In September, student journalists at Cornell University broke the story of Jane Doe, the student who was allegedly raped by a group of fellow students: the Cornell 7. Later we would learn of the Cornell 57, the fifty-seven fraternity brothers also invited to take part. The fifty-seven who said nothing and did nothing as live updates arrived on the continued degradation of their fellow student.
The fifty-seven who joked and laughed while the alleged assault was still ongoing. It appears that not one of them questioned whether an intoxicated and drugged woman could give consent for her body to be used.
The muted response from Cornell and local law enforcement to the allegations has put the issue of consent back in the headlines and at the centre of conversations among educators and caregivers. How do we teach our children about consent? How do we protect them from harm and, perhaps more urgently, prevent them from causing harm?
This week’s parashah offers a place to start. We read of the negotiations to secure a wife for Isaac. The men ask Rebecca if she will leave with Abraham’s servant; she replies “Eilech”, “I will go.” Marriage to Isaac is Rebecca’s choice – and her choice alone. From her “eilech”, the sages rule that a woman can only be married if she actively consents (Genesis Rabbah 60:12).
The principle extends well beyond the wedding: “A husband may not compel his wife in the mitzvah (of sex)” (Talmud, Eruvin 100b). Nor may a man “initiate sex while drunk, nor out of spite or hatred, nor may he rape her or initiate sex while she is afraid” (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Issurei Biah 21:12).
And when informed of the case of a man who has sickened because the woman he desires does not want him, our sages did not hesitate: “Let him die”, they rule, for his death is preferable to her being forced, even for a moment, to engage in a sexual act she has not consented to (Talmud, Sanhedrin 75a).
Our tradition is unequivocal about the need for consent. And yet, we rarely speak about it within our communities, and almost never on Shabbat or from the pulpit. We should not ignore the sensitivities behind this – the risk of retraumatising survivors in the room is real – but as the Cornell case demonstrates, silence is not neutral.
We owe it to survivors and to our children to speak up, and loudly, about consent and the dignity of every person. And we owe it to them to teach what comes after consent: Isaac sees Rebecca, “loved her, and was comforted after his mother’s death” (Genesis 24:67). A relationship that follows “eilech” is one in which both love and healing are possible.
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