Cyndi Lauper said it best when she sang her iconic 80’s hit, “Girls Just Want To Have Fun.”  Jewish, non-Jewish, Reform, or Haredi – girls just want to have fun.  They want to listen to music, hang out with friends, polish their nails, experiment with makeup, shop, and most of all – obsess about boys!  Am I generalizing here? You bet! But one item that’s almost always on the list – obsessing about boys!

Even if, in order for them to remain unblemished until the time of Moshiach, all the girls were frozen in one warehouse of cryogenic pods and all the boys were equally frozen in another warehouse– upon Moshiach’s arrival, the first thing the girls would do upon thawing is ask where the boys were and request a hairbrush and mirror.

According to an article in the Jewish Press, there is a growing crisis in Israel.  The article cites a report on the website Kikar Hashabbat, which discusses the growing trend of religious and non-religious girls running off with Arab and Bedouin men.  Jewish girls as young as 12 years old end up in relationships with non-Jewish men they meet on the street.  In fact, the article says that many of these men are bus drivers.

Organizations, such as Lehava, have been created to combat this problem.  They have created marketing campaigns to warn girls of the dangers of being lured into relationships with Arab men.  Posters and videos warn of girls being tricked into slave marriages.  Apparently, out of 900 cases reported to Lehava, 200 girls were saved from intermarriage.

When I think about this situation, it reminds me somewhat of my own upbringing as a young girl living in Chicago.  While my parents were non-observant Jews, one thing they always insisted upon, was that I only date, and eventually marry, a Jewish boy.  For whatever reason, this was an ideal that they clung to despite their growing distance from religion over time.

When I was a little girl I heard their requirement (usually after a VHS showing of Fiddler on the Roof – “A fish could marry a bird, but where would they live?”) with minor attention.  However, once I got to be junior high age, their Fiddler reference was no longer so folksy and cute.  I was 13, I needed a man (hey, 13 is a man for Jews, right?), and there were no religiously circumcised males within a 10 mile radius!

My point is, I was set up for failure.  I lived in a non-Jewish neighborhood, went to a non-Jewish public school, and wasn’t involved in Jewish organizational life other than an occasional Yom Kippur visit to my mother’s old shul (where the median age was 82 – my mom and I brought it down by a few years).  If it was important to my parents that I date and marry a Jew, they should have put me in the path of at least a few of them!

Somehow I navigated my way through high school without making any serious mistakes.  My mother was a tiny hawk, and kept her eyes on me at all times.  If a boy began calling too often about “homework,” she would get her guard up!  The most I ever managed out of her line of vision was a few group outings, where each guy and girl who liked each other would sit together and schmooze on the train or share a spot on the same bench at the bowling alley.

It wasn’t until I started college at a Jesuit university, that I began to take dating matters into my own hands.   I made a concerted effort to meet Jewish guys.  Something about entering a setting where I really was a Jewish needle in a haystack propelled me to seek out other members of my tribe.

By joining Hillel, I was finally able to meet young Jewish men my own age and in an appropriate setting.  Of course, Hillel wasn’t only about dating.  It was about meeting girlfriends, meeting Jewish mentors, and increasing my knowledge about Judaism.  However, the boys didn’t hurt.

So, how are the Haredi girls in the Kikar HaShabbat article similar to my own background?  Simply, the similarity is in the way that they are set up for failure.  Girls and boys are segregated in such an extreme way, that there is no outlet for the enormous curiosity each has about the other.  No, brothers and sisters don’t count.  Interaction between sexes is a delicate dance – even in platonic situations.  Each gender has sensitivities and receptiveness to various means of address that can only be learned with time and practice.

There is no avenue for practice in ultra orthodox society.  Young people go from no interaction, to being thrown into the deep end of the pool upon shidduch age.

Most girls are interested in boys for many years before it becomes acceptable for them to date.  Girls as young as in 5^th grade giggle over their crushes and sometimes stalk out their favorites at shul on Shabbos.  There is no way to interact with boys without sneaking behind their parent’s and teacher’s backs.

There is no NCSY for FFB (frum from birth) kids to socialize in a safe coed environment.  There are no teacher supervised prom dances.  There are no rabbi supervised coed shiurim.  There are no kosher outlets that allow for mingling between the sexes.  There are only other girls, who are all as frustrated as the chick sitting next to them.

So, what does a girl do when she’s wandering a desert where Jewish boys are currently a mere mirage of possibilities yet 5 years away?  Sometimes, she takes the tangible thing in front of her.  Maybe it’s the bus driver who takes her to school every morning.  Maybe it’s the store clerk’s son where she buys her family’s milk.  Maybe it’s the random guy she meets at the park while walking with her friends.

No matter how she becomes acquainted with the man, he’s not a distant promise, but an immediate reality.  He’s interested in her and he doesn’t treat her like she’s shameful or unusual for wanting a relationship.  In the absence of proper guidance and kosher coed supervised activities, it’s no wonder that these girls are enticed into relationships with the only men willing and able to engage in them.

A commenter recently asked me if I still had the same positive opinion about single sex education as I did in my 2007 post, Girls Take to the Stage. The answer is yes.  Something strange happens to girls sometime during middle school.   They go from being unselfconscious and unafraid to speak out among their classmates and teachers, to being more guarded and sometimes reluctant in their participation.  This phenomenon has been documented in studies that show that co-educational schools can be bad for girls.

As a product of a coed public school system myself, I can see the pros and cons.  Once I hit junior high age and boys were on the radar, there was a definite shift in the behavior of me and my fellow female classmates.  Appearances and image became more important.  We spoke and carried ourselves much differently after school with just us girls than we did when we were around the boys.  It seemed we could  be our real selves together, but had to be the socially acceptable version of ourselves (however we interpreted that) in front of the boys.

By the time senior year of high school rolled around, most of us were comfortable enough in our own skins to be the brain, or the nerd, or the drama geek, or the goth artist, or whoever we wanted to be, despite the fact that those personas might not have attracted a lot of guys (or at least not the hunky ones).  This level of comfort came with time and exposure to boys, something that an all girl’s school environment can’t provide.  However, it’s a bumpy road to achieve self acceptance, and sometimes that journey is more efficiently undertaken at 20 than at 12.

That being said, my daughter faces constraints that would make a foray into a coed school more daunting.  Because I didn’t grow up religious, I was able to pursue my interests regardless of tznius restrictions or kol isha prohibitions.  Not having restraints had its problems too, but for the purpose of this argument, I am saying that I had certain liberties that my daughter does not have because of these restrictions.

I went to a fine arts high school and majored in drama.  I was also a part of the school girl’s choir which performed in front of mixed audiences.  I shared the stage with boys and even had my first lengthy kiss during a play (once I stopped giggling).  I wasn’t limited in the kinds of activities I could do in the presence of boys. Of course,  I was limited by the psychological barrier most girls have to modify their behavior in order to be appealing to boys.  Trying to play a role in which you are unsure of the desired expectation is difficult to master.

As an orthodox girl, I feel that it is more liberating for my daughter to be in a school where girls don’t have to worry that they come off as too smart (last week the Aish HaTorah site published 5 ways to turn off a guy that they promptly pulled down – as one of the tips was not showing off how smart you are!).  Girls don’t have to feel self conscious about raising their hand and participating in class for fear they will give the wrong answer either.  Girls can sing and dance in the hallways if they choose to do so – there are no boys around to limit their voices.   I am also glad that my daughter is not subject to the kind of jealousy and cat fighting that often happens among girls who are vying for boys’ attention.  It’s always a positive when teenage girls have one less thing to fight about.

This might be a simplistic conclusion, but single sex education seems to be working for my daughter so far.

Girls Take to the Stage

I had the opportunity to attend two girls’ play productions this week. One was done by a local Bais Yaakov high school, where my friend was the director. The other was a 2nd grade girls Purim play at my daughter’s day school. It was interesting to see the similarities between the high school girls and the 2nd graders. Obviously there was a vast difference in maturity and skill level, but what I saw was girls given a chance to shine in the spotlight and rising to the occasion.

I might not agree with all aspects of the day school system mentality, but one thing I really agree with is separate sex education. I am not worried about boys and girls mingling in nursery or kindergarten. In my children’s school, they separate boys and girls in 1st grade. I would be ok with mixed classes up through 3rd grade, actually, but I don’t make the rules. However, in my experience as a public schooler, starting in 4th was when the “boyfriend/girlfriend” business started. Obviously, it was all pretty innocent, and consisted of little notes being passed about with the question “Do you like me?” and ticking off a box for yes or no. If it was no, that was that. If it was yes, then more note passing, perhaps some drawings of hearts or flowers added in, and maybe a present in the form of candy, a bubble gum machine ring or friendship bracelet.

However, that’s when it starts for girls. Is your worth based on academic achievement, the number of friends you have, or the number of boys who like you? With the last element comes the aspect of looks, weight, clothing (a.k.a. money), makeup, and hair – all the things a grammar school girl really shouldn’t have to worry about nor, in my opinion, should a high school girl have to worry about. These school years should be spent developing a sense of self apart from what boys think or expect of girls. Girls shouldn’t feel necessary to apply a new coat of makeup or hair product between each class period. Believe me, my high school homeroom looked more like the makeup counter at Elizabeth Arden than a classroom.

Were these Broadway caliber productions? No. But each girl had a chance to shine in her own way. The high school show really put the spotlight on all the various talents of the cast – dance, singing, rollerblading, gymnastics, comedy – not to mention the artistic showcasing of the sets, costumes, makeup – the business development skills of the marketing, advertising, billing teams. In the grammar school play, my daughter and her friends talked of little else these past few weeks as they rehearsed and prepared their parts. In the days before the show, my daughter kept asking if I was getting excited to see her play. She would laugh as she talked about funny things that happened during the rehearsals.

It means so much for girls to have a place where their voices, creativity and talent can be seen and heard. In an all girls school – they have a chance to express themselves without worrying about impressing boys or making a fool out of themselves in front of them. They can be who they are – and that means trying on different roles until you find those that fit and feel comfortable. All-female day schools give them the opportunity to do just that.

Have you ever heard the breakup line, “It’s not you, it’s me?”  If you were on the receiving end of such a speech, you clung to that sentiment with every fiber of your being.  If you were on the giving end, even as you said the words, you were simultaneously thinking, “It most certainly IS you!”

When I hear apologetics about strict tznius rules for women, that’s the line I think of.  With every new chumra that’s adopted, the party line by men is always, “It’s not you, it’s me.  We are the problem – men are animals!”  In this way, women are subconsciously shamed into rising above the animalistic nature of men, and guilted into adopting a puritanical attitude toward their own sexuality and its outward expression.  In reality, the underlying sentiment is, “It IS you!  Your sexuality is too dangerous to be unleashed, and we must contain it!”

Upon reading marketing materials for tznius observance such as the one below (Hat Tip Frum Satire), it seems obvious that the assumption is that women have a teiva to wear provocative clothing.  Apparently, without these reminders, women would soon be leaving the house dressed in Fredricks of Hollywood’s finest.Dress is not the only area where women’s provocative nature needs reigning in.  We see that certain activities like exercise and dance can get women too excited.  Some say women shouldn’t perform the immodest act of driving a car, which fosters too much independence and leaves them susceptible to driving off to engage in pritzus.  Also, women should not participate in traditionally male only fields of service, such as the IDF army, since their virtue might be compromised in the barracks or on the field of battle.  Running for political office is also not an acceptable endeavor, as that would necessitate women publicly campaigning for election and also challenge the self control of the men under their elected leadership.  Likewise, they can’t volunteer for orthodox organizations like Hatzalah, because it would lead to socializing and extra marital affairs if female EMTs were on the crew.

These are just a few examples of curtailing women’s behavior and participation in society because of the fear of their untamed sexuality.  The first two instances directly imply that women, if left to their own devices, can go off the rails.  In the last threee examples, the culpability of women is unspoken.  The men are made out to be natural aggressors with women as their potential victims.  However, it takes two to tango.

I’ve often thought that a husband’s requirement to perform his marital duties proves this point too.  If men are so sex crazed, surely they wouldn’t need to be halachically compelled to perform their marital duties?  The only way I can see this logically making sense is a Sister Wives scenario, where a polygamous man with many wives might pick certain favorites and neglect the others.  In that case, he would need to be reminded about his obligation to pay attention to each wife, and have guidelines set down for how frequently he visits each one.

However, if we are talking about a monogamous marriage in which a husband only has one partner, wouldn’t it go without saying that he would want to do his duty?  In fact, Talmud, Eruvin 100b, does say that a husband can’t force his wife into relations, which would seem the more common scenario for our supposedly sex-obsessed men.  However, there seem to be many more halachos that dictate a man’s obligation not to neglect his sex starved wife.  The Talmud seems to indicate that women are more in need of physical affection than men are.

