SAN DIEGO—If I am to be honest with you, I am no feminist.  In fact, I often find feminists to be overzealous whiners citing their gender as the source of every injustice they have ever faced; creating conflict even when there is none.  Needless to say, I didn’t expect Anita Diamant, advertised as the feminist author of the best selling novel The Red Tent (yes, referring to the biblical tent women were quarantined to during their periods) to be my cup of tea.  As I found my seat among over 800 other Jewish women at a recent UJF Options event, I prepared myself for the radical feminist mantra that I love oh so dearly.  But much to my pleasant surprise it never came.  I was shocked to find that not only did I enjoy Diamant’s talk, but I identified with the message she conveyed.

Clearly comfortable at a podium, Diamant spoke with the experience of a few book tours under her belt, but without a trace of repetition or boredom.  When referring to the infamous red tent (which, she admit, was her own dramatic creation based on truth), Diamant asked the audience what the heck everyone was complaining about.  Hell, I’d love to get one week a month off just to relax and ‘cleanse’, she claimed.  As the women around me giggled in agreement, I breathed a sigh of relief.  Humor and sanity, I thought, she is a keeper.

A half-glass-full woman, Diamant doesn’t attempt to dwell on woman’s inequality in the Bible and today, but rather “bring[s] to life these women about whom the Bible tells us so little.” (Booklist)  Life to her is a celebration, and gosh darnit, Anita Diamant is determined to get everyone dancing.  Why complain about what was when you can change what is?  Diamant spoke of the additions to her Seder plate, including an orange, to represent the role of women and the LGTB community within Judaism.  This orange has always been at home on our Seder plates, but the story I was told was that someone had claimed a woman rabbi made just as much sense as an orange on the Seder plate.  So what would we do?  Put an orange there of course, that would show them!  It was always a somewhat bitter, ‘so there!’ sentiment.  But Diamant’s presentation of it was without any resentment or anger; it was simply an addition to celebrate what was forgotten.  To give a voice to the silent, as the Los Angeles Times put it.  Leave it to Diamant to put an optimistic spin on your usual feminist mantras.
           
Later Diamant took a more serious tone, and as she told the story about how one abused woman’s tragedy turned into the gift of a pluralistic Mikvah, you could see the empathy in the eyes of every over-active, philanthropic, board member in the room.  That is for the split second before the ‘we need one now’…‘I will start a committee’…’it’s the next big thing!’ buzz swept through the room.  It was like someone told a bunch of twelve-year old girls that Hannah Montana would totally come visit if they could find a cool enough hangout.  These middle, and not so middle, aged women could barely restrain themselves; the excitement was just too much. 

But I will admit it; although I don’t identify with that crowd, I too, felt a sense of excitement when Diamant spoke.  Anita Diamant is an infectious speaker, and managed to resonate both with ardent feminists and their intellectual arch rivals, to the fidgeting tweens and their grandmothers, to the fashionista wives and the color blind fashion challenged; Diamant’s wit and charisma grabbed us all.

Jaffe is a senior at the San Diego Jewish Academy















REFLECTIONS

Sharing the Dessert:  The Last Grand Jeté

By Sheila Orysiek

SAN DIEGO—Unlike Torah Study - which has no end - we as human beings do have completions, not only to our existence but to the parts of our existence, the various segments of our lives.  As I’ve gone through my life’s parashot, I try to understand that there is a beginning, middle and an end to everything.  The important thing is to realize it and relish each part of the meal as well as the dessert.  When I see the Rabbi re-roll the Torah Scroll to begin a new year, it is comforting to know this will always happen whether I live to witness it or not.  But, since such a re-rolling will not happen to me it is imperative that each turn through my life be appreciated.

By the time I approached the final segment of my dance career; I had been studying, dancing and teaching ballet for almost four decades.  Every morning found me in ballet class, every afternoon and most evenings I was busy teaching, rehearsing and performing.  Through the years my dedication had grown rather than diminished.  I often wondered how I would ever give this up as time would eventually require that I do.  How to stop glorying in a well executed sequence of pirouettes or feeling my soul expand as I opened up into arabesque; how to stop loving the pleasure of soaring through the air in a fully split jump - a grand jeté?

