Post by Rabbi Neil on Nov 19, 2021 22:48:06 GMT
A few years ago, while I was at L’Taken in D.C., I noticed that a number of the young group leaders added something to their name badges. Underneath their name, they would also put their preferred pronouns. Nothing was ever said about it, it was never explained, and they would just share their name and say “and my preferred pronouns are…” I found myself at the time thinking that was interesting but didn’t really affect me. It seemed obvious to me what every single one of their preferred pronouns would have been and I didn’t really think about it more than that. If anything, it seemed like a young person trend, especially because it was assumed and no-one actually spoke about it or explained it. We came back to Santa Fe and I didn’t see it mentioned again, until the following year, when more people had put their preferred pronouns on their name tags. I’m not sure if I did at that time or not – possibly not because I thought that it was really obvious what my preferred pronouns would be.
The next time I encountered the use of preferred pronouns was in the Santa Fe Public Schools Superintendent’s Diversity and Equity forum. As with the L’Taken seminars, there was no introduction or explanation as to why we were now doing this in our meetings. The Superintendent at the time asked everyone to go around the room, to say their name, what community or organization they came from and this time asked them to also state their preferred pronouns. I sat there as each person was sharing their pronouns, wondering to myself why we were doing this because it seemed obvious as I looked at everyone in the room what their pronouns would be. About halfway round the room, someone I had assumed to be male introduced themselves and use female pronouns. I was shocked. This was someone whom I had absolutely assumed would be using male pronouns judging by the way I had perceived them. Suddenly, I recognized and immediately questioned my act of judgement that had led to assumptions that I had made about other people. I thought that I now understood why people started using preferred pronouns – so that they were not ascribed the wrong gender by others. That’s not totally the reason, but that was what I thought at the time. My thesis on the strict gender boundaries in Judaism from over a decade ago came back to my mind, and I thought that perhaps I was being an ally by checking that I didn’t get other people’s gender wrong.
The pandemic hit and we moved onto Zoom. I knew the pronouns of everyone in our Torah study group so I didn’t even think of asking people to put their pronouns on their screens. In some of my meetings, I would see people use their preferred pronouns even though I already knew them. I was still so busy thinking about my own selfish perspective, of my own need or seeming lack thereof of preferred pronouns that I didn’t for a moment think why they might be necessary for others.
Eventually, earlier this year, someone asked why I didn’t have my preferred pronouns in my Zoom name. I explained that it was obvious what my pronouns were and everyone who knows me knows my pronouns. Finally, after years, I had it explained to me. It, as with most other things, wasn’t actually about me at all. Had the trans individual in the Superintendent’s group been the only person to have stated their pronouns then they would have been singled out as being trans, but with everyone in the room saying their preferred pronouns, there was no singling out. The act of adding preferred pronouns after your name in a meeting or on Zoom is an act of allyship that means that trans and non-binary individuals are not singled out. It means that they are treated exactly the same way as cis people – cis meaning those whose gender corresponds with their gender at birth. I had previously wondered why I needed to add my preferred pronouns since mine are so obvious, but that’s exactly the point – it’s specifically because mine are so obvious that it’s important for me to normalize stating my pronouns so that we all do it, not just people who are outside Western society’s previous narrow assumptions of gender. That way, we all show from the beginning of a gathering that we welcome people whichever pronouns they use, and don’t force specific individuals in a group to have to stand out to clarify their preferred pronouns.
Judaism has from its inception been extremely gendered. The Hebrew language has for millennia been like many other languages worldwide (except for English and some others) in having everything either gendered masculine or feminine, including inanimate objects like a table or a rock. Even names of God in Hebrew were therefore gendered - almost always male, although there are a couple that are female. As I explained in my thesis, the divine realm and the human realm were separated by how things related to each other. In the divine realm, mixture abounded, whereas in the human realm, everything needed to be strictly separated, usually into polar extremes such as light and darkness, day and night, kosher and unkosher, holy and profane, and male and female. When confronted with those who were not clearly male or not clearly female, special categories were created by the Rabbis so that they could be the exceptions that proved the rule. Thus, the Androgynos had both male and female characteristics, the Tumtum had sexual characteristics that were unclear or were obscured, the Ailonit and the Saris were female and male respectively who did not develop at puberty. Jewish law spends a long time discussing how in differing situations individuals who fall under such categories should be treated as male or as female. The entire system of either male or female was not really questioned in Judaism until very recently.
