In the book of Esther, after killing Haman and his family and putting Mordecai in a position of power, King Ahasuerus turns to Queen Esther and asks, “What is your wish now? It shall be granted you. And what else is your request?” (Esther 9: 12). Often, when I voice concern to male colleagues in the field of Jewish studies about the limited opportunities for women, their response echoes that of Ahasuerus. After all, within the past two decades, many women have found their place in the field of Jewish studies and have excelled within their specific areas of study. Opportunities for women to study and teach are readily available, so what more can one want?
In response to this query, I would like to point to an aspect of professional development that I believe constitutes a challenge to all of us: the availability of meaningful mentoring. Notwithstanding women’s relatively unimpeded access to higher education today, without proper guidance and mentoring, the next generation of women will not find their places among their male peers as quickly as one would hope. Although the example detailed below relates to academia, I am sure it has parallels in other professions as well.
In the spring of 1997, two years after beginning my doctoral studies at the Hebrew University, a very senior professor, whom I knew only casually, asked if I would be interested in helping a distinguished visiting scholar read some Hebrew texts. This request left me in a state of disbelief, as this distinguished scholar was one of my academic heroines. She was a key figure in European history and a pioneer in women’s studies. I had read all her books and found them inspirational. I could hardly wait to meet her.
On the morning that I was to meet this scholar, I felt tremendous excitement. As a student in the Department of Jewish History at the Hebrew University in the 1990s, I had the pleasure of studying with many distinguished professors who were wonderful teachers and scholars. They were also all men. At that time, out of the thirty or so available full positions in the department, only one third of one was held by a woman. Moreover, during the course of my graduate studies I received comments and suggestions, most of which I believe were not made maliciously, but which exposed a deep skepticism about my chosen topic of research, Jewish family life in the Middle Ages. And here I was about to meet a senior scholar, respected by all, who was also a pioneer in women’s studies.
To my great surprise and delight, my meeting with the scholar began with her explaining that she never employs a student before hearing about his or her work. Therefore, our first meeting would be devoted to a discussion of my dissertation, rather than to looking at the rabbinic responses she wanted my help in interpreting. We spent more than two hours talking about my research. I walked out of the room with a list of books to read, theories to think about, and new ways of phrasing thoughts and ideas. She also quizzed me thoroughly about my family, my children (two, at that time), my work schedule, and my plans for the future, and told me about her career, her children and grandchildren, and her students.
Despite this unforgettable conversation, the moment most etched in my memory occurred afterward. As we walked down the hall for a cup of coffee, we bumped into the professor who had made the connection between us. In a most patronizing tone, he smiled and said, “So, ladies, did you have a nice chat? Do you know how many children Elisheva has and all the details about her life that you girls need to know about each other?”
I was astounded that he dared to address his colleague in such a condescending manner and was also appalled by his assumptions about what we had been discussing for the preceding two hours. Would men have done anything different, and had we sinned against the unwritten rules of scholarship? The scholar did not bat an eyelash. She smiled at him and, with a completely straight face, turned to me and asked: “Oh, Elisheva, do you have children?” Then, turning back to him, she said: “We only talked about research, and yes, I know everything there is to know about Elisheva’s dissertation.” At that moment, I knew that I had found not only a teacher, but also a mentor.
This encounter came back to me four years later, when I was teaching at the University of Pennsylvania as a postdoc. My students were bright young women; together, we explored the problems and questions of gender and Jewish history. How would Jewish history look different if women and gender were part of the narrative—and why does giving Jewish women a past matter? These questions were at the heart of our discussions. Toward the end of the term, my students were writing their final papers. A young woman appeared in my office early one morning to talk about her paper on biblical women and leadership. After an intense conversation, she closed her notebook and said, “Dr. Baumgarten, now can we talk about life?” The conversation that followed centered on her observation that almost all the role models that she had at college were women who chose not to have families in order to pursue their careers. As an excellent student considering graduate studies and an academic career, she was worried that she would face a choice none of her male professors could understand. From biblical women, we moved on to a discussion of life choices. I realized then that she was turning to me not just as a scholar, but as a female scholar who could comprehend the choices and paths she was anticipating.
Over the years since my first teaching experience, I have found that a consistent theme of conversations with my graduate students, usually after serious discussions about thesis proposals and chapters, revolves around issues of identity and self-definition and questions connected to work–family balances, to having children or seeking job opportunities. There is still a dearth of female models in the field who can serve as mentors to young female students and scholars. I have also found that my female students who have the same access to education and knowledge as their male peers need this kind of guidance much more than my male students do. Whereas the young men have a variety of set patterns already mapped out, the women have only the beginnings of paths to follow. My experience has taught me that mentoring is vital for female students to provide guidance and support around personal life-style decisions as well as about the choice and methodology of areas of research and study. Without this help, the careers they dream of are much harder to achieve.
A central claim of the feminist movement from its outset, and echoed by the Orthodox feminist movement, revolves around education. Knowledge is power and can lead to transformation. The strides that this knowledge and power have enabled over recent years are selfevident. As women’s knowledge has grown in areas that were traditionally the realm of men, we find ourselves asking how women’s ways of knowing are different and whether women learn and are taught in different ways. Yet these questions are not just knowledge-related. We are still developing new models of scholarly life that will allow women to embrace the demands of their careers without giving up other meaningful aspects of their lives. Inevitably, these models will apply to men as well as to women and will allow both women and men to live fulfilling intellectual and personal lives while engaging in many fields of professional development. It seems to me that as our ability to obtain knowledge becomes less of an issue, mentoring is our next feminist challenge.