An orange on the plate

Normally I look forward to my trips to Israel with much anticipation and excitement. Even following the horrific attack of October 7, and with an ongoing war, I was still looking forward to being with my people.

But three weeks ago, I got a call from my aunt that my father, who lives in Arad, Israel, had passed away. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that I had to travel there to bury my father. 

On my way from Ben Gurion Airport to Arad, I called the cemetery. In Israel, there are no funeral homes. All the arrangements are handled by the cemeteries Hevra Kaddisha (a burial society). Hevra Kaddisha in Israel is a group of orthodox or ultra orthodox men. They usually have a say in the way the burials are conducted.

The last time I was in Arad, I witnessed a burial of a haredi man whose wife was not even allowed to approach the grave. In fact, all the women were kept at a distance and only the men participated in shoveling the earth and saying Kaddish.

Needless to say, after conducting multiple funerals throughout my career, I wanted to have a meaningful service for my father. I was hopeful that I would be allowed to determine what my dad’s burial service was going to look like.

Initially, my conversation with Yisrael, a member of Hevra Kaddisha in Arad, was irritating. He acted in a very businesslike manner. He asked my dad’s name, the date of his passing, his passport number, as well as other details in a very matter of fact voice. I stopped him and said: “Yisrael, I just flew in from United States to bury my dad. I am not calling you regarding some mundane matter. I would expect you to at least offer your condolences before you proceed with requesting the information.” I also shared with him that I am a rabbi in a Reform synagogue, and when I get a call from a member about the death of a loved one, first thing I say is ‚HaMakom yenahem etkhem btokh sha’ar avelei tziyon virushalayim.’ This means “May the Omnipresent comfort you among the rest of the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem”. In other words – I am sorry for your loss.”

There was a brief pause on the other line and then Yisrael started apologizing and repeating over and over “Ha Makom yenachem…” I seized an opportunity and asked if I can conduct the funeral myself.

To my surprise, Yisrael agreed without hesitation. In fact, Yisrael and the rest of the “team” went above and beyond to make sure that everything went as smoothly as possible.

As I was leading the service, I could see them standing in the doorway, listening. This surprised me. After all I knew it is prohibited for haredi Jews to hear “kol isha” – a woman’s voice, meaning the voice of a woman other than man’s wife or his daughter.

Even during the Toraitic times, when women were not considered equal to men, the Torah stressed the importance of women. Miriam is one of them. If it were not for the bravery of her saving her brother, there would be no “Yetziat Mitzrayim” – no Exodus from Egypt.

Unfortunately, in haredi circles here and in Israel, women are viewed as the household keepers, whose role it is to give birth, raise the children and serve the needs of her husband.

This is one of the many things that secular, or less observant, Israelis find problematic with the attitude of the haredi Jews. In my opinion, the denial of women playing an equal role in society is an indication of the weakness of men rather than their strength.

I wish that the respect that Yisrael showed me during my time of grief could be the beginning of “tikkun” repairing of that societal structure.

On every Passover we say that we celebrate not only the Israelites who escaped from slavery, but each person’s path to freedom.

This year, as always, I placed an orange on the seder plate as a symbol of inclusion of women in Jewish history and the fact that a woman can be a rabbi.

I know that this is a stretch, but my hope is that one day Jews of all denominations will celebrate women’s strength and extraordinary contributions to society. And who knows, maybe one day I will get to lead a seder along with a rabbi from Crown Heights or Meah Shearim.

A Zisen Pesah!