Why Women Writers Deserve Better

In 2020, I completed an in-depth study of Francis Salvador, the first Jew elected to public office in the American colonies and the first to die in the American Revolution. My paper, “Dreaming of Equality: Francis Salvador and Jewish Patriots during the American Revolution,” ran over 100 pages and represented months of original research. I consulted obscure archival sources, analyzed primary documents, and examined generations of Jewish and American historiography. It was both a scholarly effort and a personal mission to highlight a figure often missing from the story of America’s founding.

To make the research accessible and contribute to broader public discourse, I uploaded it to Academia.edu and published a version on Medium. These platforms are designed to bring scholarship to wider audiences—students, teachers, writers, and researchers.

Recently, I saw that a well-known writer had accessed my research and then published an article on Salvador in a respected Israeli paper. His op-ed closely followed the arc of my work—emphasizing the same themes and citing lesser-known facts I had highlighted. It was a summary of my work, nothing more. What it didn’t do was credit me. My name appeared nowhere. Nor did he reference the existence of my academic work, despite accessing it beforehand through a site that tracks visits.

I don’t use this space to accuse anyone of ill intent. However, when a published article mirrors the structure and content of your research and is released just days after the author accessed your paper—without any acknowledgment—questions inevitably arise. And unfortunately, these questions are all too familiar for women in academia and journalism.

This Issue Isn’t Just About Me

What happened to me is part of a wider and deeply entrenched pattern: the erasure of women’s voices, labor, and intellectual contributions—especially in Jewish and Israeli media spaces.

Women are underrepresented across the media industry in Israel, not only as reporters or columnists but especially in positions of editorial authority. A 2023 study by The Seventh Eye and the Journalists’ Organization in Israel found that only 32% of broadcast journalists in the country are women. The numbers are worse in radio, where male voices account for over 75% of programming.

Even in television, where women are more visible, they are disproportionately assigned to “soft news” subjects—health, education, and family—while men dominate the hard-hitting fields of politics, security, and religion. These are precisely the areas where I work and write and where credit and visibility matter most.

The disparities don’t end with presence on screen or byline. Women hold only about a quarter of senior editorial roles in major Israeli newsrooms. In print media, most editors-in-chief are still men, and junior editors and reporters skew heavily male in areas considered to be of higher status or influence.

Journalism Reflects Academia

This underrepresentation mirrors the landscape of Israeli academia. While women make up roughly 50% of lecturers, their numbers drop sharply as ranks rise. Only 17% of full professors at Israeli universities are women, and in fields like Jewish history, political science, and Talmudic studies, the numbers are even smaller.

In the sciences, the gap is even more severe. In mathematics and computer science, women comprise 29% of lecturers but only 6% of full professors. In physics, they make up just 7% of academic staff. These numbers, documented by the Knesset Research and Information Center and AIP Publishing, demonstrate how structural barriers continue to slow the advancement of women, even when qualifications are equal.

Sociologist Nina Toren has written extensively about these patterns. She notes that gender discrimination in Israeli academia is rarely about overt exclusion—it is the cumulative effect of small obstacles that grow over time. From hiring practices and publication opportunities to mentorship and leadership roles, women face more hurdles and receive less recognition.

Erased, Interrupted, and ignored.

Women journalists and scholars also face disproportionate scrutiny and dismissal. Many Israeli women in media have spoken about being interrupted on-air, subjected to online harassment, or labeled “emotional” or “unprofessional” for offering the same analysis as their male peers—particularly when covering political or security topics. They do not receive the same authority for their work. Their voices are often treated as optional rather than essential.

This dynamic has historical roots. As early as 1955, only 7% of employees at major Israeli newspapers were women. By 1976, that number had crept up to just 10.8%. While the 1980s saw some progress, it has plateaued recently. In her important study, Where Are the Women in Israeli Journalism?, Maya Bonash details how expectations of a “pink collar revolution” in Israeli media fully failed to materialize.

More than 30 years ago, Dan Caspi and Yehiel Limor predicted a coming “feminization” of the Israeli press. But that prediction remains largely unfulfilled. As Anat Saragusti, founder of the Women Journalists Chamber, has observed, being able to name most of the prominent women journalists from memory shows how few there are. And as Professor Einat Lachover points out, on-screen visibility does not necessarily translate into editorial power.

Even internationally acclaimed female historians have experienced the same disregard. Ruth Wisse has described moments in her career when male colleagues echoed her ideas without acknowledgment. Dalia Ofer has written about how women’s experiences in the Holocaust were long left out of Israeli historical narratives—and how those same topics only gained legitimacy when male historians began publishing on them.

It’s not always overt theft. Often, it’s an echo, a repackaging, or an omission. But the result is the same: women’s intellectual labor is rendered invisible, while male voices are elevated.

What I’m Asking For

This isn’t about ego. It’s about justice. About integrity. It concerns the kind of world we aim to create for the upcoming generation of scholars, journalists, and readers.

I am calling for three basic actions:

1. Editorial Accountability: Publications must implement clear standards for crediting sources—especially when articles rely on public academic work. Before publishing, editors should ask where the information comes from and whether attribution is owed.
2. Increased Representation: Jewish and Israeli media should publish more women in opinion and leadership roles. The numbers we’re seeing—17%, 23%, and 26%—are not acceptable. They must rise if we care about balanced, inclusive public discourse.
3. Public Acknowledgment: When a publication is made aware that an article closely reflects prior research, it should issue a correction or acknowledgment. This is not about punishment—it’s about restoring rightful credit and setting a precedent of fairness.

Why I’m Speaking Out—Again

Repackaging my work without credit is not a new experience for me. Years ago, I noticed a well-known author using my research on Judah Benjamin in his book. I spoke out, and the response was mixed—some supported me, others would rather not hear it. But the book didn’t succeed. And the conversation it started mattered.

Now, I find myself in a similar situation. And this time, I’m not staying silent.

I’ve spent more than two decades working as a historian, journalist, and educator. I’ve written about Jewish history, antisemitism, and the intersections of identity, memory, and politics. I’ve taught students from grade school to graduate school. I’ve published in major news outlets, edited academic journals, and self-published books. I’ve chosen independence to retain control of my work—and I’ve stood by that choice, like an indie artist guarding their masters.

I reiterate: If my work is worthy of borrowing, it’s also worthy of publication.

And so are thousands of other women.

We don’t need charity. We need credit. And we deserve the space to speak in our voices—not just see our work rewritten under someone else’s name.

It’s time for media institutions—especially those that pride themselves on truth and justice—to reflect on how they treat women’s intellectual labor. The stakes are not just personal. They’re professional. They’re cultural. And they’re moral.