The Mishneh Torah, Sefer Kedushah, Issurei Biah Chapter 21:13 says that if an audacious woman initiates relations with her husband, the resulting children will be rebellious, sinful, and remain in suffering exile.  That this situation merits discussion, indicates that wives initiating sex is a fairly common circumstance that should be thwarted.  Once again, there is an acknowledgement of women’s sexual aggressiveness, and a warning to not fall prey to it.

Socially and historically, it’s well known that even the most powerful men have been brought down by beautiful women.  Feminine sex appeal is a strong weapon that some women know how to use to their full advantage.  Our sages knew of that danger, and put safeguards into place, such as yichud and shomer negiah, to avoid falling to temptation.

I remember a story about an elderly rabbi who was sitting in his study.  All day, people from the town would come to his home to ask him shailas. Usually, the rabbi’s wife would answer the door and show them into his study.  If a woman came with a question for the rabbi, his wife would accompany her and stay in the study while the rabbi answered her question.

One day, the rabbi’s wife was out shopping.  An old woman came to the rabbi’s house with a kashrut shaila and knocked on the front door.  No one answered, but the door was open and she went inside.  She had been to the rabbi’s house many times before and knew the way to his study.  Unannounced, she opened the door to his office, stepped inside, and closed the door.  Immediately, the old rabbi jumped up, ran to the window, and hurled himself out into the garden.

The startled woman ran outside to the yard to see if the rabbi was ok.

“What happened?” she cried. “Why did you jump out of the window?”

As the rabbi brushed off the leaves and twigs from his clothing he replied, “Because a man and a woman are not permitted to be alone in a closed room together!”

“But, rabbi, you and I are over 80 years old!” the old woman laughed. “What possible trouble could we get into?”

The rabbi said, “The yezter hora can make a young man of me and a young woman of you!”

This is one of the few stories I’ve heard where culpability is attributed to both the man and the woman.  Most prohibitions and parables involve discussing lack of control and forwardness on the parts of men.  The exception to this is when non Jewish women are discussed.  However, by necessity, that same lack of control must be present in Jewish women for there to be any real danger.

If Jewish women were really considered the paragons of virtue purported by the platitudes, there would be no need for yichud or a hyper focus on tznius clothing.  Women would naturally dress and behave appropriately and ensure that no sexual improprieties ever occurred.

The reality is that rabbis realize the female sexual urge matches that of the male, and possibly even surpasses it in some cases.  Women’s sexuality is governed by the use of the “it’s not you, it’s me” reverse psychology.  By telling women that their natural instinct is to be modest and have a lower libido than their male counterparts, women will strive to live up to this desired societal ideal.  It’s brilliant, when you think about it.

A book review of ‘Cut Me Loose: Sin and Salvation After My Ultra-Orthodox Girlhood,’ by Leah Vincent.

The internet has been buzzing for quite some time about Leah Vincent’s recently released memoir.   Born into a Yeshivish Orthodox community, her book chronicles her journey from her beginnings as a religious rabbi’s daughter to a secular Harvard graduate.  The road to Ms. Vincent’s salvation was a bumpy one, summarized by the The Wall Street Journal in these words:

“At age 15, Leah Vincent was preparing for marriage. At 16, she wrote forbidden letters to a male friend questioning her ultraorthodox Jewish faith. At 17, she was banished by her parents and left to fend for herself in New York City. By 19, Ms. Vincent had overdosed, swallowing a half-bottle of aspirin after mutilating herself with a rusty razor. And by 21 she had tried to establish herself as a Craigslist prostitute.”

The book chronicles Ms. Vincent’s shocking and often heartbreaking story of survival that some religious readers might find off putting.  However, this unflinching revelation of her truth is what makes her book so raw and courageous.

With the rash of ex-Orthodox memoires being published, it has become de rigueur for naysayers to refute negative claims made against the frum families or communities castigated.  A few months ago I wrote a post about an interview with Leah Vincent on the Katie Couric show.  Since Ms. Vincent’s book release, that post has been getting renewed activity, and a debate of sorts has been taking place in the comments over the validity of the claims in her book.

Before reading Ms. Vincent’s book, I was curious about her version of events or if there was another side to her story.   After reading the book, I no longer feel the need to know.  Of course, her family and their supporters will see things differently.  That’s not really the point.  To me, the important thing is that this is how Ms. Vincent experienced her life.  This book is about her perceptions and truths; no one else’s.  That doesn’t mean her family didn’t experience their own pain and struggles in their relationship with her, it just means that this book is Ms. Vincent’s platform to share her struggles.  It’s not about anyone else.

The main lesson I walked away with is that every person needs to be their own savior.  There is no gallant knight riding in on his noble steed to save us.  In Elle Magazine, Ms. Vincent says,

“I think the idea is still in my brain today…” Vincent observed, “I think it’s in a lot of women’s brains—that the men in their lives can save them on some level. But now I have a much larger idea that lives alongside that one, that I can save myself and that I have saved myself.”

The lesson may seem obvious, but it really isn’t.  For many women, it is deeply ingrained into our psyche that our success or failure rests with finding a good man.  Even in the secular world, this is an unspoken truth.  Our lives are not fully complete unless we achieve that ultimate validation – a man willing to commit and link his life with our own.  How much more so in the religious world where men are the ultimate authorities?  Where marriage and motherhood are the essence of a woman’s purpose?

This type of adoration, devotion, and blind trust can have disastrous consequences when directed towards the wrong men.  The wrong men don’t only come from the secular world.  Time and time again, Ms. Vincent put her trust and hopes for the future in the wrong men.  Arguably, one might argue that it all began with putting trust in her father – trust that he would show her unconditional and uncompromising love.  Trust that he would make parenting decisions based on the bond they shared and not on the advice of third party rabbis.  The abandonment she experienced from her family had a strong impact on the relationships she chose to engage in following her estrangement.

After reading her book, I don’t need to verify facts and versions of Ms. Vincent’s story.  Nor do I need to sit in righteous judgment of her actions or those of her parents.   For me, this book isn’t about taking sides or corroborating evidence.  This book is about triumphing over mistakes, not letting our past determine our future, and having confidence that we can ultimately be our own heroes.

"This book is about…having confidence that we can ultimately be our own heroes." #CutMeLoose reviewby @kolbishaerva http://t.co/wlnUeWqs3D

— Leah Vincent (@EhyehLeah) January 26, 2014

I grew up a minority in my old Chicago neighborhood in East Rogers Park.  “White girl” was a term that I heard often, and not in a friendly way.  Being Jewish made me even more of a minority, although most of my friends looked at my Judaism as a funny quirk – kind of like a female, teenaged, Woody Allen (I wasn’t voted “Funniest Girl” in 8^th grade for nothing!).

6^th grade was the year I experienced the worst racism.  I was in a class where I was one of the youngest students, because most of the other kids were repeating the year, in some cases for the third time.  One kid turned 15 and quite a few more turned 13 and 14 that year.  I was 11 going on 12.  My hair was a constant subject of fascination and scrutiny, some of the girls coming up and petting my thick brown mane like a longed for puppy and others calling me “greasy” and lifting locks of my hair with their fingers in mock disgust.

“I’m gonna beat your ass after school today, white girl!”

“You better run on home as soon as the bell rings, greasy, or you’re gonna get whooped!”

Those were taunts I often heard that year, and I got clocked from behind more than once hurrying home in the snow, never looking behind me to see who my attackers were.  If it weren’t for my friend and protector, Tanya, a statuesque and kind hearted African American classmate, I probably wouldn’t have made it through that year in one piece.

Being smart was not an asset in 6^th grade.  Being street smart and tough was.  I was neither of those things.  I started throwing tests and doing the bare minimum required for projects and homework.  My grades plummeted.  I specifically remember being in the classroom spelling bee, and waiting for a word to come around that I didn’t know.  As each student misspelled their words and sat down, I was left standing with one other very short Assyrian boy who was also teased mercilessly that year.  I purposely threw the competition by misspelling a word that I knew, because I couldn’t bear to be the focus of attention or go on to the school wide spelling bee in the auditorium in front of the entire student body.  Losing didn’t win me any friends, but at least winning didn’t gain me any new enemies.

Starting to go through puberty by the middle of that year didn’t help matters.  Suddenly, sexual harassment entered the picture, when male classmates a few years older than me began openly comparing notes on my stages of development.  I often had to deal with being groped and grabbed as I precariously wound my way through the desk aisles to answer a question on the blackboard or throw something into the garbage can.  I was followed into the girls bathroom and spit on after I refused to admit to a crush on a male classmate.  My new found attention drew the ire of the other girls even more, who felt that a white girl had no business vying for the attentions of the African American and Latino guys.  All I wanted to do was disappear, but the more I tried to hide myself, the more attention I seemed to attract.

At the end of that horrific year, I had gone from a straight A student to a C and D student, but I was still no cooler to the rest of my multiracial classmates than before.  On one of the last days of school, my teacher announced that there was going to be an award presented to the student who achieved the highest scores on the school wide Iowa Test of Basic Skills (a standardized test given to Chicago Public School students in the 1980s).  She proudly announced that one of the winners was in our class.  As per usual, I kept my eyes on my desk and didn’t make eye contact with anyone.  I expected she would call the name of the smart little Assyrian boy, and felt sorry for him.  I hoped he wouldn’t be punished too badly for his achievement after school that day.

To my horror, the teacher called my name!  I looked up and stayed glued to my seat as she held up a small gold cup with my name on it.  I had scored a 10^th grade level on the exam, higher than anyone else in the school.   How could this have happened?  I had tried so hard not to stand out!  Everyone urged me to get up and take my award.  I remember making my way through the narrow aisle of desks, red faced and expecting to be tripped on my way to the front.  To my surprise, no one tripped me, and they were clapping.  I took my award, mumbling thanks, and quickly made my way back to my seat, stuffing the trophy in my book bag.

A few days later, my mom got a call from a teacher in the school that ran a gifted program, called Options, for 7^th and 8^th graders.  She wanted me to be a part of the program.  I wanted a way out of my current class, and knew that I would be in for more of the same bullying if I didn’t join the Options program, and so I accepted the invitation.  In my new class, I was no longer a minority, in fact, the few Jews who were in my school all seemed to be in the Options program with me.  The bullying stopped, and from that point on through high school, I was placed in special programs based on academic achievement.  Although I was still a minority in my neighborhood, my school peers were a much more diverse crowd.  Jewishly, I would remain a minority, but growing up secular, my religion did not play that large of a role in my life, except insofar as parental dating restrictions in high school.

Many years later, during and after college, I joined the Jewish orthodox community, and my world could no longer be described as diverse.  In fact, especially in light of a recent conversation with a cousin, my social interactions today are homogenously restricted to white Ashkenazic Jews.   In the beginning, this was refreshing, as I was so used to being a minority myself, that I got a kick out of finally meeting people who shared my own background and generally looked like me.  Now that the newness has worn off, I see that there is something sad about not retaining the diversity I once had in my friendships.

I always saw myself as someone comfortable moving in many multicultural circles.  I think the bullying I experienced in school was based more on socioeconomic differences than racial differences, because through it all, I always had friends of other races and ethnicities.  To further this conclusion, I had many African American and Latino friends, especially in high school, who were in the same honors and magnet programs as me, and were ostracized by their counterparts in the regular level school.  Somehow, my friends were seen as selling out and betraying their race by being in academic accelerated programs and associating with white students and teachers.  I had discussions with a few about their predicament, and this rejection was confusing and difficult for them.

I haven’t thought about this part of my life for a long time, but my experience came rushing back when I saw this article by an African American Jewish Chassidic man, calling himself Zein Shver, who took a picture with the word “Schvartze” scrawled in black ink across his forehead.    In the article, he says,

“Shvartze isn’t Yiddish for Black. Shvartze is Yiddish for N-word”

Zein Shver says that in his Crown Heights neighborhood, there is always an undercurrent of racism.

“I’ve heard the word flow like blessings. It drips out of the mouths of young and old alike. It can be stunning sometimes. You’ll be moving along just fine and then the “S-bomb” will come along and just ruin your day, or at the very least your hour and minute. It’s never nice when it’s said. No one ever says “I had a man do my taxes. He’s shvartze.” Nor do they say “my son is playing with the  boys next door, they’re shvartze.”  It’s always “a shvartze stole my bike;” or “if the shvartzes welfare why shouldn’t we.”  So, this common excuse that shvartze merely means black doesn’t play well with me.”

Schvartze, many Jews argue, just means black, so what’s the big deal? I grew up hearing this word used commonly and casually among older family members.  Although it isn’t a commonly used word in my own vocabulary, it never inspired righteous indignation when I heard others use it.  Reading the experience of this Jewish man makes me see things in a different way.  When I joined the Jewish community, I finally felt at home.  These were my people and for once I was part of a majority – I fit in.  However, if I was born with a darker skin color, would I still be accepted?  What is the price of admission into the frum world – Judaism or Judaism and white skin?

