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In Orthodox communities where women don’t read Torah, Purim offers a rare opportunity
(JTA) — When Alyza Lewin became a bat mitzvah in 1977, the fact that she had a ritual ceremony at all was still relatively revolutionary in Orthodox circles. But she took the rite of passage a step further, and did something that, for Orthodox Jews at the time, was considered the exclusive province of men.
She chanted the Scroll of Esther, known as the megillah, in front of a mixed-gender audience in suburban Washington, D.C. on the festival of Purim. Among the crowd were her grandfathers, who were both Orthodox rabbis. Lewin was the eldest of two daughters, and her father wanted to find a ritual she would be allowed to perform while remaining within the bounds of traditional Jewish law.
“My father, when it came time for the bat mitzvah, was trying to figure out what was something meaningful that a young woman could do,” she said. “So he decided: My Hebrew birthday is four days before Purim — he would teach me how to chant Megillat Esther.”
For many modern Orthodox women more than four decades later, women’s megillah readings have moved from the cutting edge to squarely within the norm. The increasing number of women’s readings is an indication of the growth of Orthodox feminism — and its concrete expression in Jewish ritual.
According to the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance, at least 105 women-led megillah readings, for both mixed-gender and women-only audiences, are taking place worldwide this year. In 2019, according to JOFA, the number hit a peak of 139, up at a relatively steady pace from 63 in 2012, when the group began collecting data. The number of readings dipped last year due to COVID-19 precautions, but JOFA expects this year’s total to come close to the pre-pandemic high once congregations get around to notifying the organization of their events.
JOFA’s executive director, Daphne Lazar Price, said she had observed but did not quantify a related phenomenon where she’s seen “tremendous growth:” girls marking their bat mitzvahs with megillah readings, as Lewin did.
“Instead of a traditional Torah reading service or women’s tefillah [prayer] service or a partnership minyan service, we’ve seen a lot more… girls read, in part or the entire, Megillat Esther,” Price said.
Alyza Lewin’s personal megillah scroll cover is embroidered with an image of Mordecai being led on a horse by Haman on one side, and her name on the other side. (Photos courtesy of Alyza Lewin. Design by Jackie Hajdenberg)
Although traditional Jewish law, or halacha, obligates women to hear the megillah on par with men, many more traditionalist Orthodox communities still do not hold women’s megillah readings. Some Orthodox rabbis may believe that women need to hear the scroll chanted but should not themselves chant the scroll. Another objection stems from the idea that synagogues should gather the largest audience possible to hear the megillah, rather than fragment the crowd into smaller readings.
Still others worry that a women’s megillah reading will act as a sort of gateway to non-Orthodox practice more broadly. Gender egalitarianism is one of the principal dividing lines between Orthodoxy and more liberal Jewish movements, and some Orthodox rabbis say women who organize a megillah reading of their own may then venture into chanting Torah or leading public prayers, which women in the vast majority of Orthodox communities are not allowed to perform.
“The fear is, if we give a little, it’s a slippery slope and once we allow women’s megillah readings people intentionally will manipulate or maybe even accidentally just get confused,” said Rabbi Dovid Gottlieb, an Israeli Orthodox rabbi formerly based in Baltimore, describing some rabbis’ concerns regarding women’s megillah readings in a lecture last month surveying a range of perspectives on the topic. “If women’s megillah readings are OK, then women’s Torah reading is OK, then women rabbis are OK and before you know it, I don’t know what.”
In recent years, a growing number of Orthodox women rabbinic leaders have weighed in on the question as well. Maharat Ruth Friedman, a spiritual leader at the Orthodox congregation Ohev Sholom: The National Synagogue in Washington, D.C., said women reading megillah may feel more acceptable to Orthodox communities that see women’s performance of other rituals as a step too far away from Orthodoxy.
“It is kind of the one semi-kosher or kosher thing that women in more [religiously] right-wing communities can do,” Friedman said. “It doesn’t necessarily mean that the rabbis allow them to meet in the synagogue space, but at least that there is a contingent of women who will go to them.”
