Yesterday we spoke of the suppression of the feminine, of the way male Talmudic society didn’t seem to give them much credit nor look to include them in religious life.
We see a further example of the low regard they were held in today, further weakening the argument that women were viewed as some kind of saintly beings. In the context of the women’s discussions with King Saul we have the following exchange:
Why did they make such a long story of it?
Because women are fond of talking.
Shmuel, however, says that it was so that they might feast their eyes on Saul’s good looks.
It’s hardly a portrait of a lady: either they chatter too much or they swoon helplessly in front of the tall and handsome king. These are not the sort of creatures who don’t need the help and influence of Torah, who can afford to be excluded from rituals because they are too holy. No, this doesn’t ring true at all.
So women are spoken of poorly, I think we just need to accept this. Indeed, accepting it actually opens up all sorts of other interesting questions, especially if we approach the matter through a psychoanalytic lens.
Put simply, when a man treats women as if they do not exist, we have reason to be very suspicious.
This man was raised by a woman, he is probably married to one, who is usually raising his children and quite possibly he has sisters, who were his closest playmates in childhood. How can it be that he denies the importance of women, that he could fail to see the crucial and Godly work they do in creating and maintaining civilisation?
One possibility – we are always playfully exploring possibilities, beware the man who says it isn’t so (and it will usually be a man, not a woman) – is that this denial of the significance of women is actually a defence.
A defence against what?
A defence against the dependence upon women.
Men are born to women, they feed at their breast, they form deep and powerful attachments to them, treating them in their first years as the centres of their world. Their personality is shaped around this dependence on the mother, they crave to be locked in her embrace.
Kleinians may use a barrage of theoretical terms to describe this, but for my own part I see it quite simply in the lives of my two sons. They love their mother, their bond to her has been one of need and dependency from the day of their conception, and for the most part, and especially in times of distress, they wish to merge with her once again, to lose themselves in her embrace, to disappear into her warmth.
At some point this will change, they will, for whatever reason, become less comfortable with this state of affairs. Perhaps it is to do with the flowering of their male pride and ego, perhaps it is to do with their budding sexuality and a sense of the deeply inappropriate nature of their desire. Who can be sure? What I think we can say, however, is that dealing with this new discomfort will not be easy for them. This love and attachment will need to be buried deeply, and even if some portion of it is allowed to remain on the surface of their personality, to remain close at hand, a significant portion of it will have to be covered up, suppressed, banished into the netherworlds.
And this is what manifests itself as denial, as the conscious personality existing in a strange tension as it asserts the non-existence of that which it has buried, as it battles to keep it locked up safe in the unconscious.
This battle can take up a lot of energy, denial can be an exhausting and chaotic business. For this reason it is generally best to try to work through denial, to come to terms with the repressed and to re-integrate it into the more mature and accepting psyche.
This is the ideal picture.
Another mechanism for dealing with denial is displacement or projection. In such a case, those strong and buried feelings are allowed to the surface in so much as they are directed at a new, different and legitimate object. This process is also known as ‘transference’.
The feelings are given life once more, less energy is needed for suppression and denial, and the personality feels a lot more whole, a lot better integrated.
When men fall in love with women reminiscent of their mothers, which is hardly a rarity, this is part of the story. One could indeed argue that any falling in love contains some element of this, of the repressed feelings for the mother being transferred onto some new object. (And I’m not saying the feelings are in any sense ‘really’ for the mother, in their years of burial they have undergone all sorts of change, they have taken on a life of their own, they are not simply frozen in carbonite, a la Han Solo, to be later released in identical form.)
The narrative of romantic love, however, does not seem to fit the Rabbis of the Talmud, they do not seem to speak much of their wives, or acknowledge their spiritual dependence upon them. This relationship, so far as we can tell, is not the one that vitiates and sustains them, that leads them to feeling whole and complete.
If anything, it seems to occasion an entirely new cycle of denial and suppression, the strength of their need for their wives is held at arm’s length, they cling to an image of themselves as the superior and non-dependent sex.