PopChassid explains why his skin color means he will never truly feel like he belongs, being a Sephardic and Ashkenazic Jewish mix with decidedly Middle Eastern features.   Growing up, he was teasingly called a terrorist by his fellow light skinned Jewish classmates.  He was told that he wasn’t white, and even his very Judaism was called into question because of his darker skin shade.  He was made to feel he had more in common with Muslims than with Jews.  All because of the pigment of his complexion.

In Israel, a country supposedly proud of having Jews of every race and ethnicity as citizens, Ethiopian Jews are commonly called, “kushi” (a derogatory Hebrew term for black people).   One Ethiopian boy was once even kicked out of a Bnei Brak mikvah by a mikvah employee –

“The worker verbally attacked him, saying “don’t come in, you stink, you’re a stinking kushi”. When the teen refused to back down, the man took hold of him and punched him in the face.”

In another recent incident, an Israeli blood bank refused to accept the blood of MK Pnina Tamano-Shata, along with other Israelis who were born in Ethiopia.  Israel has a blanket policy not to accept blood donations from Ethiopian Jews.  Malynnda Littky writes,

“In 1996, there were public demonstrations in reaction to the revelation that Magen David Adom was destroying blood donated by Israelis who were born, or who had lived for a significant period, in Ethiopia. A commission, headed by former Israeli President Yitzhak Navon, reviewed the procedures that were then in place. That commission recommended that the MDA stop dumping blood based on ethnic criteria and proposed instead strict guidelines for careful, pint-by-pint screening of blood donations from Ethiopian Jews and other high-risk groups.”

To me, the legacy of the creation of the State of Israel after the Holocaust is that every Jew will have a safe refuge and homeland.  Every Jew, no matter what their skin color or country of origin, will belong.  I’d like to be able to say that even in America, every Jewish community is a welcoming haven that includes and accepts Jews of every stripe and color into the fold.  Is this welcome reserved only for Ashkenazic Jews with Aryan features?  Is this the legacy we’ve fought for?

As someone who has experienced discrimination, I am ashamed if I have participated in this type of subcultural racism.  Upon awareness, I hope to do better in the future.

Tznius is as much a mechanism to control the way a woman dresses as it is a method to control her behavior.  I once read an article about women petitioning to join the all male Jewish volunteer EMT organization, Hatzolah, from which females are currently banned.  Because the organization refuses to let women volunteer to help out with medical emergencies, particularly labor and delivery calls, some women started up their own volunteer EMT squad called Ezras Nashim.

Many critiques about women serving as emergency first responders pointed to their inability to leave the house quickly due to dress code requirements.  For example one commenter calling himself “shtam a shelpepper” wrote –

“id like to see mrs chanie louie so and so run to her car 3am sheitel gets stuck in door hinge – trips over her shvim kleide and whooopie slips and rips her hose. Back into the house – kids cryin mommy wherecha goin.

blob blob kindelach i just got a ezras nashim call.

helpf mir – ezras us mommy!

22 minutes later mommy gets to the call – way past delivery – in fact we have twins now and they have long been transported to hopsital….by hatzoloh of course.

BH someone can clean up now – oy a broch!

And evevryone lived happily ever rafter!

ok ok thats a little far-fetched , fine take out the torn hose.”

I remembered those sexist comments, using women’s tznius obligations as a means to hinder their participation in public life, upon seeing a Facebook thread about a Lubavitch female trainer running a marathon in her sheitel.The article and accompanying photo immediately drew several mocking responses not only about the impropriety of wearing a wig during exercise but also criticizing the woman’s skills as a runner and trainer –

“Um, I don’t heel striker, ever – and I can’t imagine how hot it must be to run in a sheital….”

“I can tell you that sweating under a sheital is NOT pleasant on a regular day – given that most people sweat when they run – it must be awful. I still think the pics are only for demonstration purposes, even though they are taken from FB. I’ve taught aerobics classes where young women wore their sheitals, but then they didn’t make a very big effort in the class – and most likely didn’t break out a sweat. Maybe like Zumba….”

“Is it the schnitzel shuffle or the kugel crawl? Or perhaps it’s the rugalach run.”

“They made Zumba assur and running is even worse. Wearing skimpy flimsy dresses and moving your body in public on mixed streets.”

“Running shoes are probably kli gever as well.”

“i don’t think anyone who lets herself be photographed as this one did , truly considers herself hareidi…”

“Beis Yaakov girls do ride bikes; do fast walking and even running. I just wouldn’t the sweat from my karate workout to ruin my sheitl. She just wearing a sheitl to make a statement.Hareidi cool women (me) wear sunglasses and a bandana”

“A lot of the tznius issues raised in the comments here are what I would call “sensitivities.” I would not participate in various activities, not because the rabbis want to control me or because I support subjugating women, but simply because I don’t feel them to be tzanua. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“When all is said and done……it’s being involved in narishkeit”

My reaction was to think of TV personality and proud wig wearer, Wendy Williams.  Wendy has said that she has a “gym wig” for working out. Lots of American women wear weaves, extensions, hair pieces, and wigs.  It’s in fashion right now. They wear them working out too…especially pony tail wigs. There is no need to hate on this woman for her form or imply she isn’t serious about running just because she wears a wig. You could make a similar argument against women running in skirts. Just be proud of her that she’s running!

Haters are gonna hate. The comments about this female orthodox trainer are the same arguments cited above to keep women out of Hatzolah – how will the vibers get out of the house in time to respond to a call? They’ll need to put on their clothes, their stockings, their sheitelach, their makeup – by the time they arrive on the scene the patient will be dead! Keeping frum women down and using the halachot they have to keep as an excuse to do so.

The reactions to the sheitel wearing runner and female EMTs portray an important side consequence of tznius – the clothing women wear serve to restrict their activities which satisfies a greater purpose beyond the surface halacha.  If you are dressed in a certain way, it seems inappropriate to engage in certain activities – such as exercise.  The laws of modesty are enforced and expanded to curtail and control behavior more than just dress.  When women try and work within the system, yet still engage in a variety of outside activities, they get ridiculed or told their actions are dangerous or assur.

It’s so easy to stereotype and judge what an orthodox woman should and shouldn’t be doing; I myself succumbed to this attitude on a recent trip to Florida.  One morning, I stepped outside onto the balcony of my hotel room which had a gorgeous view of the Atlantic Ocean.  As the sun seemed to crystallize in golden fragments across the water, I took out my phone and began taking photos.  Soothed by the promise of a warm day and the sound of the rolling waves, I looked down to the hotel pool beneath me.

What I saw was quite theatrical.  A colorful aquatic display of patterned robes, flowing out like the delicate fins of angelfish, glided through the water.  Bright turbans bobbed like the heads of mysterious deep sea creatures.  Legs, appearing as ghostly white tentacles on top, and ending in a brownish camouflage shade below the knees, trailed behind the colorful bodies, propelling swimmers back and forth between the sides of the human aquarium.

I was fascinated by this scene, and even more intrigued as I realized that I was witnessing a secret ritual of sorts – a group of Chassidic women who had risen with the sun in order to swim in the hotel pool.  At this early hour, there was little risk of men inadvertently witnessing their activity.  How strange and wonderful!  What dedication they must have to their dress code in order to swim fully clothed in turbans, house robes, and stockings!  What commitment they must have to their love of swimming in order to overcome the obstacles to getting in the pool!Going back into my room, I looked over the bathing suits I had brought for the trip.  One of the suits was a one piece that I wear with a shirt over it.  That bathing suit is usually reserved for women’s only swim classes or when my family is vacationing in a place far away from other Jews.  This was not one of those places.  The other bathing suit I brought was a “burkini” (burka+bikini) (HT Rachmuna Litzlon).  In Yiddish, this kind of swim dress is known as a “shvimkleid.”I purchased my burkini online to wear to public pools and water parks.  Ironically, while I feel embarrassed to walk around in my standard one piece bathing suit in public, I also feel somewhat embarrassed to wear my burkini contraption too.  It does draw attention and makes me feel unusual.  Non orthodox people probably presume I am Muslim when I wear it.

Inspired by the women in the pool, I decided to wear my burkini to the beach and pool that day without embarrassment.   I refuse to let tznius clothing hold me back from doing things that I love, and at the same time, why should I compromise my standards of modesty?  I believe that I can be both tznius as well as take part in the activities the world has to offer.

As I swam in the pool, I wondered if another hotel occupant on a balcony above was looking down in confusion at the black porpoise with pale human feet slowly undulating its way under the chlorine blue water.  Perhaps I am already on Youtube.

For a good laugh, take a look at this classic clip about the importance of shvimkleids by Deena Mann.  Deena is a talented amateur impersonator, character actor, and comic.

Today’s Throwback Thursday post is one that I wrote in 2007 about female Jewish day school teachers not getting paid as much as their male counterparts.  I was reminded of this post because of President Barack Obama’s discussion on the gender pay gap during his 2014 State of the Union Address.

I don’t believe that much has changed for female day school teachers since I wrote this post.  Additionally, gender discrimination in hiring practices still exists in our private schools.  For example, in many yeshivas women can be hired as administrative staff, but they cannot be hired as classroom teachers.  As a result, some of the best candidates for limudei chol (secular) subjects are discarded, and there is often a revolving door of male teachers (those willing to take part time low paying afternoon teaching jobs).

I am unfamiliar with the laws for private schools regarding the Equal Pay Act or gender discrimination in hiring.  I know that religious organizations often find legal loopholes to permit practices that wouldn’t be allowed for other employers.  It’s sad that our hard working, educated, frum female teachers still don’t get fair shake when it comes to salaries and job opportunities.

Equal Pay for Equal Work Doesn’t Apply for Day Schools

It was recently brought to my attention that women teachers don’t get the same pay as their male counterparts in many Chicagoland area Jewish day schools. It actually is a matter of policy that a woman, by virtue of her gender, gets paid at least 50% less than a man in the same position. It has long been known that limudei chol (English studies) teachers get paid less than their limudei kodesh (Hebrew studies) counterparts. One can make the argument that since Jewish studies are the most valued, schools want to show kavod to those teachers by having their pay reflect the status and esteem held both for them and a Torah education. I still think that is pushing the envelope, but I can concede on that point.

The point I can’t concede is a man and a woman, both teaching limudei kodesh at the same grade level, both at the school for the same amount of time (or in some cases the woman is there longer) and the man is making almost double what the woman is making! What is the administration’s response when questioned? That if women made a higher salary than their spouse (there are many husbands and wives who both teach) it would cause shalom bayis problems. I say, wouldn’t a higher combined parnassah help shalom bayis? I don’t really believe that men are so sexist they would be upset if their wife made the same or a higher salary! Wouldn’t most men see the larger picture that there was more money for their family to live on? It’s not as if teachers make adequate salaries to begin with – now they have to be victimized by sexism to boot?

Apparently, female teachers have thought of striking in the past, there have been petitions and meetings. Each time the point comes to a crisis, the administration asks them if they really want the children to suffer by refusing to teach – their children included in that number. There is also the threat of a constant stream of seminary girls fresh out of school who would quickly snap up the jobs without complaint. Basically, each teacher who threatened to strike was made to feel that she was replaceable.

The teachers certainly have a lawsuit on their hands, considering the schools are violating the Equal Pay Act of 1963, and many women in similar circumstances have won monetary/backpay damages in addition to appropriate pay raises. CAPS (Chicago Area Partnerships) recently published a report entitled Pathways and Progress: Best Practices to Ensure Fair Compensation. Perhaps the schools should take a look at this report and rethink it’s salary practices.

The news has been buzzing for the last month about Salanter Akiba Riverdale High School (SARS), a modern Orthodox yeshiva in Riverdale, New York, allowing two female students to begin wearing tefillin during their morning prayers.  To make matters more controversial, Rabbi Haskel Lookstein, the principal of the modern Orthodox high school Ramaz, said that since 2002, women have been allowed to wear tefillin during the weekly women-only prayer session.  Now they will also be able to do so during the regular daily minyan.

The reactions to this news have run the gamut from applause to condemnation.  Many predict that Orthodox women will use laying tefillin as an entryway to petition for lower mechitzas and egalitatarian minyans.  Most responses have been written by Orthodox men.  One piece that received a poor reception was from Rabbi Avi Shafran, who wrote that a woman’s place behind the mechitza isn’t really so bad. He argues that, for shy men like him, a woman’s private role can actually be preferable over a man’s public role.  Women should enjoy their lack of responsibility in synagogue and legal matters.

Another article by Avital Chizhik, tries to remedy the lack of female response to news of “tefillin-gate.”  Ms. Chizhik says that Orthodox women have bigger fish to fry than whether or not they can lay tefillin.

“Most of my friends and acquaintances, and the women whom they know – we are still learning, and struggling, to articulate our own realities: the fact that, shockingly, many of us still find sincere value in our roles, in the mehitzah (barrier between men and women in synagogues) and in modesty, too. Many of us would rather spend little time in the synagogue and would choose to go about the “woman’s way,” the way we have been taught: where every moment one turns to God, and daily life becomes an intimate conversation with him rather than a series of mandated public encounters with the Divine…..