In some communities, women’s megillah readings might take place in private homes or in other spaces outside the synagogue. Some Orthodox rabbis permit women to read the megillah for other women, but prohibit it in front of men.
The idea of feminist megillah readings has become so mainstream that it was a storyline on “Shababnikim,” an Israeli comedy series about renegade haredi Orthodox yeshiva students. One of them is alarmed by his fiancee’s determination to read the megillah for a group of women and barges in to stop the reading. He later decides that despite his discomfort he should be more flexible in the future, within the constraints of Orthodox law, to make the woman he loves feel respected.
As women’s megillah readings have increased in popularity, they have reached the farthest parts of the globe, even reaching as far south as Antarctica. (Courtesy of Raquel Schreiber via JOFA)
At the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale, a liberal Orthodox synagogue in New York City, women have been reading megillah for decades. Founding Rabbi Avi Weiss wrote a Jewish legal analysis explaining why women are permitted to read the scroll in 1998.
“I personally am someone who advocates, and in our synagogue community looks to expand, women’s roles and give more opportunities for women,” said the synagogue’s current senior rabbi, Steven Exler.
Lewin is also watching the practice expand at her synagogue, Washington, D.C.’s Kesher Israel Congregation, where women have read from the megillah for nearly three decades. This year, she’s reading the fewest chapters of the megillah she has ever read. She usually reads half of the scroll, including a difficult passage in the ninth chapter. But for this week’s women’s reading at her synagogue, a new volunteer signed up to chant the ninth chapter.
Still, despite her pioneering reading at age 12, and her decades of chanting, Lewin has encountered the Orthodox community’s ambivalence around women and megillah firsthand. For many years, she borrowed her father’s scroll when Purim came around. But about eight years ago, Lewin asked him for her own scroll as a gift, which can cost upwards of $1,800.
Lewin’s father traveled to Israel to find a scribe to commission the megillah. But he wasn’t comfortable telling the scribe the megillah would go to a woman, and instead said it was a gift for his son-in-law.
Years later, Lewin was at a wedding where she met the scribe who wrote her treasured megillah, and revealed to him that the scroll belonged to her.
“He was thrilled,” Lewin said. “I think it was his individual personality. There are some individuals who are very supportive of the increase in opportunity for women, that women are becoming much more learned in terms of Jewish law.”
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In ‘Something We Said,’ Richard Pryor’s daughter finds words to discuss the unspeakable
Elizabeth Stordeur Pryor didn’t set out to write a memoir. A professor of history at Smith College with a focus on race, she had published an article on the etymology of the n-word in 2016 and wanted to continue her work in a book. But as she began to explore the word’s history in America, it became clear there would be no way to tackle the issue without writing about her father Richard Pryor.
“Why I make the connection between me and my father isn’t simply because he was famous, but because he put the n-word on the pop culture map,” Pryor told me in an interview, adding that he specifically used “the Black version of the n-word in a subversive way in his comedy — and then a decade later disavowed it.”
Richard Pryor was one of the first Black comedians to use the n-word on stage and he did so boldly, in a way no Black performer really had. He embraced it as a way to assert his identity and as a way to mock white racism. He used it to connect him to his Black audience who could understand the jokes he made about racial trauma in America in a way non-Black audiences couldn’t. The n-word, Pryor writes, was a staple in many of her father’s jokes, was featured in the title of two of his most famous comedy albums, and became his “comedic trademark.” But after he traveled to Kenya in the 1980s, Richard Pryor had a revelation about race and stopped using it.
In her new book Something We Said, Pryor, the daughter of the legendary comedian and actor and his first serious white (and Jewish) girlfriend Maxine, skillfully traces her relationship with her father as she was growing up, her relationship to the n-word as a professor of Black history, and the story of the n-word in America. It starts in the 2010s, when a white student said the n-word in one of Pryor’s classes, then rewinds to the beginning of her relationship with her father, who she met for the first time when she was six years old in 1974. The book toggles between the timelines over the course of its 265 pages. Interspersed are what Pryor labels “Interludes,” which track the history of the n-word from the American slave trade to the modern day.
