Among the many roles I assume in my life outside of pixel land is that of an elementary school teacher at a private, Jewish day school. I'm somewhat of an anomaly -- a secular writer and educator who teaches religious texts (namely the Hebrew Bible, or the תורה).
But this isn't about me. It's about what happens when you teach a radical text that shakes the core of a student's identity with such force, that the emotional currents secreted away begin to flow.
It's about the power of a courageous story, one of the first feminist texts, to transform not only the individual, but the community as well.
When I entered class, photocopies in hand and a coy scrawl written on the board – Today's lesson: a radical story – several 5th graders accosted me, asking if I meant radical as in good or awesome.
"No," I said, "radical as in revolutionary."
Some chucked as the bell rang, at which point I circulated copies from the Book of Numbers (ספר במדבר), chapter 27 to be exact. Together we read the story of the daughters of Zelophechad, one of the most radical, and under-appreciated, stories in the entire biblical cannon.
The story:
The Israelites, while wandering in the desert on their way to Israel, are instructed by Moses as to how the Land of Israel will be apportioned when they arrive. (Hint: only males inherit the land.)
At which point the daughters of Zelphechad become furious, for their deceased father had no sons, and they are not in line to receive their father's inheritance, simply because of their gender. So they march before Moses and the entire community and say, "Why should our father's name be eliminated from his family because he had no son? Give us a portion along with our father's brothers. "
Moses takes their case before God, and within a most patriarchal text, guess what happens? God sides with the daughters, and not only awards them the right to inherit and own land, but re-structures the entire inheritance laws to allow for ownership of land by women.
After reading the story, I looked to the students, smiling, expecting rave reviews, expecting them to see the unmistakable courage it took for the daughters to act, the radical disobedience.
They were not impressed – a class dominated by boys.
What's the big deal? one said.
Yeah, they just complained, chirped another.
I looked to one of the girls in the room, a dark-haired, sensitive student with deep blue eyes and a lip sandwiched between her teeth. Tears were welling around the edges as she looked away.
A tear hit the text on her desk, the sound reverberating in the small, closed room. Everyone noticed.
A boy near the front raised his hand.
"Yes, Noah?"
"I think they were really brave. I mean, they new girls couldn't have land, and they just didn't think it was fair."
I nodded as he paused, scanning the room.
"And I bet there were a bunch of other girls who didn't think it was fair. But nobody else said anything. And then these ones did. They stood up and decided that just because they were girls didn't mean they couldn't be treated equally."
A boy near the front interrupted, "Is Avigail crying?"
Shut ups and hushes filled the air.
Avigail, with streaks forming on her face, turned around and faced us, saying just one word, "Yes."
Another girl got up and hugged her as I asked, "So what is this story about, then? And it's not about complaining. It's not about doing something easy or something that's just 'no big deal.' What is it, really?"
A boy in the back said, unprompted, "It's about doing what you think is right, no matter what anyone else thinks about you."
There were nods. A radical text. A feminist text, embedded in the heart of a patriarchal construct.
They understood.