I’d much rather put effort into ensuring actual empowerment. We are raising daughters who are encouraged to be simple-minded here – and no unique educator, dean or principal can combat that, when an entire society silently smirks at young girls with minds and opinions and ambitions…….

So – tefillin? Adjusted prayer services? Female rabbis? Lowered mehitzahs? I’m not convinced. Those women who feel disadvantaged by ritual differences are welcome to do as they please in communities that are receptive to it, without being dismissed by others. But to demand for a community to reform tightly held traditions is insensitive, and those who use it is as a political means are only doing harm to the Orthodox women who have (dare I say?) deeper and more critical questions to face……..

Because I don’t care to own the bimah. I simply want to own my mind.”

I agree with Ms. Chizhik that there are certainly more important social issues for frum women than being allowed to don tefillin.  In a sense, this controversy isn’t even on my radar, as any interest I might have had in wearing tefillin or praying with a daily minyan has vanished long ago.

Before marriage and children, I remember feeling resentful that women didn’t have the same prayer obligations as men.  After all, davening is a way to have a direct conversation with God using a siddur as the blueprint for the optimal way in which to have that conversation.  A minyan is a more certain guarantee that even if a person’s own prayers aren’t up to snuff, perhaps another participant’s will carry up our own inadequate words.  When you daven alone, you don’t have anyone else more deserving to piggyback onto.  Your tefillahs are all on your own shoulders.

After I had children, I was actually grateful that I had no such time bound obligations such as laying tefilling, putting on a tallis, or catching a minyan each day.  Raising young children was a tiring and time consuming task.  I figured that I had finally learned the lesson firsthand about why women are not obligated in time bound mitzvas.  I could offer up prayers to Hashem as the spirit moved me and not because of an imposed schedule.  I could formulate my own spontaneous prayers that were individualized to my current circumstances, and not part of a “one size fits all” book.  I considered this a positive sign that was making the transition from BT (baalas teshuvah) to FFB (frum from birth).

Reading about the tefillin controversy, I realize how little it interests me now.  I remember what a firecracker I used to be about women’s rights and the concern that women be allowed to participate in synagogue life as fully as the Torah permits.  I remember feeling chagrined at the opinion that if a woman is not obligated in a task, therefore, she is prohibited from performing it.  Any woman who wants to take up a ritual that she is not commanded to perform is considered arrogant.

The sad truth is that I just don’t care anymore.  I have very little investment or commitment to synagogue life.  I don’t know many women who do.  I made a commitment about a year ago to try to go to shul every Shabbos.  I was always one of a handful of female regulars (in fairness, part of the reason for this is because I go to an early minyan).  More than one woman, showing up on rare occasion for a simcha, told me they admired my regular attendance and could never be that motivated themselves.

While I was proud of myself for sticking to my commitment, my presence there didn’t detract from or enhance the service in any way.  This point has hit home even more this year, as I have been unable to walk to shul for months due to an injury.  The shul continues along nicely without me.  The same wouldn’t hold true for my husband, who lains, gets aliyas, counts for a minyan, participates in learning, etc.  If he suddenly didn’t show up for a few months, people would wonder where he was.

There is no shortage of battles for Orthodox women to choose from.  Many of us are simply fighting the daily battles on our own home fronts.  Most of us have many children, financial concerns, and more cooking and housework than our secular counterparts due to kashrut restrictions, kosher food prices, and our previously mentioned large families.   Sometimes seeing all the kids off to school with their homework, lunches, and school supplies in tow is a victory in and of itself.

The social issues I have discussed on this blog and that Ms. Chizhik discusses in her article are certainly ones that affect the lives of Orthodox women more than wearing tefillin.  Hyper tznius rules, educations that encourage marrying young and supporting a kollel husband, impossible standards of size and beauty for shidduchim and beyond, agunot, the lack of female leadership in halachic matters and consequently social matters – these are the kinds of issues that are more troublesome to me than whether or not I can put on leather straps and boxes every day.

There are so many problems that have been skipped over, that it’s impossible to be concerned with wearing tefillin until those other matters are addressed and resolved.  Tefillin is an end game issue.  It’s like fighting for the right to wear a stethoscope when you haven’t even been admitted to medical school yet.

Someone sent me a message asking why being religious is worthwhile to me.  While they appreciate that my blog comes from the perspective of an Orthodox person who is still aware of the flaws that exist within the religious community, they would like to me to highlight why being religious is still worthwhile to me, despite those flaws.

The same way that Pirkei Avos teaches us  ”Who is rich? The one who appreciates what he has” (Pirkei Avot, 4:1), the modern day Oprah school of philosophy teaches us about the power of gratitude and the benefit of making gratitude lists.  In that vein, perhaps this is a healthy exercise to remind me why I still enjoy being Orthodox.  For some reason, I never like using the term “religious” because to me, that implies some sort of moral judgment.  I’ve always preferred the term observant, because that is more action based and doesn’t claim to know a person’s heart or intentions.  Religious implies a certain spiritual or mental state, and as such, I always felt it was neither a title I had earned nor one I deserve.  I always find it rather pompous when other people refer to themselves as religious, but that’s based on my own personal hang-up with the word.  It can mean different things to different people.

I think that being introduced to the Orthodox community initially gave me a sense of vindication.  From the time I was a little girl, I always felt that God was watching over me.  My child’s perspective was that some people have a straight drop from Shemayim into this earthly world upon birth.  They go right from Hashem’s neshama factory, and into the arms of the loving parents who created them with His divine assistance.  Some of us, however, have a bumpy descent with many twists, turbulence, and confusion before we end up in a designated spot in Olam HaZeh.  Being adopted, I always felt like one of those who took the scenic route.

My adopted family gave me my first introduction to the concept of God.  There never was any doubt in their minds that God existed, despite not being observant.  It was a piece of information transmitted as casually as the colors of the rainbow or how to tie my shoes.  However, God was not mentioned or acknowledged on a daily basis, and my public school education didn’t include any education about religion or God or spiritual belief.  However, in addition to praying in synagogue during the high holidays, I still harbored my own belief, and I often prayed to Hashem (not the Shema, but in my own words) before bedtime after particularly trying days (I remember praying to Hashem about my fear of getting older and having more responsibilities on the eve of my 7^th birthday!).

When I was introduced to the Orthodox community, it was validating to find so many people who believed in God as a factual concept.  There was no doubt to them that Hashem existed, and many even claimed to be able to prove his divine existence.  While I spent time at quite a few Discovery Seminars being blown away by gematrias in the Torah that predict some of the worst tragedies in Jewish history, and hearing about how Judaism is the only religion that claims divine revelation to an entire people at Har Sinai unlike other religions founded on God’s supposed revelation to just one individual, I never placed the foundation of my faith on these kinds of proofs.  At the end of the day, it just boiled down to emunah, which I had, for whatever reason, since childhood.

A sense of belonging based on my faith is one thing that drew and draws me to Orthodoxy, and so is the sense that Orthodoxy provides a blueprint to living a good life.  I do believe, if followed correctly, the Torah can provide the key to reaching the heights of human potential.  If followed/interpreted correctly (which is the tricky part) contentment, kindness, knowledge, morality, forgiveness, chessed, (pick any positive attribute included in a life well lived) can be attained through a life based on Torah principles.

Another positive aspect of Orthodox life is the emphasis on family.  Even back in my single days, marriage and family was not high on the list of many young people in college who were looking to establish themselves in careers.  Casual dating was a high priority, but taking on any responsibilities beyond dating was not considered appropriate until after graduating and working for several years.  Getting married in your 30s, late 20s at the very earliest, was the norm.  Girls looking for marriage earlier were generally considered unrealistic, demanding, clingy, or suffering from low self esteem.  The surest way to send a college boyfriend screaming in the opposite direction was to hint about getting engaged or start talking marriage or how many kids you wanted.  The only group of guys who not only weren’t fazed by the topic of commitment, but actually brought it up themselves, were the Orthodox guys.  I remember this being a very refreshing change of pace.

Shabbos and Yom Tov, which tie into family life, are also times that I enjoy and find meaning in.  Unplugging from the electronic universe and disengaging from larger society does bring home that the world still runs without our participation.  Hashem guides the world and guards us even when we don’t perform our weekday activities.   We can put down our weekly burdens, albeit temporarily, and Hashem will pick up the load for us.

Transmitting the Jewish tradition through parenting my children and providing them with the best Jewish education I can offer, is something that also gives me nachas.  Knowing that my heritage won’t end with me and that my children will have more Jewish knowledge than I do makes me feel proud.  I am happy that my children will never feel like strangers in a synagogue; that they won’t feel illiterate when they open a siddur, or chumash, or gemarah.  Their education means a lot to me, as I know firsthand those feelings of inadequacy, as well as how hard it is to try and play educational catch up as an adult.

I don’t want to dwell on the flip side of the positives I mention here, because I spend a lot of time focusing on those flip sides on my blog.  Sometimes it’s necessary to just lay down things you are grateful for, and leave it be.  There are plenty of other areas that I appreciate about religious life, but I’ll stop here for now.

I don’t have an answer for whether or not I could personally live a fulfilled life with my faith in Hashem intact, but without the behavioral blueprint mandated by Orthodoxy.  Well, that’s not exactly true, because based on experience; I know that my extended family lead good lives without the strictures of Orthodoxy.  However,  I think that my life is richer for the rituals and observances I have undertaken, and I think the challenge to overcome my disenchantment with certain aspects of Orthodoxy makes my life more meaningful, in a strange way.  I’m not the kind of person who can go through life by rote mechanics without questioning, and so I probably would have equal levels of disenchantment in a secular existence.   I don’t know if this post answers the original question of why I find leading a religious life worthwhile, but I hope it’s a start.

My back aches as I lean over the crib to put the baby down for her nap.  As her eyes pop briefly open upon contact with the mattress, I quickly scuttle out of the room like a crab and softly shut the door, hoping against hope that she closes them again.  I listen with my ear pressed against the battered wood for any signs of fuss, and gratefully back away from the door as if escaping from some unseen threat.

In the living room, my 3 year old pushes my 2 year old off of his scooter.  I get there just as he thuds onto the floor, his face screwed into an indignant pout, a howl escaping from his pursed lips.  He reaches for me, and I take his wet and sticky face into my hands, inspecting his curly head for any signs of obvious trauma.  By now, I know the hurt cry and the angry cry, and this is an angry cry.

My 3 year old, kippah askew, is happily riding the scooter around the room.  I momentarily think of just letting him keep riding, as my younger one is now happily cuddled next to me with a book on the couch.  I could have a few moments of peace, if I just let this “learning moment” escape, and let him continue to enjoy his ill begotten spoil.  The guilt is too much, and I heave myself up, to the dismay of my 2 year old towheaded appendage.  I make an angry face and a stern voice and tell my older son to get off the scooter.  Naturally, he immediately removes himself from the riding toy.  Not.

After pushing, pulling, tugging – me on my three year old, my 3 year old on the scooter, my 2 year old hanging onto my shins – we looked like a multi legged swarm of beetles vying for the best piece of leaf.

Exhausted, we all sink onto the couch with the book.  My 2 year old nestles into my side, and my 3 year old, by now contrite and wanting to make up, insists on taking the throne of my lap.  We read, and my 3 year old gets the privilege of turning the pages.  As I mouth the words of the book, and stroke their hair with my free hand, I remember some words of advice given to me a few years back from a single mother.  It was about the power and simplicity of prayer.

Suddenly, while still reading to my sons on the couch, I was transported back to a tiny 2 bedroom apartment.  One room was for the Ema, the other room had three cribs deftly fitted like lego blocks to allow just enough space for an aisle to walk through.  3 small children, ages 3 and under, filled those cribs.  Their father was no longer in the picture.

“How do you do it?” I asked, from the perspective of a first time mother who still only had 1 baby.  “I find it hard to manage with the 1 and I have my husband to help me!”

“I ask Hashem for help.”  She replied. “You can ask for help too.  God will always help you.”

“But, how do find time to daven?” I asked.

“I don’t daven at any set time.  Most of the time I don’t even use a siddur.  I ask Hashem to help me with any task I find hard or I don’t feel like doing.  When I feel like I can’t give anymore, I ask Hashem for the strength to do just one more thing.  Sometimes I ask Hashem to give me strength to give the kids their baths.  Sometimes I ask for the strength to change a diaper.  Sometimes for the strength to wake in the middle of the night to give a bottle.  Hashem is here to help us with what we need, no matter how big or how small.” The mother told me.  “Really, He can help you too!”

Coming back to the sound of my own voice reading on the couch, I thought of myself, now the mother of 3 small children, whose husband was a medical resident and rarely came home, except to sleep every other night.  I saw the rest of the day and evening stretched out before me, and wondered how I would make it until they were all in bed and I could finally go to sleep myself.

