Judaism and the Dignity of Difference: Rethinking the Role of Women in Judaism
There’s a widespread misconception that Judaism views women as second-class. In media and casual conversation, religious women are often pitied and seen as victims of an outdated system. But is this view rooted in truth? Or is it a distortion of something far more nuanced?
The Missing Half
In the opening chapters of the Torah, in the description of Creation, the Hebrew word “tov” (“good”) appears repeatedly (eleven times!). But when God creates man, something changes: “It is not good for man to be alone” (Bereishit 2:18). In the entire episode of Creation, loneliness is the sole thing that is designated as “not good.” To resolve this crisis, God creates woman to be “a helper opposite him.”
What did woman bring to the world that man lacked?
The capacity for relationship.
By his nature, man is drawn outward. He is driven to conquer, build, and achieve. He is wired for professional success and social recognition. Woman, on the other hand, brings inward depth. She nurtures connection, relationships, and warmth.
In a world that values tangible, quantifiable achievements, it’s easy to admire the accomplishments associated with masculinity. The ones who embody this drive climb the corporate ladder, build careers, discover new frontiers, conquer challenges, and pursue self-fulfillment. Accordingly, when social norms shifted and women were given the opportunity to redefine their place in society, many who had felt constrained chose to chase traditionally male goals, because that’s what our world has come to value.
But God created femininity to ensure that the world would be influenced by another perspective too. According to Kabbalah, man alone is half a body. Woman and femininity are not subordinate to him. She is his other half, and she is essential to completing his humanity.
The goal of creation is to bring the complete human being—male and female together—to a state of wholeness. Man moves toward this goal through outward action that shapes his inner self. Woman reaches it by developing what’s already within her: the ability to build a home, cultivate relationships, and bring warmth and love into the world.
Quiet Power, Lasting Impact
Jewish tradition often points to the quiet but powerful influence women have. Though this power is often played out behind the scenes, it is no less transformative.
A Midrash tells of a righteous couple who, unable to have children, decide to separate. The man marries a wicked woman and becomes wicked himself. The woman marries a wicked man and turns him into a righteous man. The Sages conclude: “Everything depends on the woman” (Bereishit Rabbah 17).
Judaism doesn’t pit men and women against each other. It sees them as different. Each one has unique strengths and roles. While men may shape public history, women often shape the heart of the home and the soul of the community.
The Morning Blessings: A Misunderstood Contrast
In some ways, this difference in perspective is reflected in the morning blessings traditionally recited by men and women. Men say, “Blessed are You…Who did not make me a woman,” while women say, “Blessed are You…Who made me according to His will.”
At face value, this contrast can seem jarring or even offensive. Critics often point to the male blessing as chauvinistic and suggest that it places women on a lower tier. The woman’s blessing, by comparison, can appear like a second-rate consolation prize—a passive, default expression of acceptance.
In reality, the truth points to the opposite.
In Jewish thought, a woman represents a kind of spiritual wholeness that already exists. If we borrow the language of psychology, men are more often associated with “doing” (pursuing, achieving, and acting) while women are more closely aligned with “being” (rootedness, presence, and connection to the moment).
According to Jewish tradition, God created woman with an innate closeness to His will. That is why her morning blessing reads, “Who made me according to His will.” Rather than implying inferiority, it affirms a woman’s unique and intimate connection with the Divine.
So why do men say, “Who did not make me a woman”? The answer lies in man’s subjective obligation when it comes to mitzvot (Divine commandments). Men are obligated in many time-bound commandments from which women are exempt, such as tefillin, tzitzit, the sukkah, and others. When a man recites this blessing, he is not disparaging women. He is expressing gratitude for the unique set of obligations placed upon him.
These commandments serve as a spiritual scaffolding that guides and guards man within a framework of holiness. The woman, seen as naturally more spiritually attuned, does not require this same structured system.
Different Roles
Modern feminism often equates equality with uniformity and argues that women must match men achievement for achievement. But Judaism asks a different question. Why assume that one path is superior to the other?
Is being a fighter pilot or a CEO really more valuable than raising a child or building a home filled with warmth and values? The Jewish view is not about hierarchy; it’s about harmony.
Marriage is a partnership between two distinct, equally essential forces. Each contributes something the other cannot.
As Rabbi Eliyahu Kitov wrote in his book Ish U’Beito: “Man and woman are like two monarchs, each crowned in their own realm…two kinds of beings within humanity, each with its own role, rights, and greatness.”
