 Thoughts about Jewish women in prayer
In a society where equality in all areas of public life are the desired norm, many Jewish women perceive their “exemption” from traditional public prayer as a barrier to spiritual fulfillment. There's a lot of validity to it. Witness black Baptist women, whose bellowing voices lift not only their own spirits but those of the men in the congregation as well. By contrast, traditional Jewish women sit quietly in the ezrat nashim (women's section of the synagogue) while on the other side of the mechitza (curtain separating the men's and women's sections) men engage in open religious expression. For many years after my return to traditional Jewish life, I counted myself among the spiritually discontent. From my place in the ezrat nashim I would long to once again chant from the sacred scriptures as I had before. But the longer I sat there, the more I discovered what my “exemption” really meant. The traditional Jewish prayer service has followed the same rigidly fixed order for nearly two millenia. With the exception of a few medieval chants, additions are few and far between, and subtractions are unheard of. Jewish men are expected to plow through a lengthy, repetitive liturgy, day after day, three times a day, without a word of variation. Exemption from it can be a blessing. Not that Jewish women aren't obligated to pray – we are. But from a purely halachic (Jewish legalistic) standpoint, crying “Oh, L-rd won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz” fulfills our obligation (provided it comes from the heart, of course). This bestows upon us a blessing that our fathers, husbands and brothers rarely if ever enjoy: the ability to experiment with prayer forms. We've done just that throughout our history. Among them are techines. Products of 19th-century European villages and ghettos, these Yiddish supplications address the deepest concerns of Jewish women of their time – health, livelihood, righteous children. Many techines are available today in English translation. They're wonderful connecting points to our past. Another form remains shrouded in mystery. Several years ago, a community of conversos (Jews who converted to Catholicism during the Spanish Inquisition) was discovered practically intact in Bel Monte, Portugal. As Jewish scholars and religious leaders began visiting the area, they discovered that while the men practiced Catholicism in a most public manner, Jewish practices were being kept alive privately by the women. |
Among these practices were the recital of prayers which the women handed down, mother to daughter, over the centuries. To my knowledge, these prayers have never been published and, as the Bel Monte community once again returns to a more normative Jewish way of life, they might easily fade into oblivion.
While there have always been women of monumental Jewish scholarship, our generation as a whole is far better educated Jewishly than that of our great-great-grandmothers. As a result, I suspect that many of us may be privately composing prayers which are well informed by Jewish law, lore and history, as well as the world around us.
If this suspicion is correct, then we owe it to our daughters to begin collecting and assembling our private supplications, not for their recital, but for their inspiration. I invite you to send your most sacred words to your Webmama by email at webmama@mavenuniversity.net. I will compile and publish them on this site with the hopes that they may some day inspire a new generation of Jewish women seeking spiritual fulfillment in the solitude of the ezrat nashim.
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Following in these footsteps, I began expressing my own supplications to G-d along with reciting portions of the traditional siddur (prayer book). While I attempt to keep my prayers consistent with traditional Jewish thought, they can't help but reflect a more universal life experience than those of my ancestors. For example, prayers for world peace or preservation of our earthly environment wouldn't have occurred to women of 19th-century Russian villages.
