Next Year I Will Know More: Literacy and Identity Among Young Orthodox Women in Israel

Raphael Patai Series in Jewish Folklore and Anthropology

by Tamar El-Or, Haim Watzman (Translator)

In traditional Jewish societies of previous centuries, literacy education was mostly a male prerogative. Even more recently, women have not been taught the traditional male curriculum that includes the Talmud and midrashic books. But the situation is changing, partly because of the special emphasis that modern Judaism places on learning its philosophy and traditions and on broadening its circle of knowers. In Next Year I Will Know More, the distinguished Israeli anthropologist Tamar El-Or explores the spreading practice of intensive Judaic studies among women in the religious Zionist community. Feminist literacy, notes El-Or, will alter gender relations and the construction of gender identities of the members of the religious community. This in turn could effect changes in Jewish theology and law. In an engaging narrative that offers rare insights into a traditional society in the midst of a modern world, the author points to a community that will be more feminist―and even more religious.

Genres: Jewish, Judaism, Nonfiction

336 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 2002

Reviews

[Marsha Altman · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very good anthropological study of a midrasha at Bar-Ilan in the first half the book, lost me with the theories in the second half of the book.

Notable quotes:

“The field of study and knowledge is the weak link in the chain separating the world of women from the world of men. It is the link that the feminist religious process has latched onto, straining it to the breaking point. Sites of knowledge, argue critical and pedagogical sociologists, are sites of power. They construct and reproduce the social structure on an ongoing basis and
so prevent radical change. This is no less the case in an open and democratic
Society. Jewish religious and haredi societies are exceptional test cases. Religious Halachic
knowledge forms the primary power center in the organization of the daily life of religious Jewish individuals and communities. It is the material from which the imperative conceptual, moral, political, and ideological fabric is woven. This knowledge lies in the hands of “knowing men”:
talmidei hahamim (religious scholars), teachers, rabbis, dayanim (religious court judges), poskim (authorities who make rulings on halachic questions), and spiritual guides.” p. 29

“This means that only midrashot that allow methodical study of Gemara will produce literate and critical women who at a later stage might develop a questioning discourse on the male world of knowledge.” p. 36

“From this perspective, women study Torah in order to close the gap between their
broad general knowledge and their limited Torah knowledge. It is seen as compensation for their inferior social-public position within orthodoxy, a position which has become all the more glaringly obvious in the face of their growing equality in the labor market and in the civil sphere.” p. 49-50

“But these explanations, which partially illuminate the phenomenon of the demand for women’s midrashot, are not sufficient. Although it is reasonable that women acting in this arena have “needs,” it would be a mistake to leave the analysis of these needs in the functionalist field, where every social activity is directed at reinstating a harmony that has been disturbed.
The activity of women’s study is indeed described in the field in which it occurs as an unavoidable act of balance, but in fact its direction is revolutionary. The pursuit of Torah knowledge by religious women—said to be aimed at uniting, harmonizing, and balancing—actually establishes a new and different social situation. This situation does not solve the problems from which it emerged—instead it exacerbates them. Since the phenomenon
of new education for women derives from the tension between the religious world and the modern secular world, this education will not resolve that tension but will instead organize it in a new and different way. This new situation, which this book addresses, is similar to other social
situations generated by feminist revolutions. Its uniqueness, however, lies in two points. First, there is an immanent opposition between the fundamental values of feminism and orthodox Jewish mores (which is not the case in the relation between democracy and feminism). Second, religious feminism is connected to the personal and intimate level of the worship of God. The
matter of private faith and the existence of a transcendental force, and the labor of recognizing, loving, and obeying this force have public, national, and political dimensions in the Jewish religion. However, the longing to have a women’s minyan, to read the Torah in public, to study and teach Gemara, and to take part in the process of halachic decision making, needs to encompass not only the gatekeepers of orthodoxy; it must first transcend the private level. Here new ways must be paved for the service of heaven (as opposed to, say, work in a lawyer’s office) that stand in contradiction to the personal, family, and public memory of that same service. This additional issue of the holiness and intimacy of faith broadens this women’s revolution and sets it apart from other feminist revolutions.” p. 50-51

