Tag Archives: Patriarchy

Yitro, Exodus 18:1-20:23

Yitro, , , ,
Link to Parsha: http://www.hebcal.com/sedrot/yitro

Women and Revelation

By Judith Plaskow

Read from a feminist perspective, Yitro contains one of the most painful verses in the Torah. At the formative moment in Jewish history, when presumably the whole people of Israel stands in awe and trembling at the base of Mount Sinai waiting for God to descend upon the mountain and establish the covenant, Moses turns to the assembled community and says, “Be ready for the third day: do not go near a woman” (19:15). Moses wants to ensure that the people are ritually prepared to receive God’s presence, and an emission of semen renders both a man and his female partner temporarily unfit to approach the sacred (see Leviticus 15:16-18). But Moses does not say, “Men and women do not go near each other.” Instead, at this central juncture in the Jewish saga, he renders women invisible as part of the congregation about to enter into the covenant.

These words are deeply troubling for at least two reasons. First, they are a paradigm of the treatment of women as “other,” both elsewhere in this portion and throughout the Torah. Again and again, the Torah seems to assume that the Israelite nation consists only of male heads of household. It records the experiences of men, but not the experiences of women. For example, the tenth commandment, “You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife” (20:14), presupposes a community of male hearers.

Second, entry into the covenant at Sinai is not just a one-time event, but an experience to be reappropriated by every generation (Deuteronomy 29:13-14). Every time the portion is chanted, whether as part of the annual cycle of Torah readings or as a special reading for Shavuot, women are thrust aside once again, eavesdropping on a conversation among men, and between men and God. The text thus potentially evokes a continuing sense of exclusion and disorientation in women. The whole Jewish people supposedly stood at Sinai. Were we there? Were we not there? If we were there, what did we hear when the men heard “do not go near a woman”? If we were not there originally, can we be there now? Since we are certainly part of the community now, how could we not have been there at that founding moment?

Given the seriousness of these questions, it is important to note the larger narrative context of Moses’ injunction to the men not to go near a woman. When the Israelites arrive at Sinai on the third new moon after leaving Egypt, Moses twice ascends the mountain to talk with God. After he brings God the report that the people have agreed to accept the covenant, God gives Moses careful instructions for readying everyone for the moment of revelation: “Go to the people and warn them to stay pure today and tomorrow,” God says. “Let them wash their clothes. Let them be ready for the third day; for on the third day Adonai will come down, in the sight of all the people, on Mount Sinai” (19:10-11). It is striking that God’s instructions to Moses are addressed to the whole community. It is Moses who changes them, who glosses God’s message, who assumes that the instructions are meant for only half the people. Thus, at this early stage in Jewish history, Moses filters and interprets God’s commands through a patriarchal lens. His words are a paradigm of the treatment of women, but a complex one. They show how Jewish tradition has repeatedly excluded women, but also the way in which that exclusion must be understood as a distortion of revelation.

Interestingly, the Rabbis seem to have been disturbed by the implication of women’s absence from Sinai, because they read women into the text in a variety of ways. B’reishit Rabbah 28:2 understands Exodus 19:3 (“Thus shall you say to the house of Jacob and declare to the children of Israel”) to mean that “the house of Jacob” refers to the women and “the children of Israel” refers to the men. According to the midrash, the order of the verse suggests that God sent Moses to the women with the Torah first. Perhaps, the sages speculate, God regretted the mistake of not directly giving Eve the commandment concerning the forbidden fruit and so resolved not to repeat it. Besides, the Rabbis note, women are more careful in observing religious precepts, and they are the ones who will instruct their children. Rashi, commenting on the Mishnah (Shabbat 9:3; BT Shabbat 86a), interprets Exodus 19:15 (“Do not go near a woman”) as a stricture specifically designed to enable Israel’s women to be present at Sinai. Since semen loses its power to create impurity after three days, Moses’ instruction to the men guarantees that women will remain ritually pure, even if they discharge residual semen during the Revelation. In other words, without ever naming Moses’ distortion of God’s words directly, the Rabbis sought to reverse its effects.