A Closer Look at Difficult Texts
The Tanach, the Talmud, and other Jewish sacred writings are filled with verses and teachings that extoll the great worth and dignity of women. Yet some of these passages, when read superficially or out of context, can be misunderstood or misinterpreted in a way that seems to suggest the opposite.
As a case in point, consider two statements made by King Shlomo, the wisest of men. In one verse he writes, “He who finds a wife finds goodness” (Mishlei 18:22), while in another verse he says, “I find woman more bitter than death” (Kohelet 7:26). At first glance, these verses appear contradictory. But King Shlomo’s wording in the second verse is deliberate and meant to teach an important lesson about marriage. He doesn’t write, “Woman is more bitter than death.” Instead, he writes, “I find woman more bitter than death,” emphasizing that the difference between these two verses hinges on one key factor: the mindset one brings to a relationship.
If a man approaches marriage with the understanding that it’s about his wife—about giving to her, being devoted to her, and seeing her as a partner—then he will indeed find goodness. In turn, a woman who feels cherished will naturally give of herself in return. But, if one approaches marriage focused on himself—what he can take or gain—then the relationship will quickly turn bitter. King Shlomo’s statement teaches that a marriage grounded in ego (the “I find” attitude) leads to suffering, while a marriage that is about humility and caring for one another will promote harmony and peace.
Another statement that can sound troubling at first is found in the Talmud: “A woman is a flask filled with filth, and yet everyone runs after her” (Shabbat 152a). Taken literally, this excerpt sounds degrading. But in context, it conveys something very different. What is the most painful thing that can happen to a married woman? Infidelity. Nothing wounds her more deeply. To safeguard the bond between husband and wife, the Sages advised men facing temptation to look at other women in unflattering terms, so that they would feel revulsion rather than desire. Far from insulting women, this teaching is meant to protect them by preserving fidelity and protecting the family unit.
In fact, Jewish texts go out of their way to elevate a man’s view of his wife. The Zohar states: “She
For most of human history, women were considered inferior to men. In societies that valued physical strength and endurance above all else, men naturally took on more prominent roles. Yet, even in societies governed by these social norms, Judaism consistently upheld the dignity and worth of women.
The Torah established numerous safeguards to protect women’s rights. For example, the ketubah (Jewish marriage contract) obligates a husband to provide for his wife in the event of divorce. Orphaned girls were granted greater financial privileges than their orphaned brothers (Mishnah Ketubot 13:3), and daughters enjoyed certain financial advantages over sons (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Ishut 20).
The Sages explain that women were endowed with an extra measure of wisdom and intuition (Niddah 45b). When King Shlomo praised the ideal wife, he began with the words, “A woman of valor, who can find?” and went on to list her natural talents and strengths. In Jewish tradition, these verses are still sung by husbands every Friday night at the Shabbat table. Together, these examples reveal a tradition that grants women a place of honor and dignity far beyond the shallow portrayals so often assumed.
The Torah is filled with accounts of extraordinary women. Sarah, our matriarch, is considered the greatest of Israel’s prophetesses. Avraham was explicitly told: “Whatever Sarah tells you, listen to her voice” (Bereishit 21:12). Rashi, one of the foremost commentators on the Torah and Talmud, explained based on the Talmud that Avraham’s prophetic stature was secondary to Sarah’s. Likewise, Rashi explained that the verse “And Avram listened to the voice of Sarai” (Bereishit 16:2) referred to the Divine Spirit within her.
Another remarkable figure is Miriam the Prophetess, sister of Moshe and Aharon. In her merit, the Israelites were provided with water in the wilderness for forty years. After the splitting of the sea, when Moshe led the men in song, Miriam called upon the women to sing their own unique song: “And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aharon, took a tambourine in her hand; and all the women went out after her with tambourines and with dances” (Shemot 15:20). The Sages wonder: how did the women have tambourines with them at the Exodus? They explain that the women’s righteousness and faith were so strong that they never doubted God would perform miracles for the people. Confident in their belief, they brought tambourines with them, eagerly anticipating the songs of praise they would sing when the time came.
The Talmud frequently notes that the Sages did not make major decisions without first consulting their wives. Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, for example, sought his wife’s counsel before accepting the position of Nasi, the leader of the Jewish people (Berachot 27b). The Talmud also teaches, “A man without a wife lives without joy, without blessing, without goodness” (Yevamot 62b). Our Sages further ruled that a man must love his wife as he loves himself and honor her even more than himself, a principle codified by the Rambam (Maimonides) in the Mishneh Torah.