The history of the n-word is far more complex than most people know — and, Pryor reveals, so was her father. He had both a tender and tough side, he could be closed off and also incredibly giving. Although he often presented himself with an impenetrable confidence and swagger, he could never stand up to his domineering grandmother, who he saw pimp out his mom.
The book challenges people’s knee-jerk reactions to the word and discusses the duality of its significance, how it is a word with a hate-filled past that has also been a signal of solidarity. And its reclamation by Black Americans isn’t a new phenomenon. Pryor traces it all the way back to the era of American slavery, including in a work song about a Black folk hero.
Pryor noted that there’s a tendency to “blame artists like my father and of course, hip hop” for the popularity of the n-word among African-Americans today, but pointed to its politically subversive nature as the source of its endurance in the Black community.
Pryor said she hopes the book will help people “understand that the n-word isn’t just part of a national trauma, like a relic of our past as a nation” but that “it causes these really intimate wounds and becomes a really personal trauma that’s worth exploring and talking about.”
Writing something that is simultaneously deeply personal and intricately historical is not an easy feat — although Pryor’s time jumps feel effortless.
“Many of the things that happened to me were sort of locked in a little memory bubble,” Pryor said. “And I had only interacted with them as that 11 year old, as that 16 year old, as that 22 year old, and had not interacted with them again, as a mother and a wife and a professor, et cetera, as an adult.”
This digging provoked a lot of personal reflection. In one story in Something We Said, Pryor recounts being the only Black girl at a friend’s bat mitzvah in the 80s. Trying to impress a boy and remembering how her father’s use of the n-word made people laugh, Pryor gave her friends permission to call her the n-word, a decision she quickly regretted.
“I had to do a lot of digging about, like, why did I do that? Like, why did I invite that even though I hated that word?”
This story captures the often inexplicable nature of navigating the complexity of race and belonging in America, something that can be complicated for anyone but especially someone of mixed-race heritage. Pryor also had to contend with being a minority in Jewish spaces.
“My mother had me in temple in like second and third grade as soon as we moved to LA and literally nobody there could figure it out,” Pryor said. “Like it was a math problem that was unfathomable. It was pi. Like they could not figure out how I was Black and Jewish.”
While Pryor includes many jaw-dropping stories from her life and from American history, what may baffle people the most is that until the 2010s, Pryor had never watched one of her father’s films or listened to any of his comedy records all the way through (she had kind of listened to one before was when she was a little girl and she fell asleep to it). She wrote that “not knowing my father as a public figure made me feel closer to him as a private man.”
She never went out of her way to make it known that she was Richard Pryor’s daughter. In 2016, during a talk she gave at Smith on the n-word, Pryor finally went public. I asked her how it felt to now be known as his daughter.
“I think I was surprised by how much I like it,” she told me with a laugh.
“I was always proud of my father,” she said. “I just was tired of people and their forward curiosity.”
“What’s happened, in some ways by coming out as his daughter has been so the opposite of that,” Pryor said. “I’ve heard how deeply he touched so many people in a way that maybe I couldn’t hear it before, or I haven’t heard it before.”
Something We Said has given Pryor even more ways to connect with her father.
“One of the highlights for me about writing this book is the kind of healing that happened from it,” she said, noting that she felt closer to him than she “remembered feeling when he was alive.”
“When he died in 2005, I was like, ‘Wow, that’s it. That’s our story.’ And I just feel like it’s really powerful how the universe works, that that didn’t have to be our story, that our story continues.”
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In the race for Jerry Nadler’s seat, much talk on Israel but little disagreement
With U.S. aid to Israel and the wars in Gaza and Lebanon pressing for voters in many Democratic primaries, the race to succeed Rep. Jerrold Nadler in Manhattan stands out for the relative consensus among the leading candidates on Israel.