Several lessons can be drawn from this. One is the inseparability of revelation and interpretation. There is no revelation without interpretation; the foundational experience of revelation also involves a crucial act of interpretation. Second, we learn that the process of interpretation is ongoing. What Moses does, the Rabbis in this case seek to undo. While they reiterate and reinforce the exclusion of women in many contexts, they mitigate it in others. Third, insofar as the task of interpretation is continuing, it now lies with us. If women’s absence from Sinai is unthinkable to the Rabbis–despite the fact that they repeatedly reenact that absence in their own works–how much more must it be unthinkable to women and men today who function in communities in which women are full Jews? We have the privilege and the burden of recovering the divine words reverberating behind the silences in the text, recreating women’s understandings of revelation throughout Jewish history.

Plaskow, Judith. "Women and Revelation." My Jewish Learning. (Viewed January 18, 2014). http://www.myjewishlearning.com/texts/Bible/Weekly_Torah_Portion/URJ--Yitro.shtml?p=0

Not Norms for Everyone

By Jon D. Levenson

The Decalogue [the Greek word for the Ten Commandments] is part of a specific covenantal relationship, born out of the Exodus, between God and Israel. It does not purport to be a set of universal norms. To act as if everybody in the world came out of Egypt, everyone in the world is required to observe Shabbat and everyone in the world was brought into the land of Israel would make a travesty of the actual biblical narrative. The truth is that neither biblical nor rabbinic traditions speak of the Decalogue as applicable to universal humanity. In rabbinic tradition, there is a universal set of norms, but it is the “Seven Noahide Commandments.” Among different Christian communities, the understanding of the Ten Commandments varies widely. Sometimes they are seen to include ceremonial norms that applied to the ancient Hebrew commonwealth but were superseded by the Gospel, but other times they are thought to apply in full force to Christians today. Given the prominence of Protestantism, and especially the Calvinist emphasis on the Old Testament in American culture, it is not surprising that the Decalogue has widespread significance and high prestige here. It is often mistakenly detached from its covenantal framework and treated instead as a code that binds society as a whole. Within the covenantal relationship between God and the Jewish people, of course, scrupulous observance of the Decalogue remains essential.

Levenson, Jon D. "Not Norms for Everyone." Excerpt from 10 Commandments 2.0 by Joan Alpert. Moment Magazine. (Viewed on January 18, 2014). http://www.momentmag.com/10-commandments-2-0/3/

Chayei Sarah, Genesis 23:1-25:18

Chayei Sarah, , , , ,
Link to Parsha: http://www.hebcal.com/sedrot/chayeisara

You Can’t Go Home Again. Sort Of.

By Rabbi Niles Elliot Goldstein

The Torah portion for this week raises a critically important existential question, a query that writers, psychologists and seekers have asked for many, many years:  Can we ever really go home again?

Chayei Sarah, or The Life of Sarah, encompasses death and birth, ends and beginnings, and continuity. It offers a story about the polarity of mortal existence. It also highlights the cyclical, and sometimes paradoxical, nature of the human journey.

The portion gets its name from the opening two verses of the narrative, which recount the life and describe the death of the first matriarch of the Jewish people. Immediately after Sarah dies, the aged Abraham purchases the cave of Machpelah from its Hittite owner, Ephron. From that point forward, the cave and the land around it will serve as the burial site, not only for Abraham’s wife but for Abraham himself, as well as his progeny.

The cave also serves as a symbol. After the patriarch’s horrific trial on Mount Moriah (the binding and near sacrifice of his son Isaac), and following the loss of his beloved wife and lifelong partner, Abraham is in dire need of something tangible — something concrete — that he can possess and “control.” Tested by God and bowed by the irresistible power of mortality, the gravesite becomes Abraham’s foothold in the land of Canaan, but it also represents an anchor of security in the midst of forces that are beyond his ability to fathom or resist.

The first chapter in the life of the Jewish people has come to a close. The “mother” who gave birth to the people of Israel has died. But a new chapter has begun.

As T.S. Eliot writes in his poem, “Little Gidding”:

What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.

In Chayei Sarah, Abraham stands at a threshold, a shadow place between ends and beginnings, death and new life. When we, like the patriarch, stand at a threshold, we often feel as if we are neither here nor there: we teeter in liminal space, unsure of our footing and uncertain about our next steps. A threshold can usher in change, but it can also trigger feelings of panic. Yet Abraham does not panic. Instead, he acts quickly and with resolve.

