Reflections on Rav Moshe Shapiro’s Approach to Women’s Avodah

Photos: Menachem Kailish and Nissel Family Archives

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hroughout my almost three decades as a seminary tefillah teacher, I was zocheh to discuss many facets of the unique nature of women’s davening with mori v’rebbi Rav Moshe Shapira zt”l. He took women’s chinuch very seriously. He believed it was possible to inspire, empower and challenge women intellectually, without compromising an iota on the timeless mesorah.

Through Rav Moshe’s many talmidim who taught in seminaries, a generation of women were exposed to his thinking. Prominent rabbanim showed their talmidos the fathomless layers of depth and infinite beauty in every maamar Chazal. They made irrelevant the mistaken need to expose women to Talmud or use Talmudic methodology to teach halachah and machshavah. The educational revolution started by Rav Dessler was all that was necessary. This was taken to a new level under the guidance of Rav Moshe, Rav Dessler’s great talmid.

He was also sensitive to the many challenges women face. When I wrote my sefer, Rigshei Lev — Women and Tefillah, he instructed me that the book should always strive “to make life easier for women.”

Rav Moshe once commented that when dealing with contemporary youth, “every three months is a generation,” and our pedagogical instincts had to be constantly fine-tuned. In contrast, when it came to practical living, he disdained any innovation. Our forbearers were to be emulated, not “improved on”; our bubbes knew best.

Above all, he believed in women, and their delicate yet essential spiritual pathway. When invited to address the students of Gateshead seminary, he ascended the dais, and said the following opening words: “In the name of the Avos, Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov. In the name of the shevatim, Reuven, Shimon, Levi, Yehudah, Yissachar, Zevulun, Dan, Naftali, Gad, Asher, Yosef and Binyamin. In the name of Moshe Rabbeinu, the Nevi’im, Rishonim and Acharonim. Thank you so much. Thank you for continuing the doros in the Yiddishe way.”

Below, I share a few of my rebbi’s divrei Torah pertaining to women. Please note that the following concepts are based on my understanding of the ideas he shared. I may have misunderstood them and they may not necessarily convey the full depth of what he wanted to teach.

A WOMAN’S PRAYER

“What’s the hardest part of your job?” I once asked a campus kiruv director. Without taking pause for thought, he answered, “Taking my female students to shul for the first time.” He dreaded the women’s reactions when they realized that they’re on the other side of the mechitzah, detached and excluded from all the action. Indeed, when visiting the old shuls of Eastern Europe, it’s often shocking to see the meager size of the ezras nashim. Where did the women daven? What are we missing here?

When it comes to authentic tefillah, Rav Moshe explains, women do not sit in the back of the bus. They drive it.

The Rambam, whose every word was weighed like fine gold, does something unusual when introducing Hilchos Tefillah. He gives the historical background as to how tefillah developed. In ancient times, when anyone wanted to daven to Hashem, they’d talk to Him at any time in his or her own words. One can almost envision how in an age of prophesy a woman would step out of her home in her village in the Galilee, look Heavenward, and know exactly what words to say. Her quasi-prophetic instincts would allow her to perfectly communicate her needs and stresses to her loving G-d.

This all changed with the armies of Nevuchadnetzar. We were taken to exile and the art of the prayer wordsmith was lost. Chazal intervened and wrote a nusach for three daily prayers. This became the mandatory standard for the new post-prophetic era.

Rav Moshe points out that during this period we see the introduction of communal prayer. “Lech kenos es kol hayehudim!” cries Esther. In a hostile world that wants us to assimilate and have our uniqueness be dissolved, we need to gather together and pray with unity. The rabbis promoting communal prayer were called Anshei knesses Hagedolah, the Men of the Great Assembly. The word knesses, assembly, echoes the idea of “beis haknesses,” a place where we gather together for prayer.

Until then, all tefillos mentioned in Tanach were private. Whether Avraham Avinu was davening for Sedom, Moshe Rabbeinu davening for Klal Yisrael, or Chana, a broken woman alone in Shiloh, davening for the ability to bear a child, they were all solitary pleas, hidden from the public eye.

Rav Moshe identifies the source of our decreased ability to daven alone. Our bitter enemy, Bilaam Harashah, curses the Jewish people. Hashem turns the curses into blessings. The Talmud [Sanhedrin 105b] relates that the blessings all turned back into curses, except for “Ma tovu ohalecha Yaakov,” the blessing that our synagogues and study halls will flourish. How did Bilaam have this victory?

