If you are a parent of a teen or, if like me, the parent of, as the newest demographic moniker identifies them, a “tween,” then you have probably heard of the popular R&B singer Rihanna. This past winter, Rihanna, an incredibly talented, seemingly independent and vibrant young woman with a successful career underway, was the victim of what is categorized in our country as “domestic violence.” I prefer to name it for what it is: unjustified violence. The descriptive adjective ‘domestic’ somehow pardons the offense when it should instead draw attention to the devastating consequences that arise when violence is from the hands of those trusted most. More disturbing than the violence itself, if we can even imagine, was the reaction of many of Rihanna’s fans, America’s youth. As New York Times’ reporter Jan Hoffman shared in March of this year, many teenage girls instead of condemning Rihanna’s attacker, Chris Brown, a well-know pop star himself, instead questioned the veracity of her story and even went as far as to blame her for the attack. Even after seeing photos of her bruised and bloodied face, many still were quick to lay blame on her for inciting the violence while excusing her attacker from any serious consequences. According to a survey of 200 teens, 46% - almost half - said Rihanna herself was responsible; another 52% said both bore responsibility for these injuries - injuries that landed Rihanna in a hospital bed.
I don’t know about you – but as a parent, as a teacher of young people, as a human being, such responses scare the hell out of me. It is incomprehensible how any violence can be dismissed as being somehow deserved, and yet the violence perpetrated against women is a constant reality in our world, and it apparently serves as a stronger teacher to our youth than we’d like to admit.
For all the work of the feminist movement – a movement that has roots in the early decades of the 20th century but which came to full blossom in the years of my own childhood, it wasn’t until 1993 (not 1963, not 1973 – 1993) that this so-called “domestic” form of violence was officially acknowledged to be a human rights concern. To put this into context, this is the year that I finished graduate school (the first time round, of course) and went on to serve my first pulpit as a congregational cantor - close to 2 decades after women were granted cantorial and rabbinic degrees and ordination in America. By this time women had been breaking all sorts of academic, social, and professional barriers for decades and at the same time were so often not considered worthy of the basic human right of feeling safe in their own homes and in their most intimate relationships. It took another year until legislation in America, in the form of the Violence Against Women Act, an act whose funding by the way will be up for re-authorization again in 2011, was passed to formally uphold the right of women to be protected from unwarranted violence. An international version of this bill was introduced last year by then Senator Biden. It failed to pass.
Now I admit despite my having been raised in that social and cultural mileau of the mid- to late 20th century, that I am a bit of a late-comer to the public expression of feminism. I, like so many in my generation who understand how much we have gained by the work of the feminist movement, have avoided speaking out on women’s issues understanding that there will be an automatic tendency to dismiss the remarks as feminist ranting. We hesitate to make waves, davka, because we know the advantages we have, because others before us – perhaps some or many of you - have already made those waves, and we also understand the flack you received for doing so. I even hesitated before deciding to speak on this tender subject on this sacred occasion – there are so many pressing topics on our minds (health care, the economy, the ongoing war in Afghanistan, the precarious situation in Israel...); yet, the very fact that I continue to feel this nagging sense that I must offer some form of apologetic for speaking on this humanitarian issue in and of itself speaks volumes about the work still required of all of us – each and every one of us.
It isn’t surprising that women have been viewed as peripheral to main events; such marginalization has been part and parcel of our historical legacy and our most sacred traditions – a history that often ignores the herstory in the narrative.
Our Torah for example. We just read the well-known and awfully troubling passage referred to as ‘The Akeidah’. Certainly one of the more disturbing narratives of biblical text. And, if I ask you what is most disturbing, I’d bet most of us would answer: either’s God’s request or Abraham’s willingness. That Abraham seems, without any apparent doubt, quick to listen to this Elohim he hears as God even when the instruction involves such a violent and unspeakable act towards his own son unsettles us (as it should). This is considered the central story, and it serves as the basis for the bulk of Rabbinic and theological debate that arises out of the text. But, where is Sarah in all of this? If Abraham consults his wife, her input was not deemed important enough to make it into the sacred canon. Sarah – Abe’s partner in parenting, the woman who bore and at the very least co-raised this child – is completely missing from the traditional telling of the Akeidah.
