Alicia Jo Rabins on Biblical Women and Memoir

According to the Talmud, poet-teacher-musician-Torah-scholar Alicia Jo Rabins, reminds us, when fetal life is gestating in the womb, a candle sits above the developing baby and provides enough light for an angel to teach it the entire Torah. 

Birth, however, upends this primal instruction and takes the wisdom from us.

It’s a huge yet unremembered, loss. Rabins’ latest book (following two award-winning collections of poetry and a Torah-inspired parenting book), When We’re Born We Forget Everything, takes the reader into the twists-and-turns of her effort to reclaim knowledge and find meaning and connection in a complex, hate-filled world. 

The memoir, of course, is primarily Rabins’ story, and begins with her secular upbringing in suburban Maryland. It then takes readers to Barnard College, where, for the first time, she met Orthodox students and began to study sacred texts. Immediately after graduating, Rabins spent nearly two years studying at a co-ed yeshiva in Israel. But the fit was sometimes awkward since the bisexual Rabins was also drawn to progressive humanist values. Nonetheless, stories of Biblical women inspired her, and their stories are woven into the book, showcasing the chutzpah and savvy that are part of Jewish history, or perhaps, myth.

For Rabins, the distinction is irrelevant. The lesson? “Our ancestors thought it was important to pass their story to us, as if to say, you, too, will need to co-create it.”

But When We’re Born We Forget Everything is more than an account of a spiritual mission quest, and Rabins introduces music, friendship, and romantic intimacy into a story that puts the individual – her – into a political, social, and theological frame. It’s a great read.

Eleanor J. Bader: What do you hope readers will take from the memoir?

Alicia Jo Rabins: First, I hope it will be pleasurable to read. Secondly, I hope that it will encourage people to explore their own spiritual lives.

EJB: The structure of the memoir is unusual since it blends your story with the stories of Biblical women. How did that develop? 

AJR: My original idea was to write a book about Biblical women, since I’d been studying them, teaching about them, and writing songs about them with my Girls in Trouble project. But then, a literary agent suggested that I weave a few personal stories into the book, and once I started writing them, I couldn’t stop! The book turned into a spiritual memoir with interwoven stories of Biblical women, instead of the other way around.

EJB: Do you have a favorite Biblical foremother?

AJR: I love them all, but I’m a huge fan of Tamar, from Genesis. I love that despite having little social power, she used what she had to get what she wanted. Vashti is a favorite too; she is all about boundaries, an important theme for me. 

EJB: You write that you often felt, and perhaps still feel, an existential aloneness. What’s that about? 

AJR: Early on, it was hard for me to be my own ally; that’s been a big part of my spiritual journey. Growing up, I often felt out of place. When I began to explore religious ritual and community, I felt some of the pressure lift off me. Part of what the sacred provides is relief from the excruciating unbearableness of pure individuality. But on a deeper level, I had to learn to keep myself company.  

EJB: How did your family react when you began exploring Orthodox Judaism? 

AJR: My parents were always very encouraging about exploring my own path. At the same time, the idea of Orthodox Judaism was quite threatening to them at first; no one in my family had been religious for three generations, and I think they were afraid I’d abandon critical thinking entirely. As soon as they realized I was going to be able to remain myself and add Jewish knowledge and observance, they were extremely supportive.

EJB: When you got to Barnard, you met observant Jews for the first time and began studying Talmud with Shira. You were also dating the non-Jewish Zoe. Was this difficult to reconcile? 

AJR: I was raised to think critically about societal expectations, and I’ve always had a stubborn streak about creating my own path, plus these were two different communities which didn’t intersect socially, so I didn’t experience any particular conflict.

Exploring love and Talmud simultaneously made sense to me; they were both a form of growth. 

EJB: During your time in yeshiva in Jerusalem, you were extremely observant, dressing modestly, keeping kosher, and praying three times a day. Why did these practices appeal to you?

AJR: Living in a non-restrictive, non-prescriptive society can be freeing, but I find it can also be a burden. There’s a loneliness and pressure that comes from having to create your own spiritual guideposts and practices. When I realized that Jewish wisdom traditions had been developing these structures for millennia, I began to experience my own religious heritage as a gift that had been passed down.

It was immensely fulfilling for me to live within these structures in yeshiva; there was pleasure in the rituals, of being in the service of something bigger than myself, and being in community, even though I never stopped thinking critically.

Also, I was studying at Pardes, which is inclusive—the way I was taught Torah involved a lot of generative thinking, nuance, and innovation. We often tend to think of religion as focused on tradition, but healthy spirituality involves a lot of creativity and reinvention.

 EJB: Let’s turn to music. Why did you choose the violin as your instrument?

AJR: When I was three years old, my mom saw a Phil Donohue TV program  about Suzuki violin, where kids start young. She took me down to the local Suzuki branch, and I’ve played the violin ever since.

EJB: Once you returned to the U.S., you lived in Western Massachusetts and joined a band. You eventually got kicked out because they wanted to perform on Friday nights. That must have been rough. 

AJR: It was, at first. But once I took a breath, I realized they were right. We were on different paths. And being kicked out of a band is a necessary rite of passage for any musician!

EJB: You eventually joined a different band and moved back to New York City. You’re now in Portland, Oregon. Are you still playing music?

AJR:  Yes. I’m about to record the fourth Girls in Trouble album, and I continue to tour with this project, in addition to songwriting and playing klezmer and old-time fiddle.

EJB: Has your understanding of feminism changed over time? 

AJR:  My convictions are the same, but some of my ideas are now more nuanced. Becoming a mother gave me a deeper understanding of domestic labor and how this is still a fraught issue in terms of gender.  I also have a better sense of the subtle expressions of misogyny and gender assumptions. The older I get, the more I also see how misogyny and patriarchy hurt all of us, including men and boys.  

EJB: While you were back in New York, you began studying at the Jewish Theological Seminary but opted not to be ordained. Why?

AJR:  At the time, I was afraid that the title of rabbi would overwhelm my creative practice as a writer and musician. But a few years ago, I finally felt ready, and I’ve been working with three beloved rabbinic mentors towards independent ordination this June. 

EJB: Has your observance changed over time?

AJR: I consider myself post-denominational. I don’t follow Orthodox halacha [Jewish law], but Torah and Jewish tradition are interwoven into the fabric of my life as well as that of my family. I know people use this term negatively, but in terms of observance, I actually believe in “picking and choosing” what works for us and our families in each moment, and adjusting over time as our needs change.