“‘It hurts because you don’t want special treatment, you just want to have more responsibility for your life, more involvement and participation. That’s what hurts, when your body,
your ostensible sexuality, is an obstacle.’” p. 70

“What are the rabbis scared of?Why are they not advancing orthodox women
into prominent religious roles?”
“‘I don’t think they are afraid of what tradition once thought of as ‘trivializing the Torah’—that women will simply dabble and chatter—but the opposite.Women today are career-oriented. And the fear is not only on the halachic matter. It is clear to the sages, in my opinion, that when a woman studies her mind opens up, she is more aware of herself, wants more and demands more, and maybe they are scared of that—what will happen to the children at home?’” p. 97)

“All in all I agree that girls sometimes lose their real role. Because to sit at home with the children, and even the physical care, is no less important than sitting and studying Torah. But even so, in any case a mother does need to find time to study Torah. God forbid, it shouldn’t come at the expense of child care, because I do think that that is her main job, but in
order to be ‘a cup from which water is spilled,’ and as part of her being an educator, she needs to study in order to be filled up, so that she won’t reach a point of emptiness. Today in any case you see a woman who goes and studies secular studies for years, puts herself in it until she even gets a Ph.D., so it’s inconceivable that the Torah be neglected. Again not because she is
commanded (that’s the boys) and definitely in order to educate her children and to know halacha—what to do in such a case and another case—but also philosophy and principles, everything that develops a person. There are those who are privileged and reach a high level. Look at Rivka Sternberg, for example; it doesn’t seem to me that that comes at the expense of her family. As much as it is her job—and, I repeat, a woman is obligated to her children
and their education—if she needs to sit for a year and study Torah, if she needs to go out in order to give to her home and to herself, then I’min favor of that. I don’t think that women should sit at home, and that all of them have to be housewives. According to their characters, work and study, sacred studies, everything.” p. 108

“Squeezing and filtering the images of the future family leaves the following essence: “In the future I will be more religious; my future family will be more knowledgeable and stricter than my present family. To achieve this I want my husband to study always, in one way or another. I, too, will always continue to study, because one cannot live otherwise. My home will not be like my parents’ home, even though they made me what I am.” p. 143

“The book Women’s Ways of Knowing depicts several scenes taken from the literacy memory of its interview subjects.They each speak about a learning experience etched in their memories. For some of them this experience became a source of strength in other study tasks, and for others it was an alienating and insulting memory that repelled them from study. Either way,
the speakers place the teacher at the center of the experience. The teachers are presented as mediators between “knowledge” and the student. On the one hand, they are able to alienate and repress the learner, to make her see herself as stupid, without any chance of “knowing”; on the other, they can integrate knowledge and student, an act that brings with it empowerment.” p. 148

“The presence of men in the women’s Midrasha was noted in part I. The form of teaching, it should be recalled—the rocking of the body, the “disputation chant,” the mixture of Hebrew and Talmudic Aramaic, and so on—are, in the society under study, manifestly male signifiers. When a rabbi presents a line of argument to his female students using the disputation chant, he is displaying a male act to them. He is doing what male learners do—and what the women do not know how to do. The use of male practice in the teaching of women reminds them that they still “do not know like the men,” but it also allows them to brush up against the world they desire. There is a religious-erotic fusion here that is expressed in the classroom by the embarrassed smiles of the women.” p. 159

“The women I sat with in classes demonstrated an excellent ability to read Hebrew texts from different periods, knew how to express themselves properly in good Hebrew, and could follow genre transitions given to them in their lessons. However, these women live alongside a male educational system that enjoys great prestige. The men know other things—and know them in a different way. These facts constitute a standard by which the women measure their own knowledge.” p. 159

“Others mentioned that after taking his class they had learned to criticize the sages fearlessly and openly. He liberated them from the uncritical reading of the sources that results from awe and ignorance. Rabbi Cohen revealed to them a part of the Jewish knowledge industry: the relations between the personalities involved in it and its ideological power structure. In order to
benefit from these resources—to be acquainted with them, master them, internalize
them, and turn them into personal assets—Rabbi Cohen’s pupils had to undergo a kind of “hazing ceremony.” This condition alienated some of the students from the assets themselves. The demand that the learner expunge her literacy past, shed her moral positions, and disparage previous interpretations was more than they could bear. Not all succeeded in separating
the method and the goal, and these women lost out twice. Their previous knowledge was erased, and in its place were bitterness, exasperation, and disbelief in their literacy power.” p. 164

