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Swinging the pendulum: dance, gender, reform Judaism, public artmaking

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Swinging the pendulum: dance, gender, reform Judaism, public artmaking

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Content SWINGING THE PENDULUM: DANCE, GENDER, REFORM JUDAISM, PUBLIC ARTMAKING by Kim Rebecca Newstadt A Thesis Presented to the FACULTY OF THE USC ROSKI SCHOOL OF FINE ARTS UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree MASTER OF PUBLIC ART STUDIES May 2007 Copyright 2007 Kim Rebecca Newstadt ii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This thesis would not have been possible without the encouragement and expert guidance of the USC Public Art Studies program. The support of its administrators and faculty has been tremendous, making possible my thesis explorations and research. Specifically I would like to thank my teachers and thesis advisors, Ferdinand Lewis and Dean Ruth Weisberg for their positive reinforcement and constructive criticism all along the way. I am deeply inspired by Ferdinand’s commitment to community-based art and Dean Weisberg’s passion for integrating the arts into Judaism. Without a doubt, I would like to thank Liz Lerman and the interviewed participants in my study for their commitment to integrating dance into Judaism and willingness to contribute to my research. Their insights provide a truly rich set of data. It is also most important to make a special mention of arts advocate and benefactor, Carol Spinner and her non-profit organization Avoda Arts. Without her generous support, neither this thesis nor my graduate education would have been possible. To her, I am extremely grateful. And lastly, I would like to thank my family and friends who have supported me throughout this process. They have made me who I am today and are partially responsible for the work produced here. iii TABLE OF CONTENTS Acknowledgements......................................................................................................ii List of Figures .............................................................................................................. v Abstract .......................................................................................................................vi Preface........................................................................................................................vii Introduction.................................................................................................................. 1 Section 1: Historical Relations: Dance, Gender, Judaism............................................ 5 Dance for All: Liz Lerman meets Ancient Beginnings of Dance in Judaism......................................................................................... 5 Dance in the Post-Biblical and Talmudic Periods.......................................... 12 Dance in the Diaspora and Conflicting Patriarchal Attitudes about the Body................................................................................ 17 The Rise of Text-based Study and Prayer and the Exclusion of Women ...... 23 Section 2: Remnants in Contemporary American Movements.................................. 27 Dance and the Perseverance of Gender Roles with the Radical Emergence of Hasidism ................................................................................. 27 Hasidic Judaism for Hippies: An Evolution of Hasidism in America ........... 34 Outsider Women Jews Take on Modern Dance America.............................. 38 The Secularism of American-Israeli Folk Dance........................................... 43 Section 3: Creating Links: Liz Lerman Dance Exchange.......................................... 48 The Founding Mission of Liz Lerman and the Dance Exchange................... 48 Moving Away From the Fringe: The Radical Emergence of Liz Lerman in the Jewish Community........................................................... 52 Framing the Community-Based Public Artmaking Initiative, Moving Jewish Communities......................................................................... 60 Section 4: Applicability to American Reform Judaism ............................................. 68 The Consistency of Reform in American Reform Judaism ........................... 68 Limitations of Text as the Genre for Equalizing Gender in Reform Judaism ............................................................................ 72 Creating Access/Prompting Opposition......................................................... 77 Redefining Roles............................................................................................ 95 iv Conclusion ............................................................................................................... 105 Bibliography............................................................................................................. 109 v LIST OF FIGURES Figure 1: Ellen Levine Ebert, Photograph of a rehearsal of Songs and Poems of the Body: In the Text.................................................................................................. 55 Figure 2: Peter Schweitzer, Photograph of The Good Jew?. ..................................... 57 Figure 3: Holly Halvorson, Detail of the Brochure Cover for Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists. ............................................ 63 Figure 4: Allison Shelley, Photograph of a workshop participant dancing in an Adas Israel sanctuary during Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists. ............................................................................................................ 66 Figure 5: Allison Shelley, Photograph of dancing participants in Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists.............................................. 88 Figure 6: Allison Shelley, Photograph of attentive workshop participants during Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists. .................. 98 Figure 7: Allison Shelley, Photograph of workshop participants at Adas Israel during Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists. ................ 103 vi ABSTRACT Examining the relationship between the body, learning, and prayer in the context of dance in Jewish life, this thesis investigates the historical relationship between the detached condition of dance and the patriarchal construction of gender differences in Judaism. Particularly, it explores this relationship within Reform Judaism, where principles of egalitarian prayer and learning in current practice still maintain a limited role for dance. Perspectives of three participants in Liz Lerman Dance Exchange’s public artmaking initiative, Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists, highlight contemporary approaches to this relationship developed through the initiative and beyond. Their perspectives illuminate the current gendered and non-gendered complexities of this dynamic and the intricate ways in which they surface through dance. The fascinating nodes of intersection between Judaism, dance, and gender reveal both subtle and obvious manifestations of this relationship in contemporary Reform Judaism, prompting further scholarship and discussion. vii PREFACE The work of Liz Lerman and her Dance Exchange has fascinated me ever since I first learned of her body of work and engaging artistic practice. A choreographer, teacher, community organizer, and community leader, Liz Lerman inspires people from amateur to professional, handicapped to physically fit, young to old to utilize movement and dance as a tool for thinking about the world. Her practice is rigorous and intellectual—culminating in everything from full production theatrical performances to small intimate workshops with non-dancers exploring specific social issues and themes using movement. When I first began to investigate the work of Liz Lerman, I learned of her dedicated work within the Jewish community. As a Jewish dancer who has particularly struggled with the conflicts between dance and the Jewish community, I was particularly fascinated by her artistic work that integrated these two seemingly separate worlds. A community-based public artmaking initiative that she spearheaded in 1998, Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists, touched on this integration, serving to train Jewish artists to bring movement tools to their Jewish communities. The purpose of this workshop sparked my interest in the diminished role of dance in most Jewish communities since the codification of the religion. Through my research I began investigating the essential role that dance played in ancient Jewish culture. This stimulated my fascination with the relationship viii between the evolution of dance from sacred to secular status in Judaism and the patriarchal construction of gender differences. I became interested in the current status of this relationship and its manifestations within the denomination of Reform Judaism. While its principles strive for egalitarianism in prayer and learning, it continues to retain a limited role for dance in current religious practice. And I was intrigued to investigate if this condition of dance was related to patriarchal gender constructs. Furthermore, in light of Lerman’s philosophy that “anyone can dance,” I became particularly interested in what makes particular publics receptive to Lerman’s work and whether or not gender plays a role in their receptivity or opposition. Through my research process, I had the fortunate opportunity to meet and engage with Liz Lerman during one of the Dance Exchange’s week-long workshops. Although this workshop did not specifically relate to my thesis topic, it provided me with the invaluable experience of meeting Lerman in person and experiencing her artistic practice firsthand. The far-reaching effects of this workshop have served as the inspiration for this thesis. Writing this thesis has been a long, arduous process, but a rewarding one at that. Throughout this process, I have been conscious of my own personal biases, particularly given my background as a woman, a Jew, and a dancer. This piece of scholarship by no means achieves objectivity and in fact, draws on my particularities as inspiration. My personal background and motivations to create opportunities for integrating dance into Jewish life most definitely shape the viewpoint of this thesis. ix It is my hope that this piece of writing encourages further related scholarship. Mostly, I yearn for it to provoke members of the Jewish community to deliberate about the relationship between dance, gender, Reform Judaism, and public artmaking. And perhaps their thoughtful questioning will lead to proactive measures. 1 INTRODUCTION This thesis investigates the gendered bases for the detachment of dance from Judaism and its manifestations in contemporary American Reform Judaism, examining the relationship between the body, learning, and prayer in the context of Jewish dance. It examines the historical relationship between the patriarchal construction of gender differences and the evolution of dance in Judaism from sacred to secular status beginning in ancient times and lasting until the present. In exploring how current publics approach this relationship within Reform Judaism, I analyze contemporary perspectives based on the qualitative interview data of three participants in the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange’s community-based public artmaking initiative, Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists. Although the purpose of this workshop was not specifically focused on investigating this linkage, some of the issues explored and reasons motivating participation tap into it. Through an historical analysis of this relationship, this thesis presents a foundation for investigating its remnants and manifestations in contemporary American Reform Judaism. The data collected and analyzed from fieldwork interviews contributes to this process of investigation, demonstrating a complex understanding of the connection between the limited role of dance in Reform Jewish prayer and learning and the patriarchal construction of gender differences in the Jewish community. It gives insight to both the gendered and non-gendered factors 2 affecting the receptivity and opposition of particular publics to public artmaking, specifically the integration of dance into Reform Jewish prayer and learning. The progression of ideas in my thesis is divided into five sections. The first traces the historic role of dance in Traditional Judaism until the beginning of the Reform movement. The early integral role of dance in ancient Judaism in which women held leadership roles is juxtaposed against the detached status of dance in Judaism that evolved from sacred to secular with the codification of the religion. In this section, the historic gendering of movement in rabbinic literature is highlighted. Paving the way for the rigidly-defined acceptable uses of dance for Jewish people particularly women, this historic gendering of movement reinforces a tense relationship between prohibitions of the body and dance. An emphasis on male text- based learning and prayer developed at the same time that sacred dance was beginning to detach, limiting the leadership role of women in the dances and excluding them from the emphasis on study that evolved in its place. The second section discusses specific movements and phenomena that have advanced the connection between dance and American Jews, but have also retained some remnant of the patriarchal construction of gender differences. As the conflicting patriarchal attitudes towards the body and movement contributed highly to the construction of gender roles in halakhah, or Jewish law, this section defines and uses the halakhic categories of women’s peripheral status and exclusion from prayer as theorized by Rabbi Rachel Adler as a foundation for this analysis. The Hasidic movement in Judaism serves as an exemplar of the evolution of Traditional 3 Judaism. Although it places value on the sacredness of dance, it continues to depend on the Traditional gendered roles. Inversely, the American-Israeli and Western dance movements serve to demonstrate dance traditions amongst Jews that challenge the gender construction of movement and the body, yet are displaced from the sacred, religious context of Traditional Judaism. In the third section, the work and artistic practice of the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange in collaboration with the Jewish community is introduced. Of particular focus is Lerman’s revolutionary and incomparable determination to integrate dance into Jewish religious life. This section defines and examines the community-based public artmaking initiative entitled Moving Jewish Communities that touches on these issues and publicizes the integration of dance in Judaism by training Jewish artists from all over the United States to bring dance to prayer, ritual, and learning in their Jewish communities. In the fourth section, the historically examined relationship between the detached role of dance in Judaism and the patriarchal construction of gender differences is further explored for its applicability to current Reform Judaism. In detailing the development of Reform Judaism, this section identifies its dedication to minimizing the construction of gender differences through the revision of patriarchal texts, but also its neglect to consider the possibilities of gender constructs in other limited genres such as dance and movement. Exploring gender as a barrier or opportunity for integrating dance into Judaism, this section examines the experiences of three participants in the Moving Jewish Communities initiative and other related 4 experiences that touch on this relationship. Fieldwork interviews of three different participants in the initiative—a leader, a faculty member, and a non-professional dancer—contribute to this analysis. The examination of this data presents a complex web of linkages between the detached role of dance in Reform Judaism and the patriarchal construction of gender differences. It identifies particular factors in the Reform Jewish community—both gendered and non-gendered—that shape the detachment of dance from the Reform movement, prompting questions about future paths and objectives. Ultimately in the last section, I present conclusions about my analyses using my theoretical and academic studies as a foundation. Through this conclusion, I aim to identify opportunities for further scholarship in this area. Most importantly, I aim to stimulate conversations about the relationship between the patriarchal construction of gender differences and the detached role of dance in Reform Judaism, identifying opportunities for advancing the integration of dance into Jewish prayer, ritual, and learning. 5 SECTION 1: HISTORICAL RELATIONS: DANCE, GENDER, JUDAISM Dance for All: Liz Lerman meets Ancient Beginnings of Dance in Judaism I think there was a time when people danced and the crops grew. I think they danced and that is how they healed their children. They danced; that is how they prepared for war. Maybe they mainly danced because they could not understand the incomprehensible, and perhaps in a moment of becoming (not interpreting) the sun in a sun dance they could understand the forces of nature. When I think about that time, I like to imagine several things. I think everyone knew the dance, so that when people came to festival days, they were not humiliated because they didn’t get it. I don’t think they needed to be initiated into anything—or if they did, it had become so integral to their lives that they knew it when they saw it. (Lerman 16) To Liz Lerman, the ancient beginnings of civilization present a time in which everyone knew how to dance. Yet she claims that this integrated role of dance in society did not last long—that the present-day scenario is merely a highly simplified version of the way dance existed long ago. Although the contemporary world presents a wide range of dance specialists in dance therapy, dance anthropology, ballet, ethnic dance, modern dance, post-modern dance, Russian dance, Israeli dance, Indonesian dance and more, these specialists are separated from the majority of the population. And as Lerman argues, we have “paid a price for this separation, an enormous price” (16). But the status quo is a motivating factor for Liz Lerman’s artistic practice. It has motivated her to try mending the world by working in communities. Animating these communities, Lerman and the Dance Exchange help “people find their voices, 6 find their bodies, find something” (17). Thus Lerman brings dance back into the life of various publics to which it once was an integral part. Looking inward to her own community, Lerman has worked with the Jewish community over the last ten years. This community especially follows the historical path that Lerman believes society has traveled. The following section illuminates this path and its particular relationship to the Jewish patriarchal construction of gender differences. Later chapters will contextualize this relationship through contemporary perspectives of people who have experienced Liz Lerman and her work firsthand. Research shows that most ancient religious groups used well-developed dance and ritualized movement systems to express religious emotions and cultural knowledge, the early Jews being no exception (Eichenbaum 30-31). The ancient Jews were considered a dancing people despite their later fame for being a people of the book. As supported by references such as the Encyclopedia Judaica, the Jewish people danced in one form or another throughout every period in their history in accordance with the provisions set up by the Hebrew prophets. Demonstrating a striking similarity between dance and religious expression of early Jews and of neighboring peoples, the study of Alfred Sendry in Music in Ancient Israel posits that many of the dance characteristics performed by Jews were adopted by Hittites, Babylonians, Assyrians, Phoenicians, and Egyptians (441-445). Fred Berk similarly identifies that prior to the days of Mosaic law or the law given to the Jewish people through Moses, dance and symbolic gesture were utilized as the most natural way to communicate with God. Movements of the body were performed 7 to honor a particular deity, expressing a symbolic representation of that deity in order to show reverence and thanksgiving (Eichenbaum 31). However with the emergence of Mosaic Law, the Bible in written form, and the Hebrew Prophets circa 9 th -5 th century BCE, a new definition of what constituted acceptable dance in the realm of worship developed. According to W.O.E. Oesterley, dance challenged prophesy because it inferred a similarity between the worship of Moses’ God and that of other Gods. He also claims that the Prophets challenged dance because they believed that it condoned man’s attempt to influence or direct the will of God (qtd. in Eichenbaum 32). Correlating dance with the manipulation of destiny, the Prophets considered dance to be improper. As a result, they demanded that the characteristics of dance in Judaism retain dignity, thus aiming to distinguish dance practices of the Jews from those of surrounding peoples (qtd. in Eichenbaum 32). Yet in order to express thanksgiving and affection, sacred dance still served an essential, albeit more narrowly-defined role in the Hebrew cult. Congruent to the solemn nature of the Temple ritual, dance was most likely confined to a “solemn display, using rhythmical gestures and pantomimic motions of the arms and body” (Sendry 452). This type of sacred dance was characterized by sedate movement adapted to the nature of Temple ritual. However, Sendry highlights the varying intensities of sacred dance during this time. He notes how the research of K.J. Zenner claims that dance played a greater role in ritual accompanying the recitation of 8 Psalms. Additionally, he reveals instances of ecstatic sacred dance that were radically different to the solemn temple movement (452). The dance of David before the Ark as it was brought to Jerusalem serves as the most well-known incident of ecstatic sacred dance. Describing David’s use of the dance to express total adoration of God, the Bible reads “David whirled with all his might before the LORD” (2 Sam 6:14). Dressed without his royal adornments in his bare priestly garment, Sendry expresses the power of this dance: “What no music, not even singing is able to express, becomes reality through the elemental power in David’s exalted dance” (450). Such exalted, ecstatic dances, however, were not limited to David. The early Israelite Prophets are likely to have used movement in a similar fashion whirling “themselves into a state of frenzy” and pronouncing their prophesies “with their rapturous dancing” (Sendry 455). Yet despite these instances of ecstatic ritual dances, there are little if any detailed descriptions of sacred dance during the days of its existence. Mention of dance is done in a veiled fashion with apparent reluctance. Scholar Alfred Sendry believes this is the case because recorders of the Old Testament likely considered dance to be a secular occupation associated with paganism and therefore incompatible with the sacred character of the written text. Thus he argues that the “overzealous Purifiers of the text” sought to eliminate any allusions to paganism and therefore dance (451). Feigue Berman argues that biblical stories such as the episode of the golden calf may have also linked dance with idolatry, setting a “precedent for a negative 9 attitude towards dancing that would develop in later eras, and eventually leading to the suppression of dance as worship” (90). She proposes that although references to ritual dance exist in the Hebrew Bible, “the unknown chronology of the Biblical texts prohibits concluding whether these references represent a positive attitude towards dancing” or whether they are in conflict with the biblical passage associating dance with idolatry in Exodus 32 (91). Hence she argues that “One can only conclude that dance as devotion was considered at times questionable, and therefore, overall the attitude towards dancing as worship was at best ambivalent” (91). This ambivalence in attitude to dance as worship has contributed to attitudes of later generations of Jews. Despite the ambivalence in attitudes toward dance as worship, subtle references and obscure passages in the Bible reveal that dance outside of ritual played a vital role in the early days of Judaism. Yet while these dances may have been situated outside of the Temple, it is unclear if they were considered secular or if they were rather infused with some element of sacredness and spirituality. For instance, dance played a considerable role in celebrating military victory. Since organized sacred services did not exist, Sendry argues that this type of dance of thanksgiving is considered to be ritual action (449-450). Although this dance is not considered ritual in the contemporary “sense of a sacred ceremony,” he asserts that in the early stages of the Jewish religion, it had a defined religious connotation (450). Such dances in fact provided unique leadership roles for women. Miriam Hirsch claims that a “victory dance was led by a woman singing and dancing, 10 followed by a chorus of women responding with song, dance, and musical instruments.” Hirsch supports this claim by noting that in two of three places in which victory dances are mentioned in the Bible, “a prominent woman is leading the dance” (23-24). In fact the first time dance is mentioned in the Hebrew Bible is when Miriam dances to express joy after her brother’s return from the Red Sea. A specific wedding dance mentioned in the “Song of Songs” seems to refer to another dance in which women played a powerful role. Referred to as “a dance of two companies,” Dvorah Lapson argues that the phrase conveys some kind of dance in which the bride dances with a sword to symbolically defend against all suitors with the exception of her husband (qtd. in Berman 88-89). Amnon Shiloah reveals the continuity of this dance custom in noting how vestiges of women’s dance remain in Middle Eastern celebrations (89). In addition to commemorating victorious battles in the Hebrew Bible or Tanakh and the Apocrypha, dance served to “glorify the changes in nature” during biblical times (86-87). It played an essential role in Jewish festivals, accompanying agricultural feasts for festivals governed by the seasonal changes in the soil’s production. What was considered to be dancing in the Bible seems quite diverse. Sendry and Oesterley have identified twelve verbs that refer to the act of dancing including “the bending of the body, whirling about, leaping, skipping, running, use of formations such as processions and encircling” (Sendry 445). Yet references to these diverse dance forms in the Bible give no guarantee that they would be preserved. In 11 fact, with the development of religious literature and services, many of the liturgical implications became disconnected from dance, permanently altering dance’s role from the sacred to the secular. Yet while dance in connection with religious events and ceremonies such as weddings, rites of circumcision, and festivals was no longer infused with a sacred quality in devotion to God, it continued to be mentioned throughout biblical and post-biblical literature. This carries an implication that although secular and de-sanctified, dance was maintained as a regular component of Jewish life (35). Interestingly, although references to dance in the Hebrew Bible are covert, there are no hints of disapproval or prohibition nor any explicit rules governing the way in which dancing was to take place. Yet Eichenbaum argues that the lack of explicitly defined rules did not ensure dancing without restraint. If fact she consciously mentions that “dance would be enjoyed by the general population but segregation of the sexes was practiced” (35). Sendry seems to make similar conclusions. He discusses biblical dances in terms of gender. In detailing the round- dance, he notes that “it was performed mainly by young maidens, either alone or in groups” and that “Young men would form their own group in dancing, and so would the elderly men” (468). He even goes as far to say that by the fall of the Second Temple, “dancing of men alone was considered indecent” (468). In doing so, he seems to highlight how dance during biblical times was segregated by gender. Comparatively, Berman mentions in the beginning of her dissertation that men and women danced in front of each other during biblical times. Yet citing L.M. 12 Epstein she claims that “there is no reason to discount the possibility that groups of men and women danced in separate groups simultaneously” (94-95). Thus she reveals the uncertainty of just how men and women danced together during biblical times. Dance in the Post-Biblical and Talmudic Periods Examining the role of dance in later periods along the historical timeline reveals a more concrete picture of the way dance was approached in Jewish life. Yet some degree of uncertainty about the status still remains as the following sections will detail. What we do know comes from an enormous body of rabbinic literature that emerged following the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE. After this destruction, Eichenbaum argues that the indigenous Jewish dance of Israel had difficulty surviving. She gives two reasons for the difficulty of keeping indigenous Jewish dance alive: The first pertains to the Diaspora where the effects of displacement made dancing surrounding agricultural festivals obsolete. The second pertains to Israel where as Abraham Millgram argues, the post-traumatic mourning following the Temple’s destruction stimulated the rabbinical stance to preserve its memory through the expression of sorrow and therefore the ban on music (qtd. in Eichenbaum 35). Eichenbaum asserts that this ban also extended to dance (35). 