Since Judaism has for so long been so gendered, there are real discussions about whether it is possible to dismantle the gendered assumptions of Judaism while keeping it authentically Jewish. Despite the skepticism, though, some steps have been made in those regards. In the traditional liturgy, there exist three blessings in the morning service that thank God for not having made the man at prayer (the normative Jew in prayer) an idiot, a non-Jew or a woman, three things that would prevent him from fulfilling his traditional religious duties. The Reform movement expunged those prayers and gave us a choice to thank God for making us free with the words “she’asani ben chorin” for men or “she’asani bat chorin” for women. It was a totally appropriate and important act of inclusivity for the time, giving women a voice in the liturgy in a way that they had not experienced before.
Awareness of trans community and non-binary individuals, though, causes us to reflect on this solution and ask if it is still the best one decades later. In previous times, ben – the masculine term – was used to include people of all genders – the female was subsumed into the male, and that’s obviously not acceptable. By splitting the terms and giving a choice, though, Reform Judaism included women but also perpetuated the polarized gendering of liturgy. It opened one door and simultaneously inadvertently closed another. With awareness of trans and non-binary individuals, though, some have now started using a new word – bet, as a combination of ben and bat. Thus, both men, women, and/or those who identify as neither, can all say one word without feeling singled out as they pray out loud.
This, once again, is positive and negative. If we all state our preferred pronouns before a meeting to avoid anyone being singled out, perhaps we should all say bet instead of ben or bat to avoid singling anyone out. However, some say that doing so would erase female identity which has finally started to be present in our liturgy. Another possibility would be to invite not two but three choices in the siddur – either ben, bat or bet. Then the individual at prayer could choose and we would be unified in our diverse choices. For my entire life, I have prayed she’asani ben chorin, using the masculine word. However, I may change to using bet, not because I identify as trans or non-binary, but as an act of allyship to others in the community who may wish to authentically use that word and not feel singled out. Of course, I can do that as a man easier than some women because I’ve had the luxury of being able to say ben chorin for most of my life – I didn’t have to fight for that - where some women may feel that it’s essential for them to finally pray bat chorin now that it’s in the siddur.
Ben and bat in prayer leads us to even the name for ceremonies like bar mitzvah and bat mitzvah. These are Aramaic versions of ben and bat. Some have suggested combining the two into B’Mitzvah, which abbreviates the Hebrew and erases any difference between the terms. The same pros and cons apply, although here an extra problem of the bad linguistics appears because b’ in Hebrew means something else. If young adults become b’mitzvah, does that erase the struggle of young women who have only been able to celebrate that ritual for a hundred years? Should we create a third more grammatically appropriate term – bet mitzvah – for those who identify as trans or non-binary? Doing so might allow them to authentically express themselves, but it might also single them out and simultaneously erase female identity.
The answer to these questions cannot be answered only by me or by Cantor Lianna or even by our Ritual Forum but by an extended community-wide dialogue, particularly including those for whom the traditional language is problematic and feels exclusionary. Our dialogue needs to be with people whom this profoundly and personally affects, and also with people who sincerely wish to be allies.
Why did I decide to give this sermon on this Shabbat? Because it is in this Torah portion when Jacob struggles and is renamed. There are obvious differences with those who choose a new name or who change their pronouns, and between Jacob being renamed to Israel, and I don’t wish to minimize those differences. Nonetheless, what is essential is that after this episode, the Bible keeps switching between both names – Jacob and Israel. Mah tovu ohalecha ya’akov, mishk’notecha yisra’el – how good are your tents, O Jacob, and your dwelling places, O Israel,” says Bilaam the prophet in the very same verse (Numbers 24:5). He uses both terms interchangeably, mainly due to the structure of Biblical poetry. But even if not in poetry, the Bible interchangeably uses Jacob and Israel. Some say that he’s called Jacob when he behaves like Jacob the trickster and Israel when he behaves in a more lofty manner. But in our liturgy we’re not even consistent regarding those who take on new names. Avram and Sarai were birth names but they changed their names to Abraham and Sarah. Similarly, Jacob was a birth name but it was changed to Israel. In our liturgy, though, we speak of Abraham and Sarah and also of Jacob, not of Israel. There’s little consistency. It should either be Avram, Sarai and Jacob, or Abraham, Sarah and Israel. While lack of consistency may seem to be less problematic for Biblical figures who can’t object, consistent inclusive terminology should be important for us.
Jacob wrestled and then was given a new name but that name did not endure. Our community needs to wrestle with how to adapt our previous strongly gendered Jewish tradition, how to be inclusive to those who fall within its gender assumptions and also to those outside those assumptions, and create something that will be authentic, inclusive, consistent and, most important, enduring.
