By Gil Troy
August 27, 2007
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My daughter had one request for her bat mitzvah. After attending many bat mitzvah services with no real prayer or random speeches about Jewish heroines, she said, "I want Torah at my bat mitzvah."
She wanted to read the entire weekly portion, including the Haftorah, and comment on the reading, as she had seen others do. True, the friend and cousin who most inspired her were male, but she did not say, "I want to do it like the boys do." She simply wanted to do it "right." And coming from a Jewish day school, attending synagogue regularly, to her "doing it right" meant doing it all.
Some may interpret this as cheeky, rebellious or political. Actually, it was an innocent request of a child of this century who is blessed not to view everything through a gender lens, who is inspired by what particular kids do, not the fact that it is a boy or a girl doing it. The result was a relative rarity in the Jewish world: a traditional Shabbat service with a mechitzah separating men and women, but with a woman chanting the full Torah reading as both men and women blessed the Torah.
In truth, the egalitarian praying and the traditional division confused even many of our own guests, who could not figure out how to label us -- although some similar models are developing in Jerusalem and elsewhere. Besides delighting in our daughter's mastery of Va'etchanan -- a particularly long and complex parshah -- and in her thanking of her teachers at school and from shul for preparing her, my wife and I were satisfied that we could fulfill her vision for her rite of passage.
If a bat mitzvah is supposed to launch young Jews on their independent Jewish journeys, if the idea is to welcome them, I can't understand the logic of putting a "Keep Out" sign on the Torah itself.
Amid so much angst these days about kids distancing themselves from Judaism, we would not tell our daughter, "Sorry, you can only read part of the Torah," or "Sorry, you can't do it in a real service." I reject those Orthodox bat mitzvah services that parade everyone through an artificial exercise that anyone who knows anything knows is not a real prayer service.
In preparing for her bat mitzvah, my daughter participated in a wonderful women's Rosh Chodesh service at the start of every Jewish month. In the spring, she led part of the service.
This time, the women sat in the center, and the half dozen of us males who were invited sat in the women's section on the side. My father-in-law bristled as he sat "in exile." I left convinced that just as the Passover Haggadah commands us to feel as if we personally escaped Egypt, every male should sit in the women's section occasionally. The world looks very different from a restricted side view than it does from premium box seats.
Equality need not mean sameness. I appreciate Judaism's celebrating and consecrating the differences between men and women. I like that my wife lights Shabbat candles while I say Kiddush over the wine. But we are all smart enough to know when distinguishing between men and women acknowledges differences respectfully and when it creates hierarchy.
A mechitzah down the middle separating men and women creates equal but different sanctuaries. Relegating women to the side or the balcony exiles them to the proverbial back of the bus. Similarly, a bat mitzvah celebration with an asterisk, a partial embrace of the Torah rather than a full clasp, risks distancing young girls from Judaism.
This situation is particularly absurd, because the most inequitable restrictions against women are rabbinic improvisations that are not specified in the Torah itself.
Women's traditional roles reflect women's historic roles. But things have changed. Until the overreaction to the 19th-century Reform, Judaism traditionally had been an Etz Chaim, a tree of life, growing slowly but steadily. We cannot keep non-essential, alienating medieval rabbinic decrees frozen in time. We must prune selectively, sparingly, cautiously, allowing for gradual development so Judaism -- and modern Jews -- can flourish.
I am glad my wife and I fulfilled our daughter's remarkable wish. We invite other parents from the traditional world to give their daughters the same gift.
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