“The criticism that demands a different type of study recreates the familiar dichotomy between experiential, emotional study and “cold,” intellectual study. It may well indicate chains of additional divisions into dichotomies such as feminine/masuline, Jewish learning/academic learning, and ideological/objective. Some of this criticism indicates that women have no desire to subsume experiential study under intellectual study, whether that intellectual study is scholarly or traditional Talmudic disputation. It seems to me, however, that this is not the main force behind the criticism. That force connects again to the field of participation and action in a community of
practitioners/believers, and it is revealed when one collates the voices describing
the “why”—voices that seek to explain why and for what purpose women must study.” p. 165

“Haredi women’s education seeks to allow education because of “historical circumstance,” yet it also sees to it that this education will recreate haredi women who resemble their mothers. Studies of haredi society have shown that this is a paradoxical goal, and that learning women develop a reflective position that allows them to think of themselves as also being outside the
ruling ideological discourse. This possibility is not translated into a revolution or into rebellion, and it is not even expressed in many changes.” p. 167

“The Torah scholars for whom the woman is supposed to give up her studies appear as men who value their wives’ growth. Constraints imposed by life and family are presented as economic matters that can be managed in such a way as to allow both husband and wife to study. In her relations with her husband and her children the woman appears in her traditional image. She accepts this role, but in the same breath she broadens it. This is not an
attempt to challenge the role of mother and wife, but rather to develop it to the point where it includes the image of the modern woman who is meant to fill that role. The mirrors in which people seek themselves simultaneously reflect many other faces. In searching for her image as a learner, the speaker examines herself facing her husband and facing her children because of the religious and halachic definitions that obligate her. As a product of Zionist religious education, she examines herself facing society, facing the Jewish people. Here study appears as a possibility for realizing Zionism and love of the Jewish people. Critical readers will no doubt sense a certain sentimentality when they reach the last part of the above quotation—“If you really
love the entire Jewish people.” A momentary suspension of skepticism and criticism makes it possible to appreciate how long and demanding the journey is that this young woman must make in order to reach herself. Only after she has done right by her husband and her (usually future) children, and after she has shown that her study benefits the entire Jewish people, can
she talk about herself.” p. 171

“The fact that the fabric of the women’s lives as presented in the Midrasha can be folded up and fit into their wombs is not characteristic only of a woman’s midrasha, of religious Zionist education, or of Jewish life. Limiting discussion of women to their motherhood—or focusing on this alone—is one of the most vexatious issues in feminist thinking. The role of the mother
is the link between the public social realm and the woman’s body. This link has thus become the densest region in the map of explanations for the differences between the sexes. In an article describing the development of the attitude toward motherhood in feminist theory, José Bruner laid out a path that began with the effort to detach the link. Simone de Beauvoir, who discarded the role of the mother, saw this as the only way women could join the world of men and maintain their rights. A more complex attitude later developed that tried to expand the dimensions of the link, to invite men in and, in parallel, to let some women out.” p. 176

“The aggression of the Jewish male, according to Boyarin, lies in his study, his language, and in the halacha that grows out of both of them. This belligerence receives violent expression in the Bible and seems like a more heterogeneous area of conflict in the rabbinic literature. Either way, fencing in the woman’s identity around motherhood and keeping her away from study are the best insurance for the continuation of the constitution of the Jewish male as a religious scholar. (Moreover, using Boyarin’s approach, one can argue that a woman who studies religious texts does far more than challenge the link between ownership of knowledge and social power—she upsets the gender order.” p. 179

“Between motherhood as identity and motherhood as work, the reality the students actually experienced was eliminated, and the future they depicted for themselves was taken away. Their demand for participation in the community of learners-observers and as citizens was restricted to the site of motherhood.” p. 196