13 As ancient Temple rites and rituals outlined in the Five Book of Moses or Torah became obsolete with the destruction of the Temple, the Rabbis sought to develop a religious structure for Judaism that could survive in the Diaspora (the dispersed state of the Jews resulting from their expulsions). As such they developed an enormous body of literature that detailed rules and regulations pertaining to Jewish life. The development of what is known as the Talmud, the Mishnah, the Tosefta, and other important texts were developed during this time. By the third and fourth century, Berman notes how the Talmud clarifies uncertainties regarding dancing between the sexes during that time period, revealing the “first legal written antecedents to separate men from women on festive occasions” (95). During the festivities of Sukkot, the Talmud proscribed that men and women celebrate in separate quarters (Sukkah: The Babylonian Talmud 245- 246, Section 51b). This initial separation culminated in a total segregation, extending to both weddings and funerals. Such segregation was thought to be an appropriate response to “the belief that mixed dancing led to ‘indecent behavior’” (95). This official code of segregation seems not to trouble L.M. Epstein. He argues that it had few implications during Talmudic times since such norms were in place during biblical times (qtd. in Berman 95-96). Yet scholar Freehof disagrees. Asserting that this segregation of gender in dance led to the decline of dance in Judaism, Freehof alludes to a time preceding codified prohibitions against dance where there was relative flexibility and possibility for mixed dancing even if it was not necessarily practiced (qtd. in Berman 95). Whichever the case for the biblical 14 period, it is known that such segregation developed and strengthened during the Talmudic period. Such segregation of the sexes would continue to be the institutionalized norm in dancing throughout the practice of Traditional Judaism. With the development of rabbinic literature, the Jewish people grew to become a highly literate community. And as this emphasis on literacy began to surface, mixed connotations about the body and movement (both negative and positive) began to emerge. Sendry argues that as this developed, dance became characterized as a secular occupation and the Jewish emphasis on sacred, physical ritual lost some significance (451). Writing along these same lines, Allegra Fuller Snyder discusses the inverse relationship between literacy and disposition to movement. In her article “The Dance Symbol,” she observes that “dance is most significant in societies that are least literate” (214). Thus as Judaism began to develop an emphasis on literacy, it began to lose its interest in dance. Citing Farbridge, Rose Eichenbaum attests to this: The religious structure of Judaism evolved in such a way as to lay emphasis on the written word of God. The Old Testament provided a recorded history, philosophy and religious and moral law. Dance was no longer needed to help retain and reinforce specific cultural knowledge or teach its members about their history, philosophical concepts and religious beliefs. Religious expression found form in verbal imagery and written symbolism. (31) As other modes of religious practice took precedence over dance, its position became increasingly more auxiliary, identified more as recreation and emotional response than sacred rite. While music eventually returned to synagogue worship and social functions, dance was relegated to occupy a place only in social celebrations 15 such as weddings and other joyous celebrations of specific holidays. Only with the development of the radical Hasidic sect in the eighteenth century did dance begin to take on a vital sacred role within the religion, but even then it was limited to men. Thus leadership roles attributed to women in ancient dance dissolved as nothing emerged to replace them. As Judaism separated sacred communication with God from dance, symbolic gesture and movement were devalued as necessary tools to enter the realm of holiness. That is not to say that they completely disappeared. As prayer service rituals became concretized, certain minimal remnants of dance were maintained. These remnants continue to exist in contemporary synagogues. The research and observations of two contemporary synagogues in Los Angeles by Rose Eichenbaum reveal the existence of particular ritual movements associated with prayer: bending the body, facing east towards Jerusalem, kissing the Torah when it is circled around the congregation, and bouncing on heels (53). Yet these gestures are minimized and proscribed to a particular context—one of a secondary, fringe nature (47). The research of Eichenbaum demonstrates that ritual movements function as an adjunct to verbal prayer and sacred tasks. She argues that “much of the physical activity that occurs during prayer (particularly in the synagogue) enhances and intensifies the process of communication with God” (47). These existing ritual movements are “highly structured and proscribed by halakhah” (47). But those that do not have verbal qualifiers or that indeed simulate movements of other religions are prohibited. These movements “can be unintentionally associated with the 16 worship of idolatrous Gods” (47). This, she notes, is “perhaps why many of the most ancient ritualized movements were abandoned” (48). Decreased in number and limited in style, dance in contemporary American Judaism seems likely to be a product of its dismissible status in post-biblical times. The conscious neglect of the laws of the Mosaic code and rabbinic authorities to uphold dance as a required feature of righteous living, at best caused dance to be considered superfluous, at worst caused dance to be negatively associated with sexuality and the body. In fact, the position of dance was greatly affected by the hierarchical gender roles outlined in rabbinic literature. Being compiled by a body entirely of men, the literature was narrowly constructed, causing the male to be the focus, and the woman to be considered as the Other. And as the Talmud (a leading scripture in the literature) was written by men, it was shaped by masculine sensibilities. What the Talmud reveals is a vision of what the rabbis wanted the world to be, but possibly not what it completely was. Rabbi Rachel Adler argues that the ways in which women led their lives during Talmudic times (including how they danced) may be misrepresented or not recorded at all (February 7, 2007). Rabbi Lawrence Hoffman expands on this idea, discussing the difficulty of identifying women’s spiritual expressions in Talmudic times based on the lack of recorded information (qtd. in Adler, Engendering Judaism 67-68). This perspective illuminates the inaccuracy of asserting that the role of dance in post-biblical times is comprehensively covered by the words of the Talmud. It reveals the holes in this argument and the uncertainties left to be pondered. 17 Yet from the literature we do have at our disposal, we can speculate about partial ways in which dance played a role in Judaism during Talmudic times. We are aware that at the same time that the male-centered literature developed new attitudes towards dance, it concurrently developed gender roles according to patriarchal concerns about sexuality and the body. We might consider that the concurrent timing of these concerns signifies that the rabbinic attitudes towards them were related. Dance in the Diaspora and Conflicting Patriarchal Attitudes about the Body As the Jewish religion evolved further in the Diaspora, Jews began to gain the reputation as a people without dance. In fact this claim is not true; dance indeed played a role in the lives of the Jewish people. However, its existence amongst Jews does not mean that it was necessarily condoned. In fact due to historical events and changes, the role of dance was consciously positioned by the rabbis outside of sacred prayer and learning. Many of the reasons for this have been discussed above. Yet additionally, these rabbinic viewpoints regarding dance were influenced and complicated by conflicting attitudes towards the body. Scholar Judith Hanna addresses the relationship between rabbinic attitudes towards the body and dance in stating that, “Conflicting attitudes towards the human body and by extension, towards dancing have characterized all three of the major monotheistic religions in the West” (qtd. in Berman 4). 18 Traditional Jewish attitudes towards sexuality are incredibly complex and many of the contradictions in attitude stem from both historical changes and oscillations in Jewish understanding of sexuality. In fact, in the period in which dance was naturally integrated into Jewish life, sexuality was accepted as a natural component of Jewish life. Scholar Judith Plaskow claims that “the relations between the sexes were relatively easy and open; except for practices associated with or projected onto paganism, there is little preachment about or denunciation of specific sexual behaviors” (178). Yet, the post-exile period brought a new wave of repression in which human beings were considered “easily corruptible creatures to the lure of sexual temptation” where “human beings had to be on guard against even seemingly innocent contacts between women and men” (178). But rabbinic attitudes were not solely affected by these historical changes and developments. In fact, they were greatly affected by the already oscillating viewpoints concerning sexuality in Judaism between “affirmation of sexuality and anxiety about control” (179). Plaskow sums up the heart of Jewish ambivalence towards sexuality with the following quote: The sexual impulse is given by God and thus is a normal and healthy part of human life. Sexual relations are appropriate only within the framework of heterosexual marriage, but within marriage, they are good, indeed, are commanded (a mitzvah). Yet sexuality–even within marriage–also requires careful, sometimes rigorous control, in order that it not transgress the boundaries of marriage or the laws of niddah within it. (179) The combination of historical changes and already oscillating attitudes towards sexuality contributed to the attitude that “whatever the degree of prohibition, 19 prevention was considered a better course than punishment,” and hence “all were surrounded by social and legal restraints” (183). Thus, the social mingling of the sexes was restricted and buttressed by the constant mindful eye of the community (183). Laws of modesty required women to keep their bodies covered as well as to avoid private flirtation and immorality between the sexes. For Plaskow argues, “Mutual engagement in entertainment or merriment was considered an invitation to immoral conduct, as was indulgence in small talk or repartee” (176). Engaging in social dance fell under this category of immoral conduct in entertainment and was thus denigrated by the rabbis. Even the wedding dance, a dance in which the rabbinic authorities allowed to be incorporated into Jewish life, was an object of examination. As the only condoned dancing between men and women, it traditionally maintained the separation of the sexes through the separation of the dancing pious men (the groom excluded) and bride with a handkerchief or other device. As dancing in front of the bride was considered both an obligation and an act of religious devotion, Berman argues that the rabbis consciously shaped it to be devoid of sensuality: “Dancing in front of the bride is perceived as a form of worship completely disassociated from the sensuality that might exist between a man and a woman dancing” (101-102). Hence it appears that dance could only be associated with God when it was disconnected from its innate sensuality. As this disconnection between dance and sensuality had to be carefully constructed in order to be considered sacred, the de-sensualized dance was difficult to incorporate into Jewish liturgy. The idea of the limited role of dance in 20 liturgy compliments the scholarship of Idelsohn who argues that bodily motions were linked with paganism and were therefore abolished in the liturgy with only slight remnants of processions and gestures remaining (500). Yet Berman argues that although removed from liturgy, “Dance was part of almost every religious event outside the Temple or the synagogue that defined a person as a Jew, in every Jewish settlement around the world” (152). But even mixed dancing that was removed from the sacred liturgy created tensions in Traditional Judaism. Dancing between men and women proved to be particularly problematic due to Torah law prohibitions concerning mixed dancing between males and females who were not immediate relatives. Regulating restrictions are detailed in multiple discussions about dancing in post-Talmudic times. Dancing between men and women was not considered proper because it could potentially be sexually arousing, stimulating improper behavior. Yet it is essential to understand the patriarchal root of these concerns. Plaskow argues that, While laws and customs of modesty and avoidance circumscribed the lives of both women and men, these laws are nonetheless strikingly asymmetrical in their rationale, content, and phrasing. We have come to expect that in a male-defined system, the law will be addressed to men and formulated from their perspective. (184) That is to say that rabbinic discomforts about mixed dancing stem from the patriarchal perspective of Traditional Judaism that considered the body and sexuality, specifically female sexuality to be sources of anxiety. From this male perspective, it is the female who was considered the temptress. The discourses in rabbinic literature reflect this perspective for as Plaskow argues: 21 The desire to control female sexuality is the chief source of male anxiety about women and thus also the source of the central vocabulary and symbolism for the construction of women’s Otherness. (174) It is anxiety about female sexuality that prompted the rabbis in the medieval period to make exhortations to uphold morality against mixed dancing. Yet as Hirsch argues, the frequency of these exhortations “suggests that in fact this rule was widely disobeyed” (33). Berman illuminates the division in the economic-class lines, revealing that poor Jewish masses often challenged “what was strictly observed by the Jewish elite” (109). In fact depending on their environment, male and female Jews began to celebrate and dance together in different ways. The emergence of two branches of Judaism, the Sephardic Jews of the East and the Ashkenazic Jews of the West, played a role in deepening these differences. 1 The Jews of Europe in the Middle Ages danced for pleasure outside the religious arena in the Jewish dance halls. There the professional training and teaching of dance became an essential part of the cultural life of Jews during the Renaissance, provoking rabbinic disdain (149-150). Further east, the rabbinic challenges to dance grew even greater. The Sephardic Jews especially prompted contempt from the rabbis for as Judith Brin 1 See “Ashkenazi” and “Sephardi,” Brittanica Concise Encyclopedia Online, Mar. 2007, 6 March 2007 < http://www.britannica.com/ebc/article-9355931>, which notes that a Sephardi is “Any member of the Jewish community, or their descendants, who lived in Spain and Portugal from the Middle Ages until their expulsion in the late 15th century. They fled first to North Africa and other parts of the Ottoman Empire and eventually settled in countries such as France, Holland, England, Italy, and the Balkan states.” Comparatively, an Ashkenazi is considered to be “any of the historically Yiddish-speaking European Jews who settled in central and northern Europe, or their descendants.” 22 Ingberg argues, the Sephardic Jews became more integrated into their Gentile environments than the Ashkenazic Jews and thus were more influenced by the dances in their corresponding environments (qtd. in Berman 107). During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the Sephardic communities participated in secular mixed dancing in which women entertained both men and women (Friedhaber 604). Additionally, Jews in Eastern Poland in this same period engaged in mixed dancing despite rabbinic restrictions (Berman 150). By the nineteenth century, Friedland argues that Jews in Eastern Europe had developed an extensive repertory of secular dances for the purposes of both social dancing and performance (78). Most likely it was because secular dance was rapidly developing amongst Jews that the rabbis began to adamantly instate prohibitions regarding dancing. Since the body serves as the instrument of movement and dance, it is understandable why rabbinic authorities might have linked their concerns about dance with concerns about the body and sexuality. And these concerns cannot be extricated from anxieties about women. Thus it is likely that these anxieties about women might have greatly contributed to the increasingly detached sacred role of dance in Traditional Judaism. 23 The Rise of Text-based Study and Prayer and the Exclusion of Women This paper has already addressed how the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 C.E. prompted the creation of rabbinic literature, but it has not yet illuminated how its development served to create an emphasis on text-based study and learning. As Jews were expelled from their homeland and dispersed in the Diaspora, they began to immerse themselves in study at the local beit midrash (house of study). This pattern of behavior provided a way for the men (for women were excluded) to hold onto to their Jewish roots. Thus, text-based study and prayer throughout the Diaspora became a way for male Jews to retain their Jewish identity. Female Jews however were not granted this option. The halakhah (Jewish law) that developed through biblical exegesis in these beit midrash houses consciously created divisions in gender roles, excluding females from participating in such study. Plaskow presents how the female role in Traditional Judaism is strikingly different to that of men, arguing that “women’s relation to the public religious sphere is shaped by a double exemption: exemption from study and exemption from positive commandments (that is, ‘Thou shalts’) that must be performed at a particular time” (61). Thus women were excluded from what came to be known as the heart and soul of Traditional Judaism—prayer and study. Labeling women as “peripheral Jews,” Rachel Adler in her article, “The Jew Who Wasn’t There,” argues that since women are mostly obliged to merely observe the negative commandments [‘Thou shall nots’], they are neither “permitted to participate fully in 24 the religious life of the Jewish people” nor “permitted to undermine it either.” (78- 79). One explanation for this division in gender roles is presented by Daniel Boyarin who argues that sexuality and religious study both complemented and competed with each other (149). That is to say that woman and Torah as objects of desire had to be kept separate because “satisfying the urge impinged on the obligation to study” (Berman 112). Thus, the patriarchal construction of gender differences that developed through rabbinic literature was shaped by the patriarchal perspectives on gender roles of the body. Laws forbidding women to participate fully in the religious life of the Jewish people are complicated by the mind-body dualisms present in biblical and rabbinic literature. With Hellenism as the predominant cultural influence on Jewish theology, it is no wonder that such “Platonistic dualistic ideas in which the spirit(mind) preceded and dominated the body, relegating the body to a secondary position of importance” influenced Traditional Judaism (96). Yet Berman argues that “the dualistic conception influenced Judaism in varying degrees depending in terms of attitudes towards the body” (96). That is to say that alternative views of the bodies existed. Some viewed that a human being was defined by the soul, considering the body to be at best a container. Others understood the human being as being essentially carnal, considering the soul and body to be inseparable and equally valued (97). These conflicting views contributed to a complicated relationship between the mind and body. 25 The concept of yetzer (natural man’s most basic inclination) examined in biblical and rabbinic literature illuminates these mind-body dualisms. “Though the Biblical yetzer is presented as a unitary concept,” Rick Goldberg presents how “the Rabbis bifurcated the impulse into, on the one hand a good yetzer stressing Torah learning and restraint and on the other hand, an evil yetzer emphasizing unbridled license and sexual appetite” (1). Thus, the good yetzer is “seen not as inborn but as the product of cultural conditioning (Torah training)” and evil yetzer is considered “innate at birth” (4). To complicate ideas about the yetzer, Boyarin explains that the evil yetzer is “composed of constructive and destructive forces within its own singular existence and essence” (63). Berman similarly argues that the rabbis appreciated sexual desire as a source of vitality that could be “channeled for devotional worship” (111). Biale notes that what is known as kavanah (intention) became an essential issue in the medieval discourses concerning these issues (qtd. in Berman 120). With proper intention, transformations from desire to constructive positive goals could be made possible. Such transformations prescribed sexuality to remain within marriage, “divorcing it from physical pleasure, and transmuting it to the spiritual realm” (120). Yet of course Berman is referring to the sexual desire and the devotional worship of men. The bifurcated concept of the yetzer exemplifies how rabbinic tensions between the mind and body served to further disassociate bodily matters including dancing and women from sacred study and prayer. As text-based endeavors and spirituality became further disassociated from the body, they further 26 separated from sources of bodily anxiety—women and dance included. Seen as both the source of provocation of the evil yetzer and disabled from developing the good yetzer, the woman in Traditional Judaism is removed from the core religious life of the Jewish people. Therefore being a woman placed one in a position at the root of rabbinic disdain of dance and of exclusion from the rabbinic alternative to it. Considering the unique roles of women in traditional victory dances and other dances that were possibly misrepresented or not recorded, this position severely limited the sacred and spiritual ways in which women could engage with Traditional Judaism. Only with the evolution of Traditional Judaism into more liberal denominations, particularly Reform Judaism, did women begin to obtain equal access to spirituality. Emerging in Germany in the 19 th century, it later spread across Europe and blossomed in America. However with the detachment of dance from Judaism being well underway, this access was limited to the realms of text-based study and prayer. In neglecting to infuse movement with intellectual inquiry and expand the genres of study and prayer to dance, Reform Judaism continues to concretize the detached role of dance in Judaism. As I have presented in my arguments above, this detachment may very well be linked to the patriarchal constructions of gender differences. The following section will detail examples of contemporary American movements that also seem to demonstrate linkages between the role of dance and patriarchal gender constructs—reminiscent of those developing in biblical times. 