Em In Israel: Now Matter How Hard They Try, They Will Never Silence the Voices of the Righteous

The last few weeks have been INSANE!

First we did "Yam L'Yam", the 4 day trek from the Sea of Galilee to the Mediterranean. Long story short, I got back 2 and 1/2 weeks ago and I still have bug bites left over, I have become an expert of relieving myself in the woods and I have discovered that I hate not showering and sleeping on a very thin mat without a tent for 4 days in a row... But hey! I climbed a few mountains along the way, so it was all totally worth it.

From the top of Mount Hermon

Me trying to stay warm by
squeezing in between
Jillian (right) and
Hannah (left)

NFTY EIE praying Kabalat Shabbat
by the shore of the Mediterranean

THEN MY FAMILY CAME!!!!!!! My mother and my aunt joined a bunch of other families on what's known as the "Family Pilgrimage" here on EIE. While I still had all my classes (bleh), and they were out touring the highlights of where we've already been, being able to spend meal times and prayer services with my family was so incredible, and I didn't want them to leave... I guess this whole "being away" business just shows me that I love them so much more! But while they were here, we got to share one of the most incredible experiences together as a family...

My mother, aunt and I, eating dinner with
my friend Stephen and his parents

November 2, 2016...This day will forever be known as a turning point for Judaism, and for the State of Israel. NFTY EIE had the honor of joining Women of the Wall and leaders of Progressive Judaism from all over the world in a complete prayer service on the women's side of the mehitza. While WOW has conducted services at the Kotel before, for the first time in history, a whopping 14 Torah scrolls were openly, and with great force and determination, brought in to the women's section of this segregated prayer space. Given that it is not allowed to bring any Torah from outside, the fact that 14 made it past security, and into the women's section at that, is a monumental step in Jewish culture.

As a person who does not identify as simply "male" or "female", the idea of going to a single-gender prayer truly scared me, and seemed in no way holy, regardless of location. The last time our group went to the Western Wall, I stood back and cried for 30 minutes, because when I was confronted with the choice of a men's section and a women's section, there was no place for me. So, naturally, I was hesitant to go back. While I did start the day bawling my eyes out and feeling like I was in physical pain, given some time, I found that Rosh Chodesh morning to be one of the most empowering, spiritual experiences of my life.

The morning began with all of my peers and I walking through the integrated entrance to the Kotel. A woman with a baby sling got stopped on her way in, and it turned out that it was not a baby she was carrying, but a small Torah. This was the first clue that something big was going to happen that day. After a small delay, the whole group entered the main plaza of the Western Wall, and immediately the staff and parents started ushering the students to the side. I didn't know what was happening at first, but then I saw numerous security guards and Ultra-Orthodox people screaming and lunging at a common target: people carrying Torahs from the outside. I saw people spit at, scream at, and rip tallitot off of men and women alike. There were people on the ground, and cameras everywhere. All I could think in that moment was, "How can these Hareidi people, these G-d-worshiping, Torah-loving people be okay with ripping the scrolls out of peoples hands, risking dropping them, harming them? How can these people be capable of so much violence, especially in the presence of one of the holiest sights in all of Judaism?" Nobody around me could find an answer.

Women reading from the Torah at
The Western Wall

As the commotion continued, it came time for the boys and girls to split up. At this point I heard my mother, who was visiting for 10 days, say, "I know it's not ideal, but you have to pick a side. Pick now, and go there". I then started crying, not knowing which side to choose because both sides existed within me. Fortunately, the parent of another one of our students stayed with me, and the rest of my classmates split up into their respective single-gender sides. After a few minutes of having a major panic attack, a staff member took me and the other parent down to the side of the women's section. We did not sing or pray, but we observed. I was dumbfounded by the amount of ruach I heard coming from my family, my friends, and about 100 other women. My awe was then broken by the sound of shrill whistles being blown by young Hareidi boys who had found their way into the women's section and were trying to disrupt the prayers (later we found out that they weren't in school because their parents/guardians had known that our protest was going to happen, had given them the whistles, and had sent them to try to drown us out). The women did not stop singing, but only prayed louder to show that they could not be stopped.