In the meantime, until we have that discussion, and during that discussion, we can at least be allies on Zoom, on name badges, in meetings and in written communication. May we wrestle with our tradition so that we may indeed say mah tovu ohaleinu – how good, how inclusive, how open, is our tent. May such be God’s will, and let us say, Amen.
The next time I encountered the use of preferred pronouns was in the Santa Fe Public Schools Superintendent’s Diversity and Equity forum. As with the L’Taken seminars, there was no introduction or explanation as to why we were now doing this in our meetings. The Superintendent at the time asked everyone to go around the room, to say their name, what community or organization they came from and this time asked them to also state their preferred pronouns. I sat there as each person was sharing their pronouns, wondering to myself why we were doing this because it seemed obvious as I looked at everyone in the room what their pronouns would be. About halfway round the room, someone I had assumed to be male introduced themselves and use female pronouns. I was shocked. This was someone whom I had absolutely assumed would be using male pronouns judging by the way I had perceived them. Suddenly, I recognized and immediately questioned my act of judgement that had led to assumptions that I had made about other people. I thought that I now understood why people started using preferred pronouns – so that they were not ascribed the wrong gender by others. That’s not totally the reason, but that was what I thought at the time. My thesis on the strict gender boundaries in Judaism from over a decade ago came back to my mind, and I thought that perhaps I was being an ally by checking that I didn’t get other people’s gender wrong.
The pandemic hit and we moved onto Zoom. I knew the pronouns of everyone in our Torah study group so I didn’t even think of asking people to put their pronouns on their screens. In some of my meetings, I would see people use their preferred pronouns even though I already knew them. I was still so busy thinking about my own selfish perspective, of my own need or seeming lack thereof of preferred pronouns that I didn’t for a moment think why they might be necessary for others.
Eventually, earlier this year, someone asked why I didn’t have my preferred pronouns in my Zoom name. I explained that it was obvious what my pronouns were and everyone who knows me knows my pronouns. Finally, after years, I had it explained to me. It, as with most other things, wasn’t actually about me at all. Had the trans individual in the Superintendent’s group been the only person to have stated their pronouns then they would have been singled out as being trans, but with everyone in the room saying their preferred pronouns, there was no singling out. The act of adding preferred pronouns after your name in a meeting or on Zoom is an act of allyship that means that trans and non-binary individuals are not singled out. It means that they are treated exactly the same way as cis people – cis meaning those whose gender corresponds with their gender at birth. I had previously wondered why I needed to add my preferred pronouns since mine are so obvious, but that’s exactly the point – it’s specifically because mine are so obvious that it’s important for me to normalize stating my pronouns so that we all do it, not just people who are outside Western society’s previous narrow assumptions of gender. That way, we all show from the beginning of a gathering that we welcome people whichever pronouns they use, and don’t force specific individuals in a group to have to stand out to clarify their preferred pronouns.
Judaism has from its inception been extremely gendered. The Hebrew language has for millennia been like many other languages worldwide (except for English and some others) in having everything either gendered masculine or feminine, including inanimate objects like a table or a rock. Even names of God in Hebrew were therefore gendered - almost always male, although there are a couple that are female. As I explained in my thesis, the divine realm and the human realm were separated by how things related to each other. In the divine realm, mixture abounded, whereas in the human realm, everything needed to be strictly separated, usually into polar extremes such as light and darkness, day and night, kosher and unkosher, holy and profane, and male and female. When confronted with those who were not clearly male or not clearly female, special categories were created by the Rabbis so that they could be the exceptions that proved the rule. Thus, the Androgynos had both male and female characteristics, the Tumtum had sexual characteristics that were unclear or were obscured, the Ailonit and the Saris were female and male respectively who did not develop at puberty. Jewish law spends a long time discussing how in differing situations individuals who fall under such categories should be treated as male or as female. The entire system of either male or female was not really questioned in Judaism until very recently.
Since Judaism has for so long been so gendered, there are real discussions about whether it is possible to dismantle the gendered assumptions of Judaism while keeping it authentically Jewish. Despite the skepticism, though, some steps have been made in those regards. In the traditional liturgy, there exist three blessings in the morning service that thank God for not having made the man at prayer (the normative Jew in prayer) an idiot, a non-Jew or a woman, three things that would prevent him from fulfilling his traditional religious duties. The Reform movement expunged those prayers and gave us a choice to thank God for making us free with the words “she’asani ben chorin” for men or “she’asani bat chorin” for women. It was a totally appropriate and important act of inclusivity for the time, giving women a voice in the liturgy in a way that they had not experienced before.