27 SECTION 2: REMNANTS IN CONTEMPORARY AMERICAN MOVEMENTS Dance and the Perseverance of Gender Roles with the Radical Emergence of Hasidism Certain movements and phenomena have certainly advanced the relationship between Judaism and dance in America since the onset of Traditional Judaism. However, these movements have only partially inverted the diminished role of dance in Traditional Judaism. Furthermore they continue to retain some remnant of the patriarchal construction of gender differences. The differences between these movements and the artistic practice of Liz Lerman and her work in the Jewish community are quite profound. Although the specifics about her work and objectives will be detailed in the next section, it is valuable to be aware of her unique egalitarian model for integrating dance into Jewish religious life as you read this section. Some of the relevant commentary from the interviews with Moving Jewish Communities participants are scattered throughout this section, illuminating current perspectives about these movements. To investigate contemporary manifestations of the relationship between the detached role of dance and the construction of gender differences in present-day Jewish American movements, I will be using categories of women’s peripheral status and exclusion from worship as defined by the theoretical writing of Rabbi Rachel Adler. Many of these categories have diminished through modifications to halakhah or Jewish law in progressive denominations such as Reform Judaism. These categories will be highly pertinent to the analyses of the movements rooted in 28 Traditional Judaism in this portion of my thesis. Yet later sections will be particularly interested in locating remnants of these categories in relation to the current status of dance in contemporary progressive movements such as Reform Judaism. Some of these Traditional halakhic categories of gender differences are directly related to the body, identifying women with physicality and negative-bound commandments (‘Thou shall nots’) that relate to material and bodily issues. Others are indirectly linked to the body such as the exclusion of women from the minyan, the basic unit of the Jewish community. Although the latter category does not define women in terms of the physical directly, it results from the patriarchal construction of gender roles and the body. Adler’s categories will serve as a foundation for my analysis of the patriarchal construction of gender differences in the contemporary American dance movements below. One movement that has made partial strides in advancing the role of dance in Judaism, but has continued to retain some remnant of the patriarchal construction of gender differences is Hasidic Judaism. An evolution of Traditional Judaism, Hasidic Judaism attempts to re-sanctify the sacredness of dance. Due to its passionate embrace of dance, it is considered a radical departure from Traditional Judaism however it continues to be dependent on the patriarchal construction of gender differences. It is true that the Hasidic movement emerged as a radical fringe group away from Traditional Judaism. Opposed to the European mechanism of turning inward to 29 Talmud study in coping with the persecution of the Jews, the Baal Shem Tov (founder of Hasidism) developed a new form of Judaism that used joyful expression and spiritual connection to God to cope with difficult times. Although it began in Eastern Europe, it migrated to the United States and Israel when the rise of Communism and the Bolshevik Revolution prompted the disintegration of Hasidic centers in the Ukraine and Eastern Europe. One of the cornerstones of this movement is the embrace of a distinct devotional behavior that emanates from their belief system. This devotional behavior places an emphasis on the role of dance in prayer and ritual. As discussed above, the significance of dance in Jewish ritual after the destruction of the Second Temple was rare if not non-existent. As such, the role of dance in Hasidism is considered a rarity. “Dance is a rarity in the context of Judaism because even though it is mentioned as far back as the Bible and Talmud, its role in the rituals of religion became less and less important as the centuries went by, until the emergence of Hasidism” (Berman 2). Thus, Hasidism serves as an example of a departure from the disintegration between Traditional Judaism and dance. Shifting the emphasis from study to prayer, from head and thought to heart and emotion, “it developed a technology and a psychology of devotion unparalleled elsewhere in Judaism” (x). In doing so, Hasidic Jews granted importance to song, movement during prayer, and dance in all of their celebrations. 30 Dance in Hasidism celebrates the perceptions that Jews are a ‘chosen’ people and that God is immanent. As the chosen people, Jews had to guarantee their survival and cohesion. Both the wedding which legalized the ideal human state defined in terms of marriage and procreation and the metaphorical weddings between the chosen people and God during the Jewish Holy days concretize Jewish survival and thus are accompanied by great joy. The Hasidic Jews particularly express this joy through dance. Concepts emphasizing God’s existence color the meaning and value of devotional dance. With God’s presence in everything, joy from loving God is associated with sacredness. Perceived as stimulating joy, dance celebrates God’s immanence and forges an intimate relationship between the physical and spiritual. Berman captures the essence of dance in Hasidism: “The joy of loving God allows physicality to be a vehicle for spiritual transformation. This spiritual transformation leads to losing the self and attaining union with God” (3). Hence, Hasidic dance is a challenge to the thinking that at best downplays, at worst denies the importance of the body and the link between body and mind. When it came into existence in the 18 th Century, it proposed a revitalized, interconnected relationship between dance and Judaism that reverted back to ancient Judaism. Challenging the disconnection between dance and Traditional Judaism, the ideology of the Hasidism integrates dance into Jewish communal life. Relating Hasidic dance to Modern Western dance, Berman argues that, “So much of the ideology of the dancing Chassidim is similar to that of Isadora’s and even our present-day dancers, 31 that research into original sources proves a gratifying and rewarding activity. For Chassidim… made dancing a part of life” (qtd. in Funke 60-62). She argues that there is a similarity between the dance fervor of famous modern dancers and the Hasidic dancers. Although coming from completely different perspectives, these two publics share an esteemed value placed on dance, the “faith in the capacity of dance to induce fervor quite beyond any intellectual expression” and the “belief in the transformational potential of dance” (7-8). Yet Hasidic dance is not considered to be similar to other secular dances. Hasidic Jews believe that it is infused with a unique spirituality that is separate from secular life. Although it is influenced by other dance forms, it is independent from them. The scope of this influence is greatly limited by the separation of genders in dancing. Gellerman argues that the scope of external influence on Hasidic dance is consciously limited by Hasidic adherence to Orthodox codes of behavior (qtd. in Berman 19). From his perspective, these codes of behavior such as the prohibition of men and women dancing together are in conflict with surrounding dance elements that do not follow this code. In making the conscious decision to ward off the influence of mixed dancing, the Hasidic movement continues to concretize the gender roles set out by Traditional Judaism, thereby granting the accessibility of Hasidic dance only to men. The commandments for praying three times a day that are required of men are excused for women. Thus as Adler argues, this gives the male Jew opportunities to “hallow his physical being, and inform both his myth and his philosophy” –opportunities that 32 the female Jew is never granted (“The Jew” 78). Since dance is an integral part of prayer in Hasidic Judaism, it is accessible only to the gender to which prayer and spirituality is attributed to. Thus while Hasidism furthers a revolutionary connection between dance and Judaism, it merely opens the doors to this revolution to men. In describing Hasidic dance Berman argues that “Its religious-spiritual purpose is a way of bonding with God and its communal purpose is a way of bonding the men of the sect to each other” (8). Under similar lines of thinking Gellerman asserts that, In Hasidic dance, man and woman are clearly defined as separate and distinct… For reasons of family purity (laws governing sexual relations), ‘tsnies’ (modesty) and to assure the spiritual concentration required during prayer, Hasidic as well as non-Hasidic Orthodox men and women do not pray or rejoice in public together. (qtd. in Berman 20) The Mitzvah dance, one of the traditional wedding dances, is the only occasion when the segregation of the sexes is broken to allow the groomsmen to dance with the bride according to the Talmudic precept. Defining the man’s role in terms of the spiritual and the woman’s role in terms of the practical, Hasidism prescribes distinct, gender roles and goals. These gender divisions rely on the constructs of Traditional Judaism. As Rabbi Rachel Adler argues, these gender constructs characterize the average woman’s mind as merely devoted to physical considerations due to the absence of “any independent spiritual life to counterbalance the materialism of her existence” (“The Jew” 80). Educated and socialized towards a peripheral commitment and location within the 33 Hasidic community, women are thought of as adjuncts to the minyan or basic unit of community (79). Thus the dancing that characterizes Hasidic Judaism is spiritually embraced by the men and only in moderation by the women. These gender distinctions are evident to Gellerman who notes the drastic distinctions in type and quality of the movements performed by men and women. While the men’s repertoire is described as “extremely active and effortful,” the women’s repertoire as restricted by dress, expectations and role is described as “more low-key, i.e., less active in effort and attitude” (qtd. in Berman 20). Liz Lerman similarly notes the existence of gender distinctions in Hasidic dance: “A lot of Hasidic dancing is preserved for the men. The women get to, but what you see is men dancing, which is of course spectacular.” While she appreciates it for what it is, she is aware of its limitations both for women and secular people: It [Hasidic dance] is very intense and very beautiful but it feels a little bit like you can click into it and go. It’s like a beaming track and if you are anywhere out here you don’t go—including how you might dance, including what the movement itself looks like and feels like. (November 16, 2006) Although Hasidism certainly breaks the mold of the limited role of dance in Traditional Jewish life and prayer, it continues to cling to the patriarchal gender constructions that largely contributed to the detached role of dance in Traditional Jewish religious life in the first place. Limiting the accessibility of spiritual ecstatic dance to men, Hasidism continues to retain remnants of the patriarchal gender constructs that are ordained by Traditional Jewish halakhah. 34 Hasidic Judaism for Hippies: An Evolution of Hasidism in America A movement of ‘Hasidic hippies’ began as an outgrowth of the Hasidic movement in America (Ariel 139). Seeking a “new spiritual and intellectual meaning to life” through the Lubavitch branch of Hasidism. Founders Shlomo Carlebach and Zalman Schachter used avant-garde modes of spirituality such as music, folklore, and stories to make Judaism meaningful and accessible to those seeking such outlets (140). Influenced by the egalitarian movements of the 1960s and 1970s, their Hippie Hasidism sought to integrate the joyful spirituality ideals of Hasidism with equalitarian ideals. Influenced by the liberal notions of the 1960s and 1970s, these men established the House of Love and Prayer for people interested in exploring this movement. As a talented musician, Carlebach used his skill and passion for music to imbue Jewish prayer with spirituality through music. His efforts to bring music to Jewish spirituality are unparalleled. As his religious practice was deeply affected by his Traditional background, he did not fully embrace the liberal notions of feminism and full egalitarianism in Jewish practice. Yet his initiatives to bring music to Jewish spirituality advanced the inclusion of music and a limited amount of dance into Jewish practice. During the 1940s and 1950s in America, the Hasidic movement branched out into several small movements. One such movement, Lubavitch, was barely beginning to carve a place for itself in America. Its status was considered quite shaky for, 35 Most Jews regarded Hasidic Judaism as a fossil of a destroyed world with little prospect of survival. Hasidic life and values stood apart from the prevailing trends among American Jews of the time who, as a rule, strived to join the mainstream. (Ariel 140) Yet certain Jews such as Shlomo Carlebach and Zalman Schachter found meaning and spirituality in Hasidism. Carlebach was raised Neo-Orthodox, a movement that combined the ideals of the Enlightenment with the Jewish tradition. Yet his dissatisfaction with both the worldview guiding Neo-Orthodoxy along with the rational approach of the liberal Jews, prompted him to embrace Hasidism (qtd. in Ariel 139-140). Similarly, Schachter became a convert to Hasidism as well. They later became emissaries who had the unique task of reaching out to nonobservant rather than observant Jews in order to convince them to return to tradition. This cultural movement emphasizing a return to tradition was considered quite avant-garde even in Orthodox circles at a time when a trend away from tradition seemed to prevail (qtd. in Ariel 140). Yet Carlebach and Schachter became strong advocates of this movement and found great satisfaction from getting to know the preferences and goals of the people they were trying to reach. Though they certainly discovered people who were indifferent to spirituality in favor of complete secularism, they also came upon people who were seeking spirituality that was not being fulfilled in the synagogue. Many of these Jews viewed the Jewish religion as tainted and haunted by the sad memories of Jewish suffering during the Holocaust (qtd. in Ariel 141). Thus to these Jews, Judaism was considered a sterile religion, without room for joy, comfort, or love. 36 Convinced that Judaism had much more to offer to these Jews than they could imagine, Carlebach and Schachter went beyond the traditions of the Hasidic group that originally sent them on their mission. Inspired to present Judaism as a religion that was rich in spirit, love of God, and joy in worship, they integrated stories, folklore, and most of all music into certain Hasidic groups. Writing his own music, Carlebach used music “as a medium to gain spiritual release” (qtd. in Ariel 142). Giving concerts all across the United States, he spread a renewed trust in God through Jewish song (qtd. in Ariel 142). Through exposure to the beatnik culture of San Francisco in the 1950s and 1960s, Carlebach and Schachter befriended seminal figures such as poet and Beat Generation guru, Allen Ginsberg and folk singer/songwriter Leonard Cohen. Through these relationships they became influenced by the egalitarian outlook. During the same period, their original Hasidic group became increasingly conservative, prompting these two emissaries to part with the Lubavitch group. By the late 1960s they had converted a large cohort of people to the spirituality of Judaism, many of whom lived in the San Francisco Bay Area. The need for an establishment for this cohort of people prompted the creation of a Hippie Hasidic center in the area in 1967 called the House of Love and Prayer. Though liberal and inclusive, Carlebach could not separate himself from the ideals of Orthodox Judaism and was reluctant to follow Schachter’s more liberal ideals of feminism and full egalitarianism. As their ideals differentiated from each other, they eventually separated, giving the opportunity for Carlebach’s music to 37 infiltrate both “Hasidic hippie” circles as well as liberal circles. In fact the impact of this branch of neo-Hasidism on liberal forms of Judaism was incredibly profound according to Ariel (157). Neo-Hasids moved into synagogues and communities in America and Israel, transforming the accepted norms of liberal Jewish religious services, including prayer, dress, music, manners, and cuisine. Moving from a middle-class synagogue environment of the 1950s and 1960s, which thrived on conformity and propriety, and in which the rabbi’s sermons stood at the center of the services, synagogues have become less formal and more oriented toward offering a spiritual experience. (157-158) Thus in incorporating Carlebach’s melodies in place of more traditional tunes in liberal synagogues, the opportunities to make spiritual connections through prayer have been expanded. Although the ‘Hasidic hippie’ movement placed an emphasis on music with dance as more of an afterthought, it certainly paved the way for incorporating different modes of spirituality into prayer. Yet even Carlebach himself did not utilize his music to advance feminist or full egalitarian agendas in his progressive movement, retaining remnants of women’s peripheral status in Judaism and limiting their access to these innovative forms of communal participation, leadership, and education as discussed by Adler. However, Carlebach’s followers began to integrate his alternative forms of spirituality into more egalitarian forms of Judaism such as Reform Judaism. Yet even in present-day Reform Judaism, remnants of the patriarchal construction of gender differences link to the status of dance in subtle, complex ways as will be detailed in Section 4. The next section will reveal additional historical movements that demonstrate dependencies on patriarchal 38 gender differences. These movements rely on the dependencies of gender constructs in a completely different manner than the Hasidic and Carlebach movements located within the realm of Jewish religious life. Outsider Women Jews Take On Modern Dance America The examples discussed at the beginning of this section demonstrate some of the partial strides that have been made to integrate dance into Jewish religious practice despite continued dependencies on traditional gender roles. Yet juxtaposed to these cases are examples of dance movements amongst Jews that were forced out of the confines of Traditional Judaism due to their opposition to the construction of gender differences. Two of these movements, namely the modern dance and Israeli dance movements in America had no place within the value system of Traditional Judaism. In fact modern dance aimed to challenge the mind-body dualisms intrinsic to Judeo-Christian and Western thought, in which women were designated to the side of the body. Women were thought to have a natural “affinity for expression through bodies” (Foulkes 2). Their dominance on the performance stage shaped a sexual dynamic between the female performers and male spectators. Thus a primary purpose of dance served to satisfy male audience, playing on the “sexual appeal inherent in dance” (2). 39 Yet the modern dance movement offered women a leadership role that broke down mind-body boundaries inherent in other dance forms in which they also dominated. Unlike other dance forms in which the visual spectacle of womens’ bodies were featured ranging from the “ethereal pictures of idealized femininity in ballet to the bawdy sexual tease in burlesque,” modern dance gave women the opportunity be “creators as well as performers,” empowering them to fight for civil and social rights and opportunities (qtd. in Foulkes 2). And Jewish women in particular filled modern dance classes of 1930s America. Shaping the foundation of modern dance, Jewish dancers made a well- known impact in the 1930s. Fanny Brice’s satiric sketch, Modernistic Moe reveals the public familiarity with the Jewish influence on modern dance. Portraying modern dance leader Martha Graham, she cried “Rewolt!” in a Yiddish accent, revealing the integration of Jewish modern dance and social protest (Foulkes 1). As children of immigrants to America, Foulkes notes how “Jewish women battled anti-Semitism and politicized dance at a time when Americans were particularly concerned with expressing ideals of social justice and national renewal in their art” (1). Thus their involvement in modern dance gave them opportunities to challenge inequalities (both gender specific and non-gender specific) in their secular environment in America. Yet they faced similar gender inequalities, particularly those associated with the body in their own Traditional Jewish circles. Rabbi Rachel Adler points to these in noting how Traditional Judaism considered the female mind to be frivolous and the sexual appetite to be insatiable. She claims, 40 In the [Traditional] Jewish view, all physical objects and experiences are capable of being infused with spiritual purpose, yet it is equally true that the physical, unredeemed by spiritual use, is a threat. It is therefore easy to see how women came to be regarded as semi- demonic in both Talmud and Kabbalah (“The Jew” 81). Evidently, both secular and religious spheres presented environments that held complicated views of dance that were highly sexualized and limiting. Thus Jewish women dedicated themselves to modern dance partially in order to challenge Jewish and Western mind-body dualisms, imbuing movement with determined socially conscious and political statements. As Foulkes argues, “modern dance attracted Jewish women because it sought to expose the expressiveness of body motion…Like artists of other genres in the era, modern dancers steeped themselves in the social, political, and aesthetic issues of the day, emboldened by the aim to make artworks responsive and relevant to everyday life” (1). Denied the opportunity and encouragement to engage in Talmudic learning within Traditional Judaism, these women rebelled against their exclusion from communal participation, leadership, and learning within the confines of the religion. Detaching themselves from a religion that concretized their identity as Adler’s “peripheral Jews,” these Jewish women welcomed the offer of modern dance to “combine physical expression with the intellectual solemnity of Talmudic study denied to them” (Adler, “The Jew” 77; Foulkes 1). They were unsatisfied with the limited folk, ritual, and social dances that existed in American Jewish culture for these neglected to convey the intellectual and emotional seriousness inherent in the 41 “arms ending in fists, flexed bare feet, agonizing backward falls, and intense faces” of modern dance (1). Inspired to advance, Jewish dancers quickly moved up the ranks of modern dance. Many of them were originally introduced to modern dance at settlement houses where artistic activities were used as vehicles for learning. Motivated by the socially conscious dance opportunities that prevailed in these houses, many joined companies led by foundational modern choreographers, Doris Humphrey and Martha Graham or started teaching dance classes infused with socialist concepts. Some female dancers such as the Lewisohn sisters, Miriam Blecher, Dvora Lapson, and Lillian Shapero consciously incorporated Jewish themes into their work. In turning to what Naum Rosen calls Jewish dance, “dancing that suggests and portrays that which is peculiarly Jewish,” these dancers were able to explore issues of Jewish identity. By the end of the 1930s, many of these Jewish women transitioned from a focus on their Traditional Jewish roots to broader social and political movements, although many more returned to these roots during the period surrounding the Holocaust. Yet their explorations of Jewish themes could only occur outside of the confines of the religion. Jewish female dancers interested in these themes or “the intellectual solemnity of Talmudic study that was denied to them” consciously maintained a distance from Judaism (Foulkes 1). Breaking away from the boundaries of Traditional Judaism, their opposition to the Jewish mind-body dualisms remains 42 unknown to the past and contemporaneous leaders who shaped the dualisms that drove them out in the first place. These mind-body dualisms contribute to the many tensions between Jewish identity and artistic practice felt by postmodern Jewish choreographers in America today. David Dorfman explores such tensions with his work Dayeinu that uses dance to challenge the values of religious Jewish life. Particularly interesting in relation to this study is dancer/choreographer Anna Halprin who played a vital role in 1930s modern dance America and through her contemporary work, explores dance as healing and ritual outside of Judaism. Through the dance fervor of her Hasidic grandfather, Anna at an early age linked dance to the “divine, to ritual,” yet was limited by Traditional Jewish life which “offered a vivid contrast to the contained existence of…all the adult women of her extended family, where there seemed to be no avenue for escape” (Ross 5-6). Additionally and most relevant to following sections of my thesis are the works and artistic practices of Liz Lerman that take a revolutionary step towards approaching tensions between dance and Judaism by confronting them head on. All of these choreographers exploring Jewish themes in contemporary America greatly benefit from the paths paved by female, Jewish modern dancers of the 1930s, with the exception of Halprin who has been contributing to the field from the 1930s until the present. Modern dance in the 1930s presented Jewish women the opportunity to imbue movement with intellectual inquiry and take advantage of the opportunities to use more secular and vernacular forms of performance as critique. Yet during this 43 time period, these women resisted against both secular and religious norms. The challenges they faced demonstrate the existence of ancient mind-body dualisms of dance, creating more links between the detached status of dance in Judaism and the Jewish construction of gender differences. Yet just as modern dance in America was embraced outside the confines of the religious life of American Judaism, American-Israeli dance was developed within the secular realm of Jewish life. Although not as detached from the religion as modern dance, American-Israeli dance emerged as a secular and undervalued addendum to American Jewish life. It too, as detailed below, carries undercurrents of a tension between the patriarchal construction of gender differences and the detached role of dance in Judaism. The Secularism of American-Israeli Folk Dance The postwar era prompted a renewed interest in Jewish themes that extended beyond modern dance