October 14, 2021

What is the value of a wife’s contribution to her husband’s career? This issue stood at the center of Wendt v. Wendt, a divorce that ignited a national debate on the role of “corporate wives,” women who devoted themselves to their husbands’ careers.

Lorna and Gary Wendt met in high school and both attended the University of Wisconsin. They were engaged in college, and married once Lorna graduated. In 1995, after thirty years of marriage, Gary asked for a divorce. In court, the arguments focused on how to value Lorna Wendt’s contribution to her husband’s career.  The Wall Street Journal summarized the arguments as “Mrs. Wendt, 54 years old, testified that she contributed to a 50-50 partnership: giving her husband advice on job applicants, hostessing lavish parties and making small talk with foreign dignitaries … Mr. Wendt, 55, who has had a stellar 21-year career at GE, insisted the family’s fortune came from his hard work, not his wife’s housekeeping.” In the end, the judge accepted many of Lorna Wendt’s arguments; the “invisible work” that she did was a personal investment in her husband’s career that deserved to be recognized.

Invisible work is very much a part of rabbinic households. Shuly Rubin Schwartz, the Chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary, wrote “The Rabbi’s Wife,” a history of American rebbetzins. In it, she follows the role of the rebbetzin through the past century and a half. One model, common in the 1920s, is what Rubin Schwartz calls “the power behind the throne.” Rebekah Kohut, the wife of Rabbi Alexander Kohut and a brilliant and accomplished woman in her own right, advised rabbi’s wives to “hide their own ability behind the personality of their husband” and to recognize that the rabbi’s wife, “though unheard and unsung, will have played a tremendous part in this immortality if she will be alive to the mission of her husband.” Another model, which gained popularity in the ’40s and ’50s, is “the two for the price of one” rebbetzin. Very often rabbinic wives specifically married rabbis because they wanted a leadership role in Jewish communal work.  Many of these rebbetzins were also scholars and teachers, such as Tamar de Sola Pool. The daughter of a remarkable Talmid Chacham, Rabbi Chaim Hirschensohn, she wrote and published extensively. It was a different time, and these rebbetzins no longer felt the need to always turn the spotlight back on their husbands. Their invisible work is a bit more visible, and these rabbis and rebbetzins comprise what has been called a “two-person single career.” But in the 1960s, discontent with the rebbetzin’s role began to arise. Many women began to resent  having their own identities submerged under their husband’s choice of career. Rubin Schwartz cites examples of rabbis’ wives insisting that they not be called rebbetzins, and not be given any role in the synagogue. At the end of her book, she notes that the rebbetzin no longer exists in the Conservative and Reform movements; although in Orthodox Judaism, particularly in Chabad, the wives of rabbis often play a significant role in the community.

Invisible work is very much a part of rabbinic households.

The question of how to assess the rebbetzin’s role is already discussed in the Talmud under the topic of “eishet chaver k’chaver”: the wife of a scholar has the same status as a scholar. The Talmud relates that Rav Nachman stood to honor the wife of Rav Huna. The Sdei Chemed, an encyclopedic work written by Haim Hezekiah Medini, cites a debate related to this passage: must one stand for the scholar’s wife if the scholar has died and she is a widow? Can she waive the honor due to her? As usual, opinions vary, and there are rabbis who take either side of these questions. In reading their arguments, a clear delineation appears; it depends on how one perceives the scholar’s wife, and the invisible, intangible work that she does. One possibility is that we stand for the wife as the scholar’s representative, and that is an indirect way of showing honor for the scholar.

If this analysis is true, then one need not stand for the widow of a scholar, for the scholar is no longer living. But there is another point of view: the wife of a scholar has the same status as a scholar because she is his life partner, and her husband’s achievements belong to her as well. I find this second view to be compelling; in the Talmud, Rabbi Akiva tells his students how important his own wife was to his Torah learning, and exclaims that “my Torah knowledge and yours belong to her.” A scholar’s wife is his coach and creative influence, his companion and caregiver. This may be invisible work, but there are many Halakhic opinions that recognize that the scholar’s wife is a full partner in his achievements.

The concept of invisible work is critical to how one reads the Parsha. It is easy to overlook Sarah as she stands in support of Avraham. She certainly is a good helpmate, who deserves credit for her unwavering support. But Sarah is much more than that. Not only does she do invisible work in support of her husband, but also she is an invisible hero who bears the brunt of Avraham’s sacrifices. The Mishna notes that Avraham’s faith is tried by God ten times; but a closer look at the Parsha recognizes that Sarah faced far greater challenges.

