God is not a man

Passover approaches, bringing its annual share of lovely labors and traditions, as my husband and I dive headlong into our respective tasks: conjuring up scrumptious Seder meals in his case, surgically scrubbing and “unleavening” the house in mine.  And then another, less lovely tradition – our annual battle – rears its head, when I ask if we can please, please, finally find a newHaggadah this year.  He professes his devotion to the Maxwell House books of his childhood; I offer (threaten) to whip out a scalpel and go full Thomas Jefferson on the things until we reach an acceptable compromise; he refuses, and … matters don’t improve from there.

My implacable opposition to my beloved’s beloved Haggadot comes down to two words: they’re sexist.  Again and again, they limit The Name with the words “Father,” “King,” “He.”  Again and again, I say, “No, I’m not reading that.”

God is not a man. Insisting otherwise isn’t just misogyny – it’s bad theology.  We all learned The Name has no body. No body means no XX or XY chromosome pair; thus, no gender.

Even if we delve into the esoteric delights of Kabbalah, which is more open to the idea of a divine body, we find, for every “male” aspect of God an equal and opposite “female” one. Besides, Hebrew has no word for “it”; the Lord was designated “He” rather than “She” purely through patriarchy. To deny the feminine divine distances females from divinity; I’m not OK with that.

Alas, semantic sexism extends to the Haggadah’s human characters, repeatedly designated as sons, fathers, men ...  If we speak only of “four sons,” are we denying our obligation to teach our daughters the Passover story equally? Or are we merely claiming that female children cannot be wise, wicked, simple or unable to ask?  Just what traits do they possess? Does either position actually sound reasonable?  Besides, did not our foremothers suffer as much as their mates in Egypt – and journey to freedom as valiantly? Miriam matters no less than Moses: it certainly takes a great hero to lead his entire people out of Egypt and into the desert – but how far could they go without an equally great heroine to find them water and deliver their babies?  

Still, people don’t understand why I care about this. Every Seder the eye rolls and smirks among guests and family say it, with or without spoken words, “Get off your soapbox, you women’s libber/man-hater/killjoy/noodge. Why does it matter?  After all, other women don’t mind.” And to me, this hurts worst of all: to see women so thoroughly taught to accept unfairness that they don’t even feel wronged when it happens.

Well, I do. On Passover, I’ll celebrate being free – and there can be no freedom without equality. I’ll claim women’s fair share of God, of the Exodus, and of our people’s history. Not just as a matter of principle, but because I’m a mother-in-law who hopes, someday, to watch a little girl at the Seder table learning to be truly free. So, this Passover, come celebrate with us, at a feast my husband and I prepare with equal labor and love. The food will be out- of-this-world, the house (virtually) spotless, the spirits high … and my soapbox will stay right where it is. Ignore it, or, better yet, climb on with me – you might find yourself liking a different view.

YEKATERINA GINZBURG-BRAM, a resident of Providence, is a member of Temple Emanu-El and an elementary school art teacher in the Providence Public Schools.