After his purchase of the gravesite and Sarah’s burial in it, the narrative tells us that Abraham is now “old, advanced in years” (Gen. 24:1), and the juxtaposition of this information with Sarah’s interment implies that the patriarch’s life is nearing its end as well, and that Abraham will soon join his wife in the cave of Machpelah. In the next verse, Abraham orders his senior servant to travel to the land of the patriarch’s birth in order to find a wife for his son Isaac — and to swear an oath that he will not choose a woman from among the Canaanites. When the servant asks whether Isaac should meet him there in the event the prospective bride is unwilling to follow him, Abraham replies, “On no account must you take my son back there!” (Gen. 24:6)

Abraham is adamant about this point. He reaffirms and reinforces it two verses later, when we hear his very last words: “Do not take my son back there!” (Gen. 24:8) Yet while the patriarch is (notably) resolute and passionate about his son never setting foot in his homeland, Abraham seems just as determined in his desire to find Isaac a wife from his homeland.

The story presents us with a paradox. On one hand, Abraham’s words and directive convey the idea that we cannot, and should not, try to go home again. Many years earlier, Abraham heeded God’s call, left his father’s house, and began a covenantal relationship between God and his future progeny. There is no going back — not for Abraham, nor for his son and all those to follow.

The past must remain in the past. On the other hand, if we view the woman who will eventually become Isaac’s wife (Rebekah) as a metaphor for “home,” then the narrative — and the teaching behind it — gets more complicated. While we can’t go home again, we can retrieve and reclaim aspects of our heritage. Where we have come from informs and shapes who we will be. Tribal continuity is something we should strive for with all of our heart and soul.

Abraham dies and is buried with Sarah in the cave of Machpelah. The servant finds Rebekah and brings her back to Canaan to marry Isaac. And the cycle of life continues.

T.S. Eliot goes on in his poem:

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning.

Living at the threshold, as Abraham does in this week’s Torah portion — living at all, really — means that our perceptions of time and self will always be in a state of flux: ends will give birth to new beginnings, and beginnings will eventually transform into ends. Like the patriarch’s clan, we have little choice but to embark, and embark again and again, on the ever-cyclical journey.

Yet our souls crave rest. And completion. When our exploration comes to a close, our focus will shift from perception to recognition. We will see, and we will be wise enough to finally understand, that the end we longed for was actually just another beginning.

Elliot Goldstein, Niles. "You Can't Go Home Again. Sort Of." Odyssey Networks. (Viewed on October 25, 2013). http://www.odysseynetworks.org/news/2013/10/21/you-can%E2%80%99t-go-home-again-sort-of-hayyei-sarah-genesis-231-2518

D’var Tzedek

By Adina Gerver

When read with modern sensibilities, Genesis 24 is a traditional tale about a man who travels to a far-off land to find a woman to marry his master’s son. Imagine that you are that woman, going about your daily chores when a strange man approaches you. He gazes at you for a bit, and finding you to be a beautiful virgin, inquires as to your family lineage. Then he meets with your father and brother, who, seeing the many gifts that the servant has bestowed upon you and them, say without hesitation, “Take her and go, and let her be a wife to your master’s son.”

This is the scene that unfolds in Genesis 24—a traditional story, but with a surprising twist: Rebecca’s father, Bethuel, and brother, Laban, recant, and say “Let us call the girl and ask for her reply.” This verse is extraneous to the story and does not change the narrative at all, since Rebecca immediately agrees to go. What is it doing here? The Rabbis might have simply dismissed this as a stalling tactic since this verse appears in the context of the servant’s desire to take Rebecca with him immediately and her family’s desire that he tarry. Instead, Rashi makes a bold move and writes that from this specific phrase about a specific woman, we learn a general principle: a woman cannot be married against her will in Jewish law. Thus, Rebecca is carried to a far off land to marry Isaac, but with an express consent that impacts all Jewish women: “I will go.”

This story, which seems at first to solely treat women as silent property to be exchanged at will, is made slightly less disturbing by the important inclusion of Rebecca’s consent. Her voice matters at this moment, and Rashi amplifies it to make sure it is heard in future generations. He takes this tiny gap in the patriarchy-clad story and opens it up further, making women’s voices relevant to halachah as a whole.

This incident leaves a small, open space for Rebecca to be an active player in the decisions about her own life, one the Rabbis expanded to create greater change—and we can follow their lead. We must find the places where gender roles are cracking, where women’s voices are beginning to be heard, and wedge into those openings to create the chance for a stronger voice with wider resonance. We can find small elements of hope in patriarchal societies and expand upon them to make sustainable, systemic change.