Rav Moshe explains that the evil Bilaam knew our weak point. He had Balak send in the Midianite women and the Jewish men fell for their honey trap. With the crushing of the kedushah of the Jewish male, our Heavenly protection was lost. History would repeat itself with the Babylonian Exile. The Jewish men assimilated; some married non-Jewish women. The kedushah of our nation slipped away, and with it the immunity from these curses granted by Hashem. Bilaam’s curses that had been so lovingly flipped to blessings would now return to their original evil intent.

Except for two safe havens: the beis knesses and beis medrash, the ohalecha Yaakov.

In this period of history, the shul became our fortress and refuge from the ravages of a spiritually malevolent environment. And indeed, for over two thousand years, our shuls and yeshivos have protected us from the outside and nourished us from within.

Now comes Rav Moshe’s cogent point. Jewish women never sinned with the Midianites. In fact, the whole episode was an embarrassment for them. Chazal tell us that Jewish women had true beauty. Why would their husbands leave them for these lowly females? The nashim tzidkoniyus retained their kedushah, hidden in the sanctity of their own “ohel” — the Jewish home. So when Bilaam’s curses returned in full force, they were directed to the men, not the women.

Women never fell for Bilaam’s trap. Therefore, women never needed the shul as a safe haven. Women retain the ancient form of tefillah, as in the times of prophesy. They maintain the ability to take every small strain and pain and turn it into eloquent heartfelt words of prayer. A woman davens for her children ten times a day and cries for Mashiach to come. This is her legacy. Her birthright.

Of course, it is still advantageous for a woman to go to shul, especially on occasions like the Yamim Noraim. But they don’t need to go to shul in the same way as men do. Our grandmothers did what they saw their grandmothers do, davening the way the Rambam describes as the true pristine form of tefillah. The way it was always supposed to be.

Interestingly, Rav Moshe would tell us in the name of the Vilna Gaon that the most powerful place for prayer is not the Kosel. It is Kever Rachel, the place where our matriarch Rachel Imeinu would stand by the wayside in the classic form of female tefillah, weeping for her children as they went out to Exile. That is the most powerful place of tefillah.

In Real Life

To illustrate how women used to daven, Rav Moshe related the following story. World War One was raging in Eastern Europe, extracting a terrible toll on the Jewish population. The Chofetz Chaim felt that special measures were needed to be taken.

On a designated day, the Chofetz Chaim requested that the men should leave the main shul of each town and let the women take over. He wanted to unleash the power of the “big guns” of tefillah, the nashim tzidkaniyos.

Rav Moshe’s father, Rav Yitzchok Meir zt”l, was a young boy at the time, living in the city of Brisk. He was eager to see what the women would do when the men had left. So he snuck (ironically!) into the women’s section to watch the women in the main shul below.

It was an extraordinarily awe-inspiring sight. The women came in, some holding their children. One of them opened up the Aron Hakodesh. The shul erupted as they all started screaming and crying to Hashem — in Yiddish. No siddurim. No Tehillim. Nobody “leading a service.” Each woman formulated her own prayers in her own words, pleading with her Creator in the Mamme Lashon.

They were doing what was natural for them. Doing what they had seen their mothers and grandmothers do with a glorious legacy that goes back to the tears of the Imahos.

SHE’ASANI KIRTZONO

Morning brachos are an acknowledgement and celebration of the little (and not so little) things in our lives that we tend to take for granted. One of the gifts for which we thank Hashem is our gender. At first blush, the  “she’asani kirtzono — Who has made me according to His will,” seems anomalous. It appears negative, almost as if women are resigning to their fate of not being men. Hardly a celebration of womanhood.

In my work Rigshei Lev (pp. 38), I presented a deep understanding of this brachah, based on what I heard from both Rav Moshe and Rav Shlomo Wolbe zt”l. Rav Moshe added a beautiful twist in comprehending the phrase “His will.”

What was Hashem’s will in creating the world? Ramchal says, “To share His goodness with His creations” (Daas Tevunos 18). Unconditional giving of goodness, with no prerequisites and no other reason than His desire to give.

Where do we find something similar in creation? The mindset of women. A woman is not obligated to get married, raise children, or facilitate the Torah growth of her husband. Nevertheless, this is her will, her ratzon. Every morning she celebrates that her will parallels His will. “She’asani kirtzono” can be understood: Thank You for making me with a will that is consonant with His will.