into the realm of folk dance. Yet this extension was not a natural transition. Particular figures such as Dvora Lapson paved the way for the inclusion of Jewish folk dancing in Jewish centers and Ys whose interest in dance only concerned the support of dance performance on stage. In her 1944 article in The Reconstructionist she notes the neglect of “Jewish dance” despite its biblical history, 44 pointing to the need for dance to be included in synagogues and religious schools (qtd. in Foulkes 7). Along similar lines of thinking, Austrian-born Fred Berk developed a “Jewish dance division” at the 92 nd Street Y in New York City in 1947 where Israeli folk dancing flourished under his leadership. His passion for Israeli folk dancing influenced Jewish centers and Ys all across America. Describing this trend in his book, The Jewish Dance, Berk notes that “Today, almost every Jewish center and “Y” recognizes the recreational and educational value of these dances and includes them in their programs. There is hardly a Jewish holiday now which is not celebrated with folk dancing” (44). Israeli-folk dancing in America thus became incorporated in American Jewish life. By its nature, it was affiliated with the Zionist movement developing across the world and particularly in Israel. This type of dancing provided a way in which American Diaspora Jews could connect to their Israeli homeland. Based on the Zionist discourse in Israel, it emphasized a secular approach to Judaism which extended leadership roles to both men and women. In traveling to America, this type of discourse and dancing like its Israeli counterpart, served to empower men and women in secular Jewish life, consciously distanced from anything religious. Yet the Zionist foundation of Israeli dance did not necessarily come from an egalitarian perspective. Zionism was in fact driven by a masculine nationalist discourse, though it advocated the participation of Jewish women alongside men in the nation-building project (Kaschl 68). Folk dancing was seen as one mechanism for 45 nation-building and as such, women and men joined hands together in dancing circles (68). Yet while both genders were granted leadership roles in the folk dance, the masculine Zionist discourse continued to allocate unique roles for both genders. While many women chose not to criticize the Zionist allocation of gender roles, others were frustrated by their laborious work schedule which gave them little time for dance or choreography. Removed from the pioneering responsibilities of creating a state, Jewish Americans did not proclaim a strong masculine Zionist perspective to the same extent as Israelis. Thus the division of gender roles in American-Israeli folk dance was not as strongly pronounced. That is not to say however that it played no role in the status of dance in Jewish life. Similarly to the Israeli discourse that ranked dance as secondary to the ‘real’ tasks of nation building, Israeli-American folk dance was granted a secondary position in religious Jewish life (70). Despite Israeli folk dance’s presence in the Jewish centers and Y’s across America, Mordecai Kaplan, leader of Reconstructionist Judaism, asserts its limited role in Jewish culture. He claims that dance was “the art least generally thought of as a medium of Jewish self-expression” (7-9). Foulkes similarly recognizes dance’s peripheral status, arguing that it can be considered a reflection of the persevering association of Jews with the people of the book rather than a people of the body and the “lack of importance given to the activities of women” (7). Her argument not only illuminates the secondary role that Israeli Folk dancing plays in Jewish religious life, but also connects this trend with a 46 “lack of importance given to the activities of women” (7). Consequently, she implies that a link remains between Jewish construction of gender differences and the detached role of dance in Jewish life. In discussing Israeli dance as a peripheral component of Jewish life, Foulkes subtly references mind-body tensions associated with women. This linkage seems to connect with Adler’s view that women are negatively associated with physicality in Traditional Jewish life and thus placed in a peripheral role (“The Jew” 77-82). Although this similar semantic usage of peripheral in connection with women, physicality, and dance does not prove a specific relationship or correlation, it does generate curiosity about how they are related. Thus the American-Israeli dance movement and the other movements discussed above demonstrate somewhat uneasy tensions between the role of dance within Judaism and the patriarchal construction of gender differences. We might consider that each movement has determined a way to solve these tensions particular to its orientation. Those remaining within the Traditional confines of Judaism retain remnants of the construction of gender differences in their dance culture. Those located outside of the confines of Traditional Judaism may embrace egalitarianism, but are somewhat displaced from Jewish religious life. Thus it is most revolutionary for a woman like Liz Lerman of the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange to develop a method for integrating dance into Jewish religious life, spreading an egalitarian artistic practice that establishes a rigorous approach to dance as learning and dance as prayer. In the following section, the mission of the Dance 47 Exchange will be detailed along with a brief introduction to Lerman’s repertoire of works relevant to this study. Of particular interest will be the Moving Jewish Communities initiative and the participants who shed light on contemporary relations between dance, gender, and American Reform Judaism. 48 SECTION 3: CREATING LINKS: LIZ LERMAN DANCE EXCHANGE The Founding Mission of Liz Lerman and the Dance Exchange Liz Lerman, founder of the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange is a dancer, choreographer, and teacher. Stretching the boundaries of what it means to be a dance company, Liz Lerman and the Dance Exchange have created a definition for themselves that is quite unlike anything else. As one of the most revolutionary dance companies in the world, Liz Lerman Dance Exchange strives for artistic excellence with community engagement as a core foundation. As a professional company of dance artists that has been creating, performing, teaching, and engaging people in creating art since its start in 1976, Liz Lerman Dance Exchange asks four basic questions in each of its encounters: “Who gets to dance? Where is the dance happening? What is it all about? and Why does it matter?” (“Who we are”). These questions engage individuals (both dancers and non-dancers alike), institutions, and communities in a range of interrelated activities including groundbreaking new dance works, classes, workshops, and institutes. The idea for the company arose when Lerman returned to Washington, D.C. after struggling to make it as a professional in New York City. At that point, she was frustrated with the traditional definition of dance that consciously separated artistic development and process from the community. With the mission that “dance could belong to a community where there could be mutual change in the dancer and the community,” she was driven to expand this narrow practice and form her own 49 company (Cohen-Cruz 173). Her primary inspirations included the Dada movement and Marcel Duchamp. Duchamp’s famous quote acknowledging the value of the viewer in completing a work of art was a source of inspiration for her: The creative act is not performed by the artist alone; the spectator brings the work in contact with the external world by deciphering and interpreting its inner qualifications and thus adds his contribution to the creative act (Borstel and Lerman 12). Following this line of thinking her company broadens the base of who is a dancer, hiring members of various sizes, shapes, ages, and ethnicities. It emphasizes the “aesthetic of commitment” (how connected and committed a person is to the movement) in addition to “technical prowess” (Cohen-Cruz 173-174). Additionally, it creates performances that artistically combine dance and spoken word. This foundational line of thinking engages participants in the process leading up to the final stages of the work through workshops and dialogue sessions as well as through audience participation. Many of the unique characteristics of the Dance Exchange set it apart from traditional dance companies. Unlike traditional dance companies such as the New York City Ballet that seek the youngest, most talented and most fit dancers in the world, the Dance Exchange is comprised of people of all ages and physical ability. This heterogeneous composition is not used as an excuse for lax performance standards, but rather an opportunity for the company to re-imagine “the spectrum of excellence along which all performance should spin” (Burnham, “Introduction”). 50 Additionally the company prides itself on utilizing a method of inclusion developed by Lerman that: Can put any number of first-time performers on the stage with the company, ask the best of everyone and craft a work of balance and beauty—all the more beautiful, perhaps, for its incorporation of as many body types, energy levels, physical capabilities, emotional sensibilities, life stories and viewpoints as possible. (Burnham, “Everybody Say Hallelujah”) Even the Dance Exchange’s position along the postmodernist spectrum is atypical. The early postmodern choreographers of the 1960s challenged the expressivity and symbolism behind the work of their predecessors, “dispensing with manifest content and meaning, and instead creating task-oriented, pedestrian pieces” (Rossen 41). Yet the Dance Exchange carves its own definition of postmodern dance. It is most relevantly associated with the second era of postmodern choreographers in the 1980s that includes such figures as Dan Froot, David Dorfman, Margaret Jenkins, and Victoria Marks. These choreographers critically recover a focus on “technique, narrative, and identity” while simultaneously maintaining the “humanism, lack of linearity, and sense of humor of their early postmodernist predecessors” (42). Liz Lerman and the Dance Exchange appropriately are categorized within this group. However they are truly located in a unique sphere of their own, particularly due to their emphasis on community building, a topic of discussion in later sections. The Toolbox is an essential foundation for the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange. Created by Liz Lerman, it provides tools for experimenting with ways to pose 51 questions and generate movement from both dancers and non-dancers. While it was at first driven by the impulse to generate movement in Lerman’s own body during periods of dancer’s block, it evolved into a search to discover questions and structures to help inventive people find answers and stories inside themselves through the physical. Accessible online through their website, these initial questions and early tools have greatly expanded, becoming the cornerstone of the Dance Exchange's approach to choreography, teaching, and community engagement (http://www.danceexchange.org/toolbox/). In straddling community-based work and traditional theatrical performance, Liz Lerman Dance Exchange has created over 50 innovative dance/theatre works, and thousands of performances and community encounters across the country and world in its two decades. The variety of these endeavors is tremendous ranging from full theatrical performances to large-scale events to intimate community discussions and workshops. Particularly fascinating is the wide range of interests and areas of investigation that the company has tapped into through these endeavors. One essential area of investigation for Lerman stems from her identity as a Jew. This affiliation has prompted issues of Jewish identity and community to become important areas of focus not only for Lerman, but for her company over the last twenty years. 52 Moving Away From the Fringe: The Radical Emergence of Liz Lerman in the Jewish Community Somewhere along the line we allowed our excellent and critical minds to establish a very strict idea of what art is and who gets to do it. We let others sing our songs in shul, say our prayers on the bima, interpret our stories in books and even imagine our histories and futures. I’m seeking to make a place for even the most self-critical to participate in artmaking as an essential element of the search for meaningful Jewishness. Our work gives people—Jewish congregants, leaders, artists—tools for discovering positive connections to Jewish life. (Lerman, “Moving Jewish,” Brochure) In the Jewish community, dance is “a radical, radical tool to be using” (Lerman Interview 11/17). This is especially the case for Liz Lerman and the way she aims to integrate dance into Judaism—not as an aside or an alternative mode of prayer or learning, but rather as an essential tool. Frustrated with the limited definitions of how to pray and learn in the Jewish community, Lerman is driven to expand the definition of prayer and learning. Advocating for dance as a method of learning and prayer, she uses a vigorous combination of text, movement, and inquiry to test the boundaries of these vital components of Traditional Jewish religious life. With the most essential mission to explore the partnership of artist and Jewish community, Liz Lerman and the Dance Exchange has “pioneered a new synthesis of dance in which a process of asking questions, forming unique collaborations, instilling a sense of purpose, and teaching dancemaking skills, have created a community of art, action, and knowledge.” (“Liz Lerman” 1). 53 Over the course of the last twenty years Lerman has both explored Jewish themes through her choreographic work and pioneered projects within Jewish institutions and congregations. The projects she has initiated in the Jewish community range from choreographic explorations culminating in theatrical performances, events in which great numbers of people are brought together to explore various issues, and small, intimate workshops for Jews to explore identity, contemporary Judaism, and prayer—all of which utilize her wide range of choreographic and community tools. Yet her role in the Jewish community has not always been welcomed. While she was always interested in exploring Jewish themes by looking deep into the Jewish community, she found it very difficult to be taken seriously at first. But over the course of her development as a choreographer and a person, she has experienced a journey of increased acceptance and receptivity from the organized Jewish community. During her early years (circa 1975-1985), her Jewish-themed works such as Ms. Galaxy and Her Three Raps with God received little interest or support from Jewish establishments and organizations. Exploring what a contestant in a beauty context would ask God if given a weekend to spend with him/her, this piece explores Shtetl life in Eastern Europe and early immigration to America. Most essential to this piece is its expansion of the idea of who gets to dance in Jewish pieces. Setting a foundation for participatory, community-based work in later years, this piece through a residency in Baltimore connected a group of older Jewish adults with a group of 54 inner city African-American teenagers to dance and discuss a section of the piece addressing ghetto themes. It was the start of Lerman’s recognition of how “artmaking tools could be used to bring people together, to explain difference, and to cause observable social and personal change” in the Jewish community and beyond (Lerman, “A Mission” 3). Another piece during this time entitled, Songs and Poems in the Body: In the Text (1982), used similar art-making tools to delve deep into Jewish texts to explore what Lerman found to be anti-feminist ideals embedded in halakhah or Jewish law. Angry about being a young woman in the world, Lerman was curious to investigate the place of women in ancient Jewish texts such as the Jewish code of law, the Shulchan Aruch and the sensuous “Song of Songs” in the Bible. Exploring perceptions of the body in Judaism, Songs and Poems in the Body: In the Text tackled related questions and issues through the experiences of three women. Although many parts of the texts offended her as a woman, she was motivated to understand the past in order to make sense of the future. With an interest in the idea of how to “sustain, acknowledge, and honor the past, but not be held in by it,” Lerman advocated and continues to advocate holding “two ideas in your head at the same time.” She believes that one should appreciate and value old ideas, but not be held hostage by them (Interview 11/16). 55 Figure 1: Ebert, Ellen Levine. Photograph of a rehearsal of Songs and Poems of the Body: In the Text. 1982. Liz Lerman Dance Exchange Archive, University of Maryland, College Park. Copyrighted image; for more information, contact the thesis author. Yet the Jewish community is not entirely open to this viewpoint of valuing tradition, but also adapting to modern changes. While the Reform Jewish community to which Lerman belongs is theoretically more open to these ideas relative to the Traditional Jewish community as discussed in previous sections, the use of dance and movement as primary tools of exploring these ideas in Reform Judaism were and continue to be considered quite radical. The radical nature of dance in Reform Judaism will be elaborated upon in later sections. In the early stages of her development as a choreographer with the Dance Exchange, Liz Lerman’s work was located on the fringes of the Jewish community. Creating and teaching may have existed in Jewish collectives such as Fabrengen or 56 the Jewish Study Center, or in a few select synagogue social halls, but as Lisa Traiger reveals, Lerman’s work with and about Jews developed in more underground locations such as church basements and black box theaters outside of the usual Jewish circles (121). Even her work leading several workshops at the Jewish Study Center offered courses of Jewish study to the unaffiliated for the most part. Yet it was at this center that Lerman began to develop an informal group called the Dancing Dybbuks. Comprised of a serious group of men and women, the Dancing Dybbuks provided dancing opportunities outside of Jewish synagogues. The key phrase here is “outside of Jewish synagogues” and the key word—conflict. Conflict may have characterized the relationship between dance and Jewish synagogues. The words of Nancy Mellan, participant in Liz Lerman’s Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists illuminate this: I’ve been working as a Jewish modern dancer and choreographer for the past 6 years focusing on creating dances specifically to my Jewish identity onto Jewish themes…It’s been very lonely work…we had to prepare an essay to come here and one of the things I talked about a lot was the hard push in my Jewish community to sell this idea that maybe, that maybe we could dance in synagogue or have more deeper connections through movement and maybe people could move. (“Moving Jewish,” Tape Log) We might consider that participants in these groups sought alternative venues for the exploration of these two interests because the integration of dance into Judaism was unwelcome. Increased receptivity to this activity required time. Over the course of her middle years (1985-1994), Lerman and the Dance Exchange developed an ambitious project entitled The Good Jew?. Far from a mere 57 theatrical performance, this project included a works-in-progress tour to D.C.-area synagogues and Jewish community centers in effort to use dance and inquiry to raise key issues facing the Jewish community. Through the narrative structure of a court room, questions of feminism, mysticism, spirituality, Hebrew school memories, and belonging entered this piece and stimulated the discussions and movement exercises at these engagements. Figure 2: Schweitzer, Peter. Photograph of The Good Jew?. 1991. Liz Lerman Dance Exchange Archive, University of Maryland, College Park. Copyrighted image; for more information, contact the thesis author. The Good Jew? was a very challenging piece both in technique and content and most important for the context of this paper, it served as a cornerstone piece for establishing Lerman in the Jewish community. This piece served to move her from slightly alienated and marginalized from the Jewish community to relatively much more central and present. Such a move was accomplished both by the financial 58 backing from the National Foundation for Jewish Culture and the development of a professional partnership and friendship with Rabbi Daniel Zemel of Temple Micah in Washington, DC. Over the course of the years from 1994 to the present, she has continued working on Jewish themes through major projects such as the Shehechianu Sustenance Projects (1994-1997) and the Hallelujah Projects (1997-2003). In conducting small workshops, teaching courses at Hebrew Union College, and leading sessions with sisterhood programs, Jewish Federations, and other Jewish institutions, she has positioned herself quite comfortably within the Jewish community. Although her initiation into the Jewish community has not been easy, she has truly established herself in the last two decades. While she may not be the only person who is integrating dance and movement into Jewish life (David and Dani Dassa, JoAnne Tucker, and Ruth Goodman to name a few), she is at the forefront in establishing a rigor for dance as learning and prayer in the Jewish community. Her proven professional record, connections, ability to articulate, and awards including the McArthur Genius Award have served to create a national name for Lerman. Yet even at a time when Lerman is more comfortably situated and appreciated in the Jewish community, she still faces many challenges from the inside. Some of these forms of opposition (both gendered and non-gendered) will be illuminated in later sections of this thesis. It is noteworthy to realize that these challenges serve to ignite Lerman with a sense of purpose to advance the integration 59 of dance into Reform Jewish life. They impel her to refine her techniques and aim for the lofty goal of dissolving the dismissible nature of dance in the Jewish community. It’s a good thing not to be completely accepted by anybody—the dance world, the Jewish world, by any world…it makes you refine. You go back and say, well, I didn’t say it well enough… like if dance is still so dismissible, which it is—completely dismissible. I can’t tell you how many calls we get from Jewish organizations who [sic] want us and refuse to pay. More than any other community, they think that we should be doing this for free. It just irritates me no end. So that is just like fuel. So…I guess, I would say it’s a paradox. I am more accepted, people know who I am. I think there’s a better understanding of me in the Jewish world. (November 17, 2006) Thus Liz Lerman’s words demonstrate that while she and others have advanced quite a long way, dance in the Jewish community is still considered a radical act. And for good reason. Rabbi Lawrence Hoffman, co-founder of Synagogue 2000, professor at Hebrew Union College, and colleague of Liz Lerman fully supports Lerman’s work in the mainstream Jewish community. And yet according to an interview with Lisa Traiger, he is fully aware of the reticence that Jewish institutions and synagogues have to integrating dance and movement in religious services (Traiger 126). The other Synagogue 2000 co-founder and vice president of the University of Judaism, Dr. Ron Wolfson believes that the integration of movement into Jewish life is extraordinary. But according to his interview with Lisa Traiger, he too realizes a void that needs to be filled in the Jewish community stating: “What we need to do through Jewish education is to explain this [movement], to translate it, and to find new ways 60 for Jews to express their connections” (Traiger 129). Frustrated with the ineffectiveness of traditional ways of attracting Jewish people to prayer and learning, many leaders such as Dr. Wolfson, Rabbi Zemel, Rabbi Hoffman, and Liz Lerman are seeking creative ways to enhance prayer in their institutions. And the integration of movement and text is one such way to enhance prayer. A particular workshop spearheaded by Liz Lerman serves as a primary example of this integration. Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists (1998) was a weeklong workshop intended to train artists to reinvigorate their communities by encouraging methods of bringing creativity to Jewish organizations. This workshop is highly relevant to the underdeveloped areas and themes highlighted by the important figures discussed above. Serving as a playing ground and place of inquiry for Jewish artists struggling with these same ideas, this workshop served to teach methods of integrating dance into Jewish religious life, advancing this type of work not merely through Liz Lerman, but through others with similar interests. The following section will define the particular details of the Moving Jewish Communities initiative. Framing the Community-Based Artmaking Initiative, Moving Jewish Communities Community-based art takes on a wide range of aesthetic forms. With a history and theoretical underpinnings rooted in the 1960s and 1970s, Jan Cohen Cruz 61 defines it as “a field in which artists, collaborating with people whose lives directly inform the subject matter, express collective meaning” (1). But the field is not so easily defined. Serving to redefine the conventional Western art approach that values the isolated individual genius, it expands the definitions of “potential creators, sites, subjects, audiences, and funding policies” (1). Jan Cohen-Cruz in her book, Local Acts, reveals the wide range of definitions for this field. One definition of community art practice by Arlene Goldbard that she raises relates closely to the work of Liz Lerman. Goldbard argues that “community art practice is based on the belief that cultural meaning, expressions, and creativity reside within a community, that the community artist’s task is to assist people in freeing their imaginations and giving form to their creativity” (2). The foundation for Liz Lerman’s Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists is built on this concept. This weeklong workshop held at various sites in Takoma, MD and Washington, DC sought to give Jewish artists the tools necessary to unleash creativity in their respective Jewish communal organizations, synagogues, Hebrew schools, and Sisterhoods (Traiger 128). The workshop schedule included two components: practical sessions including how to approach and deal with funders, the press, and synagogue boards along with artmaking sessions that centered on creating site-specific choreography. Though a twice repeated project, this thesis will focus on the first year’s mission and participants that drew interested parties from a wide range of 62 backgrounds from amateur to professional. The four faculty members aside from Liz Lerman and her company dancers included a range of professionals including Rabbi Daniel Zemel of Temple Micah, Rabbi Rachel Cowan of the Nathan Cummings Foundation, Rabbi Elaine Zecher of Temple Sinai in Boston, and Professor Ori Soltes of Art History. In addition to these faculty members, the workshop attracted over 26 participants from all across the United States, all of whom happened to be women—a factor that will be further elaborated upon in later sections. Although the initiative was catered to Jewish artists, many of the participants who attended were not artists by trade. Yet for the professionals and non- professionals with interests in reinvigorating their communities with these methods, this workshop was extremely valuable. For the purposes of this thesis, I am going to define my area of focus, the Moving Jewish Communities initiative, as a community-based public artmaking workshop. This definition is both related to the definitions of Goldbard’s community art practice stated above and Liz Lerman’s definition of artmaking which I will detail in the next few paragraphs. This practicum trained Jewish artists to serve as community artists with the tasks of assisting “people in freeing their imaginations and giving form to their creativity” as argued by Goldbard (2). Yet I define this workshop as an artmaking initiative, less because it created a large-scale work of art as an endpoint but because it provided the tools for participants to introduce artmaking into their communities. 