Sometimes Feminist Scholarship Brings Us Poets We Wouldn't Have Seen Otherwise

By Rachel Morpurgo (1790-1871)

Before I grew old, when I wasn't asleep
I habitually lent my voice in song.
With Laban I lived, and therefore was late
Telling myself, this pain shall end.

I deliberated, hid my book,
Concealed my pen, and said, "Turn away."

I realized, in fact, it was futile to expect,
When I beheld the man's defiant speech.
Even as I suffered, day by day I yearned
And hoped for help from the Lord.

I attended a conference last week, the Clergy Institute on Judaism hosted by Temple Israel here in town. I'd never been to a synagogue before, and I'd certainly never been to a religious conference that wasn't Christian, and I have to say that it was an amazingly mind-stretching experience. (And kosher food can be yummy!)

Dr. Wendy Zierler spoke during the morning session on "And Rachel Stole the Idols: From Traditional Exegesis to Modern Feminist Interpretations." Towards the end of her lecture, she connected some of her conclusions about Rachel to some later poets who also bore the name Rachel. The poem above is an example. This particular poet, Rachel Morpurgo, was educated in the Hebrew Scriptures during a time when most women were not given those opportunities. She remained unmarried unti she was 29 (a ripe old age in her culture) because she kept refusing to marry the men her parents found for her because she was in love with a poor merchant (named, ironically, Jacob). They finally were allowed to marry. Her domestic responsibilities often took her away from her writing, but somehow she persevered in the late-night hours and her poetry endured. She began submitting her poetry to a journal whose editors wrote her snide, backhanded responses because she was a woman.

The poem loses some part of its beauty in the translation, of course. When I heard the Hebrew, I was spellbound. And yet in this lovely poem there is still an element of discontent. If you look at it in the original language, "habitually" (haschan) is the same word used in the story of Balaam's donkey in Numbers ("have I been in the habit of doing this?"), and this allusion is quite evident to a Jewish audience. Perhaps this is indicative of the idea that just as the donkey (who was not supposed to speak) opened her mouth and spoke, Rachel M (the woman, who was not supposed to write) opened her mouth to speak through verse. We see that she attempts to conceal the work of her pen, to be what she is expected to be rather than who she is, but ultimately she cannot. She must allow her voice to be expressed.

I like the poem. There's a part of me that identifies with her.