It was Di’s tenth birthday when she seemed to have an epiphany. Why? In all the following years she’d never been able to figure out why it happened then. It just seemed to all come together. Even at that age she was flooded with the awareness of being trapped by her sex.
She knew that it would be just a few short years until she reached puberty. Her mother had told her. A few short years until she would be ostracised for one in every four weeks. A few short years before marriage plans would be in the wind. No choice. Her future was set in stone. Marriage, hopefully to a man she liked, children, washing, cooking, and preparing meals for her husband and his guests. That was it. If she couldn’t have children – she’d be stigmatised and become an outcast. If she had only girls, she would be branded a failure. And, if her husband was wealthy, she’d have to share him with two or three other wives.
At ten, she realised, that only boys had options. Soon after birth, boys got the circumcision – the party – the rejoicing. At twelve they got the ‘coming of age’ ceremony. When a woman gave birth to a boy, the community, as one, would chant: ‘She has been blessed with a man-child.’ If a woman gave birth to a girl; the chant seemed to be ‘how nice – better luck next time.’
Parents doted on their boys. Boys got the inheritance from their father. They had career choices; a soldier, a shepherd, a metal smith, a counsellor – whatever.
But it was also at age ten, that she realised that the stories from her mother had been nuanced to produce her present feelings.
She loved the stories her mother told. Her mother romanced her with all the stories of their people, but some stories were special. Her mother’s face would light up as she told the stories of Deborah yet again. Deborah – the woman of flames. Deborah – Leader of Men. Warrior. Judge. Counsellor. King. Why had Deborah been a leader and yet no other women were allowed to follow in her footsteps?
And the stories of Abigail. So wise that she instructed and led the great King David. And Miriam, who had been a great leader of their peoples as they travelled the desert in search of a land.
Yes, it was at ten that Di felt that her epiphany had been guided by her mother; the mother who had taught her to read and write. Each night, as Di lay in her bed, she would chant the family blessing request, taught to her by her mother: ‘Adonai bless you and keep you; Adonai make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; Adonai turn his face toward you and give you peace’. From age ten, Di followed the nightly blessing request with; ‘and what of me Adonai – what of me?’
Days passed as she mused the inherent sexism of her society. Only men could be Kings – the leaders of their nation. Only men could be allowed into the priesthood. Yes, a woman could be a Nazarite, but that wasn’t a leadership role. The time of the Judges had passed and there would be no more Deborahs. Even Abigail had to ‘submit’ to her husband. But; the prophets. Yes, you could be a girl and be a prophet. Miriam was a prophet. Yes, a prophet. A נָבִיא, a narvee. Not a prophetess. That was a male construct. Not a נְבִיאָה, a neveyar – but a narvee, a prophet, on equal standing with the men. Miriam was a prophet and led the people. Deborah was a prophet and a leader. Huldah was such a prophet that kings and priests came to her for her sagely wisdom and for her access to the Adonai.
It appeared as though fate was against her. The Temple had been built, but the leaders of her people had failed to understand the very message it was intended to convey. Hadn’t the great prophet Isaiah proclaimed it a ‘house of prayer for all nations’? Even the goyim too? And yet the Judean leaders had shunned foreigners and refused the help of those who wanted to share in the worship of Adonai. Didn’t they know that the great Temple of the great King Solomon and been built with the help, expertise and timber of the King of Tyre, just as king David had planned. How could their present leaders not see that goyim were welcome when they served Adonai together. Yes, they had accepted the timber from Tyre, but not its people. She could only hope that new leadership may change these practices. But, in her heart, she knew they wouldn’t. She was only too aware of Ezra’s proud announcement of his lineage right back to Aaron. A Levite of the Levites. She also knew of his edict forbidding any priest to serve if he could not produce his lineage back to Eleazar or Ithamar. What hope was there for her people?
She even saw their arrogance in the adoration of the fathers of their faith. Their leaders proudly announced that ‘they were the children of Abraham’ – the first ‘Jew’. They loudly announced their allegiance to the ‘Law of Moses’, seeing Moses as the saviour of the Jews, not Adonai. Where was the praise of Noah – the most faithful of all on earth. Nowhere to be found. Why? Because he was not a Hebrew. He was a progenitor of Abraham, not a descendant. And righteous Lot. Never mentioned. Why? Because he was the father of the hated Moabites and Ammonites. What of Job? Adonai had attested that he was like no other on earth – a righteous man who fled from evil. No mention of him by the Jews. He was a hated Edomite. And yet, the great prophet Ezekiel, whom they had abused in his day, had proclaimed that Noah, Job and Daniel were the most righteous of all men of all ages. But the Jewish leadership had rejected them in favour of the Jewish heroes, Abraham and Moses. It seemed that they had built their service on exclusion.
Even the Kings and Priests were based on exclusion. Who could be a king? Only males. Only those of the tribe of Judah. Only those in the line of King David. Exclusion, exclusion, exclusion! And who could be priests. Only males and only Levites and only if you descended from Aaron’s line. Even the Torah was so much about exclusion. List after list of all the things they were forbidden to do. Even the ten commands had so much ‘thou shalt not…’ within them. It made her sad.
How she loved the prophets. Inclusion at every level. Girls, no specific tribe, no specific family. Maybe even the goyim were allowed to be prophets if they had come to Adonai. Elijah a goyim? She believed he was and wanted to believe he was. It was only the prophets who had understood Adonai and they were always persecuted for their understanding. Elisha had washed the flesh of Naaman and cleansed him. A Syrian! Adonai had sent Jonah to save the people of Nineveh and their cows. Only the prophets knew that God loved the goyim and wanted to bring them to Zion with rejoicing. Only the prophets. And they were the ones their leaders had killed.
She loved her name. Noadiah*3. Derived from Noah. It was a sexless name. Had her mother planned that? Both boys and girls could be called Noadiah. She felt that was a tiny step forward. Whispering her name whispered its meaning – ‘meeting with Adonai’. She was proud to be another Noah and yet even that story left her angry. Eight souls were saved from the great flood of Sumer. But only four were named. The men. Why? Why were the women left out of the story? Hadn’t they participated in the ark narrative? Hadn’t they born the children to perpetuate the ‘sons of God’? Why were they so despised? She wondered about Noah too – did he have a secret? Just before the commencement of each Shabbat, on Friday evening, her mother and father would often share a glass of new wine, and giggle and raise a toast to Noah. ‘Here’s to Noah’ they’d giggle. What was that about? He wasn’t in the story of Shabbat. Perhaps he was in the story of the new wine.
So, she settled on Di as the diminutive of Noadiah. She liked it.
She didn’t want to be caught in the trap of marriage, that ageless ritual of subservience to a man, and yet, even at ten, she started to notice boys she liked.
*3 Apparent head of the prophets. Nehemiah 6:14
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Renewed 