Published: 4 February 2020
Last updated: 5 March 2024
I WAS BORN INTO being behind the mehitza. Ultra-Orthodox, you know, FFB (frum from birth). The mehitza, or partition, was always there, exactly where it should be. First, in the synagogue. My father, of blessed memory, prayed at Hayishuv Hehadash Yeshiva in Tel Aviv.
Until third grade, when I was about eight, I prayed next to him. Ahead of the Days of Awe in fourth grade, the legendary yeshiva head, Rabbi Yehudah (Yidel) Kolodetsky, told my father that maybe it was already “pahst nisht” – not appropriate – and it was time I moved to the women’s section.
My father gave Rav Yidel the honour of putting me in my place – my new place – and the rabbi sold me on the idea that it was going to be a major upgrade.
“You are moving into the first row of the women’s section,” he explained. I guess I wasn’t enthusiastic enough, so he tossed me another bonus: “It’s the front row next to the rabbaniyot” – the rabbis’ wives.
The rabbi, the bane of the boys’ existence, went with me to the storeroom to choose a shtender, a bookstand, at exactly the right height for a girl of 9. He also let me “choose” where I wanted to sit in the front row. I chose to sit next to my mother, and made friends with the mehitza.
FULL STORY You may not see it, but ultra-Orthodox women are angry (Haaretz)
Photo: A girl peeks behind a curtain that separates men and women near the tomb of Baba Sali, Rabbi Yisrael Abuhatzeira, Netivot, Israel, January 13, 2016 (AP)