When the book was finished, I found myself asking Hashem, “Please God, give me the strength to be patient, kind, and attentive to my children.  Help me to play with them, make their dinner, and give them their baths tonight.  Help me to get them into their pajamas, brush their teeth, say Shema, and read them a bedtime story.  Help me to stay with them without annoyance until they fall asleep (especially my oldest son, Hashem!).”

With each task set before me, I repeated a prayer for Hashem to help me accomplish it successfully.  I broke down the rest of my day with these little prayers.  After that day, I kept using prayer to help me cope whenever I felt myself under strain, or like I was going to take out my frustration on my kids.  I felt like I had an unseen partner in caring for them whenever I faced days and nights of parenting alone.

As the kids got older and started school and I went back to work, I didn’t usually find myself as challenged at home as I once was.  My need for constant prayer was no longer there, as my coping skills improved and the demands of 3 children ages 3 and under no longer existed.  Still, I kept in mind that tefillah can happen at any time, and we don’t need a siddur to utter cries for help or prayers of gratitude.  I didn’t learn about the power of prayer from school or a rabbi, but from a young mother, in a difficult circumstance, who was grateful for her blessings.

A few years ago, I was waiting in line at my local kosher Dunkin Donuts drive thru for my coffee.  As I sat in my car, it occurred to me that I might be able to brighten someone’s day by paying for their order.  When it was my turn at the window, I instructed the cashier to also add on the bill of the car behind me.  She looked at me curiously and asked if they were my friend.  I replied no and that I just wanted to give them a good start to their day.  The cashier smiled as she handed me the receipt, and I drove off rather quickly, feeling the need for a fast escape in order to remain anonymous.  It was then that I noticed the oncoming van.  I’m kidding, chas v’shalom!

To continue my story, I figured that if the ultimate act of chessed (good deeds performed for others) is one in which the giver doesn’t know who the receiver is and the receiver doesn’t know who the giver is, in a small way, anonymously buying someone their morning coffee and donut might qualify.  I don’t know about you, but I never seem to notice or remember the car in front of me at the drive thru.  This was a sure fire hit and run act of kindness, well really, donuts.

Since that first time, I will still occasionally perform a random act of donuts at the drive thru.  Needless to say, I’m sure that some of my beneficiaries have been Jewish, since there are only two kosher Chicagoland area Dunkin Donuts and both are heavily patronized by Orthodox Jews.  However, a few of my recipients may have been from the secular population too.

Today, as I waited at the drive thru window for my order, the amount due for the next person behind me flashed on the screen.  Knowing I had no cash, but a lot of change, I frantically dug around to retrieve $2.02 in coins.  As the cashier  opened the window with my coffee, I reached across with the money.  She started to tell me that she couldn’t give me bills for the coins, when I explained that I was paying for the next customer.  Smiling, she waved at me, and I sped away like a masked superhero into the chilly morning – Mistress Muffin Top, perhaps?

As I continued on my way, I mentally went over my to-do list for the morning and promptly forgot about my random act of donuts.  Suddenly, about a mile into my route, a car to my left matched my speed and seemed to be trying to get my attention.  As we pulled up to a red light, the driver rolled down his window and motioned for me to do so as well.  He was a youngish looking man, with dark hair and sunglasses on.  He tipped his coffee cup to me in a toast-like manner –

“Thanks for the coffee!  He yelled over the din of traffic. “But why did you do it?  Why did you buy me the coffee?”

“Random act of kindness!” I yelled back, giving him the thumbs up.

“God bless you!” He called, as the light changed green, and our paths diverged as I made a right turn.

It must have seemed strange, this tichel (scarf) wearing woman in a giant minivan, randomly treating a stranger to coffee.  The “God bless you” really touched me, because, even though I highly doubt this man was Jewish, we still pray to the same God that created all of us.  How easy it seemed in that moment to achieve good will between neighbors who have geographical closeness, yet are still worlds away from each other.  I’ve never been tracked down by a recipient of a random act of donuts before, but today gave me encouragement to keep up the practice.

Have a great Shabbos!

Baila hunches down into her seat in her 2^nd grade classroom.  Her teacher is leading a math game on the blackboard to see who can solve 2 digit addition and subtraction problems the fastest.  The girls are broken up into 4 teams and the winning team will get matching multicolored Rainbow Loom bracelets.  Girls squeal and laugh, flitting back and forth like fairy nymphs as they race to take their turn at solving equations on the blackboard.  After their turn, they fly as if on wings to hand the chalk off to the next girl seated behind them.

Baila’s heart races and her small hands feel moist.  There is an uncomfortable prickly heat, like a sunburn, at the back of her neck.  She struggles to understand why one girl’s answer is correct and another’s incorrect.  The teacher stands at the board making immediate pronouncements and adding up tally points under each team’s name in a corner of the chalk board.

As the previous smiling team member flounces back to her seat and tosses Baila the chalk, she rises against the strain of internal resistance and forces her feet to move forward towards the front of the class.  The numbers jumble before her eyes, and she feels the competitor to her left busily working out the math problem, while Baila stands at an impasse.

“Come on Baila!” her teammates call out.  “Hurry up! Rochel is almost finished!”

“No giving out answers!” the teacher admonishes, standing over the two contestants with her own chalk poised to record the next scores.

Finally, Baila blindly writes down 3 random numbers, and hurriedly makes her escape to pass the chalk to the next girl, and slump back into her seat.  When the teacher pronounces her answer incorrect, losing her team the point, Baila acts as if she hasn’t heard.  She bores her eyes down into her desk, pretending to examine the carvings and ancient marker drawings of its previous tenants.  Although Baila avoids the pointedly annoyed stares of her teammates, she can’t help but hear their sighs.

Baila’s mother has spoken to her teacher many times over the last year.  For some reason, 2^nd grade changed Baila from an outgoing and fairly confident student, to one of growing self doubt.  Although Baila was starting to show signs of slipping in all of her subjects, Math was the worst.  When Baila’s mother asked if she could be taken to the resource room for extra help, she was told there was a waiting list.  So many students at Baila’s growing school needed a bit of extra assistance – Baila simply wasn’t a critical case – yet.  “Yet” was the word on the minds of Baila’s parents, every time a new report card came home, showing slipping, but passing grades.

After one particularly stressful night of homework, leaving Baila tearfully pronouncing her stupidity, and her parents at their wits end, a fateful conversation took place.  Maybe it was time to put Baila in the special education program that rented space at the school?  The program took kids who had learning challenges too difficult for the main school to handle, and provided them with a modified curriculum in a smaller teacher to student ratio setting.  The goal was to eventually integrate the students into the main school’s classrooms.  Perhaps some subjects would be taken with the regular classes, and some in the special education classrooms depending on the need.

The problem was the stigma.  Nobody wanted to admit their child had learning issues severe enough to warrant pulling them out from the regular day school and enrolling them into the special education school.  Even though the two programs were housed in the same building, they were technically separate institutions with separate tuition and funding.  Having a child in the special education school reflected on the parents and family as a whole.  It stigmatized the student and their siblings.  The children in the main school would often shy away from the students in the special education program, sometimes mistaking their learning challenges for other issues; issues even more stigmatizing in the community.

The” issues” special education students were often accused of having  were emotional or psychiatric problems.  There is the misconception that psychiatric problems or emotional challenges go hand in hand with learning disabilities.  This misconception often happens because of the fact that many children with learning challenges are also helped by speech therapy, occupational therapy, and social work therapy to cope with self esteem issues that often develop as a result of shame over academic failures.  These therapies, often provided through the special education programming, are sometimes misinterpreted as some kind of psychiatric interventions.   Any academic or behavioral assistance with the word “therapy” attached to it is thought to have something to do with psychiatric/psychological therapy to the uninformed.

Could Baila’s parents expose her or their family to this type of stereotyping or stigmatization?  Although she was growing shyer and more cautious because of her academic difficulties, Baila had never had problems making friends before.  Would being labeled as a special education student ostracize her from the other girls?

Baila’s parents sent her for educational testing, where it was discovered that she had a processing delay.  Baila was able to learn, but it took her a bit longer to process new information, and she learned best taking in information using a variety of different senses and techniques.  The lecture and listen method alone did not work for her.  After speaking at length with the special education administration and the main school’s resource department, Baila’s parents decided to take the step to enroll her in the special education program.  It was a difficult decision, and Baila’s parents rightfully knew that they would be sacrificing social success for academic success, but they hoped that as Baila’s confidence grew along with her academic achievement, she would have at least a core group of close friends who would stand by her.

Immediately upon entering the program the following fall, Baila met a few other kids in the special education program in her age group.  They stuck together, and although Baila found herself not having as much interaction with the girls from the main school, she had this core group to socialize with, as her parents had hoped.  During her first few years in the program, she and her friends would run from their mainstream school classes, back to the special education floor, hoping that no one would see them.

For the first few years, Baila actually believed that the main school girls didn’t realize she was in the special education program, because of how careful she was to sneak back and forth.  As the years passed by, it eventually became obvious that not only did the main school girls know she was in special education, but some indeed attributed unrelated labels to her beyond the actual reasons she was in the program.  She was called stupid and thought of as slow, whereas before she had entered the program, she didn’t suffer such an opinion.  Some girls implied that she had emotional, behavioral, or social issues.  Again, these labels were unfounded, but based on the fact that she was shy and in the special education program.

Being a bright girl, it didn’t take long for Baila to thrive on the personal attention she got from her special education teachers.  One of the most important skills they taught her was how to organize herself and takes notes that she would understand to use for homework and studying for tests.  With a lot of hard work and determination, Baila and her teachers devised a system for academic success.  With this formula of scheduling, note taking, studying, and the cheerleading her special education teachers provided, Baila turned into a straight A student.

One of the goals that Baila was working towards was winning an award for academic achievement upon graduation.  The special education students graduated at the same ceremony with the main school, but apparently, it was a courtesy only.  Technically, the special education students were not part of the main school, and as such, not eligible for any main school awards at graduation.  Baila was offered the special education achievement award offered through the special education school.  However, she turned it down.  Her goal had been to prove to all the students or adults who thought she was stupid or had “issues” that she was not only as smart as they were, but smarter.

After years of straight A’s, Baila had harbored hopes of being one of the Valedictorians, or at the very least, receive the annual award for Most Improved Student.   She imagined herself, in cap and gown, being called to the front of the stage, to the amazement of all her doubters, and being handed an award for academic achievement beyond what any of the main schooler’s had achieved.  Alas, it was not meant to be.  A student not officially enrolled in the main school could not receive a main school award.

However, although she had not received official school recognition, Baila most certainly received recognition from her family, friends, and teachers who couldn’t have been more proud.  An additional recognition of her accomplishments came with doing well on her high school placement exams and enrolling in the local high school in their mainstream program.  Getting straight A’s on her first semester high school report card sealed the deal that Baila’s academic trials were behind her.  Although the social stigmatization did leave a mark, her continuing successes with academics and in making some good friends, have done much in the way of healing old hurts.

The story above is an adaptation of my own daughter’s academic struggles in elementary school.  I am so grateful to the special education staff who helped my daughter find the path to academic success and confidence.  I am also proud that my husband and I did not let the stigma of involving our family in special education keep us from making that decision for our daughter.  There are so many families in our community who make a different choice, maybe to the benefit of their family’s reputation, but to the detriment of their child’s well being.  That being said, with the stereotyping that exists, it is unfortunately a difficult decision.

My wish is that someday special education and the mainstream schools will no longer be divided.  That every opportunity will exist for special education students to fully participate in student life, and not be held to a different standard than the main school kids.  Tuition, enrollment, and salaries for special education teachers  should all be funneled through the main school, as well as fundraising.  There should never be a question of whether the special education school will cease to exist or if programming will be cut if funds can’t be adequately raised each year from parent body volunteers.   Special educational isn’t optional – it’s essential.

Day school children who have special education needs are an underserved population.  Think of how much the stigma would be removed if special education programming was a part of the regular school, and no more intrusive than the current general school resource programming?  Think of how many more parents would be willing to get their kids the services they need if it didn’t require to pull them out of their main school and enroll them into a separate special education program?  Some parents don’t even want to attend the annual special education school fund raiser and admit they have a child in the program.  Imagine how the child of such parents feels about openly attending classes?  Even our own daughter, whose father was co-President of the special education school for many years, and whose parents openly advocate for its existence, slunk off to classes in the beginning hoping that no one would see her.  Eventually, she would grow to spend most of her free periods there, schmoozing with her teachers, who had become some of her best friends.

Inclusion is everything.  Children with learning challenges and special needs are a part of Klal Yisroel, and can make such amazing contributions to the future of our people.  Having a learning disability often has nothing to do with a person’s IQ or innate intelligence.  It just means that person learns differently, and the key to unlocking how they process information has to be found.  It’s time to stop being afraid of stereotypes and time to start claiming our children’s places in our Jewish educational system.

