Communications.

DEAR EDITOR:

I have no quarrel with any of the comments made by Professor Lawrence Kaplan in his instructive review of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik's Family Redeemed, edited by Schatz and Wolowelsky (Judaism, Fall 2001). He did, I think, miss one significant moment in the Rabbi's thinking on family and gender. The point I have in mind is brief, but it exceeds in originality and daring much of the other more lengthy discussion.

The passage I have in mind (pp. 119-121) is headed "The Tragedy in Motherhood" (I do not know whether the chapter headings are the work of the editors or are original in manuscript) The Biblical chapter related to is Genesis 18, which describes Abraham as sitting in front of his tent, while Sarah is inside. In a striking homiletical flight, Rabbi Soloveitchik takes this positioning as symbolic of the public role of the Patriarch and the private role of the Matriarch. This is then parsed in two ways.

We are first told that though retiring, Sarah was in fact the force behind Abraham, "responsible for all the accomplishments credited to Abraham." The angels who visit Abraham are made to say: "Why don't people know the truth? Why has she just been trailing behind you?" Poignant as this sounds, it may not be very different from the common claim that a woman stands behind every great man. The one tell-tale sign that more is intended is the tone of mild outrage: "Why don't people know"?

Rabbi Soloveitchik then describes the "tragedy" of Sarah's reality, a tragedy manifested not only in her station in the tent, but in the normative realm as well: "... here the tragedy manifests itself with all its impact, [for] we say 'God of Abraham God of Isaac, God of Jacob,' but not 'God of Sarah, God of Rebecca, God of Leah and Rachel,' even though they had an equal share in ... the Creator of the World." This is a passage of striking honesty and courage.

Rabbi Soloveitchik attempts no apologetics; he simply tells it "like it is." The normative liturgy is unchallenged; and it doubtless has its reasons and justification. Therefore the Rabbi does not describe Sarah's fate as only sad or unfair, but as "tragic." It is tragic because it is inherent in the halakhic world to which he was committed. In a sense, it embodies another familiar motif of Rabbi Soloveitchik's thought: the significance of sacrifice. In this case, woman is called upon to sacrifice. This passage illuminates Rabbi Soloveitchik's uncompromising perception of feminine reality as well as his perception of the complexity of halakhic reality.

GERALD J. BLIDSTEIN

Ben-Gurion U., Beersheba, Israel

LAWRENCE KAPLAN REPLIES:

As Professor Gerald Blidstein indicates, his comments do not take issue with my review, but rather supplement it. In the same spirit, my reply will attempt to supplement Blidstein's thoughtful and sensitive remarks.

The passage Blidstein cites is from the essay, "Parenthood: Natural and Redeemed." In this essay, as I indicated in my review, Rabbi Soloveitchik distinguishes between the mother's and father's missions in the covenantal community, the father's teaching being intellectual in nature, the mother's experiential. As I further pointed out, an almost identical distinction is drawn in Rabbi Soloveitchik's essay, "A Tribute to the Rebbetzin of Talne," where he distinguishes between the massorah of the fathers and that of the mothers, the fathers transmitting Judaism as an "intellectual moral discipline," the mothers transmitting it "as a living experience."

Let me now also add the following. In the essay "Parenthood: Natural and Redeemed," Rabbi Soloveitchik takes the theme of the two missions or the two massorahs one step further than he does in "A Tribute to the Rebbetzin of Talne." In the former essay he makes the additional point that "in normal times, when routine decisions are reached," the father takes the lead. However, in times of crisis, "when the situation requires instantaneous action that flows from the very depths of a sensitive personality," it is the mother "who steps to the fore and takes command." It follows, then, as Rabbi Soloveitchik states, that it was the biblical Matriarchs who, in times of crisis, had the primary responsibility for transmitting the covenant.

In light of the above, we may say that the phrase in the liturgy: "God of Abraham, God of Isaac, and God of Jacob," refers to the fact that in normal times it was the Patriarchs who had the primary responsibility for transmitting the covenant; but, in truth, in times of crisis it was the Matriarchs--Sarah, Rebecca, Leah, Rachel--who bore that primary responsibility. Of course, this observation does not in any way diminish the "tragedy" of Sarah's reality, a tragedy manifested, as Rabbi Soloveitchik notes, in our saying "'God of Abraham God of Isaac, God of Jacob,' but not 'God of Sarah, God of Rebecca, God of Leah and Rachel,' even though they had an equal share in ... the Creator of the World." All it does is to clarify Rabbi Soloveitchik's view as to the differing but equal shares that the Patriarchs and Matriarchs had in the Creator of the World.