Shortly after, other boys, and even some older men made their way to the Wall, pushing, shoving, and scolding the women for praying. When I heard one man tell a woman that she was disgusting for showing her arms, I then stood up and took my jacket off, showing my bare arms and accentuating the fact that I was wearing "men's" clothing. Then my mother walked up to this man, standing in solidarity with this other woman as she held her own against the offensive man. The women praying had just begun to sing a prayer of peace, so I stood up, started singing, and walked over to my mother. We stood there together, praying for peace, as this man started saying that we were turning into Catholics because our actions were so un-Jewish. This is when I couldn't keep my mouth shut.

One of our students, Zoe, smiling as she
dances with the Torah

"I am not a Catholic, I am a Jew," I said. He then started arguing with me about how a Jewish girl should not be wearing pants or a yarmulke, how I should not have piercings, and that if any of us had learned what Jewish women had learned for thousands of years, we would know that we are wrong, disgusting, and crazy. I let go of my mother, looked this man in the eye and proclaimed, "I am modern, I am the future! I am the new generation, and I am the future!" This man then gave me a disgusted look and told me that I was not modern, but simply wrong. My mother told him that that was his opinion, and that his opinion belonged on the other side of the mehitza, so he could pray the way he wanted to and we could do the same. He asked us, "Does G-d really hear your 'prayer'?", to which my mother and I responded, "G-d hears all prayers. G-d hears the prayers of righteous people". As he was yelling at us about how blasphemous we were, one of our madrichot came to fetch me away from the conflict. The woman standing with us shooed him away, and my attention was drawn back to the crowd of women.

Female Orthodox protesters,
wearing signs that read,
"I am sorry that the clowns
are desecrating this place."

I couldn't help but join the crowd. I still refused to pray, but I could not help but feel moved by the history that I knew I was a part of. After a few minutes of watching these women, including some of my classmates, dancing with the Torahs, I found a unique solution to the 'single-gender' thing. I took the chair I was standing on, placed it right up next to the mehitza, and stood up again, this time with my arms draping over the segregating barrier. Part of my physical self was in the men's section, just as part of my identity was (and is), and I felt content... until I saw little boys ripping siddurim and stomping on the pieces, while still bowing their whistles as the female protesters among them yelled and spat at us. My first thought was, "How can these little children, who can't be older than the age of 7, be capable of so much sinat chinam, so much senseless hatred?"

Me standing in front of
the women's side of
the mehitza
(with Daniel, Steven, and Evan)

I then saw a woman holding the Torah not 10 feet away from me, so I stepped down from my chair, walked over to her, and asked to hold the holy text. One of my female classmates and I each took a side, and lifted the scroll over our heads. Some cheered, some spat, but we smiled at each other, knowing that in that moment, we were making history. Then one of our staff members came over to us in a hurry, telling us to bring the Torah to the middle of the group to keep it safe, seeing as the Hareidi protesters were beginning to get more violent. She then took the women in our group (and me), off to the side and prepared us to leave, so as to avoid the worst of the violence and because the service was almost over. Just then, the leader of the prayer service started singing the Israeli national anthem, and we all grabbed hands and sang along.

The service ended, the women dispersed, and my classmates, our families and I began singing again, standing in a circle with our arms wrapped around each other. We sang another song of peace, making a statement about why we were there and what we had been praying for all morning. As the staff quickly had us stop singing so we wouldn't attract more violence, we stood in a clump and were quickly surrounded by a circle of young boys who had grabbed hands and were now shoving into us, spitting directly at us, and screaming things such as "Nazis!" and "whores!" We pushed our way through their tiny arms and made it back to the main plaza, where we met the men of our group.

They immediately began hugging all of us who had come from the women's side, declaring how proud they were and how they wish they could have joined us. As the principal of our school explained why we couldn't stay for the egalitarian prayers (because the crowd would inevitably become even more aggressive at the sight of men and women praying together), I held onto my mother and I thought, "No matter how hard they try, they will never silence the voices of the righteous".