Parshas Vayishlach: My Shul’s Sisterhood

“…And two of Yaakov’s sons, Shimon and Levi, Dina’s brothers, each took his sword and they came upon the city [of Shechem] with confidence, and killed every male.” (Bereishis 34:25)

After Shechem’s tragic assault of Dina, the Torah relates that Shimon and Levi took matters into their own hands. Yet, why does the pasuk add that they were Dina’s brothers, if it already says they were Yaakov’s sons?

Rashi explains the pasuk is emphasizing that they acted out of a sense of brotherhood.

Rav Meir Tzvi Bergman adds that while it’s natural to risk one’s life for one’s own survival, risking one’s life for another person doesn’t come naturally. However, when it comes to one’s brother or sister, it becomes a personal matter, for a sibling is a blood relation, coming from the same parents. (Rabbi Shlomo Caplan, Mishulchan Shlomo)

Unfortunately, over the years, as my family grew, my shul-going experiences became few and far apart. But I missed it.

Thus, it was with a feeling of homecoming that I climbed the stairs to the ezras nashim in my shul this past Leil Yom Kippur. Kol Nidrei commenced, then Maariv, and the chazzan’s voice lifted in the age-old niggunim tugged heartstrings of longing inside of me. I wanted so badly to climb the spiritual heights of the day.

This is what Aharon meant when he asked Moshe to pray for Miriam who was stricken with tzaraas, saying if she’d die, it would be as if “half of our flesh had been consumed” (Rashi, Bamidbar 12:12).

In codifying the laws of tzedakah, the Rambam expands this concept to include the brotherhood of all Jews. All Yisrael are like brothers since we’re all children of Hashem. Thus the Torah logically commands, “Love your fellow [Jew] as yourself” (Vayikra 19:18). You should perceive him as a part of yourself.

Suddenly, there was a commotion near the back of the shul. Turning around, I saw that ten female soldiers had come into shul for Maariv, complete with guns over their shoulders and phones in their hands. Our shul is the first you reach when entering the city, so I guess that’s why they came specifically here. But with a degree of trepidation, I found myself wishing they had chosen a shul that catered more toward their level of understanding.

After the Torah is read on Monday and Thursday, the shaliach tzibbur recites a series of prayers which all begin with “May it be the will of our Father in Heaven…” except for the last one. That one begins “Acheinu kol Beis Yisrael hanesunim batzarah uvashivyah — our brothers, the entire House of Yisrael, who are in distress or captivity…” Our hearts go out to all of Beis Yisrael because they are our brothers. Rav Bergman suggests that this prayer doesn’t need to invoke “our Father in Heaven,” since the implication is clear. We are brothers simply because we’re all children of our Father in Heaven.

Rav Mattisyahu Salomon asks a pointed rhetorical question. “If all Jews are brothers because we’re all children of the same Father, how do you think our Father feels when His children don’t get along?”

To my relief, I quickly realized I had underestimated my fellow shul-goers. Several women quickly came forward to offer them chairs. A young girl came over and offered one soldier her machzor. Although it didn’t seem like the chayelet was familiar with the word machzor, she understood it was a prayer book and took it, without any idea where to find the right page.

I was about to walk over and try explaining in my American Hebrew that we were ready to start Selichos, but before I had a chance, a woman came bustling over and drew all the guests to an empty table. She sat among them, and in a hushed whisper started explaining Selichos and the 13 Middos, while handing out machzorim and guiding each woman to the proper page.

I was grateful to this woman for taking charge. She obviously had the better language skills for this. Still, I wished I’d been the one who’d been able to reach out and welcome these precious neshamos.

With tears in my eyes, I turned back to my machzor, with an added intensity in my tefillos. Despite my lack of words, my heart sent up an emotional embrace, a message to these girls. Thank you, my sisters. I’m so glad you chose my shul tonight. You helped me focus on what we are davening for. Together.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 922)