Every year during Chanukah, I buy each of the teachers in my religious school a book as a gift. I go to Joseph-Beth in Rookwood and spend well over an hour perusing the shelves, focused on selecting the exact right volume for the individual in question. It can be a novel, thriller, pop-psychology, or deep-dive history of a particular subject; in each case, I try to thread the needle on something that will make my teachers feel like I have taken the time to get to know them and also put the effort into finding something I think they’ll love.
Usually, I don’t aim for a specifically Jewish book; in fact, one of my favorite rabbinic areas of interest is applying Jewish values and ideologies to culture that is not inherently Jewish in origin. In the 21st century, I think that media analysis through a Jewish lens is one of the most powerful ways to make our tradition relevant for a new generation. But this year, I had one book that was a perfect fit for a particular teacher, and that involved a text that was a deep theological and ideological examination of an area I thought she would find interesting.
A few weeks after giving the teacher her gift, she called me to discuss the book. We chatted about its many points of intrigue before she noted: “I was disappointed by how few women he used in his source work.”
The sad truth was that I hadn’t noticed. Upon further review, it was impossible to ignore. One of the greatest theologians of our time had written a book with hundreds of citations, yet, shockingly, few represented any demographic diversity. Obviously, I have my own bias as a cisgender straight man, and my congregant pointing out the book’s similar bias was eye-opening and concerning. Why was it that one of the most insightful and progressive voices in our religion wasn’t able to look to a better mix of sources?
One answer is that our history has been far too homogeneous. In the Talmud, we are taught to respect the interpretations of those who came before us, because they were writing and theorizing at a time that was “closer to Sinai,” in a more spiritual proximity to our most profound moment of revelation. This kind of respect for our academic predecessors is a lovely expression of honoring our elders, but ultimately means that we are preserving a worldview that far too often undervalued the role of women and minorities in our midst. We quote Akiva, Rashi, and Rambam because history has prioritized them, with no female equivalents to carry alongside them.
By the 20th century, Judaism had begun to democratize our scholastic values in a way that was both long overdue and incredibly beneficial to our understanding of texts. Sages like Nechama Leibowitz, Rachel Adler, and Judith Plaskow broke down barriers that ensured the future would include voices the past had never allowed. From the Women’s Torah Commentary, codified by Andrea Weiss and Tamara Eskanazi, to the creativity and brilliance of Sarah Hurwitz and Marra Gad, women are among those ensuring that the future of Jewish scholarship includes as many perspectives as possible.
Of course, the pitfall there is that in the 21st century, the increase in total access to content means that there is enough material to keep us busy for more than one lifetime. It is, therefore, on us as readers, scholars, and thinkers to actively pursue those who might offer us insights that don’t match our own point of view. As the writer of the aforementioned book (I am being intentionally vague, as this is a larger conversation than any one text should have to represent) demonstrates, if we just go with the default, we might inadvertently lean on the sources that are most “traditional,” thus eliminating those who have been historically left out of our tradition.
Since I was a child, I have always wanted to participate in what Sarah Hurtwitz describes in her latest book as the “Jewish text-line,” the heritage of scholarship we pass from one generation to the next. As the father to a little girl, I also know how important it is to ensure that she gets to participate with all of the wisdom, enthusiasm, and conviction we are raising her to enjoy. To do that, the Jewish world needs to make the intentional choice to increase our awareness, access, and inclusion of the full spectrum of Jewish interpretation and insight. And we will all be strengthened for it when we do.
Austin Zoot is the Rabbi Educator at Valley Temple in Wyoming, Ohio.