This respect was not theoretical. The late Rabbi Yaakov Edelstein, the longtime rabbi of Ramat Hasharon, never gave a lecture, attended an event, or made a decision without first seeking his wife’s blessing and perspective. Far from demeaning, this reflects the deep honor Judaism accords women.
Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, one of the foremost Torah leaders in America, recited kaddish for his wife for six years after her passing, though Jewish custom requires only one. When his students questioned him, noting that Jewish law discourages prolonged mourning, he replied simply, “But what can I do?”—a poignant glimpse into the strength of their bond.
Similarly, the Lubavitcher Rebbe set aside time every day to share a cup of tea with his wife despite his overwhelming responsibilities. He told his chasidim: “I treat my cup of tea with my wife at least as seriously as I treat the mitzvah of putting on tefillin.”
Devorah the Prophetess is described in the Tanach as a “woman of torches.” She was given this title because her husband, Barak, was a simple man who didn’t merit studying Torah, and she helped him fulfill his share in spiritual life. As the Midrash teaches: “The husband of Devorah was an unlearned man. She said to him, ‘Come, and I will make wicks for you to bring to the Mishkan in Shilo. Then your portion will be among the righteous, and you will merit eternal life.’ She would prepare the wicks, and he would carry them to the Mishkan.”
The Tanach describes how Devorah judged the people of Israel and even led them to victory against Sisera’s army, which had long oppressed the nation. Ultimately, Sisera himself was defeated not on the battlefield but by Yael, the wife of Chever the Kenite. When Sisera fled the battle, he sought refuge at Yael’s tent due to a peace treaty between the king of Chazor and the house of Chever. Yael went out to greet him warmly and invited him into her tent. Once he had fallen into a deep sleep, she courageously killed him, turning his misplaced trust into Israel’s triumph.
Story
Restrictions That Free
By Dina Bacharach
“Don’t you feel like your life is restricted?”
“Aren’t there way too many things that you have to do?”
“Is there anything in your life that you wish you could do, but you can’t because you’re religious?”
The questions came hurtling toward me, one after the next. Hayley, Olga, Julie, and Kelly were on a roll. Each question posed was followed by another one—they were snowballing at me!
Olga, Hayley, Kelly, Julie, and I sit around in a circle on the grass, with the warm May sun beating down on us. With sunscreen on, in tank tops and shorts, the girls relax as they tan and talk. And then there is me, with my long-sleeved shirt and skirt. I stick out like a sore thumb among these women who are just a few years younger than me. But they feel comfortable sharing with me their perspective on what it looks like to peer into the religious world of Judaism.
They came on a college trip, sponsored by a religious Zionist organization, to explore and tour Israel, to hopefully become advocates for Israel on their college campuses, and to learn about Judaism. We are “Partners”—partners in searching for meaning and understanding in Judaism. We are meeting together to dispel myths about religious people and openly discuss questions about Torah and God. Most of all, we meet to bond as Jewish women.
Our fifth session together was challenging and invigorating. With each session, we had grown closer to one another. The shyness had worn off as we charged forward in search of answers, voicing doubts and absorbing new concepts.
Their questions made me think hard, and they helped me to reclarify my way of life. This was an exciting new experience for me, and I needed to learn on the spot how to explain my beliefs and feelings in an understandable manner.</
In the language of Kabbalah, “male” and “female” are archetypal concepts and abstract, spiritual designations. The male represents the giver, while the female represents the receiver. The categories of “male” and “female” exist on every level of reality, including the most elevated spiritual realms. On the physical plane, they manifest as men and women, but their meaning extends far beyond these biological forms. Each person, at different times, is sometimes a giver (for example, a lecturer teaching students who imparts knowledge to them) and sometimes a receiver (for example, a customer in a store). The “giver” may at another point become the “receiver,” and vice versa.
Kabbalah explains that men are generally characterized by the qualities of giving, while women are more closely associated with receiving. Yet both are essential forces, and each must be integrated with the other to reach harmony.
For most of human history, women were considered inferior to men. In societies that valued physical strength and endurance above all else, men naturally took on more prominent roles. Yet, even in societies governed by these social norms, Judaism consistently upheld the dignity and worth of women.
