The Misogyny of Omission

Parashat Pinchas

Let me begin this Shabbat by sharing some of the insider trade secrets of the Reform Rabbinate. There are a lot of exciting things that happen when you are ordained a rabbi. There is the ceremony itself. The big, fancy piece of paper you get. The days and weeks of celebrations and congratulations. The feeling of accomplishment and awe. The opportunity to head out to serve the Jewish people.

But, the most prized in this remarkable period of transition, the most anticipated status change, the most coveted opportunity…is joining the Central Conference of American Rabbis’ members-only Facebook group.

Seriously, you would be shocked by the number of colleagues you mentioned this to me as I approached ordination.

Let me peel back the curtain further and bring you into this hidden world of rabbinic facebooking. This week, the talk of the e-town was the Israeli Chief rabbinate’s so-called blacklist of diaspora rabbis.

To get married in Israel, immigrants must prove they are Jewish to the Chief Rabbinate, often via a letter by a congregational rabbi attesting to the immigrant’s Jewish identity. This list comprises rabbis whose letters were rejected during 2016.

Rabbis exclaimed their pride in being listed. Others lamented that they had not been deemed subversive enough to earn a spot on the blacklist. (I spoke to Rabbi Kedar right before she got on her plane and she lamented that she hadn’t been able to make the list…we’ll see what trouble she can cause while she’s there.)

And, then, another thread emerged. On the list of 165…there were zero women. And I know what you’re thinking. In a stunning turn of events. the ultra-orthodox chief rabbinate of Israel decided that all of the rabbis in the diaspora who are female are totally acceptable and legitimate to them. Sadly, the more likely reality is that the women were not listed because they were not deemed legitimate enough even to be named for exclusion.

Thankfully, the Torah provides a moment of respite from the misogyny of omission.

Let me set the scene. As the Israelites are strolling through the desert, they are starting to plan for life in the Land of Israel. Of major concern is how the land will ultimately be divided according to the patrilineal line of each ancestral clan. And then, we posthumously meet Tzelophchad. He died in the wilderness, but had no son to whom he could pass on his allotted portion. He did, however, have five daughters. And these daughters, according to the law, were ineligible to inherit his land.

And then, in a Torah that is scarce with details and that often leaves female characters unnamed, and in a story that last just 11 verses, we get the names of all 5 women. Maḥlah, Noah, Ḥoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah stand up before Moses, the elders, and the entire community of Israel to speak truth and to decry injustice. And, they are quite the effective team of lobbyists. Moses brings their claim before God and the laws of inheritance are rewritten to reflect their rightful protest (there’s a whole separate sermon in there about effective advocacy, but you’ll have to come back next year to hear that one).

Surely, more women in the Bible ought to be named, but it is striking that b’not Tzelophcad, the daughters of Tzelophechad, Maḥlah, Noah, Ḥoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah, stand up for what they know to be right and true and we record and we know their names.

The text is careful about this too. In each of the three episodes where they appear, Maḥlah, Noah, Ḥoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah are all named.

Just by hearing their names, we draw our attention to the story. By hearing their names we recall how they stood together to assert their rightful place in society. After completing the census of hundreds and hundreds of thousands of Israelites, these are not nameless faces, they are individual characters. They are Maḥlah, Noah, Ḥoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah. And, how powerful to simply say their names. To name these women makes them real. It makes them exist for us and for the story on a different plane. We can identify them. We can name children after them. We can Google them!

Our names mean a lot. Think about how annoyed we get when a telemarketer, a person we have never and likely will never meet in person, pronounces our names incorrectly. And, think of how nice it feels when someone remembers your name (and how forgiving we are when the new rabbi needs a few reminders…because we know how sincerely he wants to know our names). Our names tell the story of our heritage. They tell stories about our journeys. They are full of hopes and dreams. They mark significant changes in our lives. Our names are more than words we write on “Hello my name is…” stickers, our names are who we are.

And, to say someone’s name is to see them. To recognize them for who they are. To note their accomplishments and to identify them for their potential and opportunity. The Israeli chief rabbinate opted to ignore women as a class. They chose not to see our remarkable female rabbis and to only name the male rabbis (even though it was for only for a moment scorn). And in contrast, in this biblical story of pride and power, Maḥlah, Noah, Ḥoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah, are named for standing up and for naming the injustice they see in society.

As we enter this Shabbat, may we see each other. See each other when we stand up. See what is true and enduring about our work in the world. And through that vision, come to know the names of each individual as we work to build a community worthy of Maḥlah, Noah, Ḥoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah: a community of justice, a community of recognition, and a community where each of us is known, recognized, and loved for our names.