There is a strong sense of “Jewishness” in the air at Barnard College/Columbia University. Whether one is strolling down College Walk or eating lunch in the cafeteria, the sight of familiar faces is a constant reminder of the Jewish campus community. At the Kraft Center, which houses the Columbia/Barnard Hillel, the beit midrash is a hub of activity, filled with students learning in their private havrutot, preparing to participate in shi’urim, or to present their own.
From an equal-opportunity gender perspective, the Columbia/Barnard Orthodox programming meets all expectations: myriad opportunities are available to both female and male students to partake in talmud Torah. Learning options are offered on a wide range of levels, in both single-sex and coed environments. Seemingly, those who aspire to advance women’s learning and increase women’s participation should be thrilled with the potential that exists for women’s learning.
As exciting as the framework is—one in which women are entitled to study Tanakh and Gemara alongside their male peers, and one in which women and men are taught by one another—I am surprised at the unbalanced ratio of women to men who take initiative in the beit midrash. At a university that is 60 percent female, and consequently, hosts a Jewish community that contains far more women than men, it is intriguing that the majority of student-presented shi’urim are led by male, as opposed to female, students.
Among the pool of learned Orthodox students in the community, it would seem that there are as many knowledgeable women as men, if not more. I myself have taken advantage of the opportunities for female leadership, and am currently co-chair of the daily halakha program at minyan. However, with regard to beit midrash activities, the only formal shi’ur that I have presented so far has been in the context of a Shi’ur by Your Peers (S.B.Y.P.), a program in which the college community is invited to attend different presentations on the individual’s topic of choice. Unlike the more formal student-led shi’urim, the number of male and female students who volunteer to speak at S.B.Y.P. is about the same. In my case, I felt comfortable committing to present at S.B.Y.P. rather than presenting a series of shi’urim, because a one-time Friday night shi’ur is both a less involved and a less time-consuming endeavor. I have to wonder whether this is the reason that many other women are not volunteering to lead more regular shi’urim, as well.
My Orthodox female friends at Barnard and Columbia all exude confidence and poise—both in the classroom and in social contexts—and possess plenty of brains to go around. Yet lately, I have become skeptical as to whether this multi-talented group of women is as confident about their Judaic textual abilities as their male contemporaries, and if not, whether their feelings are legitimate. These are women who have gone to the same coed day schools as the learned men of the Columbia Orthodox community, or have gone to single-sex schools that are on par with regard to high-level Judaic learning. Their point of divergence was their year in Israel where, although they did not study together, they all attended prestigious learning institutions.
It is not novel to say that there is much room for improvement with regard to the level of women’s textual learning, and the opportunities available to women for such advancement. Many articles have been written on the topic, and numerous solutions have been proposed. I realize that over time, the creation of institutions of higher learning for women has improved the quality of women’s education and their overall knowledge base. Further, I am well aware that things don’t change overnight, but rather are part of a process. I also appreciate that, at Columbia/ Barnard, the level of female participation in Orthodox synagogue and beit midrash activities has also increased over the years. Nevertheless, I am still confused as to why, quantitatively, student-led female and male teaching initiatives do not even out.
My intent is not to offer a solution, but rather to suggest additional reasons that may impede women from aspiring to the same leadership positions in the beit midrash as their male counterparts. I do not believe it is because of the specific sugyot that all-female institutions teach, or the style in which the women learn. Rather, I would attribute the lack of female initiative to women’s overwhelming lack of confidence about their depth of Jewish knowledge and textual skills (despite their otherwise confident demeanor). There will always be a select group of women who spend the same number of hours a day “hevruta-ing” as do men who attended an elite yeshiva. This sort of woman on campus may have reached the same level of learning as the men. However, I am not speaking about this small group, but rather about the women who know (or after their year in Israel, are dismayed to discover) that they did not advance to the same level of learning as their male contemporaries.
Whereas the majority of men’s yeshivot have a talmudoriented curriculum, most of the women’s institutions place their focus on Tanakh, Makhshevet Yisrael, and hashkafa. Even those that are known for their strong Talmud programs host non-academic activities that detract from the overall seriousness of the learning environment, as well as from the amount of time that students are able to spend in the beit midrash. This disparity in treatment is even reflected in calling the women’s advanced learning institutions “midrashot,” in contrast to “yeshivot,” for men. Although many aspects unique to the women’s programs are positive, it is Talmud that tends to be valued more highly in the Judaic studies arena, because it constitutes the underpinnings for halakhic decision making. By providing women with less Talmud education, coupled with programming that deviates from the standard men’s learning routine, I believe that the women are disadvantaged during their year in Israel. As a result, when they return from Israel, many are inhibited from taking learning/teaching initiatives within the elite group of ritual, spiritual, and educational leaders on campus and in their communities. Even though the women may be more learned in Tanakh than the men, they still feel inferior to their male peers with regard to their Jewish knowledge base and opt for the seemingly logical choice—namely that those most qualified (who are most often male)—should occupy teaching and leadership positions.
Despite the “issues” with women’s advanced Judaic education, and the reality that some women may not be as knowledgeable as their male contemporaries, it is important to remember that many women on campus still know a lot. They have taken advantage of the learning opportunities available to them. Along with many girls my age, I have attended Drisha winter programs, have been on the MachHach Ba’aretz Hesder track, and on the Torah v’Avodah Institute (TVI) Beit Midrash track, and have spent large chunks of summers learning and teaching in the Camp Moshava Indian Orchard Beit Midrash Program. With my friends in Manhattan, we continue to shi’ur-hop, and choose among the many shi’urim and yemei iyyun offered at Columbia/Barnard, YU, Stern, NYU, and Drisha. We have the luxury of attending whatever catches our fancy!
With these opportunities in mind, I exhort the women of my generation, regardless of their level of education, to continue to learn and teach in any way that they are able. If we women make the decision to take the initiative and teach, our collective strength will aid in elevating women’s overall level of learning. By redefining our own view of our knowledge base and teaching others, rather than leaving the process to men, we will advance our own learning and further the objective of closing the textual knowledge gap.