63 Figure 3: Halvorson, Holly. Detail of the Brochure Cover for Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists. 1998. Liz Lerman Dance Exchange Archive, University of Maryland, College Park. Copyrighted image; for more information, contact the thesis author. Liz Lerman differentiates “creative process” from “artmaking” although I believe that both were present in the Moving Jewish Communities workshop and the initiatives developed by participants in their own communities as a result. The 64 former focuses on unleashing creativity and encouraging a flow of material. The latter serves to edit and shape the material into an end product that is distinct from mere creative process (qtd. in Cruz 99). Both of these components were present in the workshop. The latter particularly came to fruition when the participants ventured to DC synagogue, Adas Israel for the exploration of site-specific choreography in non-traditional dance spaces: the sanctuary, pulpit, hallways, and galleries. In these areas, participants were encouraged to explore (creative process) and engage in artmaking (create end product movement phrases). Those participants who were especially intrigued by the latter were given the opportunity to advance this type of artmaking in their own communities. Funded by Steven Spielberg’s Righteous Persons Foundation, participants with leadership goals were given grants to further Lermans’ tools and stimulate creative energy in their own communities. The reason that I label this initiative as public is because it served as a public forum for people to explore these interests where they might otherwise have no space or comfort to discuss them. The comments of Moving Jewish Communities participant Dale Lupu, a non-professional dancer who felt particularly alienated from synagogue life at the time of the initiative, support this claim. In recalling the day that they went to Adas Israel, she describes the experience as “particularly astonishing…really amazing. It was the first time that I had physically been in a synagogue in quite awhile because I just didn’t want to even go in a synagogue” (January 8, 2007). 65 Also because the focus of the initiative was to train the participants to take Lerman’s tools and bring them to different publics, this workshop serves as a source for expanding the public to which artmaking and creativity can be applied. The spread of this type of creative energy and movement to a greater public (i.e. all participants in Jewish religious life) has a limited history and only a select number of leaders for the future. Thus while the initiative itself may have fulfilled the expectations of the participants and leaders, its purpose was to move the tools gathered in a forward direction, spreading this type of artmaking to Jewish communities throughout the country. This is emphasized in the Moving Jewish Communities brochure that states, “Participants will be exposed to a wide spectrum of intuitive methods and step by step techniques that will enable them to build such…connections for themselves and others in their home communities.” The stories and experiences of the participants in this initiative give depth to the focus of this thesis, providing present-day perspectives on the relationship between the detachment of dance in Reform Judaism and the patriarchal construction of gender. Although the purpose of this workshop was not specifically focused on exploring this linkage, some of the issues that emerged during the initiative tap into it. Traveling to this initiative from all across the country to explore one prominent question—how to integrate dance into Jewish communal life, participants in the Moving Jewish Communities initiative were motivated to explore opportunities and barriers to this integration. And naturally, issues of the patriarchal construction of gender were embedded in this exploration. The perspectives of three interviewed 66 participants bring insight to the current gendered and non-gendered complexities of the relationship explored in this thesis and its affected publics in the Reform Jewish community. Figure 4: Shelley, Allison. Photograph of a workshop participant dancing in an Adas Israel sanctuary during Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists, Washington, DC. 1998. Liz Lerman Dance Exchange Archive, University of Maryland, College Park. Copyrighted image; for more information, contact the thesis author. These three participants—leader Liz Lerman, Rabbi Daniel Zemel, and non- professional dancer Dr. Dale Lupu—provide a sample of contemporary insights and perspectives to my study. These will be discussed in the next section in which I introduce the Reform movement and the status of dance in the religion relative to more prominent genres of learning and prayer such as reading, writing, and singing. Identifying Reform Judaism’s dedication to minimizing the construction of gender differences through the revision of patriarchal texts, this section will also illuminate its oversight to investigate the possibilities of gender constructs in other limited 67 genres such as dance and movement. The data from participants will illuminate intimate experiences and feelings that shed new light on the relationship between the detached status of dance and the patriarchal construction of gender in Reform Judaism. 68 SECTION 4: APPLICABILITY TO AMERICAN REFORM JUDAISM The Consistency of Reform in American Reform Judaism As an evolution of Traditional Judaism, Reform Judaism emerged in response to the dramatic events of eighteenth and nineteenth century Europe. These events were characterized by political, social, and economic changes taking place as a result of the dissemination of the Enlightenment and the political centralization overtaking Europe. It was in this environment that Jews in Europe began to feel tensions between the historic Jewish traditions and modern life. Thus, these events along with the concretization of the emancipation of the Jews prompted some Jews to lead less observant lives and leave behind practices they believed to be antiquated. Adhering strictly to the oral and written law given to the Jewish people at Mount Sinai, Traditional Orthodox Judaism seemed out of balance with the lives of many European Jews. In opposition to the strict halakhah or Jewish law interpreted by the sages, these Jews sought to find a new stream of Judaism that reformed “traditional Judaism to meet their needs and to express their spiritual yearnings” (Kaplan 7). By the early 1840s, Reform Judaism in Europe had begun to officially train their leaders and several conferences served to concretize the beliefs and practices of the movement. As early as 1824, Reform Judaism began to develop in the United States. There, without the strong threats of Anti-Semitism and conversion to Christianity that predominated in Europe, Reform Judaism developed in an atmosphere of 69 relative freedom and pluralism. Many Jewish immigrants to the United States desired community and a religious practice that reflected American norms. Thus they found solace in Reform Judaism that provided “a practical response to daily life in the United States” (10). Heavily influenced by the effects of liberal religion on their Protestant neighbors, American Jews were interested in developing a movement in Judaism that was modeled along these lines. This movement, known as Classical Reform, developed in the late nineteenth century and was codified in the 1885 Declaration of Principles announced at the Pittsburgh Platform of that same year. These principles sought to minimize Judaic ritual, emphasizing ethics in a universalist context. Kaplan writes that “the document defined Reform Judaism as a rational and modern form of religion in contrast with traditional Judaism on one hand and universalist ethics on the other” (14). Under the leadership of Alexander M. Schindler, the Reform movement of the 1970s and 1980s asserted support for social action agendas. Emphasizing the social action component of Reform Judaism, he garnered support for civil rights, world peace, nuclear disarmament, and gender equality. As a result of the burgeoning feminist movements of the 1960s and 1970s, Reform Judaism responded to evolving gender roles in modern society. Inviting women to take on leadership positions in Jewish life, women in the Reform movement took on influential positions in all positions of religious and communal life, including the rabbinate. Though committed to egalitarianism from its onset, Reform Judaism originally only 70 ordained male rabbis. Yet true to its name, Reform Judaism was characterized by reform and the constant process of revision of its founding principles. In response to social changes in modern life, it modified its stance, including women in the rabbinate beginning in 1972. Drawing on rabbinic literature for inspiration and wisdom without being obligated to observe halakhah, the Reform movement was comfortably situated to adapt to modern sensibilities and preferences, quite unlike Traditional Judaism. Thus, the equalizing of gender roles in Reform Judaism became a foundational area of reform. Initially though, these efforts fell short. Although certain areas in Reform Judaism made advances such as the religious school obligation for both genders, the development of services in Hebrew and English in order to make worship accessible to women with limited language skills, and the ordination of both genders, these were only first steps. Some of these steps even proved to reverse progress on the gender equality front. As a challenge to Traditional Judaism, Reform Judaism was committed to “a rationalistic and deritualized version of modern Jewish life” (187). For women who were conducting traditional ritual services in their homes, this commitment eliminated or minimized female ritual roles. Thus Kaplan argues that, While on the surface this [rational approach to Jewish life] appeared to place women and men on the same level, the elimination of female roles actually reduced female participation in religious life. The dramatic social upheaval of the 1960s would find most Reform synagogues vaguely egalitarian in principle, but male dominated in both their power structure and ritual life. (187) 71 This surface level egalitarianism, however, did not last long. Late-twentieth century feminism greatly influenced American Reform Judaism, prompting women to actively participate in all aspects of Jewish life. Their impact on synagogue life was greatly felt beginning in the 1970s and 1980s. And the Reform movement provided a welcome place for feminists who wanted to apply their perspective in a Jewish context. Yet, while the deepening of egalitarianism in Reform religious life has advanced, it is characterized by some degree of dissonance in particular areas of Reform Judaism. Rabbi Rachel Adler notes that “where women’s inclusion would require altering the language and customs of public worship, resistance is profound” (Engendering Judaism 69). And yet scholar Dana Kaplan asserts that the “Social differentiation between the sexes has virtually disappeared in the contemporary American Reform movement” (187). Perhaps he oversimplifies this disappearance of gender divisions. Although Rachel Adler affirms that many of her halakhic categories of women’s peripheral status and exclusion from prayer have diminished through the reformations of Reform Judaism, excerpts throughout her book, Engendering Judaism illuminate remnants of these categories, even in this progressive denomination of Judaism. These remnants in relation to the current status of dance in Reform Judaism will be explored in the following section. This next section will discuss initiatives that have sought to eliminate social differentiation between the sexes through the modification of new texts, and will particularly illuminate Reform 72 Judaism’s neglect to investigate the possibilities of gender constructs in other limited genres such as dance and movement. Limitations of Text as the Genre for Equalizing Gender in Reform Judaism Efforts to attain full egalitarianism in Reform Judaism have been characterized by the revision of practices, responsibilities, and roles to reflect gender equality. The female-led modifications to Reform liturgy have been very influential to the restructuring of the movement. Finding much of the biblical language of the prayer book to be restrictive and sexist, early women leaders who initiated liturgy reformation felt marginalized by the rhetoric of prayers which assumed public worship to be a male-only obligation. The example of a prayer beginning with “Praise be our God, God of our Fathers, God of Abraham, God of Isaac and God of Jacob” reflects the exclusionary patriarchal perspective of prayer that these female leaders challenged (qtd. in Kaplan 193). Thus seeking avenues to modify exclusionary texts, these women leaders in the forefront altered masculine references in prayer, rewriting texts to include the names of the matriarchs, substituting male names for God with gender neutral ones, and more (193). Although this process of changing the liturgy was complicated and sometimes confusing, it was eventually accepted by the movement as a whole. Most 73 importantly, it served as a source of empowerment and exhilaration for women (193). Within Reform Judaism, the revision of texts serves as a foundational method of gender equality reformation and cannot be understated. Yet the focus on achieving egalitarianism through the revision of texts alone neglects other aspects and genres in Reform Judaism that may retain a patriarchal bias. This is particularly relevant for dance, which is rarely contemplated or considered engendered due to its limited role and even absence in Reform religious life. And although other genres of prayer including singing and music have been integrated into Reform liturgy, dance continues to play a limited role. When Reform Judaism came into being, liturgical reform was a central component of its development: the service was shortened, repeated sections were eliminated, and musical elements were introduced (81-83). Yet at the turn of twentieth century, the Reform movement began to make even more dramatic changes to worship. Fearing that “books failed to captivate the typical congregant member,” Reform leaders sought ways to develop interest and enthusiasm for prayer (90). Inspired to develop worship initiatives for this purpose, they altered the worship service from formal and predictable to energetic and jubilant. Away from the sterile, formalized Classical Reform Service, this recent development creates meaning and spirit through creative liturgy, music, and additional components that adapt to modern times and preferences (25). The inclusion of music and singing in services especially has empowered congregants to feel like participants instead of 74 spectators. The words of Jeffrey Summit, Hillel director at Tufts University, as cited by Dana Kaplan support this trend: “There has been a real shift from performance to participation in worship. The concept of participation has changed to where the physical act of singing—being involved in body and breath and song—has become very important” (qtd. in Kaplan 92). Summit illuminates how the sense of participation in Reform services serves to empower and energize congregants, making synagogue life more of a central feature of the Jewish community. Singing is one method implemented in worship that creates a participatory environment. Other ways Reform worship services create access include scheduling multiple services to appeal to people at different times and offering multiple synagogue “synaplex” services that provide several different types of services for a variety of worshippers including lay-leaders, young professionals, and/or children (92). Yet dance remains as one method of worship revitalization that Reform synagogues have neglected to thoroughly explore. If these synagogues have integrated dance in synagogue life, it has been very limited and reduced to a secular role. Congregation Beth Israel of Houston, TX is one of the premiere Southern United States Reform synagogues that exemplifies just this. Although dance seemed to play a prominent role in the Temple between 1958 and 1984 with the scheduling of 43 dance-related events in the synagogue bulletin, these events were relegated to the social domain (Shelemay 395-406). Thus even in a Reform Temple where dance 75 played a vital role, dance was limited from playing a role within religious prayer and learning contexts. The interviews of three participants in the Moving Jewish Communities initiative seem to validate that the role of dance in contemporary Reform Judaism is considered limited and detached. This validation of course is merely based on three perspectives and therefore cannot be considered representative of the entire population. Yet for the purposes of this study, the observations and insights of the three participants, while not serving as proof of anything, shed light on trends and patterns particular to their own lives—patterns that may or may not characterize the greater population. Rabbi Daniel Zemel supports the notion that the role of dance is limited in contemporary American Reform Judaism. He admits to the limited number of movement experiences associated with Judaism throughout his life. Describing his first movement experience in Judaism, Zemel speaks of volunteering as a farmer on a kibbutz in Israel, “where physicality was a Jewish expression” (November 16, 2006). Farming along with Jewish camping encapsulates the entirety of his movement experiences associated with Judaism. That is, until his introduction to Liz Lerman. The remarks of Reform Rabbi Lawrence Hoffman in an interview with Lisa Traiger similarly assert the limited role of dance and movement in Reform Judaism. He describes the neglect of Reform seminaries to teach movement to rabbinical students during his training. “I was raised not to move at all. When I first took my 76 first class in speech … in rabbinic school, I stood stock still at attention as I gave my talk” (qtd. in Traiger 126). A story described by Zemel further illuminates the limited role of dance in Reform Judaism, highlighting the lack of movement vocabulary and competence demonstrated by the majority of Jews at a Reform wedding reception he attended. Commenting on the 80% of Jewish wedding guests that had no knowledge of the basic water dance—mayim, he regrettably notes that “we’ve lost touch with our culture” (November 16, 2006). These few words suggest his belief that the Reform Jewish community has lost touch with its dancing past. This idea relates to Liz Lerman’s disgruntled perspective on how the Americanization of the Reform Jewish community proved to diminish the exciting wildness and extraneous activity associated with new immigrants. Connecting the tamed behavior of Jewish immigrants to America to the loss of the relationship to their bodies, she regrettably notes, “And I think I feel a real sense of loss that everybody learned to behave so well. And that part of that they gave up was their relationship to their body” (November 16, 2006). Although noting this opinion is a simplification and generalization, she uses her puzzlement over the Reform Jewish community’s unwillingness to perceive the body as a help-mate as the fuel to ignite her work in the Jewish community. Emphasizing that part of Reform Judaism’s de-emphasis on the body relates to “the incredible pressure in the community for intellect,” she exposes the pattern that 77 people in the community have moved away from the body and towards the mind (November 16, 2006). In response to Lerman’s analyses of the current detachment of dance from Reform Judaism, several questions emerge. Related to the focus of my study, is this trend connected to the patriarchal construction of gender differences? Is the limited role of dance a reflection of the patriarchal prohibitions of the body in earlier eras? For a movement that has made great advances in equalizing gender roles, has Reform Judaism neglected to critically examine if and why gendered patriarchal foundations presently limit the role of dance in religious life? Three perspectives of participants in Liz Lerman’s Moving Jewish Communities illuminate the complexities of the answers to these questions in the following section. Creating Access/Prompting Opposition The historical account of the role of dance in Judaism along with current perspectives of participants from Liz Lerman’s Moving Jewish Communities reveal how dance plays a limited role in contemporary Reform Judaism. This initial historical component addresses how links between the detached role of dance and the construction of gender differences originate with ancient Judaism. Yet in connecting ancient history to contemporary times, several questions emerge: How does this relationship manifest itself in contemporary Reform Judaism? How exactly does the 78 patriarchal construction of gender differences affect the detached role of dance and what publics within the Reform Jewish community are affected? In fact, the qualitative interview data of each of the three participants in Moving Jewish Communities demonstrate a highly complex view of the relationship between dance, gender, and Reform Judaism. Their complicated and sometimes contradictory viewpoints reveal how the role of dance in Judaism is affected by perceptions of accessibility and opposition to this artistic practice. As discussed above, these perceptions are applicable to the lives of these three informants rather than the greater population. Thus based on these perspectives, the findings of this study reveal that accessibility and opposition to dance in Reform Judaism are based on a complex number of factors, some gendered and others not. Rabbi Zemel is of the opinion that receptivity to Lerman has little to do with gender. Arguing that opposition to Lerman in his Reform Temple Micah is general hostility to any kind of change, Rabbi Zemel asserts that “there’s no difference between males and females” and their reception to Liz Lerman and her work (November 16, 2006). Lerman similarly agrees that resistance to her work at Temple Micah is based on dance being emblematic of change. Here, her usage of the word ‘resistance’ connotes hostility rather than political uprising: One set of resistance is just that the dance was emblematic of change. It’s an easy thing to complain about when you feel the ground shaking anyway. You know the prayerbook’s changing, you’ve got a lot of non-Jews suddenly—all kinds of things, the rabbis are…saying, you know what, we don’t need to do a service the way its always been. The 79 dancing is easy, but the dancing is also emblematic of the change. I always thought that… if we could do this, we could do anything. (November 16, 2006) Yet Lerman also admits that other factors such as poor timing and scheduling play a role in opposition as well. She recalls that when she first began working at the Reform Temple Micah, she integrated movement during Saturday morning services when the crowd happened to be more traditional. When she and Zemel decided to shift her role to Friday evenings, the less traditional congregants were much more receptive. In speaking graciously about her interactions with Temple Micah, Lerman notes how delightful the evolution of her integration into the framework of the Temple has been: Isn’t it [the evolution at Temple Micah] huge? It’s one of the most delightful things. It’s almost 15 years. And that’s the beauty, it’s so incremental. I have to say it’s a great example of how change happened because it was top down and bottom up. (November 17, 2006) Both she and Zemel admit that opposition was minimized and change accomplished by slowly introducing Lerman. Zemel states, “We brought her along slowly to create a comfort level. All the time, even when Liz was not there…we were exploring everything what Judaism could be about” (November 16, 2006). Thus both Zemel and Lerman reveal that non-gendered factors of timing and setting affect congregant’s receptivity to her work. But these are not the only factors they admit to. Pointing to gendered factors as well, their viewpoints become far more complex in the following paragraphs. 80 Zemel asserts that another factor affecting receptivity to Lerman at Temple Micah is the progressive nature of his congregation: My community is creating a community of cooperation, a community of collaboration. It’s not a community of a hierarchy. It’s not a community of blame, it’s a community of sharing. And since we work at creating that kind of community, it’s a community that prizes experimentation because we learn from failure. And it’s not like failure is something that someone is responsible for and has to be blamed for, we learn from everything. (November 16, 2006) Admitting that “we need more Jewish communities like that,” he frames his community as progressive. “Yeah I think we’re pretty progressive. I don’t know if we’re an anomaly or not, but I think that we’re a progressive congregation.” (November 16, 2006). Therefore while Zemel and Lerman agree that timing and setting affect opposition or accessibility to Lerman, perhaps audience plays a role as well. Zemel may strongly believe that within his congregation, no gender differences in receptivity exist, but perhaps in other congregations where Lerman has not been so slowly introduced, this egalitarianism in receptivity is not the same. In fact Lerman, having worked within a wide multitude of synagogues and settings, creates a much more complex picture of the situation. Depending on the function and setting of her work in the Reform Jewish community, she admits to differences in gender receptivity to her artistic practice. On the performance stage, she reveals that a tremendous number of male movers participate in Jewish dances. She mentions a ritual that she and Zemel have instituted on the afternoon of Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement, at Temple Micah. Zemel collects questions in a box and on the internet for about a month. 