This Sukkot, there is a religious battle going on in the city of Modi’in, Israel, and as often happens in such battles, it is being fought over women’s bodies.

It actually started this past Passover, when the open, mixed city of Modi’in was inundated with visitors from the neighboring ultra-Orthodox town of Modi’in Illit, also known as Kiryat Sefer. The primary attraction for the visitors was Park Anabe, a beautiful expanse that sits 200 meters from my house. While it’s taken 10 years to complete, the park is now filled with playgrounds, grassy knolls, treks, a bike-path, an amphitheater and most importantly, a 14,000 square liter lake with fountains, fish and a variety of boating. Park Anabe is a central part of Modi’in life — members of my family visit regularly — and contributes significantly to the sense of quiet tranquility that characterizes Modi’in.

Since the lake opened in 2010, that tranquility has been interrupted each Passover and Sukkot when thousands of haredi visitors flock to Modi’in to use the park, which offers wholesome entertainment, can accommodate large groups of people, and is mostly free (only the boating and ice creams cost money). But the masses of haredi visitors, who bring with them a culture that is anything but sanguine, often make it difficult for Modi’in residents who are not haredi to find a patch of grass to sit on.

For the most part, Modi’in residents have expressed a mixture of annoyance and understanding about the situation. They’re irritated at what feels like a major cultural disruption but happy that they are living in an open city in a democratic country. That the park is free and that it is such a great attraction is nice. Lucky us. But the holidays end up feeling like a massive invasion. For those weeks when we cannot use our own park, is this just a small price to pay for quality of life?

Such were the general sentiments until last Passover, when haredi visitors started to make demands of the women on Modi’in. Suddenly, things began to change. First, a woman who was performing in the park was asked to leave the stage by haredi audience members — a request to which she unfortunately acquiesced, setting a bad precedent. Then, a well-known local reporter went to the park dressed in her usual clothing (jeans and a tank-top), and was made to feel uncomfortable by other park-users. She then wrote about the experience in the local newspaper. Calls to charge entry or close the park to non-residents were posted on blogs and Facebook, but Modi’in mayor Haim Bibas did not heed the calls. At least, not at first.

This anxious détente came to a head a few weeks ago, when the mayor of Modi’in Illit, Yaakov Gutterman, announced that from now on the archaeological sites in Modi’in Illit would be closed to non-haredi visitors. Why? He said that it was because of the way non-haredi women dressed. In other words, Gutterman did not want his city to be dangerously infected with the sight of, say, women’s ankles or shoulders.

Bibas did not hesitate to respond — both in the local media and on his Facebook page — that if Gutterman is planning to close his city to non-haredim, Modi’in will promptly respond by closing its doors to haredi visitors. Gutterman refused to back down — it’s women’s bodies we’re talking about! — and neither did Bibas. It’s now official: Non-Modi’in residents will not be allowed to enter Park Anabe over Sukkot this year.

Interestingly, Bibas has not received as much support in this decision as one might have expected. Several of his own council-members have come out strongly opposed, arguing that Modi’in should remain open, no matter what. Levana Shifman, the councilwoman who holds the portfolio on the status of women, wrote in an official response, “I believe that we have to welcome visitors with open arms — that is, as long as they keep the peace and do not interfere with our way of life.” She added that she is in favor of discounts on services such as parking for residents, but does not like the efforts to keep people out.

What’s particularly interesting is how much women’s bodies are at the center of this struggle. The inability of certain haredim to maintain pleasant relationships with secular neighbors is, astoundingly, so often about the need to control women’s bodies — how we should dress, how we should (or should not) speak, how many children we should have, how we should walk through the world. The haredi obsession with the female body colors every conversation about the place of haredim in Israeli society, and has been at the core of this entire episode.

(I would add, by the way, that it’s not just the haredim that have a woman problem. To wit, in Modi’in News’ latest story on the battle between Modi’in and Modi’in Illit, nine “expert” opinions were solicited for comment, each with a photo and a byline. You guessed it — eight men and one woman. Let’s not pretend that the Modi’in leadership is so amazingly sensitive to gender issues.)

[crossposted from the Lilith Blog]

Photo courtesy of the author, Avigayil Sztokman is third from the right.