When my husband and I started dating, I couldn’t wait until Valentine’s Day.  Although I had dated other guys before meeting him, the timing of my short lived relationships never fell during Valentine’s Day.  For the first time, I was actually going to have a boyfriend to go out to dinner with, exchange little gifts and cards, and basically enjoy no longer being a bachelorette during the most romantic day of the year.

Growing up, my father was always staunchly against the “Hallmark Holiday” of Valentine’s Day.  He didn’t need a corporation telling him when to buy candy or cards for his wife!  My mother, on the other hand, expressed her wistfulness over missing out on the celebration by giving me a yearly card and small box of candies.  I used to make her a Valentine’s Day card at school as a young child, and when I got older, I would buy her a card and small gift at the store.  I swore that I would never date or marry a man who didn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day.

Imagine my displeasure when, as February rolled around, and I hinted to my boyfriend about how excited I was for the upcoming holiday, he said,

“Orthodox Jews don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day!  It’s a Christian holiday!”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, with a sinking feeling.

“It’s called SAINT Valentine’s Day for a reason!  Jews were murdered on that day, just like they were persecuted during Halloween pogroms!” recalling the conversation we had in October about Jews not celebrating Halloween.

Jews were killed on Valentine’s Day?  The paper hearts were symbols of the real beating hearts ripped out of Jewish chests that Christian men gave to their sweethearts as tokens of their love?  I was flabbergasted by this latest lesson in Jewish paranoia.

“Well, I don’t know if Jews were murdered, but it’s clearly a Christian holiday and Orthodox Jews don’t celebrate it.” he said.

“Well,”  I sniffed, “My mother spends every Valentine’s Day without any recognition and I always promised myself that I would never date a man who was so inconsiderate!”

My boyfriend looked dumbfounded, unsure of how to respond.

“I could never marry a man who didn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day.”  I continued, for emphasis.

We didn’t have anymore conversations about it, but clearly, things were going to come to a head on February 14th.

We had our regular date night scheduled for Valentine’s Day evening.  I decided not to buy him a card or any kind of acknowledgement of Valentine’s Day.  It was go time.

My boyfriend picked me up as usual in his beige Chrysler Lebaron with the ALF air freshener dangling off of the rear view mirror.  It was a real chick magnet!

After getting in the car, we drove about a block or so before he pulled into the 7-11 parking lot.

“Slurpees in February?” I wondered.

Suddenly, he pulled a little box out of his pocket.

“This isn’t for Valentine’s Day,” he said.  “I just felt like getting you a gift.”

I opened the box to find a heart shaped gold pendant necklace bedazzled with tiny white diamonds and rubies.  It must have cost a small fortune for this poor medical school student.

For some reason, the gift really melted my heart, especially knowing his moral opposition to the holiday.  I knew he must really love me.

Although we haven’t officially celebrated Valentine’s Day since that time, for some reason it never mattered after that night.  I knew that he loved me enough to cave in if it meant that much to me, and I loved him enough not to make him cave because of it.

Any other Orthodox Jews out there willing to share their Valentine’s Day experiences, opinions, secret celebrations?

I recently read about the case of a young agunah whose husband purposely hid the fact that he had Multiple Sclerosis before they were married. In fact, he even went to his parents’ house daily to take his shots for two and a half years, effectively hiding his condition from his wife.  After finding out the truth, his wife just couldn’t accept that her entire marriage was built on a lie.  She moved in with her parents 2 and a half years ago, and has been waiting for her get ever since.  Her father-in-law was quoted as saying that the young woman will remain an agunah until his son dies.

I was reminded of this 2008 post I wrote about purposely omitting information or fudging details in order to push through a shidduch (marriage match).  In this case, the feint and parry of the shadchan/shidduch-seeker duel was played out in a rather humorous conversation I overheard at my dentist’s office.  However, considering the current case of the agunah mentioned above, clearly, the lines are getting blurred between little white lies and deceptions that can have devastating consequences.

She doesn’t need to know that….

I overheard a funny cell phone conversation at the dentist today.

I was in one cubicle waiting for my cleaning, when a frum lady with a heavy Brooklyn accent walked past me and into the next cubicle speaking on her cell (in explicit violation of the “No cell phone usage in the treatment area” sign, I might add!).

The woman was talking excitedly on the phone, asking questions about a young man.

“So, where did he go to yeshiva?”

“Nu, what are plans for a parnassah?”

“Does he have money for a ticket to come to Chicago?”

The list went on, until the dentist came in.

“I’m sorry about that doctor, but my daughter is being redt a shidduch! Can you believe it?”

She went on about how difficult the shidduch process is, and how you have to look into every opportunity, even if it doesn’t seem promising.

A few minutes later, after the dentist had begun his exam, the woman’s phone rang again.

“Doctor, do you mind? It’s the shadchan and she has a few questions about my daughter.”

The doctor, being both frum and also a father who has been through the shidduch process, sighed and told her to go ahead.

The woman got on the phone and began to answer a slew of questions. Her final comments before hanging up were,

“She’s not a 6 or an 8. She’s a 10.”

When she hung up, the dentist said, “Tell me, what do all those numbers mean?”

The woman replied, “Oh, one of the first questions they ask is what dress size the girl wears. I believe in being up front. I’m not gonna tell the shadchan my daughter is a size 6 or an 8, because she’s not! I say she’s a size 10 and she looks good. You’ve seen her, right? She looks good?”

The dentist graciously replied that he had seen her recently and she looked good.

“Ok, so, right?” the mother continued. “A person can’t just look at the number, they have to see the girl, and they’ll see she looks good.”

Then in a hushed voice she said, “Honestly, she isn’t a size 10 either, but the shadchan doesn’t need to know that!”

Recently, I had the privilege to interview Gur hassid, Rafi  Boimiben.  Mr. Boimiben was a recent candidate in Jerusalem’s municipal elections, but he was reportedly pressured to withdraw by his community.  Gur hassidim are strictly prohibited from interacting with women other than their wives, and a politician would naturally have to interact with both genders.

I have long been fascinated with the seemingly repressive Gur dynasty, wondering how its members can live with sex segregation that seems extreme even among the most stringent orthodox Jewish groups.

A 2012 Haarretz article described the Gur sect as being exceedingly strict,

“The concept of sanctity, or “drawing apart,” comes into play in four circles: between the Hasid and himself; between the Hasid and other men; between the Hasid and women; and – the great novelty – between the Hasid and his wife.

The Gur innovation is that the notion of separation also exists for the men in relation to the women they marry. This is in addition to the limitations of halakha (Jewish religious law ) that the other groups adhere to,” (Dr. Nava) Wasserman says.”

During Mr. Boimiben’s recent trip to Chicago, we met for coffee.  Luckily, no one from his community back in Israel knew that we were meeting, and so he made an exception to his normal stringencies and agreed to this coffee date.

I knew that normally Gur Hassidim don’t touch any women except their wives, and they only touch their wives during certain times of the month.  Even so, I was eager to see if this would-be politician would refuse my handshake.  Surprisingly, not only did he return my grip, but he did so with gusto!

I was curious about this breech in protocol and asked him about it.

“When I entered politics, I realized that I would be interacting with Jews and non-Jews alike.” Mr. Boimiben said.  “My religious standards would be unfamiliar and insulting if I refused to shake a hand – a universal gesture of greeting and friendship.  I decided that I would shake hands with women only in an official capacity and if I didn’t otherwise know them personally.  After all, I give change directly into the hands of the grocery store cashier.  It’s the same thing.”

That sounded very reasonable and progressive to me. I felt flattered to be treated as well as his local grocery clerk!

I asked him to tell me more about himself.

“I was born in Tel Aviv,” he said. “I think I was an ‘oops baby’ because my sisters are all much older than me.”

His father imported Koosh balls from America and Mr. Boimiben was given an unusual amount of freedom.  He became an unofficial organizer and leader among his Gur peers.

“At the age of 19 and two months I got engaged,” he said. “We got engaged after meeting each other for less than 15 minutes. We married 6 months later, never having contact again from the time of the engagement until the wedding.  Of course, this made me nervous, but I was happy to find out that my new wife was a very impressive lady.”

“Can I ask you a stupid question?” I asked hesitantly.

“Sure!”

“When you married, you had never met a woman beyond your 15 minute meeting and engagement.  You had never touched a woman.  How did this work?  Your wife was a total stranger and you were supposed to have sex with her?  Weren’t you scared?  What were you thinking?”

“Of course it was nerve wracking.  I just told myself that every guy goes through this.  All my friends went through it.  It is a natural part of life and instincts will take over.  It is normal and expected in my world.  Of course, I was very curious about the woman that I got!  I wondered who she was.”

“But how did it feel to touch your wife for the first time after never touching a girl before?  How did that practically work out for you?”

“It is a ‘mechanical’ thing, that’s all there is to it.”

“Mechanical?”

“Mechanical!”

“Mechanical on both sides?”

“Yes.”

“No passion?”

“It is just one of those things that we have to go through. A wedding is both public and private.  One side happens in public the other in private – a logical series of events.  Once you are married your life changes.”

He pauses and thinks about his answer. He asks, “So, can we move on to the next question now?”

“No!” I said. “I want to know how you face each other the next day.  What happens afterwards?”

“It takes some getting used to, and there is some embarrassment, but you eventually reconcile yourself to it.”

“Where does the love come in?”

“It seems you are not interested in my political career as much as my private life, so – .”

“Ahhh….you are such a special man.  This is why I can’t let this topic go….”

“Special man?” he asks. “Fine, I will answer your question.”

“The night of my engagement I wrote an essay.  I likened my new kallah to a mystery gift that was waiting to be unwrapped.  I talked about my hopes and dreams for our future, and what I hoped my gift would contain.  After we married, I shared my essay with my wife so that she would know me better.  It was a real eye opener!  She couldn’t believe a Gur man would write about what he hopes from a relationship with a woman.  It brought us closer together.”

“What a rebel and romantic you are, Rafi!” I exclaimed.

“No, I’m just different. I challenge my society, but I’m not a rebel. I love the world of Gur and its magical beauty.  My community is the Torah true community, and I am proud to be a part of it.”

“You tried to run for office but were threatened and dropped out of the election.  What were the threats?”

“That my kids would be kicked out of school, my wife would lose her job, and we would be forced to leave our home.  Lots of different threats.”

“Who made these threats?” I asked.

“Important people in my community.” he answered.

“Do you mean the rebbe?”

“I refuse to answer that question.  This interview is over.” he said.

This interview is a fictional adaptation of a recent interview with a Gur female politician in The Jewish Daily Forward.  The interview sparked outrage and accusations of sexual harassment.  I was curious to see how the interview would be viewed with the gender roles of interviewer and interviewee reversed.  Would I, as a woman, be seen as abusing or sexually harassing the male Gur hassid?

While I agree the interviewer was out of line, and totally disrespected his subject as an aspiring politician, instead bizarrely focusing on her wedding night, was it abuse?  As someone who has been through the political election  process and has previously engaged in many interviews, did she answer any questions she didn’t want to?  She could have ended the interview at any time.  Or could she?  What do you think?

An article caught my attention today in The Daily Mail. It is a photo essay of the wedding of a young haredi couple in Jerusalem’s Mea Shearim neighborhood. There are many lovely pictures in the article, but two that caught my attention were of young boys smoking cigarettes during the celebration. The photos and captions are as follows -

The celebrations include young ultra-Orthodox Jewish boys wearing traditional headgear and smoking cigarettes during the celebrations.

Although it may seem strange and dangerous to modern eyes, it is perfectly normal for young boys to celebrate the same way as their fathers, including having a cigarette.

The images of children smoking cigarettes, even in the context of a rare “privilege” for a special occasion, is shocking.  The photos made me think of a tangential issue I was pondering on Shabbos.  The issue is that of acceptable vices in the frum community.  One of the photo captions touches upon the fact that there are haredi fathers who smoke, so naturally their sons would want to emulate them.

Taking into account that this wedding took place in Israel where it is more culturally acceptable to smoke than in the United States, still, one would think that cigarette smoking is an issue of pekuach nefesh (saving a life).  We are not allowed to engage in activities that endanger our lives for no good purpose.  Therefore, why would it be socially acceptable for haredim to smoke?  It doesn’t seem like a “kosher” habit.  Yet, here we see that smoking is considered so harmless, that even young boys are permitted to indulge on occasion.

I was thinking about acceptable vices this Shabbos while reading The Rabbi’s Daughter, a memoir by Reva Mann.  At one point in her book, Ms. Mann talks about her stint in a religious baalas teshuva seminary, where the women are served copious amounts of food and drink.  She laments the pounds she has put on, but also makes the connection that for these former women of the world, food has replaced sex in their lives.  When they are feeling physical longings, they now turn to food for comfort instead of men.

