“My question is for the rabbi,” the woman said into the microphone.
“She’s not a rabbi,” the moderator emphatically interrupted. As I listened to her words echoing through the loudspeakers to reach the 300 Muslim women in the convention center in Malaysia, I smiled awkwardly from the stage, thinking that this would not be the last time I would be the subject of such an exchange. As an Orthodox Jewish woman studying to be a religious leader in the Jewish community, I would forever be the “not-a-rabbi.”
“I am from Palestine,” the questioner continued, and my awkward smile turned tense as I braced myself for the impending question. “And I want to know how you, as a woman of faith, respond to the injustices that are taking place in my homeland.”
As I looked out into the sea of faces, I saw hundreds of women—ranging in age from eighteen to eighty, from more than fifty countries—staring back at me with bated breath, awaiting an answer that they all knew could turn explosive. I began to wonder how I had reached this point. Three flights and two days of travel only made the reality more unbelievable. How had I become the only Jewish woman—and an Orthodox Jewish woman at that—sitting in a room with 300 Muslim women, on a stage next to a Christian pastor and a Hindu academic?
The answer, I realized, was the very question that had just been posed to me. I had been asking myself that question for as long as I could remember, but had never quite put it to words. How do I, as a woman of faith, respond to injustice?
Bringing Together Religious Leaders
This was the question I asked myself as I brought together religious leaders from across the globe to the United Nations to discuss the dangers of climate change. This was the question I asked myself as I worked to create a toolkit to help religious communities combat violence against women. This question followed me to Japan, where I met other young people of faith to discuss conflict resolution; to Hungary, where I discussed the role of religion and civil society; to Costa Rica, to launch an interfaith campaign for nuclear disarmament; to Mexico, to learn a Jewish language for global poverty. This question sat with me on all three flights to Malaysia, and it continues to sit with me today.
The answer I gave that day was unsatisfactory. Four years later, I do not know that my answer today would be any more meaningful or impactful. What I do know, though, is that after that panel, when that very same woman approached me to challenge me on my response, I found myself surrounded by a circle of women. They stood behind me and beside me. They touched my shoulders. They linked their arms in mine. Most had not met me before that day, and none had met me before that week, yet they were determined to ensure that I did not feel intimidated for even a minute. They, too, were women of faith. They, too, felt compelled to stand against injustice—or, in this case, even against potential discomfort.
The moment when I felt the touch of so many women— physically, emotionally, and spiritually—is what inspires me and continues to give me strength to do this work each day
Beginning to Study at Yeshivat Maharat
That, coincidentally, was also the summer I had chosen to begin my studies at Yeshivat Maharat, the newly launched institution training Orthodox women for the clergy as spiritual leaders and halakhic authorities.
My decision to join Yeshivat Maharat was initially quite practical. As a woman working in interfaith relations, most of my colleagues and all of my supervisors were ordained clergy in their respective traditions. I recall vividly one particular job interview at which my not-yet boss said to me, bluntly, “You know that everyone who has ever held your position has been a rabbi, right?” The implication was not subtle: The job for which I was interviewing was as high as I would go.
However, the benefits of my decision to study at Yeshivat Maharat were far deeper. As a woman of faith, compelled by that faith toward action, it was imperative that I be able to speak from that faith. The more I immersed myself in my studies, the more I was able to bring of myself and my community to the dialogue. Still more profound, however, was what I was able to bring from my dialogue to my studies. As my classmates and I delved into the complex laws of niddah—the laws around uterine bleeding, most often referred to as menstrual purity laws—and unpacked articles that read the Talmud Bavli (Babylonian Talmud) in the broader context of the Persian society in which it emerged, I was able to call Zoroastrian colleagues and ask them about their community’s current rituals and practices surrounding menstruation and then share that knowledge with my colleagues. When Rabbi Jeffrey Fox, the rosh yeshiva of Yeshivat Maharat, asked about the similarities and differences between our laws and Muslim menstrual rituals, I coordinated with a speaker who was able to teach us directly from the sources. My colleagues and I discussed concerns and challenges to female religious leadership with a Catholic nun and a female Methodist minister. We learned about the richness of culture and history of the Hindu, Jain, and Sikh faiths.
How do I, as a woman of faith, respond to injustice?
Paradoxically, and yet not surprisingly, often the best place for dialogue across denominations in Judaism is in an interfaith setting. For example, when faced with questions from a Christian friend about the “Jewish attitude” toward the afterlife, my co-religionists and I are forced to turn to each other to forge an answer that is true to ourselves and, at the same time, coherent to our partners in dialogue. It is in those moments that we confront our differences head-on and gain new understanding of ourselves, of one another, and of our complex tradition, and can appreciate the richness of the diversity within our own faith.
Interaction with an “Other”
Despite fears and misconceptions, interaction with an “other” does not necessitate giving up any part of oneself. An encounter between individuals, by definition, requires each of them to come as their full selves. To leave any part of themselves at the door would be disingenuous to themselves and disingenuous to the dialogue. Encounter does not have to end in agreement. Moreover, it should not.
There is an inherent value in interactions between individuals of diverse belief systems and worldviews—a value not based on conversion to the other’s way of thinking. Those who believe that the world holds multiple truths believe that one needs to interact with others to access all facets of truths to gain a deeper understanding of the ultimate Truth. Those who do not espouse a philosophy of multiple truths still see value in interactions to create political alliances. Examples of such alliances include Jewish communities partnering with Evangelical Christians to build greater support for Israel, or Jewish organizations writing amicus briefs in support of the right of religious groups to perform animal sacrifice (because to allow animal sacrifice to be criminalized for one group, even if one believes that act to be based on an incorrect belief, would infringe on religious freedom for everyone).
However, there is a deeper inherent value to interactions between individuals of different faiths or different manifestations within the same faith community, one not based on a belief in pluralism or a legal or political agenda. Simply put, there is an inherent value to dialogue because there is an inherent value to dialogue itself. Period. Dialogue need not lead to alliances, new understandings, or even friendships. More often than not, it does. But any tangible results of dialogue are an added benefit to the dialogue. The value—and, indeed, the importance—of dialogue is simply in the engagement with another person as a fellow human being. As people of faith, we can do no less than to engage fully with God’s fellow creations. As citizens of the world, we can do no less then to interact with our compatriots.
Bringing the Lessons into Our Communities
To be sure, I believe strongly in the power of interfaith dialogue among faith leaders. I believe in the efficacy of representatives of religious communities sharing their traditions. I believe in the significance of change that takes place at the doctrinal level. If not, my studies at Yeshivat Maharat and my job as a clergy-member of Bais Abraham Congregation in St. Louis, Missouri, would be for naught.
Yet if we are not able to bring the lessons we have learned into our communities, and to bring our communities into our dialogue, then all of it is for naught.
Paradoxically, often the best place for dialogue across denominations in Judaism is in an interfaith setting.
It is not my leadership in the Jewish community that propelled me to engage in interfaith relations, but rather, my work in interfaith relations that forged me into a leader. Let us not leave interfaith dialogue in the sole hands of the leadership. Let us not leave it to high-level statements and unknown resolutions.
In Malaysia I stood amid dozens of women who recognized the importance of one woman asking a question, but also the overarching importance of a stranger feeling welcome. It was then that I recognized that the true power of interfaith dialogue is not in the impressive titles of participants or in the statements promulgated, but in the ability to link arms with the women standing at one’s side.