It was a two-hour drive, mostly through endless desert on all sides, to get to my daughter’s army base. She had been inducted into the Israeli Defense Forces only a month earlier, as part of Israel’s compulsory service, and had just finished basic training. We were on our way to her swearing-in ceremony, and were thus looking for a compound that was not listed on any map and had no road signs indicating its location. We took a wrong turn about five minutes too early, and landed at a different cluster of unmarked army bases heavily guarded by kids in uniform holding big guns. I suppose I should stop calling my 19-year-old daughter and her contemporaries “kids”, since they are now charged with protecting the entire nation from attack. “Look for the row of palm trees on your left,” a soldier on duty directed us nonchalantly, “around seven kilometers down the road.” We miraculously found those palm trees on the first try – I suppose one of many miracles involving the daily function of the IDF – or perhaps due to the fact that in this particular miracle, we were guided by the more obvious and familiar queue of cars in the middle of the desert filled with parents on the way to watch their children become soldiers.

There were 120 soldiers being sworn in to the Intelligence Corps that day, two all-women units of forty, and one coed unit. In Intelligence, soldiers are not supposed to reveal too much about what they are doing, so I really have no way of verifying why some groups are single-sex and others are mixed. Perhaps it’s a reflection of a deeper ambivalence about women soldiers – on the one hand equals, but on the other hand, still at times relegated to “women’s” jobs. Or maybe that’s an unfair characterization – despite the fact that there still exists the “women’s corps” in the army, making one wonder what everything else is, and despite the fact that some of the most important jobs in the army, pilot notwithstanding, are still closed to women. Nevertheless, the young women in all units fulfilled the same roles and tasks throughout the ceremony as the men, running and saluting and holding their guns the same way. And even though it was a coed space, the women outnumbered the men. So it was an event of excellent soldiering in which women dominated.

Indeed, looking at the rows of soldiers from a distance, there was a sense of equality, not only between men and women, but among everyone. This is in fact one of the great legacies of the IDF. It is a times a wonderful social equalizer, in which kids from all backgrounds train and serve side by side, wearing the same clothes, eating the same food, doing the same 40 push-ups. And it’s an institution in which everyone has the same opportunity to prove themselves and get ahead in life and in society – even kids from troubled socio-economic backgrounds can shine and emerge with helpful credentials. The army is known to help struggling adolescents find a strong path in life. And so watching my daughter stand in an olive-drab row of erect, strong young people – she was so indistinct that for much of the ceremony I couldn’t even figure out which one was her – was actually inspiring. I was able to put gender aside and see that this group of girls had arrived, fully at the center of this army experience. And anything was possible for them.

I’ve been living in Israel for 19 years. My husband and I arrived when our soldier-daughter was all of four months old. Countless Israeli songs have been written by parents of new babies who pray for peace so that their children will not have to fight in the army. In Israel, from the moment a baby comes into the world, the parents worry about army service. Thinking back to those sentiments, I can remember how far off this particular moment would have felt, at the same time that the fear was real.  And here we are. It’s real. It’s all a bit crazy when you think about it, the connection between parenthood and soldiering in Israel. But that reality characterizes life in Israel perhaps more than any other – more than terrorism, more than overdraft, more than the heat, Israel is first and foremost a country where parents regularly send their kids to prepare for war. And that colors everything.

The guns. I have such mixed feelings watching my daughter hold her gun.  I must admit that I found myself overwhelmed with pride – hers and mine. I was surprised at that in myself, to tell you the truth. I am really not much into guns, and the only time I ever held a gun was in Camp Moshava riflery when I was about 13 years old. And the older I get, the more gun-shy I become. When we first made Aliyah, my husband and I discussed the possibility of having a gun, but thankfully never took the idea seriously. We know lots of people who carry handguns regularly, but if I was once indifferent to that concept, today I’m most definitely nervous about seeing a gun. The stories about gun accidents compete in my consciousness with stories about heroic rescue. I don’t really want either of those narratives in my life.

Even more than that, when I think about what guns do even under those heroic circumstances, I’m not really comforted. As much as I believe in our right to self-defense, and I fully support the actions of the IDF in defending Israel’s fragile borders, there is a difference between that support as an abstract idea and living that reality. Meaning, I’m happy that there is someone out there who knows how to use a gun when the time comes. I just don’t really want it to be me or any of my children. I know that sounds terribly selfish and naive, but that’s what’s there in my flawed brain. Even in self-defense, the act of shooting another person does something to one’s spirit. And that’s another narrative I don’t really want directly in my life.

