News

Shabbat Meant Something New After the Fall of Roe v. Wade

Author

Alexa Kupor

Date

June 30, 2022

I like to think about the entry of Shabbat as a blanket of peace and quiet descending on the Jewish community as dusk falls on Friday evenings. The words of “Lecha Dodi” liken the beginning of Shabbat to a bride, evoking delicate images of grace, elegance, and reverence.

Last week was different. 

As I live on the West Coast, I first read the news of the overruling of Roe v. Wade upon waking up on Friday morning. By the time the sunset signaled the start of Shabbat, I had digested countless social media posts; engaged in fearful conversations with friends; and witnessed vehement protests from San Francisco City Hall to the steps of the Supreme Court. It was the opposite of peace and quiet, and it was only through this restlessness that we could find a reasonable channel for an inkling of our overflowing anger and apprehension.

Protest against policies that promote injustice or deprive people of civil liberties is a core Jewish value, as is the broader fight for reproductive justice. Despite common assumption, Judaism provides a significant theological justification for the protection of the right to terminate a pregnancy.

For example, the Mishnah, a compilation of oral laws compiled during the first and second centuries CE, proclaims that an expecting mother’s life “takes precedence” over that of an embryo until its head has exited the womb. Likewise, a passage in Exodus, the second book of the Torah, describes a scenario in which violence resulting in a woman’s miscarriage — and no other “damage” — shall be punished by a fine, whereas only if the woman is hurt or killed should the punishment be “life for life.” This framework deliberately denies a fetus the same legal standing as a human being and clearly differentiates between a pregnant individual — and the legitimacy of their life — and the fetus, which lacks the same classification.

Prominent Jewish commentator Rashi provides further detail for when one may classify an individual as living, claiming that not until “his head has emerged” and entered “the air of the world” may Judaic law declare the existence of a human with a “soul.” That means that the state abortion bans already in place across the South and Midwest, many of which define life from the moment of fertilization and provide no exceptions for pregnancy resulting from rape or incest, directly prevent pregnant individuals from making medical decisions with their Judaism in mind. By taking away one fundamental right — that of the privacy to make essential decisions regarding one’s body — the Supreme Court has indirectly gutted another: the First Amendment’s guarantee of freedom of religion and free exercise thereof.

However, this is not to say that Jewish tradition is unquestionably committed to the principles of reproductive justice in all possible circumstances. Judaism is an intellectually diverse religion, and those who disagree with the aforementioned characterizations of abortion can often find textual and cultural support for their position. Even the ostensibly progressive belief that mental or physical health threats should be grounds for an abortion reflects an underlying that abortion is inherently immoral; simply not wishing to give birth and take care of a child does not suffice, in this perspective, to justify an abortion. reflects this attitude and requires approval of an abortion committee before the procedure may be accessed, which I believe falls short of ensuring full bodily autonomy.

The Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America’s position also reflects the ambivalence about abortion that is clear in some of our sources. It absolute abortion bans and recognizes Jewish law’s prioritization of a pregnant person’s life over that of the fetus in the case of threats to the former’s physical or mental health. It also, however, emphasizes the rights that should be granted to an “unborn fetus” as a possessor of “potential life.”

While acknowledging these layers of complexity, I embrace the traditions within Judaism that support the full rights to bodily autonomy, and I remain hopeful for a Jewish community in the present and future that promotes this value, in addition to reproductive justice and basic humanity for all individuals. I have long felt guided by the Jewish tradition of tikkun olam: the call to repair the world. On days such as this, it is difficult to know where to begin in salvaging the remains of a world appearing so different from the one in which myself and my foremothers expected I would grow up.

Yes, the Shabbat that started the day Roe v. Wade fell was different from most; rather than being blanketed in a sentiment of peace and rejuvenation, it was peppered with moments of exasperation, permeated by episodes of dread and confusion, and, perhaps most importantly, filled with attempts to strategize for a better future and build coalitions committed to protecting reproductive rights in all corners of the country. And it was this loudness, this volume, this undeniable buzz of anger, sadness, and action that made it feel more Jewish than any quiet evening could have. Tzedek, tzedek, tirdof. Our work is cut out for us. Onwards.

Alexa Kupor (she/her) is an incoming sophomore at Stanford University. Originally from San Jose, CA, she plans to study history and feminist, gender, and sexuality studies.

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News

Creating a Home for Myself and Others at Hillel

Author

Samantha Brody

Date

May 19, 2022

Growing up in the suburbs of Chicago in a Conservative, non-observant Jewish family, I never thought keeping Shabbat was something I would do. I couldn’t imagine losing a day to do homework, go out with my friends, or use my phone. 

Living in Jerusalem, though, made me completely rethink what was possible for my Shabbat observance. 

After graduating high school in 2019, I moved to Israel for a year. The hostel I lived in, the streets I walked on, and my entire schedule was built around Shabbat observance. Suddenly, keeping Shabbat didn’t seem impossible. 

Empowered by experiences from my first semester in Israel, I decided to give Shabbat a chance. I woke up early one Saturday morning and walked to services, shared Shabbat lunch with my friends, and spent the afternoon taking on as many Shabbat-friendly activities as I could, like playing cards and strolling around a nearby park. 

Though it wasn’t easy to change up my routine, I found that I really loved being able to take walks, read books, and enjoy time with friends. Despite keeping myself busy for most of the day, I ended that Shabbat more refreshed and ready for the week than I had ever been.

From that Shabbat onward, I became committed to exploring and growing my practices in Israel. Shabbat became a refuge and a time to relax — what Abraham Joshua Heschel calls “a palace in time.”

When I came home in spring 2020, I had to quarantine without my friends and support system around me. However, I still held onto my Shabbat traditions, despite the challenges that accompanied losing the Shabbat-observant setting and community I had come to rely on.

As I prepared to start college at Brandeis University, I already knew that Jewish resources on campus were going to play a crucial role in my social and religious journeys. Since my first day on campus, Brandeis Hillel has remained committed to providing COVID-safe opportunities to enjoy Shabbat dinner, tefillot (prayers) for Jewish students of all backgrounds, and holiday celebrations that bring us together. 

I never had to worry about the availability of kosher food at an event or having a space for me to say Havdalah. I never worried that I couldn’t be a part of Hillel because I was more or less observant than my peers. In fact, I’ve been able to keep a stricter level of kashrut (Jewish dietary laws), attend more prayer services, and learn from others about Jewish practices I’d never even heard of because of the resources at Brandeis Hillel.

As I’ve continued on my journey, I’ve discovered the importance of creating a space where students of all backgrounds and practices can be Jewish together. 

Stepping into leadership roles at my Hillel has enabled me to play a part in making our space more accessible for Jews of all backgrounds. At Shabbat dinners, we make sure to put booklets on the tables for students who need to say Birkat Hamazon (Grace After Meals), set up handwashing stations, and print out prayers.

The moments when I am most conscious of religious pluralism come during announcements at Shabbat dinner, where my job is to explain how to participate in singing Shalom Aleichem and Kiddush (the blessing over the wine) as well as to direct anyone to resources throughout the room that will make their Shabbat dinner meaningful. 

Every week, I ask myself what I’m doing to encourage all forms of Jewish connection. Are we defining Hebrew terms during announcements? Are we choosing to sing songs that resonate with a variety of audiences? By taking extra care to formulate our Jewish spaces around diverse needs, I will continue to encourage my peers to explore their Judaism in every way that resonates with them. 

Judaism was made accessible to me throughout my first few semesters of college, allowing me to learn and grow Jewishly, and it has been such a rewarding experience to create a space for others to do the same.

Samantha Brody is a sophomore at Brandeis University.

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