I am a feminist atheist

I am a feminist atheist, but for most of my adult life I was a practicing Jew. Ironically, if it wasn’t for my Jewish upbringing, I probably wouldn’t be such an ardent feminist, but if it wasn’t for my feminism, there’s little chance I would be identifying as an atheist today.

I grew up in a liberal suburb of a mid-sized city in the Midwest. My upbringing was protected yet progressive, a combination that hid much of the really obvious and destructive results of patriarchy and sexism. That’s not to say I didn’t strongly believe in equality and fight for it in my own small way, but the right to play basketball with the boys at recess (and kick their asses, I might add) wouldn’t necessarily have opened up my eyes to the widespread gender inequality that exists in our world.

Enter the Jewish faith. As a student at a private religious school, I was exposed to many aspects of Judaism. It was impossible not to notice the inequality that existed throughout, an inequality so deeply ingrained as to go unnoticed, even by people who identify as socially liberal. Why was God always referred to as ‘He?’ Why were all the important people in the Torah men? Why were men allowed to have front row seats to prayer services while the women were ushered into the nose bleed section? And finally, why was it the woman’s responsibility to cook those huge holiday feasts that everyone got to enjoy?

Initially, these contemplations actually led me to become more religious. At the time, Judaism was something so entrenched that its place in my life was not even debatable. So, blind to the fact that I could abandon my faith, I had to find ways of harmonizing it with my feminism. I started leading the morning prayer services at school. In Judaica class, I studied harder and questioned more. Finally, after my bat mitzvah in Israel at age 13, I bought a pair of tefillin , leather boxes wrapped around the head and arms during prayer. Almost exclusively worn by orthodox men, I started to use them daily in the presence of others, which actually took a lot of bravery.

As I got older and more well-read, however, I started to see that all Judeo-Christian religions preach a form of patriarchy, some of an extreme variety. Such realizations opened my eyes to some of the other negative aspects of religion: violence, sectarianism, authoritarianism, xenophobia and homophobia. It took me awhile until I had the intellectual open-mindedness to fairly and critically analyze Judaism, but when I did, I took a hard look at the evidence and came to the conclusion that, in all likelihood, there is no god.

Now, I am proud to call myself a feminist atheist. For me, bearing such a label means I have an obligation to promote equality, freedom, human rights, rational and independent thinking, and evidence-based policies and programs. It’s a pretty daunting agenda for the future, but I couldn’t ask for a better way to spend my time.