oriented lives. If you have an idea of a woman who should be featured, please leave a comment and share your ideas!
When I decided to explore the lives and lessons of ancient Jewish women, I felt it was only natural to begin with Sarah, the first matriarch of the Jewish people. I was a bit skeptical of how much I could truly relate to a woman from so long ago, who lived a life so vastly different from mine, but I found in Sarah's story many points of connection.
What stands out the most to me about Sarah is the clarity of her vision and the strength of her voice. Sarah desperately wanted to have a child to continue the line of Abraham, and she sought a creative solution to her childlessness. Sarah gave her maidservant, Hagar, to Abraham so that he and Hagar could conceive a child, whom Abraham and Sarah would then raise as their own. Sarah knew that being a mother of a nation was her destiny, and she was steadfast in her determination to make this a reality. After Hagar gave birth to Ishmael, Hashem told Abraham and Sarah that Sarah would, in fact, give birth to her own child, a son named Isaac, through whom Hashem would continue his covenant with Abraham. Knowing it would be Isaac (and not Ishmael) who would fulfill Hashem's promise, Sarah realized what needed to be done. In a voice clear and firm, Sarah ordered Abraham to cast out Hagar and Ishmael so that there would be no one to challenge Isaac's place as Abraham's successor. I've heard some people judge Sarah's action against Hagar as aggressive or even cruel, but what I think is important to remember is that Sarah never lost sight of the big picture, and she did what was necessary to protect the greater good--the future of the Jewish people.
What can we, as women on our own journeys of recovery, learn from Sarah's example? Sarah provides us with a model of female determination, self-confidence, and efficacy. She is a woman who knew her mission as the mother of the Jewish people, and she stopped at nothing to protect the generations she knew would follow her. No shrinking violet, Sarah was every bit her husband's equal, and he listened when she spoke her mind. Sarah had the courage to seek truth, envision the future, and live according to her convictions. May we all learn from Sarah to pursue our dreams, to be active agents in shaping our own futures, and to use the power of our own voices for good.
When I decided to explore the lives and lessons of ancient Jewish women, I felt it was only natural to begin with Sarah, the first matriarch of the Jewish people. I was a bit skeptical of how much I could truly relate to a woman from so long ago, who lived a life so vastly different from mine, but I found in Sarah's story many points of connection.
What stands out the most to me about Sarah is the clarity of her vision and the strength of her voice. Sarah desperately wanted to have a child to continue the line of Abraham, and she sought a creative solution to her childlessness. Sarah gave her maidservant, Hagar, to Abraham so that he and Hagar could conceive a child, whom Abraham and Sarah would then raise as their own. Sarah knew that being a mother of a nation was her destiny, and she was steadfast in her determination to make this a reality. After Hagar gave birth to Ishmael, Hashem told Abraham and Sarah that Sarah would, in fact, give birth to her own child, a son named Isaac, through whom Hashem would continue his covenant with Abraham. Knowing it would be Isaac (and not Ishmael) who would fulfill Hashem's promise, Sarah realized what needed to be done. In a voice clear and firm, Sarah ordered Abraham to cast out Hagar and Ishmael so that there would be no one to challenge Isaac's place as Abraham's successor. I've heard some people judge Sarah's action against Hagar as aggressive or even cruel, but what I think is important to remember is that Sarah never lost sight of the big picture, and she did what was necessary to protect the greater good--the future of the Jewish people.
What can we, as women on our own journeys of recovery, learn from Sarah's example? Sarah provides us with a model of female determination, self-confidence, and efficacy. She is a woman who knew her mission as the mother of the Jewish people, and she stopped at nothing to protect the generations she knew would follow her. No shrinking violet, Sarah was every bit her husband's equal, and he listened when she spoke her mind. Sarah had the courage to seek truth, envision the future, and live according to her convictions. May we all learn from Sarah to pursue our dreams, to be active agents in shaping our own futures, and to use the power of our own voices for good.
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