Still, seeing my daughter in this soldier uniform running and saluting and holding that gun, I had other things going through my mind. Mostly, I was in awe of her presentation of strength. With the desert landscape on all sides, I was overcome by the enormity of this indeed miraculous Zionist enterprise. Images flashed through my mind of pioneering women in the 1920s or 1930s leaving behind the shtetl, coming to Palestine, putting on khakhi shorts and grabbing a rifle to protect the land. I suddenly felt the presence of Jewish women throughout the ages who dared to defy social expectations by being strong, outspoken, independent and physical. I was filled with gratitude for all those brave women – and men – who gave their lives over the past 150 years so that Jews would have the opportunity to simply stand unimpeded in this space. I watched these young women and felt like they embodied that spirit. I could almost feel my grandmothers breathing over each shoulder, glowing in pride, sharing this incredible event, watching young Israeli women take charge, believe in their own power, and yes, hold guns with confidence. I felt this enormous spiritual connection, like a circle of women holding hands through the generations, brave young women then and now. I was so happy to be in this moment, right now, watching my daughter do this.

And when I listened to the soldiers shout out in unison, “Ani nishba’at” – I swear – as they vowed to protect the Jewish people, to ensure our rights to live freely in our land, I cried.  This was the reason we made aliyah. After 19 years living here, I finally arrived in Israel.

And then something startling happened.  The emcee for the ceremony began calling out names of soldiers who received commendations. Every unit of forty soldiers had a “chayal mitztayen” – an “Excellent Soldier”, one who received the highest scores on skills tests such as shooting and physical tasks. He read it fast and soldiers who were called came running and I barely followed was happening. All I know is that suddenly I heard my daughter’s name being called out, “Avigayil Sztokman”, and she came running front and center and the commander gave her a certificate and shook her hand and chatted with her and made her smile, which seemed so out of order that I knew it had to be special. I didn’t know this was happening – neither did she – and we didn’t even get it on video (!). Turns out, she received the award of “Chayelet mofet” – “Outstanding Soldier”, which is given to one person in every group of 120, not as much for skills tests but more for expressions of character. I know – incredible. That was, without a doubt, one of the proudest moments of my entire life.

[crossposted at the Lilith Blog]

New Jerusalem bus ads featuring women read, "It's Nice to Know You: Jerusalem is a Town for Us All."

Jerusalem — Passing through Jerusalem’s Central Bus Station a few months ago, Rachel Jaskow decided to stop at the station’s synagogue and pray Mincha.

Making her way to the very end of the departure level, Jaskow, a Modern Orthodox Jerusalemite, found the synagogue but only men praying there. Then she noticed a tiny room — separate from the shul and the size of a walk-in closet — designated as the women’s section. 
When Jaskow, who is active in the Israeli women’s movement, entered the room, she was “absolutely appalled” by its condition,” she told The Jewish Week.

“There was trash; it was dingy, dirty, and there were three huge boxes crammed with old religious newsletters. I was angry and called the rabbi and said, ‘Is this the women’s section or a garbage dump? How can anyone pray here?’”

Although it took the rabbi a bit of time to fulfill his promise to make the room usable, today it’s no longer a storage room.  Though the tiny space is still completely detached from the minyan next door, it’s cleaner and the boxes are gone. The shul’s ultra-Orthodox rabbi has been making an effort, Jaskow said, and that’s a step in the right direction.

While no one who knows Jerusalem intimately would call it a tolerant or pluralistic city, there has been some significant progress during the past year, according to community activists. 

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Feminist activist Elana Sztokman, interim executive director of the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance, observed that the momentum for change “is coming from a lot of different directions,” and that seems to have made the movement particularly effective.

“It’s not so much more activist as it is more strategically activist,” Sztokman said.

The result: “The governmental bodies seem to be paying attention and so have some companies that have changed their ads in response to pressure.”
But at the same time, Sztokman said, “within the haredi community, there is also a backlash in the opposite direction. A kind of digging in the heels. The more public the movement becomes, the more signs seem to be going up. Backlash. So it seems to me like there are two simultaneous trends in opposite directions.”

READ MORE HERE

Ido Plazental, a history and civics teacher at Ziv High School in Jerusalem, has an innovative way of raising gender awareness among his students: He addresses them all as female.

Native English speakers who are not familiar with Hebrew may miss the inventiveness of this form of speech. In Hebrew, as in many European languages, there is no such thing as a gender-neutral way of speaking. In Hebrew, you can’t say, “I’m playing with my friend” without revealing whether your friend is male (haver) or female (havera). All objects, people, pronouns and verbs must be in either male or female. This means that in order to address a group of people, “you” has to be either the male “atem,” or the female “aten,” which generally leaves one part of the group excluded.

Although some people play with the generally awkward he/she combinations, the predominant custom among most Hebrew speakers is to use the male form to address mixed groups. And while we may like to believe that when Israelis use the all-male form, they really mean to address men and women, in practice that is not always the case.

