Elliot Cosgrove, PhD February 20, 2010
When our community gathers next Saturday night for the festival of Purim and the reading of the Scroll of Esther, many of us may feel that we are being offered two objectionable depictions of femininity. The first of the two problematic options appears in the very first chapter: Vashti, queen to the Persian King Achashverosh, refuses to display her beauty before the king and his drunken entourage. While a close reading of the text reveals neither Vashti’s reasoning nor exactly how much she was in fact being asked to reveal, we do know that her headstrong refusal resulted in her being banished from the kingdom. God forbid, the king’s advisors advise, that Vashti’s deeds should go unpunished and wives everywhere exhibit such stubborn disobedience to their husbands. Having asserted her will, Vashti is abruptly cast aside, never again to appear in the narrative, a proto-feminist refusing to be objectified – sacrificing everything, everything that is, except her integrity.
All this is the set-up for the main character, our first Jewish Princess – Esther. At the behest of her Uncle Mordecai, and long before reality TV, Esther enters a beauty contest to compete on “Who Wants to Marry a Monarch?” She is taken into the king’s harem, covered in perfume, make-up and finery, a makeover that serves to cover up her most significant feature – her Jewish identity. She wins the competition and is crowned queen, a title that allows her to serve, quite literally, at the pleasure of the King. In fact, her passive demeanor is her dominant characteristic, as she continues to obey the men in her life: Mordecai and her royal husband. Only at the moment of crisis, with the impending threat of Haman’s plot, does she take matters into her own hands. Yes, Esther does entrap Haman. Yes, Esther does save the day, but, in doing so, she has betrayed every aspect of her dignity. Awkward questions abound for our Jewish Barbie doll embedded in the Persian seraglio. Can the message really be that for a Biblical woman to impact her people, she may need to give up everything dear to her? At the risk of offending every past, present, and future girl who has dressed up as Queen Esther on Purim… does Esther really embody the values that we want, that I want, our daughters to grow up aspiring towards?
Two choices, Vashti and Esther, diametrically opposed and equally unappealing. Many commentators have noted that we are supposed to read the stories of these two figures in light of each other. Vashti refuses to reveal herself and go before the king – a
heroic refusal that also leads to her tragic fate. Esther’s heroism, by contrast, is found in the very act of doing what Vashti refused to do – appear before the king. What she does do is hide her true self, a posture that comes at a great price. In recent years, a fascinating debate has emerged on these two figures. Which one, if either, shall we take as a role model? Vashti has been elevated to an iconic status in feminist circles for her assertive nature. We should, wrote one author, cheer Vashti’s courage just as we do Mordecai’s refusal to bow before the king. Recent years have not been kind to Esther, as her formidable achievements have been downgraded – she gave away too much, paid too high a price. She is a hero – but under the cloud of a looming asterisk.
Is this the best our tradition can offer? Are these the only two choices available for women in the ancient world? Are these the only two options contemporary Jewry can offer when it comes to Jewish femininity? Either you are strong-willed and recalcitrant and labeled an uncontrollable shrew, or you can be a submissive, skin-deep beauty queen whose heroism comes by way of pageantry, timely hosting, and temerity. It is an altogether uncomfortable choice that is, unfortunately, not located merely in the past, but in the sexual politics of the present day. Our culture, it would seem, continues to offer women options that are both awkward and undesirable. Must a woman choose between aesthetic grace and ethical fiber? Is there an alternative to a woman besides being labeled either prudish or promiscuous? Does a woman’s sense of self come by way of her accomplishments within the household or in the workforce? Can a woman unapologetically embrace every aspect of her womanhood and yet be taken seriously by both men and women?
At every stage of development, women are asked to accept a series of unacceptable choices. Can a liberated woman also possess modesty and restraint or is anything short of Lady Gaga a concession to a man’s world? Every week, the news media provide us with reminders of the awkward choices available to women. It is altogether striking to me that in the endless run of prominent men, politicians, and athletes brought down by their marital failings, the husbands are extended the platform to submit fumbling mea culpas for their irresponsible and selfish behavior, while their wives are the ones who are presented with the real conundrum. Either stand by your man in all his betrayals and misdeeds, or stand up and walk away. Both decisions have their honor to be sure, but neither one is without its own series of consequences unimaginable to the outside observer.