I also remember this sentiment being expressed in the book Tradition in a Rootless World: Women Turn to Orthodox Judaism. This was a case study about the baalas teshuva seminary, Bais Chana, in Minnesota.  The phenomenon of weight gain among the women was noted as having connection to their sudden celibacy.  Food was central to the women for rewards, comfort, and celebration.  Treats were a frequent occurrence on campus and waist lines rapidly expanded upon admission.

I’ve seen shows where people who have beaten one addiction turn to another to take its place without realizing it.  Someone who conquered a gambling addiction turns to drugs.  Another who fought a food addiction turns to compulsive shopping.  It seems that most of us need some kind of vice to turn to, but in the orthodox world, there are more limitations on what is socially acceptable.

I’ve given examples of two vices that frum people can get away with that are considered acceptable within the social framework of orthodoxy.  I suppose compulsive spending habits could be justified (easier to hide as a problem) as well.   Gambling is another realm that frum folks can openly engage in within reason; such as in the forms of Chinese auctions for charity or playing the stock market.  It’s interesting to consider what types of socially acceptable vices Orthodox people engage in that take the place of other publicly frowned upon behaviors.

These days I seem to be pondering the cultural differences between modern orthodox Judaism and ultra orthodox Judaism.  Yesterday’s post that featured photos of haredi children smoking at a Mea Shearim wedding is one such example of those cultural differences.

However, back in 2007, I was mulling over the cultural differences a baal teshuva faces upon entering the orthodox world.  The social mores and manners between secular society and frum society are different in many ways.  While on the surface, it’s easy to say that orthodox manners are superior, to the uninitiated, sometimes the behavior of the religious can seem downright rude.

For example, as a woman in the secular world, it is common for a man entering a building before you to hold the door open.  Maybe this is a dated analogy, as chivalry seems to be dead everywhere these days.  At the very least, it now extends both ways, and I have been known to hold the door open for the man behind me – especially an older gentleman.

Back to the subject at hand, I can remember visiting a heavily orthodox neighborhood shortly after getting married, and being surprised by all of the doors being shut in my face, as I expectantly paused for the man in front of me to open the door and let me pass through first.   I also remember feeling shocked as I was practically tackled football style by men in religious garb while navigating the busy sidewalks.  These were men who would probably flinch in horror if I extended my hand to them to shake, yet they had no problem with a full body bump.

I suppose the above examples are observations of both cultural differences between the secular and religious worlds, and cultural differences between the modern orthodox and haredi worlds.  Obviously, the behaviors I describe don’t extend to every haredi man, and there are rude people in every community who don’t represent the whole.  However, it does seems to be more common for the modern orthodox men in my community to hold doors open or make way for a lady on a busy street.  In more right wing orthodox groups, that kind of consideration might even be seen as inappropriate (it’s unseemly to walk behind a woman, stare after her, or even acknowledge her in order to step aside).

Below are some of my BT musings as I tried to understand orthodox social codes.

Cultural Differences

As a baalas teshuvah, there are certain behaviors that are standard and appropriate in the frum community that are contrary to the way that I was raised . They aren’t huge things, more like Miss Manners type stuff, but when I was new at living in the orthodox world they stood out. Now, so many years later, I can’t even remember most of the things that made me uncomfortable. I probably have adopted most of the behaviors myself.

Hmmm…trying to remember some – like when you are on a date in a restaurant and people who know you or your date come over not just to say a quick hello, but have a lengthy conversation and perhaps even sit down to join you for an untold amount of time. There could be several such acquaintances and each might take their turn until the meal is basically over and so is your “date.”

I also never got used to the “that’s loshon horah” rebuke to immediately shut someone up. I will admit I haven’t seen it done often, but I remember the first time I was sitting at a shabbos table full of people and someone was recounting a rather innocuous story, and another guest interrupted with the “loshon horah” rebuke. The speaker stopped talking, looked flustered, tried weakly to defend his story as not being loshon horah, and then was silent while other guests chimed in with conversation to fill the silence. I felt mortified for the “rebuked one.” Isn’t embarrassing someone in public also assur? Where I come from, you listen politely, and move on to the next topic whether you believe or agree with the speaker – just common courtesy.

Another thing that annoyed me as a new bride (although I think this is starting to change based on bridal shower invitations I have received lately), was that frum people did not register at stores for gifts. For secular brides, this is one of the first items on the agenda after setting a wedding date – the bridal registry. The thing every bride relishes and the thing every groom hates. I suppose each city has it’s own standard stores that each bride registers at – in my town the basics were Marshall Fields, Crate & Barrel, and Bed, Bath & Beyond. The frum community didn’t have this tradition when I got married – either for registering or buying from a registry list. When I got married, half of my registry was purchased from my relatives and secular friends, the rest was an independent hodgepodge.

Anyway, the reason I am writing this post is because something happened recently that reared my BT sensibilities, which doesn’t happen very often anymore. While most everything that happens in daily frum society is now second nature to me and has been for years, I can still sometimes be surprised by feeling that a certain orthodox cultural norm is counter to what I was raised with as being appropriate. The cultural norm that I speak of, in this case, are sheva brachot.

In recent years, sheva brachot that we have been invited to have been for couples whose weddings we attended. Although one of the purposes of sheva brachot is to have “new faces” to wish the happy couple mazel tov, we haven’t been in that “new faces” category for awhile. Recently, we were invited to sheva brachot in the “new faces” category – and I was surprised by my reaction. My immediate feeling was that if we weren’t close enough to be invited to the wedding, why invite us to sheva brachot? I almost felt like it was rude – kind of like rubbing our faces in the fact that we weren’t invited to the wedding. Then I thought, well, they probably had a small wedding and couldn’t invite everyone. Then I found out that the bride’s family is filthy rich and they actually had a huge wedding!

Anyway, my point is – my disturbance was due to how I was raised. For example – if you weren’t going to invite someone to your wedding – you certainly wouldn’t invite them to the engagement party, bridal shower, bachelorette party, you catch my drift. You would play it low key and try not to rub it into the uninvited’s face. I realize that the couple meant no harm and this is the way things are done in our community. My husband, raised in this community, had no problem with it whatsoever. It’s my BTness coming out.

Upon getting engaged to be married, one of the first anxieties an orthodox bride faces is whether or not she will have a chuppat niddah (either be menstruating or in the seven day time frame following  menstruation) on her wedding day.  The marital relations laws of taharat hamishpacha dictate that a husband and wife must refrain from relations and all forms of physical contact the week of the wife’s period and seven days after, upon which time she submerges herself in a mikvah, and they can resume married life.

If a kallah (bride) cannot go to the mikvah before her wedding day, she and her chosson (groom) cannot engage in marital relations on their wedding night.  Additionally, they must follow all of the harchakot (laws that prevent touching and passing objects during niddah) until the bride is able to submerge in the mikvah.  Additionally, they must observe the same laws of shomer negiah (laws that don’t only prohibit touching, but also being alone together in a room with a closed door) that they had to observe while dating (married couples who already engaged in relations can be alone during times of niddah).

Practically speaking, a couple having a chuppat niddah, have to do a few things differently at the ceremony than when the bride is tahor (not a niddah).  At the bedeken (veiling) ceremony, for example, the groom checks his bride’s face to make sure that he is marrying the right woman.  After seeing that, indeed, the bride is his proper intended wife, he brings down her veil.  This is always a big photo opportunity, as the groom is led into the room where the bride awaits on a fancy throne with her close relatives and bridesmaids, accompanied by music and dancing and escorted by the male guests.  However, in a chuppat niddah, (some rabbis rule that) the groom is not allowed to touch her veil directly and put it down over her face, so she must do it herself.

Under the chuppah, the couple cannot drink from the same cup of wine unless someone else drinks between them, so there either has to be two separate cups, or another person has to take a sip.  The groom cannot put the ring on the bride’s finger, he must drop it into her hand without touching her, and she must put it on her own finger.  Also, the kallah cannot take the ketubah (marriage contract) directly from her new husband’s hands.  After the ceremony, when some couples  hold hands on their way down from the chuppah podium and to the yichud room (where a bride and groom are symbolically left alone in a closed room for the first time), the couple may not hold hands, nor may they be alone in the yichud room together.

Usually, a young child (often a child is engaged for this purpose because they don’t really understand what’s happening to avoid embarrassment) will act as a shomer (guardian) in the yichud room to ensure that the couple is not left alone.  After the wedding, the couple cannot share a bed or be alone until the wife is able to go to the mikvah, however, long that takes.  Sometimes a child or an adult moves into the couple’s apartment until the mikvah night.  Sometimes the couple moves into their parent’s home, so that they are not left alone.  There are various ways that a couple handles this awkward situation.

In any event, having a chuppat niddah is something that every bride tries to avoid at all costs.  After dating and being engaged with no physical contact for an extended amount of time, it is like a slap in the face to have to prolong being together with your husband.  However, the more immediate issue of being humiliated in front of guests and rabbis by publicly acknowledging your state of niddah is enough to make any woman cringe.  As much as kallah teachers try to downplay the shame factor of having a chuppat niddah (although they do counsel women to choose their wedding dates as wisely as possible and usually advise them on seeing doctors to start birth control that might help avoid the situation), for those wedding guests in the know about the halachos, it is pretty impossible to hide what is happening.

Awhile ago I heard a shiur where a story was recounted about a chuppat niddah.  The mesader kidushin (the rabbi who is officiating at the ceremony) was a prominent Yeshiva University rav. He was both officiating and MCing the happenings under the chuppah.  As he announced each stage of the ceremony for the benefit of the participants and the audience, he came to the part about the ring.  At a chuppat niddah, this part of the ceremony is supposed to be done as discreetly as possible so that only those on the podium with the bride and groom will be aware of the change in protocol (this is embarrassing enough in and of itself).

However, at this wedding, the mesader kidushin announced loudly for the the chosson to drop the ring into his kallah’s hand – which effectively let the entire room of guests know that the bride was a niddah.  The bride began sobbing under the chuppah, and some of the male witnesses for the ceremony were embarrassed for her and looked away.  When the mesader kidushin saw the men were not looking at the couple, he called loudly for the men to look at the kallah to ensure she had accepted the ring!  He had no clue the emotional turmoil his announcement had caused.

Women in general are usually private about when they are menstruating.  How much moreso orthodox girls who are taught to be tznius and keep their body parts and bodily functions private?  Upon engagement, suddenly a young woman’s bodily functions and fluids become a subject for semi-public discussion.  First with a kallah teacher, family, and possibly even future in-laws in trying to determine a wedding date that works around her period.  Next with a rabbi to whom shailahs (questions about the laws of niddah) may have to be asked.  Possibly a first time visit to a gynelcologist to have an exam and prescription for birth control to push off a period that might happen too close to the wedding and render the kallah a niddah.  Next adapting to going to the mikvah and interacting with mikvah attendants and seeing other women from the community there because of this ancient menstruant’s purification ritual.

Having to share news about your personal cycle with hundreds of wedding guests just makes the exposure and vulnerability that much greater.  Additionally, the larger exposure of your cycle indicating the activity (or not) of your brand new sex life to a wide audience is almost too much to bear.  Some women say that they feel resentful about their chuppat niddah years after the event.

The only possible equivalent I can think of that a man might relate to is if a groom was standing under the chuppah and suffering from a spontaneous and uncontrollable erection, and the mesader kedushin had to publicly announce that the ceremony had to be halted until the chosson could control the stance in his pants.  While menstruation is a normal and healthy part of a woman’s life, it is also a private part, and not one that needs to be advertised to anyone other than her new husband.

Anyway, why am I rambling on like this?  Oh yes, I was thinking about how the laws of taharat hamishpacha can lead to “romance interruptus,” the most extreme example being foiling a wedding night.  In kallah classes, I can remember hearing about chuppat niddah, and being taught that if it happens to a bride, it is only one night (could be more depending on when she can get to the mikvah) and that “this too shall pass.”  That every bride will go on to have a happy marriage and will hardly remember their stalled initial first days together as husband and wife.

However, that isn’t technically true.  For orthodox couples who follow taharat hamishpacha, special dates on the calendar or planned romantic getaways can’t be relied upon.  Most secular couples plan for romantic birthdays, maybe Valentine’s Day, and certainly romantic anniversary celebrations.  However, for an orthodox couple, romance isn’t always on the agenda for those occasions, depending upon the time of the month.  More than once, I’ve been asked if my husband and I did anything special for a wedding anniversary, when that year the only thing in the cards was to go out for dinner like two old high school buddies reminiscing about the good old days.

I’ve heard about couples who have gone through a great deal of trouble to plan and organize a romantic weekend getaway without the kids, only to have it ruined by an unexpected period or spotting that rendered the wife a niddah right before or during the trip.  Yes, niddah is supposed to be a time for verbal communication between husband and wife, and not physical communication, but in a situation like a ruined romantic getaway, talking is not much comfort.  There’s a time for talking and a time for action.