Many radio announcements will use female verbs to let you know that they are specifically addressing women. This is especially pronounced in the road safety advertisements. The Transport Ministry actually has different texts aimed at getting women’s attention versus getting men’s attention. I would like to offer some kind of intelligent analysis of the two versions, but I am so irritated by the fact that the only time people remember the women is when they want to suggest that we are are bad drivers, that I can barely even listen to the spot.

Claims that the male is by default just gender-neutral are dubious at best. This is just another example of women made invisible to make life more convenient for men

Read more: http://blogs.forward.com/sisterhood-blog/154070/hebrew-needs-you-to-be-gender-neutral/#ixzz1rnsSreAz

Dr. Hanna Kehat’s mother did not ride her local bus for three years. The 78-year-old lifelong resident of the ultra-Orthodox Jerusalem neighborhood Mea Shearim lost her bus because Haredi extremists would stone the bus every time it rode down her street. So Egged simply stopped the route, forcing her and many of her car-less neighbors to walk distances to find a different bus.

“Women in her community are being completely neglected – they are at the mercy of the sikrikim,” Kehat told The Sisterhood, referring to one of Israel’s the most extreme ultra-Orthodox sects.

Today, however, the bus has returned to its route, thanks to one change: Police intervention.

The question about what role the government plays in protecting Israeli citizens from Haredi violence came to the fore last week, when the Interministerial Committee to Prevent the Exclusion of Women, headed by Minister of Sport and Culture Limor Livnat, released its findings. Among the most controversial conclusions of its three-month long investigation is the committee’s recommendation to support a 2011 High Court ruling that deems gender segregation on public transport a matter of “choice.”

Although the committee also recommended a hotline for complaints, writing clear guidelines for bus drivers and putting immovable signs on buses reminding passengers that they have the right to sit wherever they want, many anticipated that the committee would find a way to declare segregation in buses illegal.

Kehat, the founder of the Orthodox women’s group Kolech points out that the issue of Haredi women’s choice remains dubious. “Kolech receives all the complaints of Haredi women who cannot complain in public,” she said that women who speak out risk being ostracized from their communities.

“To talk about the community choosing means the men are choosing,” Kehat said, who said she was saddened that Livnat adopted this language.

Pretty women are like “candies” to their male bosses, and if they are sexually harassed, the pretty women should switch jobs rather than ruin the careers of high-powered men who can’t control themselves. This is the infuriating opinion expressed last week by leading Israeli current-affairs radio presenter Ayala Hasson.

The conversation took place during Hasson’s radio program in which Hasson described a case that took place at a leading government office in which a woman who was sexually harassed by her boss was “discreetly and quietly” removed from her position and given an alternative post. “He wanted her like a lovely piece of candy,” Hasson said. “Every time he walked by her, there was a little pinch on the cheek or something.” Hasson argued that this is an excellent solution because, this is the only way to protect the man from getting into trouble (histabchut).

This entire discussion occurred against the backdrop of new sexual harassment charges from the Prime Minister’s office. According to reports of the State Comptroller Micha Lindenstrauss, a woman known only as “Resh” was sexually harassed by one of the leading aides to Prime Minister Binyamin Netahyahu, Natan Eshel. The accusations are pretty serious: Eshel is said to have been obsessed with R., who was working directly for him, not only by stalking her and spying on her, but even strategically placing cameras where they could photograph under her skirt. Three members of the Netanyahu’s senior staff filed complaints with Lindenstrauss — apparently unbeknownst to one another — and another four staffers have already given testimony on these events.

While the Israeli public has been getting rightfully agitated about the exclusion of women from public spaces, there are other gender-segregated locations in Israel that are barely noticed but have far-reaching implications for all women. The Committee to Appoint of Rabbinical Judges (dayanim) is, for the first time in more than a decade (since women’s groups started protesting the issue), is an exclusively male panel. Yet the government is wringing its hands, as the coalition remains hostage, once again, to the entrenched sexism of religious parties.

The rabbinical courts are one of the most fiercely gender-segregated institutions in Israel. Women are not only forbidden from being judges — a viciously anti-democratic regulation that might go unnoticed save for the fact that every single marriage and divorce in Israel needs the approval of rabbinical judges — they are also prevented from taking administrative roles in managing the system. And the absence of women on the Committee to Appoint Dayanim is clearly a matter of convention and control rather than of religious law.

Women can and should take on at the very least ancillary role in the rabbinical courts, but it’s been an uphill battle. A bid last year to have a woman appointed as executive director of the rabbinical courts failed. And now, for the first time since the Bar Association nominated Sharon Shenhav as a representative on the Committee to Appoint Dayanim 12 years ago, the committee is all male once again — the bar association having nominated a man for its open slot last year. The rabbinical court, a body that has enormous power to determine people’s personal status, a power that is wielded predominantly Haredi judges throughout Israel, is thus without any female say.