81 Then, five or six of these questions are used as inspiration for five or six congregants to explore through movement during the Yom Kippur afternoon performance. And amongst the people who are on stage, most of them are guys. She notes, “It’s really fabulous. And it’s guys. I mean we pick. It’s girls too, but it’s more guys than girls and it’s guys of all ages” (November 17, 2006). Similarly, she perceives this same phenomenon of positive male receptivity to Jewish performance through a group that she led for several years called the Dancing Dybbuks. This group, while not overwhelmingly male, was comprised of men and women equally. Dr. Dale Lupu, a participant in both Moving Jewish Communities and Dancing Dybbuks similarly highlights this gender-equal composition: “Going back to my experience with Dancing Dybbuks…we had several men who were equally involved as were the several women. It was both genders” (January 8, 2007). On the one hand, Dancing Dybbuks and Temple Micah performances demonstrate an equal if not overwhelming number of males in comparison to females who were receptive to dance performance in Reform Jewish life. Yet these performances were either one time annual occurrences (as for Temple Micah) or affiliated with an institution other than a synagogue (Dancing Dybbuks). In comparing genders, receptivity to performance is distinct from receptivity to the integration of dance into daily synagogue life—a phenomenon which Lerman is highly aware of. Within the synagogue (Temple Micah as an exception), she attributes the majority of resistance to her practice to men. Here, her usage of 82 ‘resistance’ is attributed to a population of only men who are concerned with symbols of power—money and intellect. Therefore the word connotes a slightly more severe and specific sense of hostility than general opposition to change. I would say that when you are working in the synagogue itself that more resistance is coming from men than from women. It can be overcome, but I think that the resistance comes from a sense that it’s going to be mushy intellectually…The real bastion of maleness in synagogue life as I perceive it is the intellect—that they measure themselves by their intellect and their relationship to the community by either intellect or money. And the thing that is sad to me is that they don’t understand how mental dance is, particularly the way we work. And that if they…that it’s all about ideas. And that’s why the more we can point to the rigor, the more we will be able to achieve. I think in terms of getting guys to buy into it. (November 17, 2006) Through the quote above, Lerman reveals how the male preoccupation with intellect plays a role in their resistance to dance and her artistic practice. She does not directly base this relationship on the patriarchal construction of gender differences, but her words point to subtle dependencies on Adler’s halakhic categories of women’s peripheral status and exclusion from worship. Two of these categories are particularly relevant to Lerman’s statement: One, the male identification with spirituality through learning and prayer and two, the female identification with the frivolous female mind and the physical (Adler, “The Jew” 80). In making distinctions between male and female receptivity to her work in the synagogue, Lerman indirectly illuminates how dependencies on these categories (i.e. remnants of the patriarchal construction of gender differences) may play a partial role in the detachment of dance in Reform Judaism. 83 On the other hand, she reveals that intellect-related opposition to dance in the synagogue is not always generated by males. She identifies another form of intellect- based opposition, an apprehension about appearing foolish, that develops in both males and females. She notes that apprehension to her work stems partially from the difficulties of asking brilliant people (females and males) in the room to be beginners: You’re not taking time to teach them. You’re expecting them to participate, to have a good experience and to not feel stupid for being small, little, or you know…You have to elevate them on every level when you’re teaching them.” (November 16, 2006) Thus Lerman complicates her own view of the implications of the Jewish preoccupation with intellect in relation to her work. Her mixed perspectives illuminate the current gendered and non-gendered complexities of the relationship between the detachment of dance in Judaism and the patriarchal construction of gender differences. Along similar lines, in examining opposition to dance in Judaism, Dr. Dale Lupu views the Jewish preoccupation with intellect as more complex than merely being male-driven. Her own experiences praying in liberal synagogues reveal intricate ways in which this preoccupation with intellect has surfaced. She attributes feelings of exclusion and alienation from what she calls “prayer technologies” or limiting, exclusionary methods of traditional prayer to the Jewish emphasis on intellect and words. Seeking kinesthetic modes of prayer such as dance and yoga, Lupu challenges these limiting “prayer technologies.” 84 At the time that Moving Jewish Communities was developing, Lupu felt limited by the capacities of intellect and words to achieve spiritual growth in prayer and thus felt drawn to attend the initiative. Although not a dancer herself, Lupu felt the need to expand “prayer technologies,” exploring ways in which to incorporate dance and movement into Jewish prayer and learning. Although she does not assert that this emphasis on intellect is a gender-related phenomenon, from a stereotype point of view she relates these two and envisions the possibility of a linkage. I think from a stereotype standpoint it [prayer based on intellect and words] has a male/female piece to it. From a stereotype standpoint you know males are the intellect and the words and females are the body and the experience. But …when I think about people, I think I know people who resonate in both directions and embody within themselves. I mean I have a strong intellect piece and I think it’s because it’s so strong that for my spiritual life I yearn for this other piece to be more brought to the floor…If you take the line of feminist history that says when the goddess was cast out and stuffed in the body and physical experience was cast out and focus put on the intellect, I mean I buy that. And so we’ve inherited… these religions that have left behind a lot about mysticism, a lot about the body, a lot about emotion. And that was happening at the same time that the patriarchy was happening and they’re probably linked. They’re linked and yet I don’t want to overlink them. (January 8, 2007) In Lupu’s statement she also indirectly illuminates how intellect-based “prayer technologies” are subtly linked to Adler’s halakhic categories of women’s peripheral status and exclusion from worship that identify males with spirituality and females with physicality (“The Jew” 77-82). Yet she also mentions that she does not want to overlink them; she attributes the Jewish emphasis on intellect and aversion to movement mainly to white American culture’s fear of the body. 85 Fear is in fact an emotional response that induces three types of opposition to Lerman and the integration of dance in the Reform Jewish community. Its competitor, courage, induces accessibility. When these fears can be overcome, they produce an openness to Lerman and an accessibility to the meaningful experiences that she creates. Of the three types of fear outlined by my qualitative interview data, the former relates equally to both genders, while the latter two seem to be linked to the construction of gender differences to varying degrees. Basing Jewish opposition to dance on white American culture’s aversion to movement, Lupu highlights the first fear—the fear of the body. Through leading movement initiatives at her synagogue, she has found this fear to be the primary cause of opposition amongst participants. It’s not so much that people have to be dancers, but there are people who are comfortable with their bodies and there are people who are not and that’s a huge line. And…that’s a huge line: to overcome the sheer terror that some people feel standing up and being visible to other people in their bodies. That’s terrifying for I would say 80% of the population. So that’s the barrier. I think that’s the barrier. I think that’s hugely cultural in our culture. And I think both men and women have it. I mean I can’t… I think women may have it a little less, it’s just that women are more often seen as dancers, but I don’t think…there’s still so few women that are willing to do it. (January 8, 2007) While she attributes this fear of the body to both genders, she does make the point that women may possess it a little less. While she asserts that the fear of the body is a non-gendered type of opposition to dance integrated into Judaism, she also mentions her uncertainties about the biblical bases for this fear: 86 When I think about Temple times, I can’t even imagine what that was like. I can’t get the picture. But certainly the rabbinic Judaism that we’ve inherited that as I’ve said has moved towards all this intellect, and this study, prayer through words…yea it got disembodied. And is that related to what is patriarchal, yea I mean it probably is. (January 8, 2007) In noting the possibility of a connection between a focus on intellect and disembodiment, Lupu suggests a viewpoint that somewhat contradicts her assertion that the fear of the body is a non-gendered type of opposition. Her opposing viewpoints reveal her complex approach to this relationship. Rather than proving one viewpoint or another, they demonstrate a degree of uncertainty about the relationship in focus—an uncertainty that each interviewed participant seems to reveal. While Lupu does not directly assert a correlation between people’s fear of their bodies and the patriarchal construction of gender differences, her words demonstrate that there is perhaps some deeper connection between the two that she can only speculate. And yet Lupu is reluctant to make any direct linkages between the detachment of dance from Judaism and the patriarchal construction of gender differences. Right…yes it probably is…but I don’t feel like I’m enough of a…I would say that in my own direct experience that’s not how I have felt. I haven’t felt that expression of the body was unwelcome because I was a woman; I’ve just felt that expression of the body, through the body, prayer through the body, was unwelcome because it was strange whether I was a woman or a man and it was strange because culturally, in this broader culture, people don’t know what to do. So that’s my personal experience. So historically…I don’t know. I can well buy a hypothesis that we worked everything out. (January 8, 2007) 87 What is particularly interesting about Lupu is that while she can only speculate a relationship between the opposition to movement and the patriarchal construction of gender differences in Judaism, she is assertive about other forms of Jewish religious life that exclude her as a woman. And it is through dance that she is able to access related issues and feelings. A member of Febrengen, a synagogue affiliated with the liberal branch of Judaism called Renewal, Lupu has no affiliation with Traditional Judaism. And yet during her first trip to Israel she felt a juxtaposition between a visceral “emotional sense of connection” to Traditional Judaism and a first-time “feeling of being pushed out and alienated by the Orthodox [Traditional] way of dealing with women” (January 8, 2007). It was both the attractiveness of the commitment of the Orthodox community and its neglect to acknowledge women as full people that shaped her anger and increased alienation from traditional prayer structure and “prayer technologies”—even when she returned to the egalitarian context of her synagogue. This anger and alienation drew her to Moving Jewish Communities, enabling her to access tools within dance to explore her issues in ways that thinking or writing never could (January 8, 2007). Thus for Lupu, the feminist and the woman experience have emerged into her personal life through the feeling of exclusion, but not necessarily through the repression of body expression. The former she aggressively proclaims due to her personal experience with it. The latter she can only speculate. Thus, she demonstrates the uncertainties embedded in the relationship between fear of 88 movement and the patriarchal construction of gender, highlighting possibilities of remaining links between the two in contemporary Reform Judaism. Lupu’s experience illuminates a way to utilize Liz Lerman and her dance tools to access issues of gender inequality in Judaism. But her need to access new rituals and performance in Judaism faces challenges from people expressing a second fear related to opposition to dance in Judaism—what Riv-Ellen Prell calls the “fear of an unrecognizable Judaism” (qtd. in Adler, Engendering Judaism 74). Figure 5: Shelley, Allison. Photograph of dancing participants in Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists. 1998. Liz Lerman Dance Exchange Archive, University of Maryland, College Park. Copyrighted image; for more information, contact the thesis author. Even in the Reform movement which is characterized by liturgical reform and progressive practices, there exists a tension between the creation of new rituals and the “fear of an unrecognizable Judaism” (qtd. in Adler, Engendering Judaism 89 74). And this tension is linked to the patriarchal construction of gender differences in intricate ways. The integration of dance in Judaism, falling under the category of new ritual in Reform Judaism, reflects these gendered tensions. The experiences of Dr. Dale Lupu reveal how even in progressive synagogues, some women seem to feel somewhat detached from traditional components of the service and related rituals. Rabbi Rachel Adler is aware of women like Lupu who desire modes of worship that normalize and make visible their gendered experiences. Thus she links women’s yearning for more inclusive worship to Traditional Judaism’s constructions of women as liturgically invisible (Engendering Judaism 65). She notes how new rituals are being led by women who are seeking alternative ways to embrace Judaism because the traditional ones “reflect masculine sensibilities, styles, and gestures and androcentric language and theologies” (66). Interestingly, the linkage between traditional “prayer technologies” and masculine sensibilities can be somewhat subconscious. Rabbi Zemel notes an entire body of literature that discusses the sexual displacement in worship: The whole notion that what is danced with is the Torah and not a woman. So the Torah became the object, the other. What wears jewelry? The Torah. What gets dressed in silver? The Torah is robed and disrobed…the Torah is lifted up the way a naked woman may be put on display. (November 16, 2006) Zemel reveals a type of sexual displacement in worship that is constructed by the patriarchy. Related to Adler’s categories of the peripheral status of women, this displacement defines women as objects—as what Neusner labels a “focus of the 90 sacred” rather than active participants of sanctification (qtd. in Adler, Engendering Judaism 28). The strength of this sexual displacement of worship is its subtle construction of gender divisions that can be felt, even if not seen. In feeling excluded as a woman from traditional prayer services following her trip to Israel, Lupu demonstrates this phenomenon. While she may not be able to articulate what particularly about traditional prayer structure makes her feel alienated, she is aware that her exclusion from traditional “prayer technologies” is related to gender in some way. Yet Zemel argues that alienation from Judaism is not specifically a gendered thing. Instead it is due to people’s incognizance of the need for new metaphors to access spirituality. American Jews that I meet and have conversations with need new metaphors because the old metaphors don’t necessarily work for us or express what we’re about. I think most people are unaware that they want new metaphors or that they need new metaphors—I think that’s subconscious. (November 16, 2006) On the other hand as Adler argues, traditional prayer and metaphors reflect “reflect masculine sensibilities, styles, and gestures and androcentric language and theologies” (Engendering Judaism 66). Zemel may in fact be correct in asserting that most Jewish people are in need of new metaphors to access new heights of spirituality, but Adler understands that these metaphors are especially important to women who seek modified imagery and metaphors that reflect what they are about. Liz Lerman highlights this idea in alerting the need to modify existing metaphors such as the Sabbath bride that retains patriarchal constructs. The following Sabbath 91 bride metaphor pertains to Traditional Judaism, but it serves as an example of related metaphors in Reform Judaism that are similarly in need of modification. The idea that the Sabbath bride is supposed to be this great image for Jewish women strikes me as ridiculous. I think it’s a false pedestal. I think it’s saying we feel so strongly about you that we’ll let you be that bride every week, but by the way you can’t be in the minyan [basic unit of community], you can’t… do this you can’t do that. (November 16, 2006) Lerman and Lupu demonstrate how particular metaphors and “prayer technologies” create barriers to what Adler labels as “truly inclusive worship” in Reform Judaism (Engendering Judaism 66). Asserting that it is not enough to substitute words, Adler suggests that Reform Judaism needs to “make room for new genres, new gestures, new styles of prayer” (67). Though she does not specify the particulars of these new gestures, she does open the door to using new genres of dance and movement as a way to make worship more inclusive. She understands that “prayer cannot be reduced to the words in prayerbooks” (75). Thus she makes linkages between exclusive Reform worship and the absence of dance as prayer and learning, reinforcing a connection between the Jewish construction of gender differences and the detached role of dance in Judaism. This link is further strengthened when examining its relation to the tension between the creation of new rituals and what Riv-Ellen Prell calls “the fear of an unrecognizable Judaism.” Her sociological observations of an egalitarian congregation demonstrate that the desires of women to create new rituals threatened this particular congregation’s “fragile balance between changing Judaism and 92 preserving it through ritual” (qtd. in Adler, Engendering Judaism 74). She asserts that male ritual participants, comfortable with the patrimonial tradition, “feared becoming part of an unrecognizable Judaism” (qtd. in Adler, Engendering Judaism 74). Along the same lines, Adler expands on this fear of women creating an unrecognizable Judaism, stating: All ordinary life, all the ordinary women’s lives that have been barred from the life and language of holiness can be imagined as an impending roar battering the closed ear of establishment Judaism. The terrified traditionalist wonders: will we die of it? The fantasy of the roar on the other side of silence imagines that women possess and repress words of destructive power, killing words. The fantasy expresses the fear that, if fully included women will create an unrecognizable Judaism, an exile from which there is no going home.” (74) While Adler partially attributes this fear to a loss of power amongst male congregants, she also attributes it to a complex number of other factors including the loss of prayer-based identity, loss of the constancy of ritual, and more (77). While interesting, the particular attributes of this fear are outside the focus of this thesis. It is essential to note, however, that this fear along with its competitor—initiatives to create access to traditional prayer and ritual—are somewhat linked to the patriarchal construction of gender differences. And furthermore that this particular tension intricately links the limited role of dance as new ritual in Reform Judaism to the construction of gender differences. Opposition to dance in Judaism based on Prell’s “fear of an unrecognizable Judaism” reflects the perspectives of a predominately male population. However, one could argue that traditionalists of all genders may similarly express this fear. In 93 fact, gendered opposition to dance is not limited to the male population; another form of opposition stems from a distinctly female population. This form of opposition, the fear of submission, became evident to Liz Lerman through the vantage points of a portion of participants in Moving Jewish Communities. Making a distinction between “people who just want to have the experience and…people who want to understand why they are having this experience and how to extend it for others …either as a teacher or facilitator or as a performer,” Lerman notes her frustration with the former portion of participants in Moving Jewish Communities who, “wanted to be careful not to be too influenced.” Without overgeneralizing, Liz Lerman partially attributes this apprehension to women seeking ritual free range as resistance to “submitting yet again” (November 17, 2006). Lerman speculates that these women are partially apprehensive about spreading a particular idea or method of working because they do not want to fall prey to the prototypical submissive woman model they associate with Traditional Judaism. She links the majority of these women to the Renewal Jewish community, a community more progressive than the Reform community. In this community, Lerman’s primary responsibility has been to set boundaries rather than unleash creativity. Although the majority of women expressing this fear of submission are not affiliated with the Reform movement, they demonstrate a female-driven type of resistance to the implementation of Lerman’s practice in Jewish religious life across different denominations. They reveal a fascinating manifestation of the relationship 94 between the detached role of dance and the patriarchal construction of gender differences in contemporary Jewish life in America. This relationship has been thoughtfully complicated by the perspectives of the three Moving Jewish Communities participants, whose insights highlight both gendered and non-gendered factors affecting accessibility and opposition to the integration of dance in Judaism. While all three Moving Jewish Communities participants make no direct correlation between ancient patriarchal constructions of gender and the current detachment of dance from Jewish ritual and prayer, their insights demonstrate how the dynamic between these two phenomena is more complex than it at first seems. They highlight how remnants and manifestations of mind/body tensions, limitations of a focus on intellectual rigor, and limitations of traditional “prayer technologies” retain various degrees of dependency on the patriarchal construction of gender, thereby affecting opposition and accessibility to the integration of dance in Reform Judaism. Thus while these perspectives do not directly base the detachment of dance in Judaism on a dependency on gender constructs, they do create an intricate web of linkages between the two. They illuminate further questions for future consideration, prompting possibilities for redefined roles that will be detailed in the following section. 