Across the globe, when women in traditional societies are given the chance to be heard—on matters of their own health, the financial well-being of their families, or, more broadly, the democratic process—women, men and children flourish. When women are not allowed to be active decision makers in their own lives and in the lives of their families, they founder.

Grassroots organizations around the world are working to widen the space for women created by Rebecca. The Afghan Women’s Resource Center (AWRC) finds small gaps in patriarchy and, in those gaps, offers courses in literacy, health, women’s rights and micro enterprise. USOFOORAL ESUPAN in Senegal found a gap, and in it runs a sustainable gardening project that will provide income for 60 women and youth. The Center for Domestic Violence Prevention (CEDOVIP) in Uganda finds space for change at the grassroots level, and in that space, is mobilizing communities to change attitudes and behaviors that perpetuate domestic violence.

These organizations give women—if not Rebecca, then Farhat, Ramatulai, and Nabulungi—voices, and provide opportunities through which they can begin to defeat problems that might otherwise be overwhelming. Rather than turning away from an entire society in resignation, they find the places where women can speak and they work to expand those spaces from the inside, much as Rashi did with Genesis 24:57. And so must we each listen for openings and wedge into those cracks the fight for women’s empowerment.

Gerver, Adina. "Dvar Tzedek, Parshat Chayei Sarah." American Jewish World Service. (Viewed on October 25, 2013). http://ajws.org/what_we_do/education/publications/dvar_tzedek/5774/chayei_sarah.html

Lech Lecha, Genesis 12:1-17:27

Lech Lecha, , ,
Link to Parsha: http://www.hebcal.com/sedrot/lechlecha

A Patriarchy Is, After All, a Patriarchy

By Rabbi Elizabeth Dunsker

Parashat Lech L’cha contains the first of three wife-sister episodes in the Book of Genesis. These moments are disturbing. As the original patriarch and matriarch of the Jewish people, we want to see a strong and loving relationship between Abraham and Sarah. We want them to love and respect each other. We want them to serve as role models for us. Unfortunately, these incidents show us an uncomfortable side of their relationship that few of us would like to emulate.

As they travel toward the Negev there is a famine, so Abram and Sarai (their original names) turn toward Egypt. Fearing for their safety there, Abram says to Sarai, “I know what a beautiful woman you are! So when the Egyptians see you, and say: ‘This is his wife,’ they may kill me; but you they shall keep alive. Please say that you are my sister, that on your account it may go well for me, and that my life may be spared because of you” (Genesis 12:11–13). Sarai agrees, and when they enter Egypt it is just as Abram predicted. Sarai’s beauty is noticed, and she is taken to the Pharaoh’s palace. Abram then acquires “sheep, cattle, and asses, male and female slaves, she-asses and camels” because of her (Genesis 12:15).

This story is disturbing on so many levels. Why would Abram be so willing to offer Sarai to the Egyptians? Why would Sarai agree to such an arrangement? How could Abram (whom we expect to have high moral standards) accept riches for the taking of Sarai? Also, we understand the ancient system of marriage to be about protecting women sexually: through marriage a woman is to be protected from the advances of others. However, in this case her husband predicts what will happen and protects himself by hiding the true nature of their relationship, leaving Sarai as vulnerable as a woman traveling alone.

The biblical scholar Tikva Frymer-Kensky notes:

These narratives relate the story as most biblical stories are related, matter-of-factly, without moral judgment. But the choice of words indicates clearly what is going on. “When he drew close . . . when Abram arrived in Egypt” [Genesis 12:11–14]. The story uses the masculine singular of the verbs even though Abram was traveling with Sarai and probably with an entire entourage. This is a story about Abram, focused on Abram and told as if through Abram’s eyes. Abram is going, Sarai and the household move “with him” until “the woman was taken into Pharaoh’s house” [Genesis 12:15]. The very rare passive “was taken” [vatukach] emphasizes that she no longer has independent volition. She is also stripped of her individuality, no longer recognized as a person, for both Abram and Pharaoh treat her as “a woman”—an unspecified generic object of desire. Sarai has been commodified, and nobody in these stories uses her name. No longer Sarai, she is “she” or “wife” or “this one” or “woman,” an object being transferred from Abram’s household to Pharaoh’s, there to be a slave-concubine. But God has other plans. (Reading the Women of the Bible, Tikvah Frymer-Kensky [New York: Schocken Books, 2002], pp. 94–95. Chapter and verse references and transliteration here is mine.)