Awareness of trans community and non-binary individuals, though, causes us to reflect on this solution and ask if it is still the best one decades later. In previous times, ben – the masculine term – was used to include people of all genders – the female was subsumed into the male, and that’s obviously not acceptable. By splitting the terms and giving a choice, though, Reform Judaism included women but also perpetuated the polarized gendering of liturgy. It opened one door and simultaneously inadvertently closed another. With awareness of trans and non-binary individuals, though, some have now started using a new word – bet, as a combination of ben and bat. Thus, both men, women, and/or those who identify as neither, can all say one word without feeling singled out as they pray out loud.
This, once again, is positive and negative. If we all state our preferred pronouns before a meeting to avoid anyone being singled out, perhaps we should all say bet instead of ben or bat to avoid singling anyone out. However, some say that doing so would erase female identity which has finally started to be present in our liturgy. Another possibility would be to invite not two but three choices in the siddur – either ben, bat or bet. Then the individual at prayer could choose and we would be unified in our diverse choices. For my entire life, I have prayed she’asani ben chorin, using the masculine word. However, I may change to using bet, not because I identify as trans or non-binary, but as an act of allyship to others in the community who may wish to authentically use that word and not feel singled out. Of course, I can do that as a man easier than some women because I’ve had the luxury of being able to say ben chorin for most of my life – I didn’t have to fight for that - where some women may feel that it’s essential for them to finally pray bat chorin now that it’s in the siddur.
Ben and bat in prayer leads us to even the name for ceremonies like bar mitzvah and bat mitzvah. These are Aramaic versions of ben and bat. Some have suggested combining the two into B’Mitzvah, which abbreviates the Hebrew and erases any difference between the terms. The same pros and cons apply, although here an extra problem of the bad linguistics appears because b’ in Hebrew means something else. If young adults become b’mitzvah, does that erase the struggle of young women who have only been able to celebrate that ritual for a hundred years? Should we create a third more grammatically appropriate term – bet mitzvah – for those who identify as trans or non-binary? Doing so might allow them to authentically express themselves, but it might also single them out and simultaneously erase female identity.
The answer to these questions cannot be answered only by me or by Cantor Lianna or even by our Ritual Forum but by an extended community-wide dialogue, particularly including those for whom the traditional language is problematic and feels exclusionary. Our dialogue needs to be with people whom this profoundly and personally affects, and also with people who sincerely wish to be allies.
Why did I decide to give this sermon on this Shabbat? Because it is in this Torah portion when Jacob struggles and is renamed. There are obvious differences with those who choose a new name or who change their pronouns, and between Jacob being renamed to Israel, and I don’t wish to minimize those differences. Nonetheless, what is essential is that after this episode, the Bible keeps switching between both names – Jacob and Israel. Mah tovu ohalecha ya’akov, mishk’notecha yisra’el – how good are your tents, O Jacob, and your dwelling places, O Israel,” says Bilaam the prophet in the very same verse (Numbers 24:5). He uses both terms interchangeably, mainly due to the structure of Biblical poetry. But even if not in poetry, the Bible interchangeably uses Jacob and Israel. Some say that he’s called Jacob when he behaves like Jacob the trickster and Israel when he behaves in a more lofty manner. But in our liturgy we’re not even consistent regarding those who take on new names. Avram and Sarai were birth names but they changed their names to Abraham and Sarah. Similarly, Jacob was a birth name but it was changed to Israel. In our liturgy, though, we speak of Abraham and Sarah and also of Jacob, not of Israel. There’s little consistency. It should either be Avram, Sarai and Jacob, or Abraham, Sarah and Israel. While lack of consistency may seem to be less problematic for Biblical figures who can’t object, consistent inclusive terminology should be important for us.
Jacob wrestled and then was given a new name but that name did not endure. Our community needs to wrestle with how to adapt our previous strongly gendered Jewish tradition, how to be inclusive to those who fall within its gender assumptions and also to those outside those assumptions, and create something that will be authentic, inclusive, consistent and, most important, enduring.
In the meantime, until we have that discussion, and during that discussion, we can at least be allies on Zoom, on name badges, in meetings and in written communication. May we wrestle with our tradition so that we may indeed say mah tovu ohaleinu – how good, how inclusive, how open, is our tent. May such be God’s will, and let us say, Amen.
