Part of the reason that Orthodox men are only now dealing with the crisis of “feminism” is that it’s only been in the last decade or so that some Orthodox women have been blunt enough to voice their frustration.
Women in general are conditioned to be sweet. There is nothing more unappealing than a harpy – a nagging, sour, unhappy woman with a chip on her shoulder and a frown on her face. It’s the antithesis of what a pious frum woman is supposed to be.
Therefore, the advent of women complaining about their limited roles in Jewish public life and ritual are not only aggravating because of the difficulties they pose in forcing solutions that will reconcile modern sensibilities with ancient halachah, but also because men don’t like dealing with angry women.
I think things have had to reach a crisis point, where women just can’t remain silent any longer, for us to finally say – this isn’t enough anymore. Too many Orthodox women have achieved great heights in medicine, law, politics, academia, the arts, etc. to be held to the old belief that women don’t have the necessary mental fortitude or understanding to interpret Judaism’s ancient holy texts reserved for the male mind.
To be fair, I think that when this frustration has bubbled up over the last few decades, women kept it sweet. They may have smiled and nodded through gritted teeth, but they kept it sweet. Those who couldn’t do the smile and nod, left for other denominations of Judaism that promised them equal participation and ownership of public worship spaces, if not the same authenticity.
Now women are holding their ground in the Orthodox sphere and refuse to be driven away to other unfamiliar venues. They want change and ownership in the Orthodox arena they were either born into or drawn into by the promise of said authenticity – change that can be gotten legitimately without violation of halacha, but with a change to long held mesorahs (traditions/customs) which is where much of the culturally bestowed misogyny often resides.
Women are finally being blunt and men don’t like it. The coy smiles are gone; so is the vague language. The cards are on the table and it’s time for everyone to show their hand.
Any woman married a long time knows that eventually, the veiled niceties of courtship must come to an end if you want to clearly communicate with your husband. You can get away with the photoshopped version of yourself when you are dating – but eventually he’s going to learn that you don’t wake up wearing lip gloss, your hair isn’t permanently enshrined in beachy waves, and you haven’t been granted the superpower of never having to pass gas or produce human waste.
I learned this lesson in one area after about 18 years of marriage (I’m married 22 years).
Ever since the beginning of our marriage, when my husband and I would go out to a public venue he was concerned about my purse. Men keep their wallets close at hand in their back pockets. The proximity of this small holder of money and important documents gives men a greater sense of control over preventing it from being stolen. Women, having the need to carry far more than currency and identifying information, carry larger bags held only by a hand, elbow, or shoulder strap. This leaves us vulnerable to either having the bag ripped from our clutches or accidentally leaving it behind after setting it down out of necessity, such as using the restroom.
I wasn’t used to having someone ask me about my purse all the time. Before I got married, I was the only one who cared. My husband, however, took it upon himself to always want to know the whereabouts of my purse, or remind me where it was at any given moment, in case I forgot. This was especially true when I went to the bathroom. Apparently, toilets eat purses. Or that’s what he seemed to believe, because whenever I would get up from a table at a restaurant and excuse myself to go to the bathroom, my husband would ask me why I was bringing my purse. In fact, he quite often suggested that I leave my purse at the table with him while going to the bathroom.
The fact that he couldn’t comprehend why I would need my purse to go to the bathroom is conclusive proof of Eve’s curse.
Anyway, for many years, I would just tell him that I needed my purse and continue on my way to the toilets. He would look after me with that exasperated expression reserved for parents with teenagers who realize that young Johnny will just have to make his own mistakes and learn the hard way.
This continued on for years, with him trying to convince me to leave my purse in his capable hands, while I entered “The Scorch.” Each time I would give a vague response about needing my bag, hoping that he would drop the matter, especially if we were in the company of friends. I even went so far as to ask him if he was aware of certain times of the month when I might need certain things in my purse. His head nodded yes, but his blank stare said no (if it matters, my husband is a physician, so the education level of the man doesn’t really play a role in them understanding vague wife speak).
Finally it got to the point where I knew I had to be blunt. Much as it seemed like it would be fun to finally take him up on his offer to hold my purse while I removed the necessary items needed for the re-plug – in fact he could wave me off as I marched towards the ladies room, blowing on a tampon like a party horn and sticking a pad over one eye like a jaunty pirate patch – I knew it was time for a brutally honest sit-down.
I explained to him about periods. I educated him about hemorrhaging and overflow. I told him about telltale clothing stains that happen when you don’t change feminine hygiene products often enough. I informed him of the necessity for women to carry tiny versions of a CVS pharmacy in their purses every month. I explained to him that this was why I needed to carry my purse into the bathroom with me, despite the risk of theft and germ exposure to the rich Corinthian leather. Oh, that and sometimes I just need to reapply my lip gloss.
In any event, it worked. I could see the realization dawning in his eyes as I explained in graphic detail how a woman’s purse is her monthly M.A.S.H. unit. Public restrooms are the battlefield, and our purses hold our weapons. He got it.
Well, the leaders in the Orthodox community are finally getting that talk that women have been avoiding for so long. The men don’t like it, but they get it. Unlike my husband, it might not change their actions. They might still insist on loudly asking why we are taking our purses to the bathroom during a large family dinner at Carlos and Gabby’s, but this time the asking is truly on them. We’ve explained the reasons. Nuff said.