Frymer-Kensky notes for us the way the language here can help us to better understand this story. It is not Sarai’s story, it is Abram’s. Sarai is the object not the subject, and as the object her experience is irrelevant. Her sacrifice for her husband goes unnoticed as a sacrifice. As Frymer-Kensky also notes, “A patriarchy is, after all, a patriarchy” (ibid. p. 98). Sarai is not a wife in the same way that we, with our modern minds and relationships, understand “wife”; Sarai is property and is treated reasonably as such.

But of course, we cannot leave things there comfortably. If we are to find meaning and substance in our stories, then we cannot merely end the conversation by saying: “That’s how it was then; who are we to judge”? We must judge, we must struggle, we must wrestle meaning especially from these disturbing instances, or else we risk allowing the uncomfortable scenes to disappear: these too are a part of our story and I believe they must be explored.

There is some redemption here. While Abram and Pharaoh negotiate the value of “the woman,” and see her only as one more possession, God does not. The story continues, “But the Lord afflicted Pharaoh and his household with mighty plagues on account of Sarai, the wife of Abram” (Genesis 12:17). For God, Sarai is the subject. For God, Sarai’s experience is important. For God, Sarai is far more than a mere possession to be bought and sold. For God, she is not “the woman,” she is Sarai; a unique and special human being and the subject of her story. God afflicts Pharaoh for her. Her suffering is meaningful to God, if not to her husband.

“A patriarchy is, after all, a patriarchy,” but that need not be the end of the story. When a person has been mistreated, underestimated, ignored, and so on, it may lead him or her to feel unworthy and forgotten. Sarai’s humanity and individual personhood was recognized and remembered by God. I believe this is true for all of us. God recognizes the value and worth of each of us. For God, we are each unique and important. For God, we each have a name. For God, we are each the subject rather than the object. If only we as humans could also recognize the unique value of every other human and keep far from the objectification of others that continues to plague our species, we might create relationships that future generations will look to emulate. What a world we would create then!

Dunsker, Elizabeth. "A Patriarchy Is, After All, a Patriarchy." Dvar Torah. Reformjudaism.org. (Viewed on October 8, 2013). http://www.reformjudaism.org/patriarchy-after-all-patriarchy

Was Abraham the First Feminist?

By Chanah Weisberg

Living in the 21st century, we have cause to celebrate the great advances that have been made in the past 100 years in granting women rights and freedoms—freedoms that are unprecedented in all of recorded history.

And yet, despite the real advances in women’s rights, when I view the image of womanhood as it is portrayed in today’s media, I can’t help but cringe. What message is being sent about femininity in a society where a woman’s physical attributes are emphasized as being of prime (or sole) importance?

To me, feminism means that, along with certain freedoms, a woman is treated as more than a physical being. It means that she is seen as a We have cause to celebrate the great advances that have been made in the past 100 years multidimensional individual who has spiritual, intellectual and emotional strengths (and needs) which are recognized, developed and expressed.

As the Lubavitcher Rebbe said, “All human beings, men and women, were created for the same purpose—to fuse body and soul in order to make themselves and their world a better and holier place. The difference lies only in the different tools each has been given to fulfill their common goal.”

According to this definition of feminism—as a wholesome perspective on the totality of a person—we could perhaps see Abraham as the first feminist, fighting to educate the world about the rights of women.

Let’s look at Abraham and Sarah’s story.

A famine in the land of Canaan causes Abraham and Sarah to go down to Egypt. Sarah is seen by Pharaoh’s officers and, because of her beauty, she is forcibly taken into Pharaoh palace. Only God’s miraculous intervention saves her. She and Abraham prepare to leave the country laden with wealth (bestowed by Pharaoh), having successfully accomplished their physical and spiritual mission in the land.

Let’s take a closer look at the wording of the text:

As Abraham and Sarah are ready to leave Egypt, the verse tells us, “Abram went up from Egypt.” It makes sense for the verse to describe this journey as an ascent upwards, because they would need to travel northward to reach their destination in the land of Canaan.