Nadler, who is retiring after 33 years in the House, represents a heavily Jewish district and served as the leading voice in Congress for liberal Jews, making the choice of his successor a significant one nationally.
During a televised debate on Thursday between top contenders, New York Assemblymembers Alex Bores and Micah Lasher, political scion Jack Schlossberg and attorney Goergie Conway spent more time sparring over super PAC money, artificial intelligence and Donald Trump than on the Middle East conflict.
The three largely shared a broad agreement on support for Israel. None embraced the characterisation of Israel’s military campaign in Gaza as a genocide. They all touted support for a two-state solution and backed continued U.S. funding for Israel’s Iron Dome missile defense system.
The contrast with other competitive Democratic primaries was striking. In congressional races in New York City and some others nationally, debates have been dominated by contentious exchanges over military aid to Israel, accusations of genocide and the growing influence of anti-AIPAC politics within the party. Earlier this week, Israel consumed a significant portion of the televised debate between Rep. Dan Goldman and former New York City Comptroller Brad Lander in a neighboring congressional district.
In another neighboring district, former Columbia University Gaza War encampment activist Daraliza Avila Chevalier is challenging Rep. Adriano Espaillat with his support for Israel front and center. And in a TV debate this week in the race to replace retiring Rep. Nydia Velazquez in Brooklyn, democratic socialist Assemblymember Claire Valdez — who like Lander and Avilla Chevalier has been endorsed by Mayor Zohran Mamdani — called Israel’s actions in Gaza “U.S.-funded genocide.”
The relative consensus in Nadler’s district reflects the politics of the district they hope to represent. Jewish voters make up an estimated 30% of the Democratic primary electorate, which stretches across Manhattan’s Upper East and Upper West sides.. When Nadler ran for reelection in 2022 after redistricting forced him to go head to head with Rep. Carolyn Maloney, he campaigned on the need to preserve Jewish representation from New York City in Congress.
The candidates themselves have close ties to the Jewish community. Lasher, Nadler’s endorsed successor, is Jewish. Schlossberg, a grandson of President John F. Kennedy, was raised Catholic by his mother, Caroline Kennedy, but identifies as Jewish. Bores’ wife, Darya Moldavskaya, is Jewish, and the couple are raising their son Jewish.
Another factor distinguishing the race from other Democratic primaries is the district’s political makeup.
In last year’s Democratic mayoral primary, New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani, an outspoken critic of Israel who rose to power by embracing pro-Palestinian activism, won handily in the Goldman and Espaillat districts, but the 12th District split almost evenly between Mamdani and former Gov. Andrew Cuomo. The candidates also took different approaches to Mamdani. Lasher and Bores did not endorse Mamdani until after he secured the Democratic nomination, mirroring Nadler’s own cautious approach. By contrast, Schlossberg endorsed Mamdani in the primary and has generally been the most critical in the field of Israeli government policies.
Mamdani, who resides in Gracie Mansion in the district, has said he won’t endorse in the race, but intends to cast a ballot. In Thursday’s debate, the candidates gave Mamdani A- and B grades.
Polling suggests the race remains highly competitive. A recent Emerson College survey showed Lasher with a slim advantage over Bores, while Schlossberg and Conway trailed behind. But most significantly, 32% of likely voters had yet to make up their minds.
In an online poll of 700 debate viewers by host PIX11, 42% said Bores won the debate, compared with 33% for Lasher and 24% for Schlossberg.
The leading candidates
Micah Lasher, 44, enters the race with perhaps the deepest roots in New York politics. A longtime Democratic operative and protégé of Nadler, Lasher has assembled support from many of the district’s traditional political leaders.
Lasher started his public career as a special assistant to Nadler in 2007. He previously worked for former New York State Attorney General Eric Schneiderman, New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg and Gov. Kathy Hochul. At 17, he was an informal adviser to then-Assemblymember Scott Stringer, who is also Jewish. He is serving his first term in the State Assembly.