Slowly through the 1990's the inevitable happened, not as a screeching halt, but rather as a measured physical slow down; a slackening of  the flow of energy I had always so reliably - so easily - been able to call upon.  At first it was so gradual that I only noticed it occasionally, often attributing it to being "tired" that day, or perhaps nursing an oncoming cold.  I didn't yet see it as the beginning of the end.

However, by the later 1990’s it became undeniable even to me.  When we needed to do a combination eight times, I would be content with four repetitions.  Sometimes I sat down between exercises at the barre.  Occasionally, I found I needed to psyche myself up to go to class at all - so different from the excitement which had consumed me previously. Particularly strenuous enchainements (dance sequences) which were a challenge I had heretofore eagerly sought, I now approached with hesitation. 

It didn't help that at the college in which I was taking these final classes, I was the most advanced dancer and consequently had no one against whom to measure myself.  I had come to the college class near the beginning of my career, left for many years to pursue more aggressive, professional and complex ballet classes, and then returned to the college class at the end of my career, when all I wanted was the simple pleasure of dance class without much stress.  I called it “my well earned dessert.” This worked well for me at the end of the career, but I did miss having someone else in class to inspire me, compete with me and help me keep up a standard.

That final year, right before spring break, a dancer on vacation from New York City showed up at the college ballet class.  As is true of most serious dancers a vacation doesn't mean not taking any ballet classes - just less per day.  She was beautiful.  I was so happy to see her.  At last I had someone with whom to share the front of the room; someone who was capable of dancing at my level.

In fact she was far younger and far more beautiful than I - but she was not more advanced technically - or may I say - artistically.  Simply due to my greater age and the length of my dancing career there were actually some things in which I surpassed her such as port de bras (movement of the arms - a crucial ballet component) and overall nuance and style.  This does not subtract from her beauty - I had just been dancing much longer than she. 

As we went through the various dance sequences in the center (after the barre work was completed), sharing the front line between us, we each enjoyed the presence of the other.  She was surprised to find someone as advanced as I in a college class, and typical of true dancers, it increased her pleasure in taking the class.  She told me so.

On the last day of her visit to San Diego, we came to the point toward the end of the class when we undertook the final grand allegro (big sweeping movements and jumps) moving down the entire diagonal of the large studio.  The teacher had set a marvelous enchainement which ended with three huge grand jetés.  This is the part of class which is the capstone of enjoyment for every ballet dancer - all the work leads up to this.  But, of late my grand allegros had been shrinking, taxing my physical ability to push off with the old effortless strength. I often had to psyche myself up to the moment.  What had been a dessert was becoming a task.

So, there we were, she and I, standing at the head of the diagonal, lead foot in tendu devant (pointed front) in preparation. As the pianist played the opening bars of a sweeping Tchaikovsky waltz, it suddenly occurred to me that at my age, this was probably the last time I would go down the diagonal in a grand allegro with someone who was close to my technical equal; someone to give me that inspirational push to soar - someone with whom to share the pleasure. 

I told myself, this is it - the last time.  I vowed that I would gather up my diminishing strength and give it my all; one final flight.  The waltz grew and off we went. Traditionally, in a sequence of three grand jetés, they grow in amplitude, with the last being the largest of which the dancer is capable.  My first grand jeté was fine; the second was better and then came the final of the three.  I pushed off and as of old my body took off, feet strongly pointing, head up, torso beautifully erect - a full split in the air which hung for a suspended moment - a suspended reminder of my youth.

In that moment of suspension I had time to glance in the mirror and saw the two of us, this lovely young dancer and I, in the air and at that instant in time she and I looked at one another in the mirror and smiled - one to the other.  And that picture in the mirror will remain with me forever: our matched bodies, the suspended motion, the full splits, and our smiles.  It was a bookend to my first grand jeté forty years before.

I hope she went on to a splendid career.  For me, though I continued to take class for several more years, it was my last truly grand jeté.  There were a few more, but none so grand.  My personal Torah cannot be re-rolled.

Orysiek is a freelance writer based in San Diego