So, as Freud might put it, where do we see the ‘return of the repressed’? What is the displaced object to which they turn now, what object is deemed legitimate for the outpouring of all that pent up emotion?
We had a couple of hints yesterday, on 47b we mentioned both the Ark containing the Torah and Shabbat as being possibly able to complete a Zimun, something a women cannot do. These objects are deemed to possibly have more reality than a woman, they may replace her and presume her role in religious practice. They are psychological objects, their physical reality is hardly noteworthy, but the role they might play is profound and very real. The whole thing could well have been scripted by Melanie Klein.
Today it gets richer. We have the curious story of Shimon ben Shetach who was brought before King Alexander Yannai to say grace, after Yannai had slaughtered the rest of the sages. There follows a most interesting exchange:
The King said to him: Do you see how much honour I am according you?
He responded: It is not you who honours me; rather, the Torah honours me, as it is written:
“Hug her to you and she will exalt you; she will bring you honour when you embrace her” (Proverbs 4:8).
Yannai said to his wife: You see that he does not accept authority.
In a moment of impudent denial, one which very might well demand our respect, he turns to Torah, and speaks of her, yes, her, in the most maternal and feminine terms imaginable.
Even Yannai can see that this is what he is doing, that he relates to the Torah in such a way that he denies all other authority, that he repudiates his possible dependencies.
Now of course he may be right to deny Yannai any role in his honour, but I am fascinated by the discussion of denial per se, it resonates so clearly with all that we have been speaking of.
Returning to this idea of Torah, he is describing nothing less than an embrace of the feminine. I mean, this is almost too straightforward, he is both talking literally about it and also at the same time talking figuratively about it. He and his male culture may disdain womanhood, he doesn’t show his sister much love in the story, but they are clear that the feminine is to be embraced. But only in one guise, in the guise of Torah.
Torah is the displaced object, in Torah we have found the return of the repressed.
I have been impressed by the number of quotes throughout the Talmud from the book of Proverbs, which is not, sadly, much studied nowadays. On today’s daf it gets further attention too. But going back to its opening lines, we see this connection to the maternal being made quite explicit:
Listen, my son, to the ethic of your father, and do not abandon the Torah of your mother. (1:8)
The Torah belongs with, is identified with the mother, and we are commanded not to abandon it. Through keeping alive the connection with Torah, our bond with the mother continues, however hidden and denied it might become.
Perhaps the original intention was for a healthy identification, the two could exist together, love of the mother and love of Torah. But it seems that in later years the identification changed, it became a problematic identification, the sort that hides and disguises something, that keeps reality at bay. The Torah replaces the mother, it becomes her surrogate, her Oedipal successor.
I am fascinated and struck by the fact that the word Torah is feminine in gender, and cannot but help think that this is no co-incidence, no random fact, but that it reveals a source of our deep connection with it.
We later mention another verse from Proverbs:
For I have given you good instruction, do not abandon my Torah (4:2)
And knowing the liturgy as we do, this cannot but help remind of two verses which just proceed it:
She is a tree of life to those who grasp her, and whoever holds on to her is happy.
Her ways are pleasant ways, and all her paths peaceful. (3:18,17)
The feminine lives in the Torah, and I cannot shake the feeling that the Rabbis we see in the Talmud have taken this in the wrong way, that they have adapted to their gendered culture through embracing Torah but remaining unconscious of its feminine roots.
We are to hold on to the feminine, to embrace it, for her ways are pleasant and she brings peace. The feminine is truly the tree, the root, the foundation of life; if we do not abandon it, but embrace it, it will bring us the honour and respect that we crave.
Torah and the feminine are one, so it seems absurd that we cannot accord the same respect to the physical embodiment of the feminine, to our women, as we do to Torah In making this clearer to our eyes, in the intellectual enlightenment that feminism has helped us with, I believe we have witnessed an act of continuous revelation, of the Divine truth gradually emerging through the ages.
Let us cling to this truth, for only through doing so will our Judaism root, flourish and live.