A few weeks ago, in a hall in Jerusalem, twelve excited women were called up to the stage to receive their diploma from the dean and founder of Nishmat, Rabbanit Chana Henkin, and from Rabbis Yaakov Varhaftig and Yehuda Henkin. The occasion was the graduation of the fourth class of Nishmat’s Keren Ariel Yoatzot Halacha (Halakhic Advisors) Program.
I remind myself of how the rabbis looked a short while ago on the morning of my certification exams. Following two years of preparation, my class was about to be tested orally by the committee of rabbis, for a total of four hours of grilling questioning. Compared to that tension, our excitement now was one of relief and satisfaction.
The text of the certificate the rabbis held read:
“The modest and learned woman of good character whose fear of Heaven precedes her wisdom [name] was tested by us and by a special committee of rabbis and found to be proficient in the laws of Niddah and immersion. In response to the needs of our generation and in order to distance many women from sin, we hereby support her and agree that she serve as a primary address for women who will wish to turn to her in these matters for guidance in the way of Torah and fear of Heaven; if a novel decision is needed she will turn to a recognized decisor.” [translation of certification]
The words of this certification were obviously chosen carefully. One feels that its drafters are taking upon their shoulders a move that is halakhically sound but historically unprecedented— training and certifying women to answer questions in the halakhic field of family purity.
As graduations go, the speeches were touching and full of aspirations. However, how does all of this materialize in real life? To answer that question, let me take you along for a shift on Nishmat’s Halachic Hotline.
It is almost six p.m., and I check up on each of my children, instructing them to approach Abba with any problem as Imma will now need quiet in order to concentrate and answer the phone calls—preferably without the sound of quarrelling kids in the background.
It has just turned six. How will this shift begin? With a few moments of quiet, as sometimes happens, or with a flood of calls, one immediately following the other?
The first call comes in. On the line is a young woman, postpartum. After three long months, she finally got to the mikvah last night. Today she is already seeing stains, and is concerned about her halakhic status. The oral contraceptive she recently started taking is throwing her system out of whack. The frustration that has built up during the long separation is evident in her voice. Our experience shows she might be facing an uneasy period of stains, doubts and breakthrough bleeding until her body adapts to the hormones associated with her contraceptive. I investigate the details of her current situation. To my satisfaction, I am able to tell her she is still tehorah. I prepare her for the coming period. Experience has taught us that when a woman’s expectations are realistic, her level of frustration and stress are lower. There are also a few pieces of good halakhic advice that could prove highly beneficial to help her avoid problems. She is glad to refresh her memory and we review together the relevant laws and advice.
The conversation is finished. In my log I record the topic of the question and its duration; fifteen minutes. Sometimes I ask myself what this woman would have done if not for the hotline. Does she have a relationship with a rabbi? Would she ask a rabbi? And if she would not, would she be needlessly stringent upon herself? Would she be lenient without foundation?
One thing rabbis attest to clearly: the questions in our field that they receive from women are concise and laconic. The clear discomfort most women feel causes them to convey less information and to receive shorter answers. Communication is often minimal and tense.
Before the phone rings again, I manage a moment of reflection: I contemplate my frame of mind as a yo’etzet: I so want to help, to give the desired answer, the one that will make the woman happy. But one must stay composed— empathetic, but a bit detached—in order to stay objective. It is a matter of trust, and these women rely on us. Our halakhic responsibility is to see the situation as a whole, to consider all circumstances, but to remain impartial and trustworthy.
Here comes another call. This time it is a young husband on the line (occasionally it seems women are shy even with us). It has been four weeks since his wife’s last period. Could she be pregnant? And what are the halakhic implications of that? He sounds naïve and hopeful.
Immediately the phone rings again. This time the question is simple and the answer is brief. Still, I take another minute to explain. It is very important to me that the laws not seem arbitrary, the woman should have the tools to understand—and if possible—to control this part of her life.
Next, I receive a call from a woman in her fifties dealing with menopause, and then a call from a young kallah. She has been married for a month now, and though she and her husband have tried several times, they have not succeeded in consummating the marriage. She asks a practical halakhic question: at what stage of the month should she have the gynecologist remove the hymen. Gently, I ask her for more details, and she opens up and tells me more about the couple’s hardship in trying to be intimate this past month. I try to calm her—she is not the only one this happens to, and there could be different causes for what she describes At this point I begin explaining self-help options and suggest professionals who could assist her (for instance, a physiotherapist who specializes in pelvic and sexual difficulties, as well as her gynecologist).
My knowledge about these various matters comes from the comprehensive program of lectures and workshops we received during our training—workshops by professionals specializing in fertility, sexuality, contraceptives, pregnancy and birth, menopause, postpartum depression, family violence, kallah instruction, and more. I truly wish every rabbi would go through this essential training! It would provide them with the ability to recognize problems and refer those with questions for appropriate help. Imagine in the case of this last call—a wrong word of advice could cause irreversible damage to this couple!
On the table in front of me are telephones, my computer, and a growing pile of books I’ve been opening over the course of the evening. Since I spend the rest of my work-week learning and teaching Talmud, I feel at home with these books. But in this context, they are accompanied by the need to take the responsibility, define the question, and provide an answer. My computer screen is showing the Yoatzot Halacha website, which contains a great deal of useful and accessible information. The questions sent to the website are of a somewhat different nature from the ones received over the telephone. The questions appearing online are not urgent, and the total anonymity enables women to ask about the halakhic aspects of their most intimate situations. It is also a safe place to air and discuss frustrations and, sometimes, anger in response to these halakhic issues.
I use my telephone whenever I am in doubt. It is now 11:45 p.m., and I just called our supervising rabbi to get a ruling on a question about which I was unsure. And here comes a call from Minnesota – an almost assimilated woman wishes to immerse before her wedding (to a Jew). How do you make mikveh an uplifting experience without emptying it of its halakhic meaning?
We started this shift at 6:00 p.m., when the house was chattering with children. Six hours and about 20 calls later, it is quiet and everybody is asleep. The shift ends.