The Torah established numerous safeguards to protect women’s rights. For example, the ketubah (Jewish marriage contract) obligates a husband to provide for his wife in the event of divorce. Orphaned girls were granted greater financial privileges than their orphaned brothers (Mishnah Ketubot 13:3), and daughters enjoyed certain financial advantages over sons (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Ishut 20).
The Sages explain that women were endowed with an extra measure of wisdom and intuition (Niddah 45b). When King Shlomo praised the ideal wife, he began with the words, “A woman of valor, who can find?” and went on to list her natural talents and strengths. In Jewish tradition, these verses are still sung by husbands every Friday night at the Shabbat table. Together, these examples reveal a tradition that grants women a place of honor and dignity far beyond the shallow portrayals so often assumed.
The Talmud frequently notes that the Sages did not make major decisions without first consulting their wives. Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, for example, sought his wife’s counsel before accepting the position of Nasi, the leader of the Jewish people (Berachot 27b). The Talmud also teaches, “A man without a wife lives without joy, without blessing, without goodness” (Yevamot 62b). Our Sages further ruled that a man must love his wife as he loves himself and honor her even more than himself, a principle codified by the Rambam (Maimonides) in the Mishneh Torah.
This respect was not theoretical. The late Rabbi Yaakov Edelstein, the longtime rabbi of Ramat Hasharon, never gave a lecture, attended an event, or made a decision without first seeking his wife’s blessing and perspective. Far from demeaning, this reflects the deep honor Judaism accords women.
Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, one of the foremost Torah leaders in America, recited kaddish for his wife for six years after her passing, though Jewish custom requires only one. When his students questioned him, noting that Jewish law discourages prolonged mourning, he replied simply, “But what can I do?”—a poignant glimpse into the strength of their bond.
Similarly, the Lubavitcher Rebbe set aside time every day to share a cup of tea with his wife despite his overwhelming responsibilities. He told his chasidim: “I treat my cup of tea with my wife at least as seriously as I treat the mitzvah of putting on tefillin.”
In the language of Kabbalah, “male” and “female” are archetypal concepts and abstract, spiritual designations. The male represents the giver, while the female represents the receiver. The categories of “male” and “female” exist on every level of reality, including the most elevated spiritual realms. On the physical plane, they manifest as men and women, but their meaning extends far beyond these biological forms. Each person, at different times, is sometimes a giver (for example, a lecturer teaching students who imparts knowledge to them) and sometimes a receiver (for example, a customer in a store). The “giver” may at another point become the “receiver,” and vice versa.
Kabbalah explains that men are generally characterized by the qualities of giving, while women are more closely associated with receiving. Yet both are essential forces, and each must be integrated with the other to reach harmony.
The Torah is filled with accounts of extraordinary women. Sarah, our matriarch, is considered the greatest of Israel’s prophetesses. Avraham was explicitly told: “Whatever Sarah tells you, listen to her voice” (Bereishit 21:12). Rashi, one of the foremost commentators on the Torah and Talmud, explained based on the Talmud that Avraham’s prophetic stature was secondary to Sarah’s. Likewise, Rashi explained that the verse “And Avram listened to the voice of Sarai” (Bereishit 16:2) referred to the Divine Spirit within her.
Another remarkable figure is Miriam the Prophetess, sister of Moshe and Aharon. In her merit, the Israelites were provided with water in the wilderness for forty years. After the splitting of the sea, when Moshe led the men in song, Miriam called upon the women to sing their own unique song: “And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aharon, took a tambourine in her hand; and all the women went out after her with tambourines and with dances” (Shemot 15:20). The Sages wonder: how did the women have tambourines with them at the Exodus? They explain that the women’s righteousness and faith were so strong that they never doubted God would perform miracles for the people. Confident in their belief, they brought tambourines with them, eagerly anticipating the songs of praise they would sing when the time came.
Devorah the Prophetess is described in the Tanach as a “woman of torches.” She was given this title because her husband, Barak, was a simple man who didn’t merit studying Torah, and she helped him fulfill his share in spiritual life. As the Midrash teaches: “The husband of Devorah was an unlearned man. She said to him, ‘Come, and I will make wicks for you to bring to the Mishkan in Shilo. Then your portion will be among the righteous, and you will merit eternal life.’ She would prepare the wicks, and he would carry them to the Mishkan.”