What disturbs me at least as much as the theological questions raised by God’s and Abraham’s actions, is that we take Sarah’s silence for granted; we expect it. We are comfortable challenging Abraham – what was he thinking? We wonder. How could he even consider such a task? We are comfortable challenging God – we liberal Jews eagerly grapple with the theological questions raised in this text: how God could ask such a thing and how we can have confidence in or even believe in such a God. We struggle with these questions readily; but, never do we challenge our ready acceptance of Sarah’s absence. Rarely do we challenge the circumstances that allowed for her voice to be completely excised from the story. And when we do question her absence, we take pity on her as a victim in a male dominated culture rather than choosing to empower her – re-writing the story imagining her in an active role. Moreover, on those rare occasions when we do empower Sarah, such exploration, such midrash is all too often relegated to the field of ‘women’s studies.” Our ‘women’s commentaries’ are vital to modern Jewish life; they have brought new ideas to the forefront begging us to delve into the question of Sarah. But, the stark reality remains that despite the passionate and successful efforts made on behalf of women by the modern wave of feminism that blew through our country in the 1960’s and 70’s, we still expect a significant degree of silence from Sarah’s progeny. We expect a feminist voice to discuss Sarah, but she has yet to fully enter the mainstream conversation. There she still remains all too often a silent, victimized character.
Even in the modern era, women have historically been celebrated in their silence. Case in point Anna O.
Perhaps the name is familiar. Anyone who has taken an introductory psychology class - Psych 101 - has read of Anna O., one of, if not the most famous, case studies in Joseph Breuer and Sigmund Freud’s seminal book Studies on Hysteria. We know Anna O. – her story is well documented and easily accessed. A young woman who at 21 developed signs of mental illness, what were then labeled as ‘hysterical’ symptoms that left her often bedridden, paralyzed, silent, and suffering from hallucinations. Together with her therapist, Joseph Breuer (an early mentor of Freud’s), they discovered ‘the talking cure’ a cure that became the foundation of psychoanalytic theory. In 1909, Freud himself acknowledged “Breuer and Anna O’s joint creation of the ‘talking cure’ as the germ and source of psychoanalysis” (though he later would recant after a bitter split with his mentor).
What is far less documented is the story of what happened to Anna O once cured. To learn this story, one has to make a concerted effort; it isn't taught in that Psych 101 class.
In the late 19th century, a young Viennese Jewish women named Bertha Pappenheim, after having recovered from her “hysterical illness” moved from Vienna to Frankfurt and established herself as an outspoken advocate for women’s rights, human rights. Traveling alone throughout Eastern Europe (in and of itself a bit radical for a single woman in her day), she raised funds, conducted detailed research, challenged philanthropic organizations and the male leadership thereof; and most importantly, she rescued many young women – immigrants, abandoned wives, unwed mothers - many of whom were forced and sold into prostitution, what was known as ‘white slavery.’ An unsung hero, she fought vehemently for the political, educational, and economic equality of Jewish women in an era of heightened misogynistic as well as anti-semititic sentiment. At the turn of the 20th century, after unsuccessfully increasing the presence of women in leadership roles within the Jewish philanthropic establishment, she envisioned and co-founded the first national organization of Jewish women, the Jüdischer Frauenbund (The JFB). Through this organization, Pappenheim succeeded in establishing a national network of social workers whose primary concern was the caring for, protecting of, and the emancipation of women.
Ironic, isn’t it? Yet not surprising that our historical record has virtually silenced the outspoken Bertha Pappenheim – an activist, an author too, who worked tirelessly on behalf of women -- while it firmly and prolifically documents her alter-ego: the scared silent, needy and hysterical Anna O of her youth.