95 Redefining Roles The insights of Dr. Lupu, Liz Lerman, and Rabbi Zemel reveal the complexities embedded in the relationship between the detachment of dance from Reform Judaism and the patriarchal construction of gender differences. Lupu, supported by the theories of Adler, particularly demonstrates how women in Reform Judaism yearn to access spirituality through new rituals and modes of expression. Lupu’s experiences raise the question of whether women feel that the limited role of dance in Reform Judaism is due to gender constructs or if dance is rather a tool for women to access other forms of exclusivity. The latter is exemplified by the experiences of Dr. Lupu who has used dance as a tool for confronting issues of gender exclusion in traditional prayer. Thus is dance considered the object of exclusivity or the method to work through it? We know from Lupu’s commentary that she considers dance to be a way to access other more visceral experiences of exclusivity. In her own experience she has not felt that dance was repressed due to patriarchal gender constructions. She also admits that while dance has acted as tool for her to work through other issues of women’s exclusivity, she has not felt this communally. Even amongst the participants in Moving Jewish Communities, she remembers feeling unusual in being there for herself. Thus her experiences fail to substantiate a notion that women as a group coalesce to use dance as a method for confronting issues of exclusivity. Additionally, while her own experiences do not confirm that dance in Judaism is 96 being repressed by the patriarchal construction of gender, she is aware of her uncertainties and can only speculate that a relationship exists. Rabbi Zemel is similarly aware of his uncertainties about this relationship. Although he confidently asserts that dance is a way for all genders to access spirituality in Judaism, he also admits to a lack of knowledge and exploration into the role of dance and women’s exclusion from Judaism. Additionally, he expresses an interest in exploring manifestations of this relationship through dance with the aid of Lerman. Like Zemel, Lerman expresses an interest in further exploring this relationship, pointing to the intricacies of this relationship left to be examined. She admits that an early piece of hers, Songs and Poems in the Body: In the Text, touched on this relationship, but did not delve into it as deeply as she would do if she could go back in time. While her comments make connections between opposition to dance and the gendered emphasis on intellect in the synagogue, they do not solely attribute the limited role of dance in Judaism to the patriarchal construction of gender differences. Lerman admits that she is uncertain about what draws women to dance, yet she feels there is something indescribable that intrinsically links them to movement. She makes no explicit statement generalizing whether women are predisposed to movement exploration or if they are united to use movement to examine issues of gender exclusivity. Yet in recalling the day during Moving Jewish Communities 97 when participants engaged in site-specific movement work at a local synagogue, she noted: What I wasn’t counting on was that by going to such a big mainline institution such as Adas Israel…is that it would trigger all these women into feeling their exclusion from the Jewish community and its history. I wasn’t counting on that. And that’s what happened that day. (“Moving Jewish,” Interview) With this quote Lerman notes a particular, unique day that demonstrates how movement united women to examine issues of gender inequality together. But like Lupu, she does not assert a generalized sense that women yearn to unite as a group to express themselves through dance. In fact she emphasizes that her practice of artmaking does not reach out to merely one gender. Her work with Jewish men through Dancing Dybbuks and Temple Micah have sparked her awareness of both genders’ capacity and drive to access her artistic practice and the integration of dance into Jewish life. She even goes as far to say that the representation of all women at the Moving Jewish Communities initiative was a fluke caused by poor marketing. She along with Lupu and Zemel profess that men have an equal if not greater interest than women in performing. In understanding differences in gender receptivity to dance amongst different publics within Reform Judaism, it is essential to take into account the non-gendered factors contributing to opposition that were relayed by all three interviewed participants. They recognize how such factors as timing, setting, and discomfort with 98 the body associated with white American culture can affect receptivity, accessibility, and opposition to the integration of dance into Reform Judaism. Figure 6: Shelley, Allison. Photograph of attentive workshop participants during Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists. 1998. Liz Lerman Dance Exchange Archive, University of Maryland, College Park. Copyrighted image; for more information, contact the thesis author. Dr. Lupu extends this idea even further arguing that receptivity to this type of work has less to do with gender constructs and more to do with curiosity: Well you have to either be curious…sometimes people are just curious, what is this—it sounds so weird? And they have to be seekers in some way. Now I don’t know if they are all seeking the same thing, but the commonality is wanting to explore because they’re looking, looking. Because they’re not content to travel along the regular path. (January 8, 2007) Yet while non-gendered factors certainly play a role in a particular public’s receptivity to the integration of dance into Reform Judaism, much of the interview data reveals that certain gendered factors may affect gender differences in receptivity to dance in Reform Judaism. This data, as detailed in the previous section, 99 illuminates experiences and patterns in which gender affects accessibility or opposition to dance within Reform Jewish religious life. Such experiences are affected by remnants of mind/body tensions, limiting emphases on intellectual rigor, and the exclusivity of traditional “prayer technologies” that retain varying degrees of dependency on the patriarchal construction of gender differences. In questioning differences in receptivity, accessibility, and opposition amongst different gender communities within American Reform Judaism, it is particularly fascinating to examine the people who driven to advance initiatives such as Moving Jewish Communities. Thus emerges the question of whether or not one particular gender is more attuned to taking a leadership role in this area. In the current state of the American Reform synagogue, it has been argued that women are taking over the synagogue. This period is characterized by a change in leadership in Reform Judaism whereby women embody a majority of the leadership strength, a trend that began in the 19 th century when women began to dominate weekly synagogue service attendance (Goldman 107). Goldman argues that the site of the synagogue in the 19 th century served as a place where women could both redefine their religious identities as well as use their presence to redefine the synagogue itself (107). The role of women in the Reform movement continued to grow in the 20 th century, creating a position of strength and leadership for women in current times. Lerman has become particularly attuned to this shift in leadership through her experiences teaching at Hebrew Union College in New York: 100 You know I’m teaching at HUC this fall…what I’m seeing is that the impact of women in Judaism is overwhelming right now. I mean from midrash [method of critical interpretation of a biblical text] to the way congregations are being nurtured to the best female mind at work, you know? ...The revolution is being led by the women rabbis. (November 16, 2006) Comparatively, Rabbi Zemel disagrees: “I know there’s a lot been written that the synagogue is becoming a women’s place and new forms are women’s forms.” Yet in stating, “I have not experienced that at all at Temple Micah,” he admits that his perspective is based around one particularly progressive cohort of people, a cohort that may not be representative of most Reform Synagogue congregations (November 16, 2006). Yet we can only speculate this. To truly understand Temple Micah’s relative placement amongst other Reform Synagogues, further research outside of the focus of this thesis would be necessary. The opportunity to examine the role of dance in Reform Jewish life coincides with a period in Reform Judaism in which women are taking over leadership roles in Reform Judaism and seeking innovative ways to make prayer and learning accessible. Yet the emergence of these phenomena does not necessarily mean that women more than men are predisposed to stimulating the integration of dance into Reform Judaism. In fact Lerman chooses to emphasize that women are not the only people driving these initiatives. She mentions male leaders in both Reform and Conservative Judaism such as Rabbi Lawrence Hoffman of Hebrew Union College, Rabbi Daniel Zemel of Temple Micah, Richard Siegel of the National Foundation for Jewish Culture, and Dr. Ron Wolfson of the University of Judaism that are both 101 supportive of her artistic practice and interested in spreading it to other Jewish communities. On the other hand, Lerman mentions that in her own recent experiences teaching at the Hebrew Union College in New York (HUC NY), women have primarily been the ones to find meaning in her work. Particularly interesting is an experience that she describes about a Shabbat [Jewish day of Sabbath] weekend exploring movement and dance at the seminary that mostly attracted women. At the HUC thing we…did a service up there and we did a de-briefing and it was really two hours of tremendous mental work. And it’s mostly women and they talked about it being mostly women and where were the guys. And basically the assumption was you know the so called intellectual giants, intellectual giants of the school aren’t willing to perceive it as good. (November 16, 2006) Thus based on her perspective, while particular male figures certainly support Lerman and her type of artistic work in the Jewish community, the new rise in male leadership—at least based on the male rabbinical students and teachers at HUC NY—is not particularly interested in exploring such things. While this sample of men in Reform Judaism may not be representative of all American Reform Jewish men, it sheds light on a pattern affecting a portion of the population. When asked if the male lack of interest in her practice at HUC NY surprises her based on Reform Judaism’s dedication to egalitarianism, Lerman asserted, “No it doesn’t…the thought that comes to me is nothing surprises me in a culture where there are predominately white straight guys.” (November 16, 2006). Thus she 102 complicates how the patriarchal construction of gender differences affects the growth of potential advocates for her work. Lerman confidently asserts that her work is still peripheral to the Jewish community, but this word in light of Adler’s theory is much more charged than it at first may seem. Peripheral to the white male population of HUC NY, peripheral to the greater Jewish community, dance in Judaism retains a status—like Adler’s halakhic role for women in Traditional Judaism—that is removed from the center of the religion. Despite all odds, Lerman is aware that implementing a rigorous approach to synagogue dance can accomplish particular, unique things for each gender. For men, the implementation of this rigor has the potential to minimize opposition, imbuing dance with intellectual inquiry and validating it as a form of learning and prayer in synagogue. For women, the implementation of rigor has the potential to offer “a way out of the therapeutic model,” a model that Lerman believes they are predisposed to (November 16, 2006). She asserts that very few alternative models exist for women to challenge the over-intellectual, rigid hierarchical world besides the aggressive model associated with corporate women or the nurturing model associated with caretakers. This therapeutic model relates to what Adler calls the “role of women to maintain a warm and inviting Jewish domestic environment” (Engendering Judaism xviii). Adler speculates that this role may have to do with the historic relationship of women’s involvement in psychotherapy and the general view that religion is therapeutic (February 7, 2007). Thus Lerman offers her unique model— 103 reinvigorating Jewish life with artistic practice—to women, challenging them to integrate dance into Judaism without falling prey to the therapeutic one. Figure 7: Shelley, Allison. Photograph of workshop participants at Adas Israel during Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists. 1998. Liz Lerman Dance Exchange Archive, University of Maryland, College Park. Copyrighted image; for more information, contact the thesis author. While Lerman by no means thinks there is less capability or potential drive amongst male leaders to access her artistic practice, she has noticed a current lack of interest amongst men in the Reform synagogue. This trend is partially linked to the current lack of leadership in the field. And in order to jump start leadership in this field of integrating dance into Reform Jewish religious life, it is imperative to build leadership. From Lupu’s unsuccessful attempts at integrating dance into her synagogues’ services, she is aware that a strong supportive cohort is desperately needed in order to reverse the situation. It is her hope that through the support of 104 Lerman and her followers, leaders in the Reform movement—both men and women—will develop. In understanding the lack of leadership for the integration of dance into Reform Jewish prayer, learning, and ritual, it is essential to consider the complicated relationship between the detachment of dance and the patriarchal construction of gender differences. Throughout this thesis, the perspectives of three interviewed participants illuminate the gendered and non-gendered complexities of this relationship and its affected publics. They particularly highlight how receptivity to dance in Reform Jewish life is affected by remnants of the patriarchy in varying degrees as manifested through particular fears—some gendered, others not. Following an historical account of a relationship between these phenomena from ancient times to the beginning of the Reform movement, these perspectives represent a sample of how this relationship has evolved in the contemporary religious life of American Reform Judaism. These complex and somewhat contradictory perspectives by no means represent the views of the greater population. Rather, they shed light on personal approaches to the relationship between the detached condition of dance and the patriarchal construction of gender differences in contemporary American Reform Judaism. There is much more research to be done to deeply investigate the interrelations between these two phenomena than can be accomplished through my foundational study. 105 CONCLUSION This thesis examines the relationship between the body, learning, and prayer in the context of dance in Jewish life. Particularly it explores the condition of dance in Judaism and its relationship to the patriarchal construction of gender differences. Historically investigating the condition of dance in Judaism from ancient times until the beginning of the Reform Movement, it demonstrates a steady pattern of detachment from dance’s sacred, ancient role in most areas of the world. This pattern of detachment may have begun at the onset of the codification of the religion (c. 9 th - 5 th century BCE), but it was concretized with the development of the patriarchal rabbinic literature after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE. It was at this time when this male-centered literature developed negative attitudes towards dance and concurrently, gender roles according to patriarchal concerns about sexuality and the body. During a period when male rabbis held complicated views on the body and sexuality, the concurrent timing of these concerns appear to be linked. And these concerns cannot be extricated from rabbinical anxieties about women. In fact this thesis argues how male anxieties about women have greatly contributed to the increasingly detached sacred role of dance in Traditional Judaism. For being a women placed one in a position at the root of rabbinic disdain and of exclusion from the rabbinic alternative to it. Thus the prohibitions against dance and the exclusionary text-based learning endeavors that served to subordinate dance severely 106 limit the sacred and spiritual ways in which Jews, particularly women, engage with Traditional Judaism. Yet with the evolution of Traditional Judaism into specific American Jewish denominations along with secular nationalistic movements, the connection between dance and Jews in America advanced. These movements, however, demonstrate somewhat uneasy tensions between the role of dance within Judaism and the patriarchal construction of gender differences. We might consider that each movement has determined a way to solve these tensions particular to its orientation. Those remaining within the Traditional confines of Judaism retain remnants of the construction of gender differences in their dance culture. Those located outside of the confines of Traditional Judaism may embrace egalitarianism, but are somewhat displaced from Jewish religious life. The role of dance in the liberal denomination of American Reform Judaism emerges as a fascinating focus of this thesis for while it demonstrates a staunch commitment to egalitarian prayer and learning, its practice maintains a limited role for dance. Thus it is within the latter part of my thesis that I investigate contemporary manifestations of the relationship between the detached role of dance and the construction of gender differences in Judaism within American Reform Judaism. Current perspectives of three participants in Liz Lerman’s Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists present a small sample of present-day approaches to this relationship. While these perspectives are by no 107 means representative of the greater population, they provide insight into three personal experiences with the contemporary manifestations of this relationship. They demonstrate a complex, rather than simplified approach to this complicated relationship, highlighting both gendered and non-gendered factors affecting accessibility and opposition to the integration of dance in Judaism. While all three Moving Jewish Communities participants make no direct correlation between ancient patriarchal constructions of gender and the current detachment of dance from Jewish ritual, learning, and prayer, their insights demonstrate how the relationship between these two phenomena is more complex than it at first seems. They reveal three primary fears related to opposition to the integration of dance in Reform Judaism: the white American culture fear of showing movement in public, the “fear of an unrecognizable Judaism,” and the fear of submission. While the former relates to both genders equally, that latter two are complicated by the patriarchal construction of gender differences. These two particularly highlight how remnants and manifestations of mind/body tensions, limitations of a focus on intellectual rigor, and limitations of traditional “prayer technologies” retain various degrees of dependency on the patriarchal construction of gender, thereby affecting receptivity, accessibility, and opposition to the integration of dance in Reform Judaism. Thus while the perspectives of the three interviewees do not directly base the detachment of dance in Judaism on a dependency on gender constructs, they do create an intricate web of linkages between the two. Recognizing the limited role of 108 dance in American Reform Judaism, they identify a void in leadership that may be connected to this dance-gender web as well. In exploring if and how the historical relationship between the detached role of dance and the patriarchal construction of gender differences applies to contemporary American Reform Judaism, this thesis relies on the quantitative interview data of three willing volunteers. These perspectives certainly shed light on the relationship of focus, yet they also reveal personal uncertainties and doubts about some of the information offered. Ultimately these perspectives illuminate deeper questions for future consideration. It is my hope that they stimulate conversation about the relationship between the detached condition of dance and the patriarchal construction of gender differences in Judaism, creating opportunities for the integration of dance into Jewish religious life once again. 109 BIBLIOGRAPHY Adler, Rachel. Engendering Judaism: An Inclusive Theology and Ethics. Boston: Beacon Press, 1999. ---. ""The Jew Who Wasn't There: Halakhah and the Jewish Woman." On Being A Jewish Feminist. By Susannah Heschel. New York: Schocken Books, 1995. Ariel, Yaakov. “Hasidism in the Age of Aquarius: The House of Love and Prayer in San Francisco, 1967-1977.” Religion and American Culture: A Journal of Interpretation. Vol. 3. No. 2 (2003): 139-160. “Ashkenazi.” Brittanica Concise Encyclopedia Online. 2007. Encyclopedia Brittanica. 6 March 2007 < http://www.britannica.com/ebc/article-9355931> Berk, Fred. Machol Ha'Am Dance of the Jewish People. New York: The American Hebrew Congregations, 1978. 6. ---. The Jewish Dance. New York: Exposition Press, 1960. Berman, Feigue. Hasidic Dance: An Historical Analysis and Theological Analysis. Diss. New York University, 1999. Biale, David. Eros and the Jews: From Biblical Israel to Contemporary America. New York: Basic Books (a division of HarperCollins Publishers), 1992. Borstel, John and Liz Lerman. Liz Lerman’s Critical Response Process: A method for getting useful feedback on anything you make, from dance to dessert. Takoma Park, MD: Liz Lerman Dance Exchange, 2003. Boyarin, Daniel. Carnal Israel: Reading Sex in Talmudic Culture. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993. Burnham, Linda. “Everybody Say Hallelujah: Introduction.” Community Arts.net. 2001. Community Arts Network. 19 Feb. 2006 <http://www.communityarts.net/readingroom/archivefiles/2001/05/everybod y_say_h.php> Cohen-Cruz, Jan. Local Acts. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2005. 110 Eichenbaum, Rose. A Comparative Study of the Liturgical Practices and Accompanying Dance and Ritualized Movement Behavior of the Ashkenazic and Sephardic Jews Living in Los Angeles. Diss. University of California Los Angeles, 1980. Epstein, Louise M. Sex Laws and Customs in Judaism. 1948. New York: KTAV Publishing House Inc., New Matter, 1967. Encyclopedia Judaica. Jerusalem: Keter Publishing House, 1972. Farbridge, Maurice. Studies in Biblical and Semetic Symbolism. New York: KTAV Publishing House, Inc, 1923. Foulkes, Julia L. “Angels ‘Rewolt!’: Jewish Women in Modern Dance in the 1930s.” American Jewish History 88.2 (2000): 233-252. Freehof, Florence. Jews are a Dancing People. San Francisco: Stark-Ruth Printing and Publishing Co., 1954. Friedhaber, Zvi. “Jewish Dance Traditions.” International Encyclopedia of Dance. Founding Ed. Selma Jeanne Cohen. Area Eds. George Dorris, Nancy Goldner, Beate Gordon, Nancy Reynolds, David Vaughan, and Suzanne Youngerman. Vol. 3. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998. Friedland, LeeEllen. ""Tantsn is Lebn": Dancing in Eastern European Jewish Culture." Dance Research Journal 17.2 (1985): 76-80. Friedman, Menachim. The Haredi (Ultra-Orthodox) Society: Sources, Trends, and Processes. Jerusalem: Jerusalem Institute for Israel Studies, 1991. Funke, Phyllis Ellen. “Rediscovering Jewish Dance.” Hadassah Magazine August/September 1986: 58-62. Gellerman, Jill Marsha. “The Mayim Pattern as Indicator of Cultural Attitudes in Three American Hasidic Communities: A Comparative Approach Based on Labananalysis.” Essays in Dance Research CORD Dance Research Annual. 9 (1978): 111-144. Goldberg, Rick. "Judaism's Yetzer as a Bio-Theological Construct." Science and Religion: Global Perspectives. Program of the Metanexus Institute. Philadelphia, PA. 4-8 June 2005. 111 Goldman, Karla. “The Public Religious Lives of Cincinnati’s Jewish Women.” Women and American Judaism. Hanover: Brandeis University Press, 2001. Guggenheimer, Heinrich W., ed and trans. The Jerusalem Talmud. First order: Zeraim. Tractates Ma‘aser Šeni, ·Halla, ‘Orlah and Bikkurim. Berlin; New York: De Gruyter, 2003. Hanna, Judith. "Dance." Encyclopedia of Religion. Ed. in chief Mircea Eliade. New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1987. Hirsch, Miriam. Simcha Dance: Imitation Or Invention an Analytic View at Current Trends in Jewish Wedding Dance. Master’s Project. Teachers College, Columbia University, 1995. Idelsohn, Abraham Z. Jewish Music: Its Historical Development. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1929. Ingber, Judith Brin. "Introduction." Dance Research Journal 17.2 (1985): 51-3. Kaplan, Dana Evan. American Reform Judaism: An Introduction. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2003. Kaplan, Mordecai. “Introduction.” Jewish Dances. Los Angeles: Kilography, 1950. Kaschl, Elke. Dance and Authenticity in Israel and Palestine: Performing the Nation. Leiden, The Netherlands: Koninkljke Brill NV, 2003. Lapson, Dvora. "Dance." Encyclopedia Judaica. Jerusalem: Keter Publishing House, 1972. ---. “The Jewish Dance.” The Reconstructionist 10 (1944): 13-7. Lerman, Liz. “Are Miracles Enough: Thoughts on Time, Transformation and the Meaning of Community.” Dance/USA Journal. Spring (1993): 16-19. “Liz Lerman Dance Exchange: A Mission into Jewish Concerns.” Unpublished essay. Liz Lerman Dance Exchange Archive, University of Maryland, College Park. Millgram, Abraham. Jewish Worship. Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1971. 112 Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists. Unpublished brochure. Liz Lerman Dance Exchange Archive, University of Maryland, College Park, 1998. “Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists.” Unpublished interview with Liz Lerman. Liz Lerman Dance Exchange Archive, University of Maryland, College Park, 1998. “Moving Jewish Communities: A Training Initiative for Jewish Artists.” Unpublished tape log. Liz Lerman Dance Exchange Archive, University of Maryland, College Park, 1998. Neusner, Jacob. The Mishnah: a new translation. New Haven: Yale University Press, c1988. ---. “The System as a Whole.” The Mishnaic System of Women 5 (1980): 13-42. Oesterley, W.O. E. Sacred Dance: A Study in Comparative Folklore. London: Cambridge University Press, 1923. Plaskow, Judith. Standing again at Sinai Judaism from a Female Perspective. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1991. Prell, Riv-Ellen. Prayer and Community: The Havurah in American Judaism. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1989. Ross, Janice. Anna Halprin: Experience as Dance. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007. Rossen, Rebecca. Dancing Jewish: Jewish Identity in American Modern and Postmodern Dance. Dissertation. Northwestern University, 2006. Sendry, Alfred. Music in Ancient Israel. New York: Philosophical Library, 1969. “Sephardi.” Brittanica Concise Encyclopedia Online. 2007. Encyclopedia Brittanica. 6 March 2007 < http://www.britannica.com/ebc/article-9378250> Shacham, Dan. “Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach: The ‘Enfant Terrible’ of Orthodox Judaism in America.” Israel Shelanu. 8 March 1985: 29. Shelemay, Kay Kaufman. “Music in the American Synagogue: A Case Study from Houston.” The American Synagogue: A Sanctuary Transformed. Hanover: Brandeis University Press, 1995. 113 Shelton, Robert. “Rabbi Carlebach Sings Spirituals.” New York Times. 24 October 1961. Shiloah, Amnon. Jewish Musical Traditions. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1992. Snyder, Allegra Fuller. "The Dance Symbol." CORD Research Annual VI (1972): 9- 27. Sukkah: The Babylonian Talmud. Ed. Isidore Epstein. Vol. 8. The Soncino Press, 1938. Tanakh: A New Translation of THE HOLY SCRIPTURES According to the Traditional Hebrew Text. Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 1985. “Toolbox.” Dance Exchange.org. 2006. Liz Lerman Dance Exchange. 19 Feb. 2006 <http://www.danceexchange.org/toolbox/> Traiger, Lisa. Making Dance that Matters: Dancer, Choreographer, Community Organizer, Public Intellectual Liz Lerman. Thesis. University of Maryland, 2004. “Who We Are.” Dance Exchange.org. 2007. Liz Lerman Dance Exchange. 19 Feb. 2007 <http://www.danceexchange.org/whoweare.asp> Zenner, K.J. Die Chorgesänge im Buche der Psalmen. Freiburg i.B., 1986. 114 INTERVIEWS Adler, Rabbi Rachel. Personal Interview. 7 February 2007. Borstel, John. Personal Interview. 15 November 2006. Lerman, Liz. Personal Interview. 16 November 2006. Lerman, Liz. Personal Interview. 17 November 2006. Lupu, Dr. Dale. Telephone Interview. 8 January 2007. Markell, Sally. Telephone Interview. 16 January 2007. Traiger, Lisa. Interview with Rabbi Lawrence Hoffman. Making Dance that Matters: Dancer, Choreographer, Community Organizer, Public Intellectual Liz Lerman. Thesis. University of Maryland, 2004. 18 March 2004. Zemel, Rabbi Daniel. Personal Interview. 16 November 2006.