But there’s something deeper here. The Torah tells us, “S’mach Zevulun b’tzeisecha — Zevulun rejoices when traveling.” The tribe of Zevulun undertook long and arduous journeys to make money to support the Torah learning of Yissachar. Why would Zevulun rejoice as he embarked on a voyage that could be both exhausting and perilous?

Secular society conditions us to find happiness through indulgence. The advertising world relentlessly reminds us that happiness is found in doing things for ourselves. From the “best part of waking up” to the entertainment that ends our day, we’re told to delight in self-serving pleasure.

Zevulun knows better. Zevulun identifies that the ultimate simchah is found in the act of doing for others. Ask anyone who has married off a child. When did they experience the deeper, inner simchah — at their own wedding, years before — or as they walked their child to the chuppah? Their greatest joy came not when they were the center of attention. It was when they basked in the fruit of years of toil and tears.

I once asked an NCSY teenager what her most fulfilling joy-filled moment in her life was so far. Her first instinct was to talk about getting front-row tickets for her favorite band. Yet, on deeper reflection, she described her experience volunteering in a hospital, helping those who could not help themselves. She had her “Zevulun” moment.

What is the source for this simchah? It is from Hashem Himself. We say in davening, “Yismach Hashem b’maasav — Hashem rejoices with His creations.” Hashem gives us absolutely everything and this, kaveyachol, gives Him continuous simchah.

This is the essential nature of women. Like Zevulun, women recognize that the ultimate simchah is Hashem’s simchah. All day long, they give unconditionally, thereby imitating their Creator. This is a source of happiness in the deepest, most profound way. Every morning, as she recites morning brachos and celebrates the blessings in her life, a Jewish woman celebrates her gender. She turns to Hashem and says, “Your will is unconditional giving, and in that You find the consummate simchah. My will is unconditional giving, and in that I find the consummate simchah. Thank you, Hashem, for having made my will the same as Your will.”

In Real Life

My father z”l used to warn me not to be impressed by genius and charisma. Both these gifts from Hashem can be abused. Instead, look for genuine good middos in a place and time where nobody is watching. As Rav Moshe Aaron Stern zt”l once quipped, quoting Rav Chaim of Volozhin, “Al tadin es chavercha ad shetagia bimkomo — do not judge a person until you see him in the privacy of his home, where there’s nobody to impress.”

With all Rav Moshe’s genius in learning and charisma as a teacher, his bein adom l’chaveiro was astounding. Rav Yonasan David shlita, mentioned in his hesped: “kamah pamim shomanu mimenu aych shehu tzam ta’anaysim bishvil eizeh tzorech shel mi,” hinting that Rav Moshe would regularly fast for his talmidim. We knew he would regularly fast, but who would have thought he was fasting for us! He tried everything to conceal his continuous acts of kindness, but too often he was discovered.

I once told him about a bitter machlokes between neighbors in our building. He volunteered to come to Har Nof and see if he could make shalom. With elegant chochmah, he worked out a solution that pleased everyone. When in my house, our cleaning lady offered him tea. He politely refused.

As he left the building, after having walked down two floors, Rav Moshe turned to me and said, “Menachem, I forgot something.” I thought he’d forgotten some item, and I offered to get it. He refused, and turned to climb the stairs again. He clearly did not want me following him. Back in my apartment, he went from room to room until he found the cleaning lady and wished her goodbye.

THE SUFFERING TREE

Rav Moshe had just returned from the United States. It was during the hard times when his daughter Shulamis a”h was receiving treatment for cancer. In those days, he would regularly daven a 45-minute Shemoneh Esreh. One of the talmidim (inappropriately) asked him what sugya he had learned in America. He answered, “Ashrei hagever asher teyasrena kah, umitorascha telamdenah — Praiseworthy is the man who learns Torah insights from the yissurim Hashem has given him.”

Let us learn some of the “Torah of yissurim.”

As we go through life, we embark on three great journeys: Our journey though time brings us to the perfect world — Olam Haba. Our journey to self-perfection brings us to Torah. Our journey in space brings us to the perfect Land of Israel.

This is seen at the dawn of our history. When Klal Yisrael left Egypt, they traveled to Marah, where they received Shabbos, their first taste of Olam Haba. They then traveled to Sinai, where they received the Torah. Had it not been for their sins, they would have traveled straight to Eretz Yisrael. Their journey would have been complete.

Ominously, Rav Shimon bar Yochai says [Brachos 5a], “Hashem gave three gifts to Yisrael and they are only given through yissurim. They are (a) Torah (b) Eretz Yisrael and (c) Olam Haba.”

This is frightening. Yissurim, suffering, is a tanai, a precondition, for all that is precious in life.

