Shomer negiah. The topic is a near-obsession for Modern Orthodox high school students: who is, who isn’t, who has started, who recently stopped. Many Judaic Studies teachers have found their classes derailed by impromptu discussions of the subject; almost every NCSY advisor has spent hours discussing the halakhot of intimate touch and the reasons behind those laws with overeager teenagers. In addition to the standard “where is he from” and “how did you meet” questions that teens in new relationships generally encounter, Modern Orthodox teens add “are the two of you shomer?” to the list. The fascination with the issue is so widespread that the asker does not usually realize that “Do you touch your boyfriend” is a highly personal question.
It’s hardly surprising, given the cultural fascination, that my Modern Orthodox high school devoted several months of the “Jewish Women” class all girls took senior year to the topic. The culmination of the unit was an assignment based on Gila Manolson’s famous (and infamous) book, The Magic Touch. Like my teacher expected, the book radically shifted my worldview—not about touching the opposite gender, but about censorship. Banning books, I decided, might sometimes be a good thing. The problem was that schools picked the wrong books to ban. If I were to write a list of books that should never be featured in a school curriculum then this one, which described a woman who kissed a man before she was married as “used goods,” would surely feature on the list.
Not all of my classmates shared my reaction. Several cried; some broke up with their boyfriends. The teacher who assigned the book spent hours in her office comforting anguished girls convinced that their future marriages would be irreparably damaged by illicit teenage touch. It was understandable: the book promised dire outcomes for marriages in which one or both of the partners had not “been shomer” beforehand, arguing that a married man who had previous sexual experience would invariably compare his wife to previous girlfriends during their most intimate moments. It insisted that pre-marital physical contact could only weaken a relationship and cause men to disrespect women.
These dramatic scare tactics are, unfortunately, not limited to Manolson’s panic inducing book. NCSY, a popular Orthodox youth organization, features an article on its “sex education” site entitled “Why Girls Should be Shomer Negiah.” The article argues that “when a man looks for a wife he prefers a virgin” and that no man will be “serious” about a woman who “acts loose.” A woman’s value as a wife, according to these sources, is directly correlated to her chastity.
In a different context these assertions might seem positively medieval, a remnant of a time when women were actually seen as the sort of merchandise to which Manolson compares them. In a twenty first century context, however, this objectification can perhaps be best compared to the ubiquitous commercials and billboards that feature barely dressed women as props used to sell objects such as cars or cologne. The only difference? The product being sold via this objectification is shomer negiah, and the sale tactic used is fear rather than sexual allure.
Young men, of course, don’t escape the dehumanization that their female counterparts face. Rabbi Dovid Orlofsky, in his popular taped lecture on “platonic relationships,” a perennial favorite among seminary and yeshiva students, warns young women that “guys are only partially human” and will “resort to anything for sex.” He also, in the course of his two-hour lecture, refers to men as “pigs” and “animals. It is unclear which gender is dehumanized more horrifically in the widespread attempts to sell “shomer:” women, depicted as passive objects whose most pressing priority must be the preservation of their chastity, or men, insincere cads whose basic ethical instincts are overridden in their never-ending quest for sexual conquest.
Educators who assign these texts and lectures will often privately apologize for their “shortcomings,” arguing that, while they may be imperfect, they are the best way to ensure that teenagers remain chaste. It is necessary, however, to question the value of halakhic objectives achieved via arguments that are anti-religious in nature; arguments that dehumanize their subjects rather than affirming their dignity as human beings.
Eliezer Berkovits, a noted 20th century Jewish philosopher, claimed that a religious Jewish sex ethic is one that demands mutual respect and the clear recognition of the humanity of one’s partner. It should be inconceivable for Orthodox day schools, youth groups, and yeshivot to promote sources that take an antithetical approach. It’s time for such institutions to reevaluate the sources they use to teach Orthodox youth about the Jewish approach to sex and relationships. It’s time for the Orthodox community to start thinking about banning the right books.