The Tanach describes how Devorah judged the people of Israel and even led them to victory against Sisera’s army, which had long oppressed the nation. Ultimately, Sisera himself was defeated not on the battlefield but by Yael, the wife of Chever the Kenite. When Sisera fled the battle, he sought refuge at Yael’s tent due to a peace treaty between the king of Chazor and the house of Chever. Yael went out to greet him warmly and invited him into her tent. Once he had fallen into a deep sleep, she courageously killed him, turning his misplaced trust into Israel’s triumph.
Story
Restrictions That Free
By Dina Bacharach
“Don’t you feel like your life is restricted?”
“Aren’t there way too many things that you have to do?”
“Is there anything in your life that you wish you could do, but you can’t because you’re religious?”
The questions came hurtling toward me, one after the next. Hayley, Olga, Julie, and Kelly were on a roll. Each question posed was followed by another one—they were snowballing at me!
Olga, Hayley, Kelly, Julie, and I sit around in a circle on the grass, with the warm May sun beating down on us. With sunscreen on, in tank tops and shorts, the girls relax as they tan and talk. And then there is me, with my long-sleeved shirt and skirt. I stick out like a sore thumb among these women who are just a few years younger than me. But they feel comfortable sharing with me their perspective on what it looks like to peer into the religious world of Judaism.
They came on a college trip, sponsored by a religious Zionist organization, to explore and tour Israel, to hopefully become advocates for Israel on their college campuses, and to learn about Judaism. We are “Partners”—partners in searching for meaning and understanding in Judaism. We are meeting together to dispel myths about religious people and openly discuss questions about Torah and God. Most of all, we meet to bond as Jewish women.
Our fifth session together was challenging and invigorating. With each session, we had grown closer to one another. The shyness had worn off as we charged forward in search of answers, voicing doubts and absorbing new concepts.
Their questions made me think hard, and they helped me to reclarify my way of life. This was an exciting new experience for me, and I needed to learn on the spot how to explain my beliefs and feelings in an understandable manner.</
By Dina Bacharach
“Don’t you feel like your life is restricted?”
“Aren’t there way too many things that you have to do?”
“Is there anything in your life that you wish you could do, but you can’t because you’re religious?”
The questions came hurtling toward me, one after the next. Hayley, Olga, Julie, and Kelly were on a roll. Each question posed was followed by another one—they were snowballing at me!
Olga, Hayley, Kelly, Julie, and I sit around in a circle on the grass, with the warm May sun beating down on us. With sunscreen on, in tank tops and shorts, the girls relax as they tan and talk. And then there is me, with my long-sleeved shirt and skirt. I stick out like a sore thumb among these women who are just a few years younger than me. But they feel comfortable sharing with me their perspective on what it looks like to peer into the religious world of Judaism.
They came on a college trip, sponsored by a religious Zionist organization, to explore and tour Israel, to hopefully become advocates for Israel on their college campuses, and to learn about Judaism. We are “Partners”—partners in searching for meaning and understanding in Judaism. We are meeting together to dispel myths about religious people and openly discuss questions about Torah and God. Most of all, we meet to bond as Jewish women.
Our fifth session together was challenging and invigorating. With each session, we had grown closer to one another. The shyness had worn off as we charged forward in search of answers, voicing doubts and absorbing new concepts.
Their questions made me think hard, and they helped me to reclarify my way of life. This was an exciting new experience for me, and I needed to learn on the spot how to explain my beliefs and feelings in an understandable manner.
I couldn’t fall asleep the night after our fifth meeting together, as I thought of the many questions they had that were still left dangling. I was a bit nervous, knowing that the next day would be our final session, and it would only be an hour long. Finally, I got out of bed and sat at my dining room table, trying to formulate my thoughts and write some barely legible notes. Only then was I able to fall asleep, feeling as ready as I could to tackle the next day’s challenge.
Tuesday morning, as we all sat down at our favorite spot on the grass, the Jerusalem sun shone brightly upon us, and there was a light morning breeze. The bond that we had formed in just a week and a half was almost tangible.
I reminded them of the many questions we had left hanging the day before, and how I thought we would focus this last hour on the “restrictions” of Judaism, since that topic kept coming up in different venues. They were thrilled.
So I turned to Kelly, a tall blonde and a passionate vegetarian with an upbeat personality, and asked her, “Do you feel that your life is restricted since you can’t eat meat?”
“Not at all,” she said as she firmly shook her head.
“Why not? I eat corned beef, schnitzel, chicken soup…but there are so many things you can’t eat. Isn’t it so restricting?” I challenged.
“I chose to be a vegetarian because I believe it is important. So it doesn’t feel restricting to me,” Kelly answered.