Abstract (if available)

Abstract Examining the relationship between the body, learning, and prayer in the context of dance in Jewish life, this thesis investigates the historical relationship between the detached condition of dance and the patriarchal construction of gender differences in Judaism. Particularly, it explores this relationship within Reform Judaism, where principles of egalitarian prayer and learning in current practice still maintain a limited role for dance.

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Asset Metadata

Creator Newstadt, Kim Rebecca (author)

Core Title Swinging the pendulum: dance, gender, reform Judaism, public artmaking

School School of Fine Arts

Degree Master of Public Art Studies

Degree Program Public Art Studies

Degree Conferral Date 2007-05

Publication Date 04/16/2007

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag Dance,egalitarian prayer,gender,Judaism,OAI-PMH Harvest,public artmaking

Language English

Advisor Lewis, Ferdinand (committee chair), Levy, Caryl (committee member), Weisberg, Ruth (committee member)

Creator Email knewstad@gmail.com

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-m395

Unique identifier UC1424592

Identifier etd-Newstadt-20070416 (filename),usctheses-m40 (legacy collection record id),usctheses-c127-327145 (legacy record id),usctheses-m395 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier etd-Newstadt-20070416.pdf

Dmrecord 327145

Document Type Thesis

Rights Newstadt, Kim Rebecca

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Repository Name Libraries, University of Southern California

Repository Location Los Angeles, California

Repository Email cisadmin@lib.usc.edu