As the father of three daughters, I think about this issue constantly. What are the choices being extended to my girls? Can a six-year-old avoid being labeled either a “girly girl” or a “tomboy?” What is the role of an overbearing Jewish father in making developmental choices for his daughters while empowering them for the day when they need to make them on their own? How can I communicate to my children the value of health, fitness, diet, and deportment, but protect them from the corrosive images of popular culture that inundate them every minute. This past week, when I went away with my family, I had several hours to ponder the topic as I sat watching each one of my daughters have her hair braided for what seemed to be an interminable amount of time. I sat there with two thoughts in mind. First, I reflected to myself, “Elliot, this is but the first in a lifetime of moments when you will sit quietly as one of your daughters gets her hair done, ears pierced, or whatever the developmental equivalent may be that makes girls, ‘girls’ or women, ‘women’ – so get used to the feeling.” Second, as I watched my otherwise fidgety kids sit in serene patience anticipating their new ‘do’, I saw that while I, who grew up in a household of all boys, may not “get it,” it was clear as day that for each of them an integrated self-image, both now and in the years ahead, means embracing both the Vashti and Esther of their existence. For them, a choice between assertiveness and docility is a false choice. For them, even at this young age, beauty and brains, backbone and grace are all part of the same package of femininity.
I thought twice about bringing up this topic today. After all, why in the world would I focus on a woman’s issue on the day of a young man’s bar mitzvah, one with two older brothers no less. Statistically speaking, there are far more families of boys here than girls. Besides, apart from being the father of three young girls, I would never think of myself as a hard-charging feminist. But I decided that it is the very realization that this is not “my issue” per se that is actually the point. The task of generating a positive self-image for women is not a woman’s issue, it belongs to all of us; we are all stakeholders in the outcome. Each one of us needs to reject the stereotypes so prevalent in the media and commercial culture. As Diane Levin and Jean Kilbourne write in So Sexy So Soon, we need to focus on what our children do, not on how they look. We need to provide our daughters with plentiful examples of positive role models that are independent of some idealized image of female perfection. We need to role model for our sons (of which I also have one) the right tone so as not to objectify their female counterparts. Boys and girls need to be provided the cultural cues to grow up embracing their essence while validating their differences. Most importantly, we need to model adult relationships that provide our children, boys and girls, the emotional tools with which to develop deep and meaningful intimate relationships when their time comes. We may be men, we may be women, fathers or mothers, sons or daughters, but it is an issue we all face equally.
So, what does this all mean? Well, in this building it means that when we set policy on what happens in terms of young women wearing tallis, tefillin, participating in the service, being called bat kohen, or whatever the issue of the day may be, the substance of our conversation must be slightly more sophisticated than strident demands either for retaining the received gender roles or for a brute leveling of perceived inequalities. The problem with our tradition is that it is inescapably patriarchal in its formulation, but that is not to say it does not also possess a sense of gender distinction that is worthy of retaining. We need to tread forward very carefully, all the while acknowledging that our real victory is never merely in formulating a policy as to whether a woman can or can’t wear tefillin or participate in the priestly blessing as a bat kohen, but rather to create a culture that acknowledges the different choices that daughters of this congregation may make for themselves. I know that I do not want this congregation to induce the ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t‘ anxiety felt by a woman, mother of four, standing in line at passport control trying to figure out what to fill in on the card that asks you for your occupation. I want this community to be a place where women may wear a tallis on a shabbos morning or not, but the tone of the room is such that the decision is their own, and everyone else is thinking about their own prayers and not someone else’s definition of what makes for an integrated Jewish woman.
There is a tradition, about which you may know, that on Purim one should drink to the point where distinctions are blurred – so much that one cannot tell the difference between black and white divisions, between Mordecai and Haman, the iconic embodiments of good and evil. The message, really the message of Purim as a whole, is that our world is full of problematic lines and polarities. Throughout history and throughout the year, we try to put everything into neat boxes, not just good guys and bad guys, but also good girls and bad girls, Esthers and Vashtis – images of femininity that while good to dress up as for the day, we know deep down are not live options in the long run. Life is not as simple as fairy tales of palace intrigue, and we do our families and community a disservice if we allow our lives to be shaped by paradigms that repress the inherent complexities of our being.
Purim invites us to cross the lines, blur the boundaries, poke fun at ourselves – all with the goal that the next day we should be a little wiser, more humble, and less dogmatic when it comes to the uncomfortable choices imposed on us throughout the year. After all, it is our own skin, not Purim costumes, in which we, our daughters, and our sons, wake up every day of the year. At the very least, at the bare minimum, we should work towards creating a society, congregation, and families filled with people comfortable in our own identities – identities given to each of us by our God in Heaven and ever-present in the Divine spark hidden in each and every one of us.