I was born in Philadelphia to first-generation Americans during the post-WW II baby boom. My father spoke no English until age nine; perhaps that’s why my sister and I were sent to a folk-shul to learn Yiddish rather than to a religious (“Hebrew”) school. I happily read stories by Y.L. Peretz in their original language instead of learning prayers in Hebrew. During high school I was involved with a Quaker group that counseled conscientious objectors to the Vietnam War. Several decades later in rabbinical school, a fellow student remarked, “It’s odd that you chose to spend time with the Quakers, who in their worship at least, keep quiet until they have something to say. We Jews usually talk and talk until we have something to say.”
I am the mother of three sons (a cancer surgeon, an architect, and a regional director for American supporters of Ben Gurion University) as well as two honorary grandchildren here and four of my own in the US, all of whom I could talk about endlessly. The physical distance from my American grandchildren is made a little more bearable through long weekly video calls with activities such as science experiments, riddles and knock-knock jokes, dancing, reading aloud, and browsing through boxes of old family photos followed by silly quizzes. This year we’ll be adding a Rashi-based curriculum I designed for Jewish American children in order to teach my older grandsons about the power, beauty, and moral necessity for midrash.
Before making aliyah to the Beer Sheva area five years ago, I served as rabbi of a synagogue in Princeton, NJ after rabbinical school. The work was always challenging but also rewarding, and I hope to return to it someday. During that time, however, I did not have opportunities to speak Hebrew. When I arrived here, I was able to name numerous items from the ancient mizbe’akh [altar] and not a single item in my own mitbakh [kitchen].
As a rabbi, I continue writing and editing materials and articles for Jewish Women International’s Clergy Task Force on Gender-based Violence. JWI is an innovative organization and it is an honor to work with them. JWI systematically addresses various kinds of abusive behavior, including the link between gun violence and intimate relationships, and has initiated healthy relationship programs for young men, financial literacy programs for young women, and advocated in the US Congress on behalf of all women. At the moment, our Task Force is considering how to promote, as religious leaders, the re-authorization (re-funding) of VAWA, the Violence Against Women Act, which has proven successful during past authorizations in responding to crimes of domestic violence, dating violence, sexual assault, and stalking.
Before studying for the rabbinate, I taught Latin and Ancient Greek for many years in Baltimore. (I hold a B.A. in Ancient Greek and an M.A. in Latin). Prior to that period, I was the co-owner of a dairy farm in Missouri and before that, I studied with the cellist of the Amadeus Quartet in London, England. I have continued to play the ‘cello all my life. My dear husband plays the violin; I am so grateful for the special bond created by making music together.
I joined Women Wage Peace in late 2014 soon after the first thousand women gathered in S’derot. Right away, I sensed that women as a group were a truly missing cohort in matters of war, peace, and security and that the question, If not us, then who? was the right one. Yet I found I could not articulate, without resorting to gender stereotypes, exactly why women’s voices were needed. What spectacular luck that Carol Gilligan, the author of profoundly wise books about the nature of, and need for, women’s voices, came to speak at Ben Gurion University the following year!
In my 2015 essay for WWP’s website, “Why Women and Why Now?” I sought to explain how her insights create a firm foundation for our work. I am also very happy to add that Carol has become a mentor to our movement and writes movingly about marching with us to the Tent of Reconciliation for the Daughters of Hagar and Sarah, during last year’s Journey to Peace. Here is that excerpt from her forthcoming book co-authored with Naomi Snider, Why Does Patriarchy Persist? It will be published in English in late November.
As a new emigrant, I could not have asked for a more positive way to enter into life here than becoming active in WWP. Not only have I been part of events in places I never would have gotten to on my own but I have made life-long friends from diverse communities throughout the Negev and beyond. I cannot even begin to capture how transformative these past four years have been for me. Suffice it to say that my American colleagues, and the audiences with whom I’ve enthusiastically shared WWP’s story, strategy, and structure, always seem to catch that same sense of hope – and the resolve to change present reality – with which our movement has infected me.
I continue to serve on the Resource Development team and have recently joined a new one, the “1325” team, named for the UN Security Council Resolution, now part of Israeli law, mandating equal representation of women in all matters of national security and peace-making. I’ve also been preparing our updates in English since early 2015. I admit that it gets more difficult with each passing month to squeeze in everything that our members are doing, non-stop, all around the country.
Also in the past four years I’ve had the privilege of introducing our movement to the Sisterhood of Salaam Shalom when they met at Princeton University in 2015; to the GIL, Geneva’s liberal Jewish synagogue last January; and attending the opening days of the UN’s 62nd Commission on the Status of Women this past March. During that same trip to the US, I had the opportunity to speak about WWP, with Carol Gilligan, during a lunchtime program at the Jewish Theological Seminary.
When I need a break from my computer screen, I sometimes remember to stop and work on a quilt square for our ongoing project Piece-for-Peace. Of the dozen or so I’ve made so far, here is one of my favorites. I stitched the tiny Bedouin dress from pieces of cloth given to me in Hura, the next town over from mine to the east. The poem that appears on the following clothesline can be found here along with an English translation. I hope you, too, will enjoy the poem’s down-to-earth imagery and its wisdom.
I also hope you’ll share this newsletter with your friends and encourage them to join us. Numbers matter, time is short…but yes, peace is still possible.