While it’s hard for me to say whether or not taharat hamishpachat really does keep a marriage fresh and alive compared to a marriage without these laws (since I’ve only experienced a marriage with them), I can say that sometimes the laws do serve to hinder romance rather than enhance it.  This is something I was never taught in kallah classes, nor was it something I ever read in books regarding keeping taharat hamishpacha.

The only discussed exception to the happy consequences of keeping taharat hamishpacha is the situation of chuppat niddah, which is explained as a one time challenge.  Perhaps this is a consequence of the formal training of these laws happening before marriage, and therefore, focusing mainly on the wedding and those early events.  However, a more realistic discussion should also take place about the disappointment that can be caused when anticipated times of romance, throughout a couple’s marriage, are thwarted because of a random state of niddah.

Below is an excerpt from a fiction book idea that I’ve been playing around with for awhile.  I figured I’d post part of it here, just for giggles.

Oria Monarch is a fictional character.  She is the leader of Troupe 5750, known generally as, The Troupe.  The Troupe is comprised of a talented cadre of singers, musicians, and dancers. It is a female musical group groomed from a long line of talented ensembles dating back over many centuries.  Each troupe carries the female voices of their generation and has twenty year runs before auditioning and choosing the next generation of women musical performers from around the globe.  All the women chosen represent both the heritage of the musicians who came before them, as well as the next generation of musical greatness.

Oria’s troupe, now in their forties, has already overstayed its run by almost three years.  Under attack from rising religious fundamentalism, the new Conservative governmental regime is trying to stamp out creative expression – the kind that Troupe 5750 represents.  Oria, her fellow artists, and all women, are being marginalized in this new totalitarian society pushing their agenda under the guise of morality.  This is the story of their struggle.

Excerpt -

If I am posting this, it means that the day I have always dreaded has arrived.  Today is Wednesday, December 18, 2013.  That’s right, I didn’t write this today, [insert date].  I am writing this on the heels of receiving the European Lifetime Achievement Award in Musical Entertainment.  You see, the past few years, The Troupe and I have mostly been performing under the radar here in America and more openly abroad.  After the ban on female musical and dance performances, our tours here have mainly been comprised of stints  in underground clubs.  I am writing this after being contacted (in a mostly positive way) by members of my community, some of whom have heard my music for the first time because of the award publicity.  I am writing this after realizing that I’m no longer alone in my artistic outpost anymore, among friendly neighbors situated online or on tour.  My real life neighbors have found my secret residence, and are peeking through the curtains.

By now, the accusations about my character have been shared, linked, liked, and emailed.  I am here to tell you that those accusations are true.  I haven’t read all of the subsequent permutations and details that evolve, enhance, and shift with each retelling.  It’s too painful for me to read the conversations, so I don’t know how accurate the information is at this point.  However, the basic premise is true.  I am a heretic.   The charges leveled against me are based on events that started almost a decade ago.  I am writing this now, on 12/18/13, because when this discovery day actually arrives, I will be a complete mess and probably unable to type my own name, much less write a lengthy acknowledgement of guilt to my accusers.

To my husband and children, I sincerely apologize for causing you the pain and embarrassment you did nothing to deserve.  I take all of the blame and responsibility for my behavior.  I know that anything good in my life is based on your merit and not my own.  To my husband, know that omissions of information were withheld after much agonizing and ongoing internal debate, and also on the advice of my religious counselor, Elder Polk, who by now has lost all credibility in the community because of his support of our efforts.  The bottom line still holds true that I did nothing that would render our marriage invalid, but I suppose that depends on your interpretation of the law.

Almost ten years ago I made the decision to oppose the ban on female public performances.  I don’t want to go into specific details, so all I will say is that I had reached a point where I was convinced that my place in our current society was over.  I checked out emotionally, and was already making plans for a future without the community in which I was raised.  At one point, I almost asked my husband for a divorce and was prepared to leave my family, but I chickened out at the eleventh hour.  All that being said, it was all plans and fantasy on my part.  I was still very much married and living in my community disguised as a law abiding citizen.  Nobody knew about my clandestine performances with The Troupe except Elder Polk and those we performed for.  As far as everyone else was concerned, we travelled this country and abroad reciting poetry and performing morality plays for female only audiences.

Feeling lonely and isolated, I began a friendship with a man I had met while on tour.  He was also in a bad place at that time.  Because his livelihood and social standing had also been negatively impacted by the rising Conservative tide, his life was filled with uncertainty and he questioned past choices he had made.  Our common unhappiness brought us together, and we would spend hours talking and unburdening ourselves, mostly long distance.  This sharing brought an artificial sense of closeness and soon, I began to think that this man was my true soul mate.  How could the world be so cruel as to pair us with the wrong partners?  I am not going to delve into the psychological changes that happen during affairs, convincing you that true love justifies any type of bad behavior, but I fell into every therapeutic stereotype with my feelings.

The relationship ultimately didn’t last long.  When it did end, it came crashing down in an avalanche of pain.  The bright future I had imagined with him was now a shattered dream.  Additionally, in order to bolster his own reduced social standing, he threatened to go to the community elders and tell them of The Troupe’s heresy – that we were still performing music and dance for audiences of men and women. For a long time, I was incredibly depressed.  I had betrayed my cause, my family, and put my entire troupe at risk because of my bad judgment.  My negative state of mind lasted for years, even as I plodded forward, defiantly booking tours abroad, where it was easier for women to perform.

I threw myself into work.  I threw myself into fleeting dalliances, trying to prove to myself that there was nothing special about my former fickle love – anyone who could inspire those same feelings of hope and understanding.  It didn’t work, and only left me feeling more depressed, guilty, and disgusted with myself.  I started staying up all night, furiously writing new songs, and performing anonymously at open mike nights in underground nightclubs and seedy bars.  I avoided going places during the day and became paranoid.  Any time I hadn’t heard from a friend in awhile, I assumed it was because they had found out about my clandestine activities.  Off stage, I became a hermit towards everyone but my band mates.  My marriage was not good, because my husband was becoming increasingly political, and began to disapprove even of women doing speaking engagements for all female audiences, as he believed I was doing.  My main concern was for my children.  Everywhere I went, I felt ashamed.  In my mind, everyone knew that I was breaking the law.

In my younger days, I used to be fairly outgoing.  I was active and involved in school, work, organizations, and with friends.  That’s what it’s like to live with a clear conscience.  My life is divided up into two distinct segments – before the Laws of Feminine Prohibitions and after.  Before the Laws of Feminine Prohibitions, I was a good person who could hold her head up high.  After the Laws of Feminine Prohibitions, I was a disloyal adulteress who deserved to die.  The friends I made after that time, I felt I didn’t deserve.  If they knew the real me, they wouldn’t want me in their lives.  I was an imposter.

I am crying as I write this.  I can cry instantaneously thinking about how I betrayed my husband, my kids, and myself.  I’ve been crying for 10 years, yet I know that not one person would feel sorry for me if they knew the truth.  I know I don’t deserve pity, and that I brought this upon myself.

For those who are angry that “I got away with it” for so long, rest assured, I have been suffering every single solitary day of my life since I willfully chose to violate the Prohibitions.  I’ve been living with guilt, living with fear, living with shame, living with heart break, and just waiting for the axe to fall.  Just know that for many years, I have lived a half-life.  I live in constant fear of attracting the attention of the elders.   However, despite this, I wouldn’t change anything.  I firmly believe that silencing the voice of women is a deadly error, and one which will lead to the downfall of our society.  I wish that my family would not have to suffer for my martyrdom, but we live in times of hard choices.  I’ve made some very bad decisions along this journey.  There is no scenario in this situation where I can play the altruistic or heroic role.   Regardless of any good I might have done by continuing my music, I will forever be marked by the bad things I’ve done in order to persevere.

I view my situation almost as one who has been given bad prognosis from a physician.  Only in my case, I don’t know how much longer I have to live.  It could be 1 day, 10 years, or I might live out my natural life without being outed in my community.  All I do know is that this perspective has caused me to view my life as if my time is almost up.  That’s why I am appreciating every good moment I have with my husband.  I appreciate every second spent with my children.  I appreciate every opportunity to do a good deed.  With the receiving of my award, the cat’s out of the bag as of today.  It’s only a matter of time before I have to face the real music.

Even though I am terrified it might spell my downfall, I am grateful I have had the opportunity to write, sing, and dance for an audience still committed to freedom of expression.  It is an honor for me to have had you as a fan, whether you agree with my cause or not.  Thank you.  In my last days under the radar, I don’t want to spread anymore negativity and hurt.  I want to be inclusive, accepting, forgiving, loving.  In essence, I want to be the person I wish I would have always been.  I hope I have time to accomplish my goals before my discovery day.

All of my old fears and anxieties are coming back full force.  I am even terrified to write this now.  What if someone finds it on my computer?  Why the heck would I write this confession, when there has been no accusation yet?  Because in my heart, I know that it’s only a matter of time before I am exposed.  It’s only a matter of time before I lose my husband, my kids, my family, and my friends.  It’s only a matter of time before this one major transgression destroys me.

Today is that day.  I don’t know where I will be tomorrow.  Will my husband leave me? Will I have a home?  Will my children hate me?  Will someone physically assault me over this? Will I be run out of town?  Will I still be able to see my children?  Will I be thrown in jail?  Will my musical comrades be jailed along with me?  What will happen now?

My only consolation is the hope that some of the pain I am enduring in this life will be credited to me in the next.  If you can find it in your heart to do so, pray for me and my family.

Yesterday a friend forwarded me an article in the Times of Israel, “My thigh length modest skirt.”  In the article the author, Lottie Kestenbaum, points out how laughable it is that a woman who wears tight short skirts is considered to be more religious than a woman wearing pants –

“I think at this point we just need to laugh at how ridiculous the “modesty” situation in the Modern- Orthodox community (I can’t speak for other communities) is getting. Because I wear tight skirts which ride up several times an hour, I am labeled as more orthodox than the women who are wearing the dare I say it “P” word. Pants. Gasp.”

Of course, the tznius fallacy of the Hot Chani has been discussed in the blogosphere for many years.  A Hot Chani is basically a woman who technically follows the requirements of modest dress, but in reality, her clothing is a sexy cry for attention.  While technically, many women follow the letter of the law when it comes to modest dress, the spirit of the law often falls by the wayside.

The Times of Israel article brings up the debate about Jewish women being allowed to wear pants.  There are two main prohibitions against women wearing pants.  One is the prohibition against beged ish (wearing a man’s clothing – we are not permitted to wear the clothing of the opposite sex – men can’t wear women’s clothing either).  The other problem is the prohibition against the visibility of the gap between a woman’s legs, and pants clearly define the separation of the two legs.

The first objection of begged ish is pretty much a mute point these days, because women’s trousers is an entire industry by itself.  Most men would never buy pants specifically designed for women, because they are too feminine looking.  The second issue of defining the gap between a woman’s legs is only a problem with tight fitting pants.  There are many pants that are wide and don’t clearly define the legs, much like a skirt.  In fact, (Hat Tip Tehila Perles) Rabbi Ovadia Yosef ruled that wearing trousers is preferable to wearing untznius skirts –

“Rabbi Yosef rules that the wearing of trousers by women is not forbidden on the grounds that women are forbidden to wear men’s clothing. Even though he has reservations about women wearing trousers, he believes that the fashion of mini-skirts is much worse; choosing the lesser of two evils, he instructs a school principal to permit girls, as a temporary measure, to wear trousers (YO 6, Yoreh De’ah 14).”

I decided to look up images of skirt styles that I often see orthodox Jewish women wearing (similar styles to those that I myself have worn) and compare them to images of loose fitting trousers just to see which I would find more modest.

Is this more modest….

than this?

Does this follow the spirit of tznius….

any more than these trousers do?

While this look technically makes the grade…

why is it any more modest than these culottes?

These looks skirt the upper limits….

yet these flowy, floor skimming slacks are forbidden.

I see this kind of denim skirt in my neighborhood all the time (or is that in my closet?)….

yet no modern orthodox woman would be caught wearing these slacks to the local kosher supermarket.

A summery look for a modern orthodox lady – maybe a little short but not so much that anyone would say anything….

yet, a few tongues would be clacking if she showed up to a shul barbeque wearing one of these numbers.

It’s interesting to know that we have less of a problem pushing the limits of modesty within the traditional boundaries, rather than adopting new innovations in clothing design that would offer us more options that still conform to the letter of the law.  Even if it boils down to transgressing the laws of tznius with our skirt lengths, tightness, and styles, we still view it as a lesser violation than actually wearing pants.  As I said, I am guilty of wearing some skirt styles similar to the ones I’ve pictured, so I am not judging.  I just think that it’s important to bear in mind that those of us who push the envelope with our own “halachically approved” clothing shouldn’t look down our noses in religious superiority to those women who have taken the leap to wearing trousers.