New Archive:
March 2001 Issue
My First Time Was on Yom Kippur
By
Chanel Dubofsky
I glanced briefly at the pile of blue-and-white shawls as I passed by the prayer books on the way to my seat before Kol Nidre services. I had always been curious about what it would feel like to wear a tallis. I often found my eyes wandering during services to the women who wore them, looking tall and regal, as if they were somehow surrounded by a special kind of air. But I had never before ventured to explore the possibility of wearing one myself.
That night, though, on Kol Nidre, I felt so drawn to the shawls that I went over and picked one up, holding it gingerly as though it were a new baby or a delicate soufflé. I carried it back to my seat and sat, staring at it, until I finally mustered the courage to ask someone I knew what to do, and we said the blessing together.
The tallis was awkward at first, but then it seemed to fit so perfectly that I thought I was going to cry. It hung down around my shoulders and the fringes slipped through my fingers like fine grains of sand. It was an evening gown; it shimmered and glided around me. I felt transformed, powerful. We began to pray, and I was almost angry with myself--I was supposed to be humble that night, but then, wearing what felt like a new soul, I was the furthest thing from humble.
In retrospect, what has stayed with me about that experience is not that I wore a prayer shawl for the first time, but that I hadn't even remotely considered wearing one before then, even though I had always been transfixed by the sight of other women wearing them. This has made me reconsider the label that I have placed on myself as a feminist, what feminism means to me as a Jew, and what it can and should mean to the Jewish community.
I've considered myself a feminist since high school, but I must confess that I've nevertheless always had reservations about doing things that are in Judaism generally reserved for men. I grew up in a Reform shul, where women read Torah and a choir sang every Saturday morning. Slowly, though, I've begun to turn to a more traditional practice.
And as I make decisions about my religious life, I find myself constantly torn between tradition and the modern world. I want to be able to recite Kaddish for my mother, but I am not her first-born son. I want to be counted in a minyan. I want to be welcomed in all synagogues and to be able to pray with all Jews.
The dilemma I have now is one that I spend a lot of time mulling over: How do I integrate my spirituality and my desire to cling to tradition with another set of beliefs that in many ways contradicts aspects of traditional Judaism?
It seems to me that this issue can be approached in two ways. The first, obviously, is to reject the tenets of Judaism in favor of another religion or no religion at all. The second, which I personally opt for, is to try to apply my ideals to my religion.
Occasional conflicts notwithstanding, I believe that feminist values are and should be considered Jewish values. After all, the Torah is a constant reminder that we are all made in God's image and should treat one another accordingly. On the High Holy Days, we listen to the sound of the shofar and hear it as a signal to consider our actions and the way they affect others. At its heart, feminism is exactly that: a call to demand equality and respect for all people.
This article originally appeared in New Voices, the national Jewish student magazine. www.newvoices.org
Chanel Dubofsky is
a senior at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst.
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