Recently, a congregant, told me about an exchange she’d had with her daughter. To the usual question of “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Eliana, age eight, replied, “I want to be a Torah scholar.” After a moment’s thought, Eliana added, “Can girls do that?” “Of course they can,” her mother replied. “And in fact, our shul has a woman Torah Scholar on staff; you can meet her yourself.”
A few weeks later, when I did meet Eliana, her eyes grew wide with awe, as she whispered to her mom, “Is that the Torah scholar?” I now have a weekly hevruta session with Eliana, during which she is broadening her thinking and training for her career of choice.
There are currently five Orthodox women who fill religious leadership roles in synagogues, serving as role models for girls (and boys) and as community educators and spiritual leaders. This is not a passing trend; Orthodox women are becoming a permanent and integral part of professional synagogue leadership.
“…the lack of title has very real consequences for me…”
We serve in a variety of congregations that range in size and religious outlook. Perhaps most striking is the fact that none of us have exactly the same title. There is a Rosh Kehilla (Dina Najman at Kehillat Orach Eliezer) a Madricha Ruchanit (Sara Hurwitz at the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale), a Resident Scholar (Elana Stein Hain at The Jewish Center), a Director of Jewish Life and Learning (Lynn Kaye at Shearith Israel – The Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue), and myself, a Programming and Ritual Director (at Anshe Sholom B’nai Israel in Chicago).
As a group, we lack a name. In a world of labels, we have no label with which to define ourselves to the outside world and to identify ourselves with each other. Because we have no collective name, we tend to be defined by what we are not. We are not rabbis, although we may fill rabbinic roles. We do not have semikha, although we have received much of the same training.
Several months ago, another congregant approached me. “I hear you’re the new Social Director?” Trying not to cringe, I smiled and corrected him, giving him my actual title. But even my proper job title often does not signify to a congregant, or to a member of the greater Chicago community, that I am part of the clergy team. As Programming and Ritual Director, it is difficult to convey that I do more than organize programs. It is often only when I tell someone that I deliver sermons that he or she understands that I serve as a religious leader.
But perhaps the lack of uniformity, the lack of a collective “name” for women in these congregational jobs, works to our advantage. We have more leeway to define our own roles. We do not face the expectations established by precedent; as such we are able to assume the roles that will most fully serve our communities’ needs. Furthermore, the fact that each of us has a different title signifies to me that this is a “ground-up” phenomenon. Women are being hired one by one, synagogue by synagogue, as the opportunity presents itself or a need is perceived. I believe that the organic and non-uniform nature of the development is the sign of lasting change. Since this involves a significant shift in community norms, it will firmly take root only if it happens slowly.
Of course, the question of title remains. Should Orthodox women be rabbis? Should we find an alternate but comparable title for women? (Rabbanit has been suggested, among others.) These questions have undergone halakhic analysis and sociological consideration, especially in recent years. Laying aside textual and sociological arguments, I can tell you that personally, I do not want to be a rabbi.
I recognize that other women in congregational positions might be willing and ready to take on the title. My own discomfort with assuming this title relates to my unwillingness to forgo the gender distinctions in Judaism. If I assumed the title of rabbi, I would feel that I am trying to co-opt a male role, rather than carve my own role as a woman. Furthermore, perhaps the title of rabbi has lost its allure for me, since almost any Orthodox man who studies certain portions of halakha can be ordained, even if he does not exhibit any leadership ability or desire to serve the Jewish community. Moreover, I do not believe that becoming a rabbi is the key to a woman’s achieving serious influence in the Orthodox community. Many women, who are not rabbis, have made and will continue to make significant impact.
My sense is that the vast majority of Orthodox Jews, despite any halakhic arguments to the contrary, feel a visceral objection to having a female Rabbi. It is true that challenging such objections is what has allowed our community to achieve important advances in women’s Torah learning and ritual participation. However, when it comes to issues of communal authority in particular, it is counterproductive to create an authority figure when the majority of the community is not on board. Any person in a position of authority relies on the community’s acceptance of her or his legitimacy. I have no interest in being called Rabbi if my community will not accept me. If I show up at a CRC (Chicago Rabbinical Council) event and introduce myself as a rabbi, I will be dismissed out of hand. As a female religious leader without that title, at least I stand a chance of acceptance. I would rather work slowly, within community confines, to create greater acceptance of women in leadership roles before moving on to find an appropriate title for those women religious leaders.
Despite my reservations about being called Rabbi, the lack of title has very real consequences for me as a woman working at a synagogue. It has been a struggle for me to receive the tax allowance that is granted to clergy because, although I am a graduate of the Drisha Scholars Circle, the IRS does not recognize a degree that is not formal ordination. And if, in a few years, I were to pursue a promotion from my current position, no such possibility exists. I serve as an assistant to something I can never be.
The question of a uniform title is a conversation that must continue, but it is far from the most important issue to address. There is other work to be done, which will have a far greater impact on Orthodox women’s roles in religious leadership:
First, we must achieve a level of normalcy around having a woman in a clergy position. We must demand of our synagogues that if no position currently exists, that a job–whatever the title of that job–be created for a woman to act as a religious force in the congregation. Unfortunately, funding an extra salary may present some difficulty. This is a very real concern, especially for smaller congregations. I contend, however, that any synagogue that is large enough to support an Assistant Rabbi, should seriously consider hiring a woman as a member of the clergy staff, whatever title she may be given. Smaller congregations might consider hiring a woman as a part-time Resident Scholar, or sharing some of the financial burden with a neighboring synagogue so that the woman can serve two small communities instead of one large one. The lack of uniform title leaves room for each congregation to assess its own needs and recruit the kind of professional that would best serve its constituents. Whatever the job title, language should be used that will allow the community to feel comfortable, while making it clear that this woman is a religious professional. It must become accepted practice for every major Orthodox shul to have a woman on the clergy staff.
Second, even if Orthodox women in religious leadership roles do not have a single name, we must have a single address. We must develop a network, an organization, some way for women in positions like mine, to find each other and work together. Even as I write, I recognize that there may be Orthodox women who serve as synagogue professionals, of whom I simply am not aware.
Before we have one name, we must have a working framework. And here I do not speak only of the five women who work in congregations. A male pulpit rabbi is very different from a rabbi who has chosen a career in academia or law or social work; but they are still all called “rabbi”, which, in a sense, unifies them. In addition to women who serve as congregational professionals, there are countless others who take on religious leadership roles as day school teachers, university professors, informal educators, and Rashei Beit Midrash. A single network to which we could all claim membership would provide opportunities to meet, to learn from each other, and to organize educational events that will inspire the next generation of women leaders. This idea was conceived at the most recent JOFA conference, when a group of women met to discuss this possibility We now must find the resources to make this a reality.
This is an important moment. This is the time when a pattern is emerging. Women are and will continue to be major players in congregational life. I hope we, as a community, will support the women who have taken the first steps, while we cultivate the minds and spirits of young girls like Eliana, who are sure to become the future leaders of Orthodoxy.