But there is another point of view: the wife of a scholar has the same status as a scholar because she is his life partner, and her husband’s achievements belong to her as well.

When they arrive in Egypt, Avraham asks Sarah to say she is Avraham’s sister, so Avraham might live. But what if Pharaoh takes Sarah anyway? Clearly, there was no exit strategy for Sarah, only Avraham; and undoubtedly, Sarah knew this. Without God’s intervention, Sarah would have remained a captive in Pharaoh’s harem while Avraham pursued his mission. (This test is repeated again later in Sarah’s life, when she is taken to the house of Avimelech; and without a clear exit strategy, Sarah is willing to sacrifice herself for Avraham once again.)

When Sarah sees how Avraham continually prays to God for a child, she makes another sacrifice. She offers Hagar as a concubine to Avraham, so he can have children; and this sacrifice is emotionally excruciating, one from which she never fully recovers. Sarah not only assists Avraham, but also she sacrifices herself completely for Avraham’s mission.

God sees Sarah’s sacrifices, and rescues her time and again. And at the end of the Parsha, something far more dramatic occurs. God changes Avraham’s name, from Avram to Avraham, to reflect his mission as “the father of a multitude of nations”; but he changes Sarah’s name as well, from Saray to Sarah, making it clear that she too is a full partner in this mission. The Midrash Rabbah remarks that Sarah was the true leader of the family, and offers the following insight: “Rabbi Yehoshua Ben Korcha said: ‘The letter Yud that the Holy One of Blessing took from Sarai was given half to Sarah, and half to Avraham”; Sarah’s yud, with a numerical of ten, was divided into two letter “heys” with a numerical value of five. One is given to Avraham, and the other to Sarah. This letter “hey” is a metaphor for their relationship; it is Sarah’s contribution that makes Avram into Avraham, and shapes their unique mission.

Because the narrative in the Torah focuses mostly on Avraham, it is easy to overlook that the sacrifices Sarah makes are more exceptional. Invisible work is often undervalued; and so are invisible heroes like Sarah.

Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz is the Senior Rabbi of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in New York.

Last week the European Commission, the Executive Branch of the  European Union, unveiled a new comprehensive EU Strategy on combating antisemitism and fostering Jewish life to address a significant increase in incidents around the 27-country bloc. While the United States has seen a similar trajectory, our federal government has yet to develop an encompassing governmental response to the problem. Perhaps the EU will inspire the U.S.

On a practical level, the EU proposal contains a number of concrete suggestions—including annual stakeholder forums designed to maximize the effect of joint actions and funding, and additional resources dedicated to better understanding and tracking the spread of online hate—that could aid in the fight against domestic antisemitism. More broadly, it addresses three crucial areas in which U.S. federal and state policy have been lacking: defining, monitoring and preventing antisemitism.

First, the Commission actively encourages all member states to adopt the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition of antisemitism, an essential tool used to determine its contemporary manifestations. The federal government does use the definition, but some politicians have been hesitant to embrace it because among its illustrations of things that could contextually be antisemitic are examples of problematic anti-Zionism, and these officials are ostensibly concerned that embracing IHRA would somehow stifle speech. That argument, however, is a legal red herring and the EU did not take the bait.

Aside from the fact that IHRA itself distinguishes between criticizing Israel and antisemitism, the use of a definition alone simply does not silence any speech—it just allows people to label it correctly. You cannot fight what you can’t define, and what the EU got right is that the IHRA definition is helpful precisely because it includes those useful examples of discriminatory anti-Israel acts that can cross the line into antisemitism—for example, “holding Jews collectively responsible for actions of the state of Israel.” No one who labels sexist speech sexist, or racist speech racist is accused of stifling speech. In fact, officials are often praised for using their own speech to condemn these types of (legal) expression, without crossing the line into censorship. Our government should, consistent with the First Amendment, follow the EU’s lead and actively promote the implementation of IHRA in anti-discrimination policies at all levels. If necessary, they can even issue a handbook (like the EU did) for IHRA’s practical use. Meanwhile, passing the bi-partisan bi-cameral Anti-Semitism Awareness Act, which reaffirms the use of IHRA on campus, would be a great step in this direction.

Next the EU recognized that under current reporting standards it is challenging to obtain reliable and comparable data on antisemitic incidents. The new plan commits resources to help Member States improve and align their methodologies for consistently recording, collecting and assessing information on hate crimes, including antisemitism. But those in the EU are not the only ones experiencing this problem.