“Is it hard for you not to eat meat while everyone else is eating it?” I pressed.
“No, it’s not hard for me. I don’t want it.” She explained. Then, as an afterthought, she jokingly added, “Except for matzah ball soup! The smell is heaven! But I don’t feel like I’m missing out too much, since I figured out how to make the most delicious version of vegetarian matzah ball soup!”
We all laughed.
“I, too,” I began, “choose to live a Torah lifestyle, and I don’t see its guidelines as restrictions, because I see the beauty and the joy that they have brought into my life.”
I saw Kelly nodding. The others didn’t seem so sure. So I continued on.
“When you get married, you are restricted to one person. But you can build a really meaningful and strong connection that you can’t ever have with twenty friends. Because it is only you two, the deepest, most joyous relationship is possible. Marriage is limiting yourself to one and only one person, but opening you up for your most important relationship. The restrictions that you see in Judaism are there to free you to have a deep bond with God. A relationship that is genuine, you would never trade for more trivial ones. The commandments are the guidelines that help us focus on building a rich connection with God.”
I noticed Hayley nodding and Olga wide-eyed. I charged on. “Let’s take wearing long sleeves, high collars, and skirts, for example. It seems so restricting. But I feel so free. I can walk down the street and not have to be concerned that guys might have inappropriate thoughts about me. I am protecting myself so that I can be my deepest, truest self. Dressing modestly gives the message that you don’t have to look at my body to know who I am. What may look like a restriction is really freeing me.”
Now everyone is nodding. They get it.
My mother, Bracha Goetz, is my inspiration, and we love discovering ways to share the beauty of Judaism. She is a talented author who has written over fifteen children’s books, and many poems and articles. I decided to share one of her poems that seemed to fit with our discussion. This poem was written to express her evolving thoughts about dressing modestly during her exploration of Judaism when she was in her twenties. Slowly, I read aloud:
Fragile Wings Where was the open sky? Come on and meet the prisoner, Who thought that she could fly.
Religious girls in summer, Blouses buttoned high. I’d see long skirts, with stockings, As I would pass them by.
I’d laugh inside me, mocking, The girls I used to see. Those girls are missing so much. How trapped could people be?
But how could I have known then, Jogging through summer rain, I strode past them, uncovered, In years before the pain.
Those girls kept their wings hidden, And my own wings got crushed. Why did I jump too quickly? Why was my childhood rushed?
Crystalline wings they treasured, Even at that young age. My wings, I learned, were fragile, When I hit bars inside the cage.
My wings have long been broken. Can they be healed? Those girls now fly past rainbows. Tell me, how does it feel?
Inside, I’m thrashing lamely. Can I get free? Now that I see the picture— Reversed, ironically.
Where was the freedom promised? Where was the open sky? Here I am. Meet the prisoner, Who thought that she could fly
I paused for questions and comments, but for the first time, there were none. This group had never failed me before by coming back at me with more questions! They all sat there peacefully, and I could almost see them internalizing the message in their silence.
I prayed that each one of them would one day try out their wings in new ways.
There was one more piece that I had prepared for my “Partners,” so, with the little time that remained, I continued. It was one of my favorite parables, from a children’s picture book called “The Little Bird.”
There is a wonderful story of a little bird walking on its scrawny legs. She looked around at all the animals that God created and noticed each of their unique features—the giraffe with the long neck, the lion with its powerful roar, and the deer running very fast. Sadly, she wondered, “What’s special about me?” She could only walk slowly with her little legs and two heavy wings on her back, weighing her down.
Suddenly, a gust of wind came, pushing open her wings. She flapped and flapped, spreading out her wings, and then she began to soar into the sky. The wings weren’t weighing her down at all—they were her unique treasure!
Sometimes what we view as restricting really contains our greatest power. It can have the potential to free us to be who we are and reach where we want to go in life.
“Time’s up! Time’s up!” called the leader of the program. Everybody gathered their knapsacks and brushed off their clothes. I handed out personal letters to each woman in our little group, and we exchanged e-mail addresses and phone numbers. We pulled out cameras, snapped a few group pictures, and warmly hugged each other goodbye. Olga, Hayley, Kelly, and Julie headed off to their bus to enjoy a go-karting activity in Israel.
I watched them leave and wondered what impressions our sessions would leave on their hearts. I prayed that each one of them would one day try out her wings in new ways and discover how she could soar.
This article originally appeared on chabad.org
