Parshat Hukat: Breaking the Silence

Would you like to hear a story?

This is a true story about me. So you can learn a bit about my journey and how it relates to our week’s Torah portion.

Do you remember when we were kids, people would ask us, “So what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Yes, they asked me to. I was about 7 or 8 years old and answered: “A religious woman.” (Datiya) I will never forget the surprised and not-so-pleasant look in my friends’ eyes and the silence that followed. I immediately understood that I had given an unacceptable answer to my secular Tel Aviv friends, and from then on, I answered what they expected to hear: you know, a police officer, a doctor, things like that.

I loved visiting her (even though we never exchanged a word. I didn’t know Yiddish, and she didn’t know Hebrew)

But it wouldn’t be fair without explaining why I answered like that. My Polish grandmother, Savta-Bella, my father’s mother (both rest in peace), was a very devout and religious woman—Orthodox—and I loved visiting her (even though we never exchanged a word. I didn’t know Yiddish, and she didn’t know Hebrew). The spiritual aura surrounding her and the atmosphere in the Grand Synagogue in Ben Yehuda Street in Tel-Aviv, which I attended with my father during the High Holidays, awakened profound feelings of transcendence and purpose within me from a young age.

Yes, I wanted to be religious without knowing what it meant, and I kept it deep in my heart.

I grew up and continued studying the Bible in school. Stories of creation and destruction, love and wars, schemes, conquests, leaders, promises, prophecies, and One God trying to bring order and light filled my world. Amidst all the chaos and attempts to repair לתקן, I sought to learn about the women who created worlds. Still, they were mentioned sparingly, often negatively, and silenced from generation to generation under the guise of “tradition.”

I was about 15 when I angrily closed the door on the Jewish religious world and assimilated with my secular surroundings.

In a modern and egalitarian world, reading patriarchal sacred texts that are the Jewish tradition passed down through generations poses a danger. I was also confused as a child and teenager until one day, I woke up and realized that their voice was mine. I was about 15 when I angrily closed the door on the Jewish religious world and assimilated with my secular surroundings.

Our week’s Torah portion, Parashat Chukat, paints a picture of the people’s struggle with divine laws, death and loss, leadership and spiritual challenges, and external and internal conflicts before entering the Promised Land in a transition period of 40 years. The themes are many, but I want to focus on Moses’ sin of striking the rock instead of speaking to it, his punishment, and how this relates to the death of his sister Miriam, mentioned in less than a verse in the portion, and the women observers at Nahal Oz on October 7th.

In a modern and egalitarian world, reading patriarchal sacred texts that are the Jewish tradition passed down through generations poses a danger.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks suggests in his book “Covenant & Conversation: A Weekly Reading of the Jewish Bible.” Miriam is a central figure in the history of the people of Israel. She is one of the three siblings who led the people in the wilderness. She is described as a prophetess who played a significant role in the Song of the Sea after crossing the Red Sea. Miriam led the women and had significant spiritual and communal influence. Symbols and imagery like Miriam’s well, drum, song, and prophecy highlight her spiritual and communal importance.

Suppose we learn about the importance of Miriam’s life through symbols. In that case, her death is mentioned briefly in a single verse:
“Miriam died there and was buried there – וַתָּמָת שָׁם מִרְיָם וַתִּקָּבֵר שָׁם” (Numbers 20:1). In contrast, the deaths of Aaron and Moses are described in much greater detail. Aaron’s death is detailed in terms of the time, place, and thirty-day mourning period (Numbers 20:23-29). Similarly, Moses’ death includes his farewell and ascent to Mount Nebo (Deut. 34). When Miriam died, she was buried there. 

Sacks explains that Miriam’s death brought Moses to a state of deep personal mourning. Miriam’s presence and role supported Moses emotionally and spiritually from his birth. The pain and mourning over her death influenced his ability to deal with the people’s complaints and led to his mistake—letting grief take over, striking the rock instead of speaking to it. Moses successfully dealt with political challenges and the people’s rebellions but failed in his struggle after Miriam’s death.

How can a woman whose leadership is mentioned briefly and symbolically cause a leader like Moses to fail in his internal struggles, leading to his sin and severe punishment?

Rabbi Sacks explains that the Torah recognizes the differences between the sexes and sees them in complementary roles. As a woman, Miriam represented the spiritual and communal force essential for the emotional and spiritual balance of the people and for Moses in particular. The differences between the sexes mean that leadership is not only political and public but also personal and emotional, and the different roles of men and women complement each other.

The silencing of the female voice is tied to both time and place, but it is not confined to the past.

In her article “A Tradition of Silencing: What do Miriam the Prophet, Jephthah’s Daughter, and the (IDF October 7th) female observers have in common?” (Ynet), Ruhama Weiss connects these three central figures through the aspect of silencing the female voice.

The women observers at the Nahal Oz post, which was among the first battlegrounds on October 7th, where kidnappings and murders occurred, raised warnings four days before the massacre. They reported about a border exercise that involved rocket launches and raids on IDF tanks. According to security officials, despite the exercise being extensive and unusual, it was described as “just another drill” conducted in the Gaza Strip. This scenario was almost precisely replicated on October 7th, including rocket launches and tank raids. (kan)

Miriam is a central figure in the history of the people of Israel who held significant spiritual and communal roles. Symbols like Miriam’s well (a flowing spring of water that dried up after her death), her drum in the Song of the Sea, and her description as a prophetess highlight her spiritual and leadership influence, perhaps in a patriarchal world where women had a lower status than men and even slaves in certain legal aspects, it was neither fashionable nor acceptable to tell women’s stories in detail and praise them. It was probably the way of our sages to shine a spotlight on Miriam, plant seeds, hints, and images so that we would piece together the puzzle to learn the complete picture.

Do you remember when we were kids, people would ask us, “So what do you want to be when you grow up?“

So yes, I wanted to be religious without knowing what it meant, and I kept it deep in my heart. I don’t know if I am religious or if I will be one when I grow up, but my love for the written word and the story of the Hebrew man and woman is enormous.

The women’s voices are my voice, and I am their voice in sacred texts passed down through generations from past to present to future. Our role is to tell the complete story of the Jewish tradition passed down through generations so that we do not forget and do not confuse the silencing of women’s voices with our voices, the voices of society as a whole.