In the U.S., under the Hate Crime Statistics Act (modified by The Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act), the Attorney General, through the FBI, is tasked with monitoring crimes in which there was “manifest evidence of prejudice” against the victim’s race, religion, disability, sexual orientation or ethnicity. The FBI  relies on local law enforcement agencies to submit data, but thousands opt out of the reporting, and, according to one report, even “among the 15,000 that do, some 88 percent reported they had no hate crimes.”

Standardized and aligning methodologies for federal reporting of bias incidents—including but not limited to the use of IHRA—would be helpful in making sure that the statistics about antisemitism more accurately reflect reality. 

One issue is the lack of definitions: That same report found that “investigators frequently did not mark down incidents as motivated by bias, even if there was evidence suggesting this was so—a spray-painted swastika, for example, might be classified simply as vandalism and not also as a hate crime.” In 2019 (i.e. just before COVID), the number of agencies participating further declined, but the number of reported hate crimes actually rose by 113 percent, including a 14 percent increase in anti-Jewish hate crimes. All across the country 63 percent of the total reported religion-based crimes were directed against Jewish people and institutions, and one can only imagine the real number. Standardized and aligning methodologies for federal reporting of bias incidents—including but not limited to the use of IHRA—would be helpful in making sure that the statistics about antisemitism more accurately reflect reality. 

Finally, the EU plan contains several affirmative steps to attempt to prevent antisemitic sentiments from flourishing. Acknowledging that ignorance and indifference are key culprits, it lays out a number of educational initiatives focused on celebrating Jewish life, culture and societal contributions, while raising awareness about antisemitism and the Holocaust. It also calls for the Commission to ascertain that there is no antisemitism in EU textbooks or classrooms, and to ensure that EU funds are not allocated to antisemitic activities. 

If only the U.S. would do the same.

In stark contrast, the same week the EU established these programs, Governor Gavin Newsom signed California’s Assembly Bill 101 into law, making ethnic studies a high school graduation requirement. While there is nothing inherently wrong about the idea, the first draft of the bill’s model curriculum was so stunningly, openly antisemitic that Newsom himself apologized on behalf of the State, called it “offensive in so many ways, particularly to the Jewish community,” and vowed the draft “would never see the light of day.” Legislators redid the course to make it less objectionable, and appended seven amendments to confirm against anti-Jewish hate being taught. As Tammi Rossman-Benjamin has noted, “the fact that no less than seven “guardrails” were deemed necessary for preventing AB 101 from facilitating the widespread promotion of antisemitism is itself a stunning indictment of the bill and the dangers it poses for Jewish students and the Jewish community.”  But aside from that, as the LA Times warned, these measures will actually do absolutely nothing. The bill still allows schools to use their own curricula, and multiple districts and teachers’ unions have already signed statements promising to use the original, highly antisemitic, version of the course.

But apparently, as the AMCHA Initiative (an organization which fought against the bill) explained, the concerns of hundreds of Holocaust survivors and their descendants, dozens of religious, civil rights and education organizations, thousands of Californians, and hundreds of students and parents begging the government to protect them and their families from state-sponsored antisemitism simply did not matter enough.

It did not have to be this way. For example, the bill could have just required schools to use the new model, or to submit their own curriculums for review. But apparently, as the AMCHA Initiative (an organization which fought against the bill) explained,  the concerns of hundreds of Holocaust survivors and their descendants, dozens of religious, civil rights and education organizations, thousands of Californians, and hundreds of students and parents begging the government to protect them and their families from state-sponsored antisemitism simply did not matter enough. The onus now shifts to Jewish parents and children in each of California’s 13,000 school districts to fend for themselves against the harmful and long-lasting effects of antisemitic material being taught to their children in a state-mandated class. 

Unless, of course, the federal government, like the EU, steps in where they can and should.  

Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 prohibits discrimination in federally assisted programs, and federal education funding is distributed to states and school districts through a variety of grants. A school district announcing its plans to teach discriminatory material is exposing itself to liability, and the Department of Education should proactively cut off funding from those who flaunt its rules. It should never have come to this, but the federal government must put these schools on notice that under Title VI they have an affirmative legal obligation to protect their Jewish students—even from their own teachers and unions if need be.  

The U.S. must do better, and do our part, in the global fight against antisemitism. That includes adopting and enforcing standards for defining, monitoring and preventing antisemitism. The tools are there, the time is now, and the EU has shown the way. 

If they can do it, so can we. 

Dr. Mark Goldfeder, Esq. is Director of the National Jewish Advocacy Center. He served as the Founding Editor of the Cambridge University Press Series on Law and Judaism.