See Something? Say Something
As many of you know, I just got back from a whirlwind 8 days in Israel with some incredible women. JWRP trips never get old! Each time I meet a new group of women, I am newly recharged and re-invigorated.
On the way home, Kim Farkas and I settled into our seats with a miraculous third seat empty between us. We hunkered down for the long flight and got comfortable. I soon noticed a small commotion going on two rows ahead of us. Three Chassidic men were sitting next to a non-Jewish woman and one was translating for the others and asking her to move. I was kind of horrified that they were asking her to switch seats. The flight attendant said that everyone had to wait till we reached cruising altitude and it would be at least a half-hour before any seat-switching could happen.
Kim and I held a whispered conference. "I want to say something to them," I said. Although they were speaking very softly and respectfully, and actually the woman didn't seem to mind at all, I felt it was wrong to ask her to move, and that it was inherently a "chillul Hashem" (desecration of G-d's name). They clearly did not think so, or they wouldn't have asked, so I wondered if it was my responsibility to open their eyes to see things from a different view.
I recalled an incident that had happened the previous year when I was Israel. It was the end of the trip and I had stayed an extra day. I was in Mamilla Mall having a brunch all by myself - a rare occasion - when I heard the conversation from the table next to me filtering over to my ears. Trying not to be too obvious, I overheard the two men's conversation. One was American and one was Israeli and they were discussing the difference in cultures, specifically with regard to "the Orthodox."
The Israeli man told the American that there had been a gay pride parade in Israel, and an "ultra-Orthodox" man attacked the crowd, killing a 16-year-old girl. They both lamented the "ultra-Orthodox" and their fanaticism. I was overwhelmed with a sense of sadness, both at being reminded of this horrific event, and by the broad censure of "ultra-Orthodox Jews." I felt a compulsion to somehow go over to them and address the conversation, but hesitated. I'm not really the meddlesome type. I'm mostly a live-and-let-live kind of girl. But how could I, in good conscience, allow them to go on thinking all ultra-Orthodox Jews are like that?
So, I went.
I approached their table, my heart pounding. "Excuse me," I said, "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation - I hope it's OK if I add something?" They look at each other and nodded.
"Well," I plowed on, "I heard you talking about the gay pride parade, and I want you to know, I mean, I'm an Orthodox woman, some might even call me ultra-Orthodox, I don't know." (I don't). "And whatever the views are on gay pride or whatever, I just want you to know that me and every other ultra-Orthodox or regular Orthodox person I know thinks that attack was absolutely horrific, against the Torah. It's horrible. And I just want you to know that."
The two men looked at each other and said, "Thank you for coming over to tell us that. It is good to hear."
My heart rate started to return to normal and I thanked them for listening and wished them well. I left, my heart lighter.
So I told Kim all of this on the plane and said, "I have that same feeling now. It's like a parallel moment. I just don't feel like I can close my eyes and not say something." Kim encouraged me to go over and talk to the men, so I took a deep breath and off I went.
"Good morning," I began softly in Hebrew. They looked up. "I heard that you asked the woman to switch seats. Would it be OK if I talked to you about that for a moment?" The two men nodded, so I continued. "So I know it's very uncomfortable for you to sit next to a woman on a plane for so many hours - is that right?" Nods. "I understand that. But I'm just wondering, if maybe it's worth it, so as not to create a chillul Hashem (desecration of G-d's name)."
"It wasn't a chillul Hashem," one of them replied in Hebrew. "The other man, he translated for us in English and we asked her very nicely if she would mind. We explained that it's against our religion to sit next to a woman. People can understand that certain things are against one's religion, no?"
Now I was stymied. It isn't actually against our religion for a man to sit next to a woman. It's an extra stringency - what we call a chumrah. But they obviously did not know that, did not differentiate, and it quickly became clear to me that arguing that point would get me nowhere. I actually understood their dilemma. If, to them, there was no choice, the best they could do was to ask nicely. And because they lived more insular lives, it was not clear to them how this request would hit a non-Jewish woman from the midwest, especially one who just made it her business to travel to Israel and had had a wonderful time. So I tried to appeal to their emotion instead.
'I'm not sure if you realize this, but I live among a lot of non-Orthodox people, and sometimes stories like this are in the news. People really feel insulted, even if you don't realize it."
"We also work among non-Orthodox Jews. It's OK if we have different beliefs. I don't think it's a chillul Hashem."
I smiled and wound up my comments. "It's OK. I see it as a chillul Hashem, so I just felt a sense of responsibility to share that with you. We can think differently about it. I'll think about what you said, and you'll think about what I said. OK?"
He smiled and said "OK." And I went back to my seat.
I read some stuff on my Kindle, slept a bit, and watched "The Women's Balcony." And then he was back.
"Excuse me?" I looked up.
"I've been thinking about what you said, and I just want you to know, we spoke really nicely to her and asked her if she minded, and she said she didn't mind. I really don't want you to think we were behaving disrespectfully. We were really trying to be respectful."
I smiled and said, "I understand. I still think it was the wrong choice though. But we can agree to disagree." He smiled too and returned to his seat.
"You see?" said Kim. "You really made him think. He took what you said seriously. It was worth it."
Hours later, after we deplaned, I helped these men navigate the automated border-control security kiosks and we went on our separate ways.
The Torah says, "Kol yisrael areivin zeh lazeh" - all Jews are responsible for one another. When someone in my community is being vilified wrongly, I will say something. When someone in my community is behaving wrongly, I will speak up. When someone who behaved wrongly needs help at a kiosk, I will be there. Because we are one. Because you can't just "mind your own business." So if you see something, say something.
Shabbat Shalom,
Ruchi