Growing up in the Upper West Side, Lasher first gained attention as a magician.
His campaign reflects continuity with the brand of liberal Zionism long represented by Nadler, co-chair of the Congressional Jewish Caucus: support for Israel’s security, opposition to Benjamin Netanyahu’s government and a commitment to a two-state solution.
Alex Bores, 35, has emerged as the progressive coalition-builder trying to bridge fierce Israel critics and mainstream Jewish voters. He attracted support from organizations aligned with the Democratic Party’s left flank, such as the Bernie Sanders-aligned Our Revolution, New York Progressive Action Network and PSC-CUNY, despite describing himself as a Zionist supporter of Israel.
Bores, a former Palantir data scientist, also serves in the state Assembly. His congressional campaign has become a focal point of a major political proxy war over the regulation of AI.
Some Jewish leaders have expressed concern over how Bores would align with the groups who backed him in Congress, as tensions between progressive activists and Zionist organizations continue to grow. Bores also faced scrutiny over social media posts of his father, William, some equating between Nazis and Zionists. Bores told Jewish Insider he disagrees with his father’s views.
Jack Schlossberg, 33, has become the race’s most recognizable figure because of his family name and social media presence. He has touted the younger generation’s voice wrestling publicly with questions of Jewish identity and Israel.
Raised Catholic but identifying as Jewish through his father, Schlossberg frequently references his Jewish heritage when discussing Israel and antisemitism. At the same time, he has adopted positions that place him to the left of many Jewish organizations, particularly his support for halting transfers of offensive weapons to Israel.
Schlossberg repeatedly shares that contrast on X as he challenges his rivals on Israel policy.
The online influencer turned political candidate made Jewish security a central pillar of his campaign. He said that if elected, he would immediately introduce legislation to nearly double federal funding for security upgrades at synagogues and other Jewish institutions.
Their views on U.S. military assistance for Israel
At Thursday’s debate, as previously, the leading candidates voiced support for funding Israel’s Iron Dome missile defense system amid growing calls for ending all U.S. aid to Israel.
Arms sales and aid for offensive weapons represented the clearest divide among the candidates.
Lasher said he’d support certain conditions on military aid in accordance with the Leahy laws, which enable the State Department to prohibit military aid to foreign countries when there is credible evidence that they have committed gross human rights violations.
Bores said he’d “strengthen those laws significantly” so they apply equally to Israel, Saudi Arabia and Egypt.
Schlossberg, however, said he would support Democratic efforts to block transfers of 1,000-pound bombs and oppose the sale of bulldozers that could be used for demolitions in Gaza or the occupied West Bank. He went on to accuse his rivals of lacking the “courage” to challenge the status quo.
“The Leahy laws give Donald Trump and Marco Rubio full discretion over what constitutes a humanitarian crime,” Schlossberg said. “I’m not comfortable passing the buck to them, and I think the candidates on this stage should be strong enough and have enough courage to actually answer the question.”
The war in Gaza
All three candidates voiced criticism of Israel’s handling of the war in Gaza, citing the dire humanitarian situation and the civilian death toll. However, when asked whether Israel’s actions in Gaza constitute genocide, they declined to use the term.
Lasher maintained that the debate over definitions often “does more to divide people of good faith than it does to find common ground. He called the killing of tens of thousands of people in Gaza “horrific,” while emphasizing the need to recognize the loss of civilian life.
Bores similarly said he’s “not comfortable” using that word “because of the high intent threshold that is required as part of it.” He said that while there are ongoing international investigations, the United States should focus on ending atrocities and expanding humanitarian aid.
Schlossberg also stopped short of calling the war genocide, though he delivered the sharpest criticism of Israel’s military conduct. “Israel had every right to defend itself following Oct. 7, but what has happened since then has gone above and beyond,” Schlossberg said. He added that the more important question was what policymakers would do next, pointing to his position on halting offensive weapon transfers.
