By Justin Pellis
Up an echoey staircase, I found my giggly Nachshon family talking about the parsha and playing with Rabbi Zeff’s kids. Once we finished our sushi lunch, Rabbanit Tamara Schagas joined us on the patio.
After days of speakers who defended their passion for Halakhic observance, Schagas, a Reform Rabbanit, brought a totally fresh perspective. Her life passion is Jewish-humanitarian affection. She deeply believes that her responsibility to Jewish tradition is to fight for civil rights in the State of Israel, using texts to her advantage when necessary.
“If you don’t see God’s word as binding,” Uri asked, “...where do you get the jurisdiction--”
“I don’t.”
“Do your beliefs serve as a basis for social activism?” posited Rachel.
“My very existence takes me there.”
Deborah pushed a little further. “How do you separate God from His Word?”
“Just because the laws exist, you don’t have to follow them!” Schagas exclaimed. “Let me ask you this: Do you think we should be stoning?”
Silence.
“Halakha is men who knew a lot of things and had a lot of authority. They were not the owners of the truth.”
Her responses enlightened me, but I knew a few Nachshonistim who disagreed, even struggled, with a visit from a Reform Rabbanit. Look, the Tribe gets tribal. Schagas even mentioned the “melancholic Jew” who timelessly bemoans change. Don’t look too far; you’ll find a clear disdain for female Rabbis all over Israeli society.
It’s in my nature to avoid these debates because, A, I’m a man, and B, the rabbis who raised me at Solomon Schechter were men and women, no controversy about it. Their mentorship was never brought under the microscope of legitimization, it was ki-kacha, just-like-that. But if I’m not fighting about it with my peers, is that complicitness? If I’m not “okay” with their opposition, is it still my fight?