However, a metaphorical reading of the verse indicates that Abraham also rose to new heights after his experience in Egypt. His sojourn in Egypt enriched him materially, but also personally. He returned to Canaan as a bolder, stronger leader, even more ready to enlighten the world with his message. His experience in Egypt showed him how diametrically opposed his vision was to the rest of civilized society, and how much work he had ahead of him.

At this time, Egypt was becoming the most highly developed center of the ancient world. The Egyptians were master astronomers and mathematicians, and even today we are awed by their engineering feats in constructing the pyramids. However, basic principles of morality were foreign to this civilization, as we will see from the text.

When Abraham originally set out for Canaan, the verse refers to Sarah by her name: “Abram took Sarai, his wife . . . and they went forth to go to the land of Canaan.” Egypt was becoming the most highly developed center of the ancient world. Likewise, when God  refers to Sarah, it is by her name: “Your wife, Sarai.” And when they are approaching Egypt, the verse reads, “And it came to pass when he came near to enter Egypt that he said to Sarai, his wife.”

But then, two verses later, the text reads, “When Abram came to Egypt, the Egyptians saw the woman”—an anonymous woman. Similarly, as Sarah is forcibly taken into the king’s palace, we are told, “The princes of Pharaoh also saw her, and praised her to Pharaoh, and the woman was taken into Pharaoh’s house.”

Likewise, when Abraham and Sarah prepare to leave Egypt, Sarah’s name is not mentioned: “Abram went up from Egypt, he and his wife.”

As soon as Abraham and Sarah enter Egypt, Sarah becomes a nameless “woman.” The only time Sarah’s name is mentioned in Egypt is when God intervenes to protect her every time Pharaoh approaches her. We are told that Pharaoh and his house are smitten with plagues al devar Sarai eishet Avram—“because of the matter of Sarai, the wife of Abram.”

To understand this, let’s look at Sarah’s names—actually, at Sarah’s two names. Her original name was Yiskah, which is from the root sochah, meaning “gazes.”

The name Yiskah alluded to Sarah’s gift of divine inspiration, which allowed her to gaze into the future. It also alluded to her beauty, which was so powerful that it drew gazes. Rashi explains: “Yiskah is Sarah, since she gazes with divine spirit, and everyone gazes at her beauty.” (Alternatively, Yiskah is from the rootnesichut, “princedom,” referring to her authority, and paralleling her other name, Sarah.)

Sarai, on the other hand, was (according to the Malbim) the name given to her by her husband, Abraham, and means “my princess and superior.” Abraham called her Sarai in deference to her superior spiritual characteristics, attributes that in many ways surpassed even his own.

But Sarah is seen this way only as long as they were in Canaan. From the moment they cross the border into the morally depraved Egypt, Sarah is no longer recognized for her leadership qualities, her talents or her keen prophetic capabilities. She is merely “the woman.”

In the Egyptian civilization at the time, women were seen from one perspective only: whether they were physically attractive. That’s why the verses say that the Egyptians were punished al devar Sarai, “because of the matter of Sarai”—because of the way they degraded her by seeing her not as Sarai, but as some kind of anonymous woman whose only significance was her physical form.

That was the difference between the community of Abraham and the Egyptian community. Abraham regarded his wife as Sarai, “my ruler,” seeing the true beauty of her nature. His only reference to her outer beauty came as they were about to enter Egypt, when it posed a threat to their lives.

Abraham did not treat Sarah like just an anonymous pretty face—the way that a purely physical perspective of women led the Egyptians to treat Sarah. On the contrary, with her prophetic abilities and in her intimate communication with God, she was Abraham’s guide and teacher. She was his ruler and superior. And it was only together, Abraham saw, that they could achieve their mission of reaching out and educating the world with their united spiritual ideals.

Even in modern times, when we have reached unprecedented advances in the treatment of women, the story of Abraham and Sarah challenges our value system. What do you see when you look at a woman? And, how do you view another human being? Do you see only their outward physical attributes, or do you look deeper to see the whole individual, including the beauty—and enormous depth—of their Godly soul? body? Do you see beyond externalities to a soul?

Weisberg, Chanah. "Was Abraham the First Feminist?" Life's Passages. Chabad.org. (Viewed on October 9, 2013). http://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2328590/jewish/Was-Abraham-the-First-Feminist.htm