Conway, a former Never-Trump Republican who is running on a platform to impeach President Donald Trump, said that while Israel ”did too much” in the name of self-defense, I don’t think it meets the threshold of genocide … and I don’t believe that we should abandon Israel as an ally.”
The debate followed a candidate forum Wednesday at which the candidates spoke at greater length about their attachment to Israel, support for a settlement between Israel and the Palestinians, and their opposition to Netanyahu.
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A Hasidic wedding entertainer tries to keep up with the times — if his ego will let him
When Israeli director Gidi Dar made his film Ushpizin in 2004, it was one of the first pieces of Israeli media to humanize the Hasidic community for a secular audience. Now, more than 20 years later, during which he focused on his music and other film projects, he’s returned to the Hasidic world with The Wedding Entertainer (The Tale of Moishe Badhan), a humorous and heartfelt look at Hasidic wedding performers.
In an interview, Dar told me he had thought he was done with movies about Hasids. But when his friend Shruli Rand, the lead actor in Ushpizin and co-writer of Dar’s animated film Legend of Destruction, told him about badhans — professional wedding entertainers who have a history dating back to the Talmudic age — they quickly came up with a story.
“I’m always looking to connect to my heritage, to my tradition,” Dar said. “I’m not religious. I try to connect to the narrative, to the history of our storytelling.”
Moishe Striker, played by Rand, is a formerly famous badhan in Jerusalem who has been struggling to find work due to his alcoholism. When his daughter becomes set on getting married, Moishe has to find a way to raise the money for the wedding. Luckily, his wealthy childhood friend is about to marry his son to the daughter of an Israeli tea mogul.
The American-raised son is set on having flashy wedding entertainer Mehsulem Kaliker, played by comedian Elon Gold. But Moishe and his crafty kabbalah-practicing daughter find a way to get Moishe involved, hoping to reestablish his reputation, with a little help from kabbalah — and blackmail.
The story, co-developed by Dar and Rand, teeters between being a lighthearted farcical comedy and a drama about unfulfilled potential. Moishe’s ambition causes him to take comically big swings but also pushes him towards self-destruction. It’s not just the alcoholism he has to keep under control, which is hard to do in a community that celebrates almost every occasion by drinking, but his own ego.
The film fully immerses viewers in the Hasidic world — not one character is from outside of the community. The actors also speak Yiddish, which two of the actors — both ex-Hasids — knew already; Rand and his wife — who plays his wife in the movie — had to learn.
Although the tension in the film is between an Israeli and an American badhan, Dar explained that the conflict is really between old traditions and modern trends.
According to Dar, the badhan traditions Moishe uses originated in the shtetls of Eastern Europe in the 18th century and 19th centuries.
Meshulem doesn’t rely on old fashioned jokes and songs set to Klezmer music like Moishe does; he performs with backup singers, strobe lights, and a blaring electronic-dance music soundtrack. His style fits with that of the groom, who is first seen in Jerusalem with his tallit hanging down from under a designer hoodie.
Traditional badhans may not be flashy, but Dar believes they hold an important spot in Jewish culture.
“I think they’re in a way the origin of Jewish humor,” Dar said. “This specific humor, as we know it, is coming from this era of the diaspora, the late era of the diaspora, of the shtetls, and those who carried it were those badhans.”
Dar hopes this film, like Ushpizin, will help secular Jews connect with their Hasidic neighbors.
“The relationship between the Hasidic and the secular in Israel is very harsh,” Dar told me, but noted that cinema can create empathy. “You do identify with those people once you get in.”
Although The Wedding Entertainer depicts a culturally specific custom, Dar thinks the message is “something far more universal.”
“It deals with the limelight and with the desire for an audience for your art, as a comedian, as an actor,” Dar said. “And what are you willing to do for that? How far would you go?”
The Wedding Entertainer (The Tale of Moishe Badhan) will be screening at the Tribeca Film Festival on June 7 and June 14.
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