Slowly, as spring turned to summer, restrictions relaxed. The men began to return to shul. Minyanim returned regularly. Back to business.

Almost.

The women’s section remained closed.

“It’s ridiculous,” I complained to my husband, week after week. “If there are no restrictions, why are men still davening in the women’s section?”

Our women’s section was always small, only a few regulars in a tiny room off the main beis medrash. But it had existed. Now, it had been fully repurposed.

My husband shrugged. “Maybe they’re sticklers?”

The next week, he returned with more information. The men in the ezras nashim joined the rest of the minyan most of the time. It seemed like they were latecomers who liked the privacy of the little room.

Our little room.

And then, at last, my husband came home with the news. The rav had decided that there was no reason not to open the women’s section. I could show up any time.

I fished my old Shabbos Bag out of retirement, still full of lollipops and quiet toys, added some new accessories for the baby born during the pandemic, and headed to shul. I got there near the end, wary of what I’d find.

The women’s section was full. Unfortunately, it was full of men.

I sighed. Stepped out into the hallway. Davened in grim silence.

And so it continued. A sign was put on the door, but it didn’t stop the men from using the room. And I was the only woman who showed up. One teen would come, same as me, and then give up and go to another shul. I didn’t want to give up. I wanted our women’s section back.

And I was going to get it.

“I’m, like, a revolutionary,” I informed my husband one Shabbos morning. “I’m staging a hostile takeover.”

The next Shabbos, I walked into the women’s section, stood at the doorway, and peered inside. A few men scattered. More stayed.

Well. The next week, I came again. This time, they slowly, reluctantly, cleared out. That was fine. I’m a teacher. I’m used to reluctant concessions.

By the third week, one of the men, who thought my not-so-hostile takeover was hilarious, started herding men out when he saw me pushing the stroller up the steps. Slowly, I reclaimed the women’s section.

I wish I could tell you I’m the reason the women came back. (“Come to shul this Shabbos!” I told my friends. “We’re staging a hostile takeover!” A what? “The rav said we could!”) More likely, it was just that after the Yamim Noraim, most women assumed shul had finally reopened for us, and the room filled up again.

Shul feels earned now, like something I fought for and won. I go every week without fail. It’s not an option, missing davening in the room that was once taken from us.

This Vayechi, my is son leining, and we’re there bright and early to hear it. When the room erupts in “Chazak chazak v’nischazeik,” my pandemic-born preschooler, seated at my feet, lights up.

Mission accomplished.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 975)