LAWRENCE KAPLAN

Montreal, Quebec, Canada

MAY 8, 2002

DEAR EDITOR

Life is great in Israel, the sky is blue, the weather not hot yet, the beach gorgeous, and the air is sweet. But today I am in slow motion, barely able to move and get around in my daily routine. What makes me feel so heavy? Fifteen more dead and even more wounded last night in a terror attack on a pool hall in Rishon L'Zion. I find little things to do at home, instead of running around. Actually for the past two weeks it has been quiet; every day without an attack seems like a gift. Being an optimist I thought that maybe the army operation, "Defense Shield," could have been a success. On the one hand I want to be protected and safe, and on the other hand I want Israel to get out of the West Bank and live in peace with a separate Palestinian state.

I was in California for Passover and petrified to come back to Haifa. The Matza restaurant explosion was a 10-minute walk from my home. Since then Mayor Mitznach told the public only to go to restaurants with security guards. I came back home to Israel to find security guards every few meters, at every restaurant, at the bank, the post office, the preschools, the parking lot of the beach and on the beach promenade. I haven't been to a movie, restaurant, on a train, or bus for at least two years. I hate going into the shopping mall at the corner of my home, but that is where I have to pick up my packages that are too big for the mailman to carry. My friends say the malls are the safest, since they check you at the entrance, they check the trunk of your car before you can enter the parking lot, and they check you again at the entrance of almost every store inside. On the way to work every day I see the long line of people at the entrance of the B'nai Zion Hospital, all waiting patiently to get checked by securi ty before going in.

I was back less than a week when the bus exploded outside Haifa, near Kibbutz Yagur. I left work immediately to drive back home to take my high school son to school. The streets were all plugged up and I was sandwiched between three buses to my right and three buses coming from the opposite direction to my left for about 20 minutes. I have bus phobia, always wondering if one is going to explode next to me. I made my son promise he wouldn't take the bus to school, but to take collective taxis, called "sherut," or take a ride with a friend. He hates me taking him or picking him up, but the situation makes us all nervous. Yet he is an Israeli and he is young and does what he wants. He still goes to clubs on Friday night, and takes the buses to get around. For a while during the severe crisis at Passover, kids did listen to their parents and met at homes to watch videos instead of going out or congregating outside the mall. The Matza restaurant bombing hit the youth of Haifa hard. A girl from my son's school was killed, and one from another school he had gone to. But, as Israelis, they forget quickly, and go back to living their regular lives.

I work in an early childhood developmental center with a Jewish and Arabic staff, both with Jewish and Arabic children, and have been there for the past 20 years. Just before I left Israel for the Passover vacation, our Arabic social worker moved into anew apartment and invited the whole staff to celebrate. How I wish I could take the atmosphere and the warm feelings we have for each other and superimpose it on the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. Howl wish I could turn the clock back to June 2000 when for two days we hosted a busload of blind and low vision children, their mothers, and teachers from Gaza. On my husband's birthday, March 5th, Israeli F-16s hit that school. Luckily there was only physical damage. What a terrible situation of ongoing violence and senseless loss of lives on both sides. Maybe the pilot was one of my daughter's friends and hit the school for the blind where my good friend, Abdul Munaim, is the principal. Since then I have been getting many e-mails from him about the panic of his chil dren when they hear the sound of Israeli planes and tanks. I can't understand why we can't live together. But I know that the present situation is only escalating the conflict, and promoting mistrust and hatred for more generations to come.

My brother-in-law is in the army, my daughter's friends, my girl friends' sons, fathers of children I work with. I know these men, they are good men and I worry about them. Yet I feel ashamed of the damage of homes and personal property and the loss of life in the last operations.

I want to be safe, I want those children in Gaza to be safe, I want the people in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and Netanya to be safe. I want to be able to turn on the radio without being afraid of hearing about another attack, about more families mourning, or that there are threats of more terror.

EVIE ROTE 

Haifa, Israel