Where do we find a parallel in nature? With the “Tu B’Shvat Journey,” from roots to fruits. Think of the most delicious fruit you enjoy. Now think of your favorite vegetable. No comparison, correct? (As I like to remind my wife, Chazal metaphorically talk of the mystical fruit in Olam Haba. There’s also the mystical meat, mystical fish, mystical fowl, and mystical wine. But there are no mystical veggies!)

Vegetables are planted in the ground, and in no time they pop up in abundance. In contrast, fruit is the apex of a long and bitter road: from roots, up the trunk, through the branches, twigs and fallen blossoms. A year may pass before the fruit becomes ripe and luscious. But bite into a sweet peach on a summer’s afternoon, and you’ll agree the experience at the end is truly heavenly.

Rav Tzaddok HaCohen of Lublin points out that life’s big three objectives are all compared to fruit. Olam Haba is a “Gan Eden,” a garden of fruits. Eretz Yisrael is the land of grapes, figs, pomegranates, and dates. And Torah is the etz chaim, the “fruit tree of life.” He further points out that we always read the parshiyos of the Exodus during the month of Shevat, a reminder that we only left Egypt to taste the ultimate sweetness — the three worlds of fruits.

But the road to get there is obstructed by the raging ravine of yissurim.

Rav Moshe points out that yissurim, often translated as suffering, can come in two forms. The classic suffering is what we call tragedy — the tochachah conveyed in the Chumash are sobering examples of this. But there’s another form of suffering, and that’s the hardship that comes from meaningful struggle. Using the language of months, yissurim can be experienced in the tragedies of the month of Av. And they can also correspond to the meaningful struggle of the month of Shevat.

Rav Moshe quotes Rabbeinu Yona [Shaarei Teshuvah 4] who says, “If one toils and exerts oneself in Torah, and denies sleep from one’s eyes, that struggle replaces yissurim.” In other words, living a true Torah lifestyle, where physical pleasures are minimized and every moment’s potential is squeezed to the maximum in ameilus b’Torah, replaces the need for classic yissurim.

I once asked Rav Moshe, if Rabbeinu Yona focuses on the struggle in Torah, where is the yissurim bypass for women, who are exempt from toiling in Torah? How do they earn the sechar of meaningful struggle? He was not impressed with the question. “Go and ask your wife,” he replied. In other words, the hardship endured by nashim tzidkoniyus in building Torah homes and empowering and enabling their husbands and sons to learn, more than qualifies for Rabbeinu Yona’s replacement of classic yissurim.

It’s fascinating to note that Tu B’Shvat and Tu B’Av are polar opposites on the calendar, a full six months apart. Tu B’Shvat is a day when the world switches from struggles, division, and tragedies to rejoicing, reconciliation, and building. Hazorim b’dimah — those who plant seeds with tears, ultimately, will harvest with joy — b’rinah yiktzoru.

It can be tempting to think of Tu B’Shvat as a sweet minhag, or a children’s holiday. Rav Moshe showed us that it is not just literally life-changing, but contains the sweetest message of all.

In Real Life

I was euphoric — and exhausted — as I knocked on Rav Moshe’s door. I had been up all night clutching my Tehillim in Shaarei Zedek hospital, occasionally noticing drained yet elated women embrace their bundles of joy as they left their birthing rooms to recuperate in the maternity ward. In the early hours of the morning it was our turn. We had a baby boy and I had become a father.

In retrospect, it was not the right time to visit my rebbi’s home. Their daughter Shulamis a”h was fighting a losing battle with cancer and they deserved their space and privacy. But I was 23 and I wanted a brachah, and I was hungry and secretly hoped to enjoy the Rebbetzin’s baking. To be honest, I didn’t really think things through.

Rav Moshe’s brachah was as warm and effusive as ever. Then he swung into “mechanech mode” and asked me what sugya I had learned last night. Every adventure in life offered lessons and insights, and my wife and I had just experienced childbirth. What had I learned?

I thought for a moment and said, “Never in my life have I seen so much suffering followed by so much joy.”

Rav Moshe responded with words I will never forget: “Menachem, you should know that life is always like that. All meaningful suffering is followed by joy.”

At that point the Rebbetzin interjected. “But it’s not really true. What about death? With death there is suffering and no joy.” With those words, I was reminded of what my beloved rebbi and his rebbitzin were going through. I did not know what to do with myself.

Rav Moshe let out a deep sigh. “There is joy,” he said. “It’s just that we don’t see it.”