Exiled, once again

The Kotel has a remarkable hold on people. I remember my first visit there, and not knowing at all what to feel. Or, I should say, I knew that I wanted to feel emotionally moved, but I couldn’t muster any raw emotions. I faked crying, because it seemed like the right thing to do. I walked up to it, touched it, prayed a little, then returned to my group.

On my dozens of visits to the Kotel, I still marvel at its beauty and am impressed by its historical significance. I love teaching students about the ancient Temple and the beauty of the Herodian architecture. But… for the most part, it’s just a wall to me. There’s a part of me, buried deep next to that part of me that still enjoys watching Sesame Street, that still wants to have a more deeply emotional experience. But at the end of the day… it’s just a wall.

Unless you believe that the Kotel itself holds some mystical or religious power, then the wall is ultimately a symbol. It’s a powerful and important one, but a symbol at that. Even if you desire to see the Temple rebuilt, the collection of bricks currently being fought over is still symbolic.

Unless you believe that there is some divinity imbued in a retaining wall built by “a madman who murdered his own family and a great many rabbis,” then all of the conversations about the Kotel are ultimately about human matters. They are directed upwards to God, and have to do with how we conduct ourselves in matters of holiness, but they are, at the end of the day, about us.

This understanding seems to be missing from all of the self-congratulating and triumphalism taking place in the wake of the recent agreement on an enhanced non-Orthodox prayer space at the Kotel.

A wall is a wall – whether you pray at the northern edge or the southern edge, you’re standing in front of the same bricks. So we’re not actually talking about the wall itself. We’re talking about what it represents. What this discussion is really about is the symbolism of having a presence (or non-presence) at the Kotel.

In that light, I must admit that I am flummoxed by all of the celebrating taking place within progressive Jewish movements. I count no less than six triumphant emails from various arms of the Reform Movement, and dozens of Facebook posts celebrating victory.

What victory? The new plan is a symbolic step backwards that creates a new separate-but-equal status. Orthodox women who want to pray according to their understanding of halakhah, or who want to read from a sefer Torah, or wear T’fillin in a non-egalitarian setting are out of luck.

What triumph? The new plan relegates non-Orthodox Jewish prayer to a small parcel of space, on a far corner, out of sight, and out of mind of the “real” Kotel. It is the symbolic back of the bus.

But course, separate-but-equal is not equal. This is not an issue that can be swept to the outer edges of an archaeological park.

Vanessa L. Ochs, an original member of Women of the Wall, expressing her opposition to the agreement and the triumphalism, has this to say:

Jews have experience sustaining themselves when forced into a ghetto and when forcibly exiled. Those who are going to Robinson’s Arch are allowing themselves to be willingly exiled from a sacred site Jews have yearned for centuries. And they are using a trick from the religious-imagination playbook to put a pleasant spin on it: they are already calling the new space “the Kotel” just as Jews call their own table, after the destruction of the Temple, “mini-tabernacle” or mishkan me’at. In that place of exile, they will long for some future redemption that, to my mind, is far more significant than a spot for prayer: having freedom from Orthodox hegemony in the areas of marriage, divorce and conversion.

Anshell Pfeffer, In a scathing critique of any claims of success, comments in Haaretz on how “ridiculous” the shouts of victory and triumph are in the name of religious pluralism and egalitarianism:

Even if Reform Jews get a small corner at the foot of the outer walls of Herod’s Temple, that they can share with all the other non-orthodox Jews, their status within the Israeli establishment will not have improved… [The agreement] is a complete capitulation to the ultra-Orthodox establishment and acceptance of the fact that the most fanatical stream of modern Judaism continues to rule Israel, and the Jewish world’s most revered sites, without having to see women performing their own prayers, with a sefer torah. That is the bottom line. The fundamentalists have won.

The bottom line, indeed. For the Orthodox hegemony of the Kotel, nothing has changed. Orthodox prayer remains the standard at the site that – in the eyes of Israelis and Jews – will always remain the symbolically “true” Kotel. And the upstart Jewish women who wanted to pray joyously with the Torah, Tallit, and Tefillin are once again relegated into oblivion.

At the site symbolic of our long exile, another group of pious Jews has once again been exiled.

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