I haven’t woken up before eight o’clock in the morning this entire year, but one day a few weeks ago, I dragged myself out of bed at the insane hour of 6:15 am. After brushing my teeth and getting dressed, I left the apartment and headed out to morning minyan (weekday prayer service)—my first of the year. As I walked down the middle of the empty streets, rocking out to my iPod, I noticed two Haredi men (ultra-Orthodox) walking behind me. I figured they were probably awake so early for the same reason I was awake so early—to help make a minyan. We would, of course, not be going to the same place, but our ultimate goals were the same. I had a friend who needed to recite the Mourner’s Kaddish (an affirmation of belief in G-d after experiencing a loss) for a loved one, and I wanted to ensure that there would be a minyan (a minimum of 10 people required for a Jewish service) so that she would be able to do so.
When services started, there were 11 women present, and only 9 men. Had we been davening at a shul which does not count women as part of a minyan, my friend would not have been able to say Kaddish until at least one more man showed up to services, despite there being well over the needed 10 people present. More traditional synagogues require 10 men in order to conduct services, not 10 people. But then again, at a congregation that only considers men as worthy of counting in a minyan, my female friend would not have been able to fulfill her obligation of reciting Kaddish and honoring the memory of her loved one, because only men have that obligation.
By the end of services, there were at least 30 people present; well over the needed number for a minyan. And even though I wasn’t necessarily needed in order to ensure that my friend could engage in the traditional act of remembering a loved one each year on the anniversary of that person’s death, I felt good about being able to be there for her. I knew that if everyone had the attitude of “oh, someone else will show up”, then no one would show up. Requiring 10 people to be present during the recitation of the Kaddish is one of the ways that Jewish tradition reminds us of the importance of community. During difficult times, like the anniversary of a loved one’s passing, Jews have not only the privilege, but also the obligation, to create a supportive community for each other.
But the issue of language is troubling, as more traditional Jews choose to understand the term “man,” as it is written in the Torah, as exactly a man, while more liberal strains of Judaism understand “man” as a gendered form of “person”, a word for which a gender-neutral option does not exist in Biblical Hebrew (or modern Hebrew for that matter). The way a person chooses to understand this term has far-reaching implications for the treatment of all members of the Jewish community.
A man, by virtue of his being a man, counts in a minyan in whatever setting he is praying, regardless of his intentionality, faith, or behavior in that situation. A woman, on the other hand, could have all the devotion and intentionality in the world, but must seek out specific congregations in order to be considered part of the minyan. For example, a man, by virtue of his being a man, could walk into any congregation and count in the minyan, even if he refused to wear a tallit (the traditional religious prayer shawl) and spent all of services reading a magazine. Although he was not really participating in the davening, he was still considered part of it. A woman, by virtue of her being a woman, may find davening to be spiritually rewarding and may feel that it helps her connect to G-d, but would not be counted in a minyan, regardless of her desire to participate. Although she intends to participate in the davening, she is not considered an actual part of the community. Furthermore, if she has chosen to take on the obligation of wearing the tallit each day, she must seek out specific communities in which she is welcome to do so—communities whose validity is often questioned by other, more religious sects of Judaism.
I have already explored, in a previous post, why the language of gender and obligation bothers me, and why I feel it is important for both men and women to have an equal opportunity to participate in mitzvot, so I won’t mention it again. I will say, however, that it is counter intuitive to the entire idea of prayer (see previous post on self-reflection) when a man with the ability to be spiritually and emotionally present at a minyan chooses to exclude himself by his actions, but is still included as part of the community, while a woman who very much wants to be part of the community, and demonstrates this by attending services, and wearing tallit and teffillin, is excluded by others regardless of her more appropriate state of spiritual and emotional availability. In my mind, services require the presence of a minyan, not just the existence of one.
On another note, I also believe that denying the validity of a woman reciting the Kaddish has serious and far-reaching implications for her mental and emotional health, but that is for another post…
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