Women rabbis

An interesting thing turned up in my email inbox last week.  It was a forward of what appears to be an article (of unknown origin) detailing the recent ordination of a woman by an Orthodox rabbi in New York.  Here is the article as it appeared in the email:

New York Moetzes Gedolei HaTorah Of America Condemn Rabbi Avi Weiss Over Woman Rabbah

New York – Rabbi Avi Weiss has conferred “semikha” upon a woman, has made her an Assistant Rabbi at the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale where she carries out certain traditional rabbinical functions, and has now given her the title of “Rabbah” (formerly “Maharat”). He has stated that the change in title is designed to “make it clear that Sara Hurwitz is a full member of our rabbinic staff, a rabbi with the additional quality of a distinct woman’s voice.”

These developments represent a radical and dangerous departure from Jewish tradition and the mesoras haTorah, and must be condemned in the strongest terms. Any congregation with a woman in a rabbinical position of any sort cannot be considered Orthodox.

Rabbi Simcha Bunim Ehrenfeld

Rabbi Yitzchok Feigelstock

Rabbi Dovid Feinstein

Rabbi Aharon Feldman

Rabbi Yosef Harari-Raful

Rabbi Shmuel Kamenetsky

Rabbi Aryeh Malkiel Kotler

Rabbi Avrohom Chaim Levin

Rabbi Yaakov Perlow

Rabbi Aaron Schechter

On so many levels, I don’t know what to make of this.  In the interest of making clear my total confusion, let me break it down.

Let me start with Rabbi Avi Weiss.  The leader of the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale, he occupies a space on the far left of the Orthodox spectrum.  Dedicated to Torah and shmirat mitzvot, he has long pushed the envelope where women’s participation in prayer is concerned.  Where many modern Orthodox shuls have a women’s tefillah group once a month or so (and even those are frequently controversial), HIR has a women’s Shacharit (with chazarat hashatz) every Shabbat morning.  The women daven and leyn with skill and precision, and for a modern woman in the Orthodox world, this is a great source of inspiration.  From his comment in the article regarding his ordination of Sara Hurwitz, it is clear that he believes the voices, abilities, and contributions of women to Jewish life are invaluable.

On the other hand, I find Rabbi Weiss himself problematic in many ways.  He marches to his own drummer where the limits of halachah are concerned.  This can be inspiring (if a little jarring), but it also endangers his work by making him an outlier rather than a leader.  He is admired by some disgruntled Conservative Jews who would like to see more Orthodox rabbis recognize them and their own (frequently conflicted and inconsistent) practice of Judaism as on a par of legitimacy with Orthodoxy.  They appreciate his efforts to bring Jews of different denominations together and applaud his apparent disregard for what other Orthodox rabbis think of him.  While I am uncomfortable with the antagonism that exists between the various movements in Judaism, and I think that what many Orthodox rabbis (other than Rabbi Weiss) do today is motivated by arrogance, chauvinism, and satisfaction of their high power needs, Rabbi Weiss still somehow doesn’t inspire my confidence.  I once heard him speak and found his talk more self-congratulatory than enlightening.  I like to think that Rabbi Weiss has made this move out of a sincere belief that it is the right one for his community and for Judaism, but I really don’t know him well enough to know.

Then there’s the issue of promoting a woman from the title of “maharat” to “rabbah.”  While the term rabbah (the feminine of rav) should be familiar to most people, the title maharat is an acronym for manhiga hilchatit ruchanit toranit, a “leader in Jewish religious law, spiritual matters and Torah.”  (Article about Sara Hurwitz as a maharat here.)   I’m a big fan of calling things what they are, and if Sara Hurwitz has completed the entire course of study required of a man, and has assumed the responsibilities a rabbi would assume, I don’t see why she shouldn’t be called a rabbah.  I’ve heard a number of shiurim in the past year or so about hakarat hatov, recognizing a debt one owes to another, and if Hurwitz is putting in the hours and meeting her obligations to the community, that must be acknowledged.

On the other hand, I still find myself uncomfortable with this ordination.  I would like to see Orthodox women continue to be appreciated as being different in many ways from Orthodox men (we still go through pregnancies, breastfeed, and shoulder the bulk of the household and child-rearing responsibilities) even as our status continues to advance in Orthodoxy.  I don’t know if there are any explicit texts that forbid a woman outright from becoming a rabbi, or if it’s really the power of tradition and implicit assumption that has held sway from time immemorial.  If I’m uncomfortable with seeing a woman ordained, it is mostly because I’ve never really seen one.  (Haviva Ner-David, whose book sits unread on my shelf, completed a similar course of study, but now writes that she and her family have moved to the Galilee to revive a nearly-extinct Masorti kibbutz.)  And the fact that I’ve never seen one is probably something that has been clung to by the Orthodox world in order to ensure that I will be uncomfortable if I ever do.  It’s cyclical, you see.

Yes, this is a dramatic departure from Jewish tradition.  (So is my eating kitniyot at Pesach, I grant.)  But I’m not afraid to ask, “Is that a tradition worth hanging on to?”  That’s not a question I hear Orthodox Jews ask very often.  Tradition to most Jews is sacrosanct.  Naming children for deceased relatives (if you’re Ashkenazi) or grandparents (if you’re Sephardi), doing tashlich on Rosh Hashana, and drinking Mogen David at Pesach (when you know it’s the most disgusting wine out there) are powerful traditions that otherwise-discerning people cannot imagine discontinuing.  These are not halachic imperatives; they’re just things people do.  So if there is no halachic imperative to keep women out of the rabbinate, is that something that should be preserved for all eternity?

And then, of course, there are the “Gedolei HaTorah” who felt obligated to react to Rabbi Weiss’s decision to ordain a woman.  Members of Agudath Israel of America, these rabbis are the heads of some of the most prominent haredi yeshivot in America.  One can hardly expect haredim to keep silent in the face of what they would consider a direct assault on the Torah, so their reaction is both natural and expected.  But short of shrugging my shoulders, I have no real reaction to their condemnation, except perhaps to thank them for making me aware of an item of news in the Jewish world that I might have missed otherwise.

Orthodoxy changes over time.  Not all Orthodox Jews accept these changes, of course, but it doesn’t alter the fact that such changes do take place.  Sometimes congregations aren’t ready for dramatic change.  Sometimes they split over proposed changes.  And sometimes indignant congregants stay, frown disapprovingly, but eventually fail to notice the change as it becomes the custom of the place.  The combination of general societal change and challenges to common practice from within Orthodoxy will, like water dripping on stone, slowly alter what are to many people firmly-held beliefs and practices.

I have no doubt that the traditional prohibition to ordaining women will one day be eroded.  As I said, I’m not sure how I feel about this.  I don’t believe in excluding women because they’re women.  But I also have some concerns about the ripple effect of women’s ordination.  When women become rabbis, will they be taken seriously as such?  Probably over time.  When women become rabbis, will salaries and status of rabbis go down?  Based on what has happened in medicine, teaching, and other previously male-dominated fields, it’s very likely that they will.  And when women become rabbis, will men stop showing up to shul?  This is stickier, because men are commanded to pray as a group.  And having a woman rabbi will not mean she will be leading services—her status as a woman on the other side of a mechitza (no matter how low or transparent) remains in place.  But a sociologist I know once pointed out that if the men aren’t in charge, they don’t show up.  What will happen when there’s a woman in (partial) charge remains to be seen.

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