Hilary Rodham Clinton may just be a modern day Bertha Pappenheim renewing and continuing her work on the international scene in today’s globally connected world. One of Clinton’s stated goals as Secretary of State is to erase the silence that plagues us when it comes to women in our society. Reminding us again that women’s issues are part and parcel of the broader issue of human rights, our Secretary of State is working to bring women’s issues to the center of attention in our U. S. foreign policy. Not only is she fighting to empower women to stand up for the most simple and basic right to be taken seriously, but she is hoping to raise awareness and tackle the harsh realities, such as maternal mortality, sex trafficking, abuse, malnourishment, limited access to education, lack of basic medical care – issues women continue to face in our modern world that are ultimately an outgrowth of the fact that women’s issues are still considered tangential and less important than other human rights. According to the Family Violence and Prevention Fund (telling that we even need such an fund, isn’t it?), one out of every 3 women worldwide will be physically, sexually, or otherwise abused in her lifetime with rates reaching as high as 70 % in some countries. The type of violence routinely acted out against women is horrific ranging from rape and beatings (often at the hands of known assailants), bodily mutilation, acid burnings, dowry deaths, so-called honor killings, the list goes on... We may think we are immune in our modern, westernized America, but we are not. There is a good chance that victims of abuse are sitting in this sanctuary today. And the attitudes of teens in response to Rihanna’s attack should remind us that there is an unconscious message even here in America that women don’t matter. There is sadly still in our 21st century a strong tendency to devalue and trivialize all that is female in our world both within our country as well as abroad – a tendency that we have to work to recognize and counter.
This past summer, while working towards her goal of bringing women’s issues into mainstream foreign policy, Secretary of State Clinton traveled to the eastern Congo, one of those places in our world where tragically unimaginable brutality against women is commonplace. While there she committed $17 million U.S. dollars to help fight the violence perpetrated daily against women and children and encouraged college aged youth to demand justice for women who are violently attacked in that country. Our nation’s Secretary of State spent 11 days touring and lecturing on this critical issue; and yet, did we know about it? Far more attention was paid in our American media to her understandably curt remark to the Congolese student who asked about her husband’s views than to the substance of her own work. Back home, while her husband, former President Bill, was broadly praised for his successful trip to North Korea, Secretary of State Hilary was mocked in the press for her impatience at a lack of attention to work she views, and rightly so, as vital to the well-being of our world.
Yes, even here in America, where we pride ourselves on the advances that women have made in our society: where we’ve passed legislation such as the 19th Amendment to our Constitution which ensures a woman’s right to vote in this country, Title VII – the Civil Rights Act of 1964 which was consciously amended to include women, the Women’s Education Act of 1975 which ensures access to educational opportunities, Title IX which extended that equal opportunity in the arena of sports; here in America where we take enormous pride in the advances women have made in the corporate world – yet, here in America, we still routinely dismiss what we consider ‘women’s issues’ rather than human issues. Even subtle cues in our world, such as the mass-marketing of cosmetic surgery, undermine women. Why slicing a woman for no other reason than to have her fit or molded into a certain perceived image is an acceptable form of violence escapes me! (but that’s the subject of another sermon)
Perhaps, journalists Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn’s prediction that women’s rights will come to be known as the paramount moral challenge of the 21st century will come to fruition. I hope it does; it’s time it does. But it cannot do so if we continue to blind ourselves from theses harsh realities that still exist – that we allow to exist even here in our own country.
Our Reform mandate places the ethical pursuit of justice as a top priority in Jewish life. As Reform Jews it is incumbent upon us to open our eyes, pay attention, and act. We cannot assume that others will do it for us. Our unetane tokef prayer, recited this morning and again on Yom Kippur, reminds us that b’Rosh Hashanah yikatevun, on Rosh Hashanah, it is written who will suffer violence. Our theological struggle with this prayer stems in part from our assumption that the author of this poem meant God will write – God will determine who perishes and who not based on some Divinely kept ledger of deeds, as if we have little say in the matter. Considering the historical context of the prayer, God was likely intended, an attempt to enforce diligence through fear; but we can take advantage of the writer’s poetic style, his ambiguity, and re-interpret it from our Reform perspective. We know that we do have the power to make an impact – we can work to stop suffering in this world so that it doesn’t’ have to be written that such violence continues to be perpetrated.
It is far too easy to view the public and tangible advances women have made in our country and in other parts of the world as evidence that the work of the feminist movement is done. Far from it. Let us not get so complacent in our achievements that we stop ourselves from forging ahead. The 1968 marketers of Virginia Slims may have been correct, “We have come a long away, baby”; but boy, do we have a long way to go. Our Reform siddur encourages us to fervently pray for that time when violence, corruption, and evil give way to the forces of integrity and goodness, ”May the time not be distant, O God.” Be clear, though, we have to do a hell of lot more than pray for such change. We must act in order to make change, and the first step in acting is recognizing that all of our rights, even Sarah’s and her progeny’s, are fully and deservingly human.
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