Two months ago, Emunah petitioned the High Court to force a woman to be on the committee — a move that has legally stalled the appointment of all dayanim. And this past Sunday, the ministerial committee that decides which bills move forward in the Knesset discussed legislation put forth by the International Coalition for Agunah Rights, or ICAR, which proposes that two slots on the Committee be reserved for women.

Israeli women are stirring. For the first time in Israel’s history, we are witnessing a mass women’s protest movement using some fascinating and inspiring tools of civil disobedience. This sudden eruption of sentiment for gender equality is perhaps simply late in coming, a generation or two behind its American counterpart from the 1960s and 1970s. Or perhaps it is not merely a late arrival but an entirely different animal. It is both similar to and vastly different from feminist revolutions that preceded it, a product not only of the universal need for equality but also of the particular, local cholent that we call Israeli society. The movement is in some ways fueled by classic feminist spirit, but in some ways driven by diverse and perhaps dubious motives that may have little to do with women’s issues.

To be sure, the grass-roots activities of nonviolent protest that are emerging from dozens of corners around Israel would make Gandhi proud. In response to segregation on buses, for example there are now “Freedom Rides”, organized by IRAC, in which small groups of men and women ride buses and sit unsegregated. In response to soldiers’ refusal to listen to women sing, a group called “Be Free Israel” organized an event called “Singing for Equality” in which the weapon of choice was women’s voices in song. In response to the destruction of pictures of women on billboards, the New Israel Fund organized an activity called “Women should be seen and heard” in which women are hanging photographs of themselves on balcony posters.

This is in some ways a classic movement of civil disobedience, one that women in Israel have never really tried before, and it is truly budding from the ground up. The energy is phenomenal, and it feels like quite an exciting time to be a woman in Israel. Women are finally speaking up and being heard. Politicians from all corners are responding with initiatives, bill proposals and provocative statements of support.  Things are happening, and they are starting with the voice of the people.

It is significant, however, that thus far all the targets of protest are practices are haredi.  Perhaps this is because the practices in question are so very backward and anti-democratic that they seem to cross all boundaries of normalcy. An event last week, for example, in which the Ministry of Health held an award ceremony and refused to allow one of the recipients to appear on stage to receive her award is beyond ludicrous. There is a real sense that practices being promoted as “sensitive” to the religious world are simply relics of the dark ages. That government officials regularly capitulate to such demands for “sensitivity” sparks a justified outrage, as if an entire ethos of democracy, civility, and human rights is being sold off to the most outrageous religious fanatics.

Perhaps this is catching on as a movement because people relate not so much to the gender issue but to the fear of widespread religious coercion. Indeed, some of the most outspoken groups on this issue are those fighting most emphatically for the separation of religion and state. In an unnerving but rather typical scenario, when the only warriors on the battlefront are women’s groups, there is scant attention to the issue, but as soon as other, mixed-gender groups are involved, the issue goes mainstream. I don’t mean to accuse well-intentioned and highly dedicated organizations of hijacking the women’s movement. Rather, I would argue that, the composition of Israel’s grass-roots coalition between feminists and ardent secularists reminds us that Israel has its own rules, and that on the topic of gender, like almost every other public issue in Israel, the religious-secular divide seems to be unilaterally defining and domineering.

Perhaps, however, the reason why the current movement revolves around religious sexism – as opposed to sexism in government, in the economy, in the army or in social policy – is because it’s easier to point fingers at others than to look inwards.  I mean, it’s great that Prime Minster Netanyahu is speaking out for women’s rights, but let us remember that he has a total of three women on his cabinet, and only six women in his entire Likud faction. And Ehud Barak is even worse. How can we possibly expect an army to stand up for women’s rights to sing when the Chief of Staff and Defense Minister joke about female soldiers taking off their uniforms? The sexism in the IDF is so deeply entrenched that, frankly, religious soldiers walking out during official ceremonies is the least of our problems.  And to top it all off, let us not forget that, according to a study released last week by the Adva Center, women are still making 65 agorot to the shekel compared to men. I’m waiting for the sit-in that will fight that inequality.

So while it is thrilling to watch this movement of civil rights unfold in Israel, I am also cautious in my enthusiasm, worried that it will evolve into just another religious-secular war. What I hope will happen instead is that the movement will spark the beginning of broad change for women, that the issue of gender segregation will be only the first of many issues tackled by society and the government, and that it will ultimately bring about a real transformation in consciousness.  And I’m hoping that all those declaring solidarity with women will remember to look inward and repair their own backyards as well.