Celibacy used to be a religious relic; now it is a lifestyle choice. In a 2018 article for The Atlantic, Kate Julian reported on what she called a “sex recession.” In it, she cited multiple studies that document a significant decline in sexual relationships among young people. More recent studies confirm that this decline is worsening.
Experts suggest several reasons for this. Helicopter parenting makes young adults less independent and less capable of forging significant relationships. A “hookup” culture has left an entire generation distrustful of potential romantic partners. But most important is the rise of the smartphone as the mediator of human interaction. Jean Twenge has studied this extensively. She observed “that time spent online has displaced time once spent on face-to-face social interaction. Even when individuals interact face to face, mobile technology such as smartphones may interfere with the satisfaction that people derive from in-person interaction.” People no longer make small talk in bars and elevators. Instead, they stare at their phones, which means they are far less likely to meet and date.
An entire generation has retreated into digital cocoons built of texts and images that offer a simulacrum of a full life and authentic relationships. This counterfeit world dazzles the eyes and entices the heart. However, in reality, it is simply an escape from the world. The “sex recession” is, in reality, a relationship recession, an inability for people to achieve authentic connection.
It is fascinating how this new celibacy light is so similar to ancient forms of religious celibacy. The older form of celibacy is based on asceticism, the practice of abstinence from worldly pleasures. In Christianity, there is a distinct influence of Platonic philosophy, which believed soma sema, that the body imprisons the soul on its worldly sojourn and undermines it. It is only in death that the soul finds its true home, what the 3rd-century philosopher Plotinus called “the flight of the alone to the alone.”
Modern celibacy is also a flight to the alone, except here, nothing transcendent happens. One can transform into a hermit without even realizing it, amusing oneself to death.
Judaism rejects celibacy. The Torah begins with a narrative about how Eve is constructed from Adam’s side and concludes that “therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh.” Adam and Eve were once one, and in marriage, they became one again. Marriage is part of God’s plan.
Rabbinic literature takes this idea a step further. It recognizes that we have desires that are selfish and undisciplined; it calls this drive the yetzer hara, the “evil inclination.” Yet even so, the rabbis recognize that the evil inclination allows humanity to survive and thrive. In one Midrash, Rabbi Meir remarks that when God concludes the six days of creation and says that the world is “very good,” this is a reference to the evil inclination. A truly good society is impossible without self-interest and sexuality.
However, in medieval Judaism, there were views that adopted a theoretical asceticism. They accept that Jewish law demands one engage in marriage and procreation, and celebrate holidays and Shabbat with joyous meals. However, they saw those laws as a pragmatic compromise, the Torah’s way of accommodating the evil urge. According to this view, once a couple has had children, the two spouses can choose to be celibate as a way of seeking greater holiness.
Several commentaries on Exodus 38:8 offer an ascetic interpretation of that text. It tells how the kiyor, a washstand used by Kohanim (priests) to wash their hands and feet before performing service in the sanctuary, was made of copper. The Torah recounts that Bezalel, the architect of the Sanctuary, “made the basin of bronze, its pedestal of bronze, with the mirrors of the women assembling, who assembled at the entrance of the Tent of Appointment.” This passage is puzzling. Who exactly are these women who assembled at the sanctuary? And why are their mirrors of particular importance?
Several commentaries, including Ibn Ezra, Abraham the son of Maimonides, and Seforno, construct a fascinating narrative. These women devoted their lives to divine service; because of that, they would be abstinent and no longer need their mirrors. Abraham, the son of Maimonides, explains:
“These were women who served God, who abandoned their homes and devoted themselves to divine service, similar to armies that leave their homes and travel to the place of battle … waged war against their desires, fighting the battle of the soul and turning toward the spirit through devotion to God and His service … When they adopted abstinence, they broke their mirrors because they no longer needed them, and they offered them as a sacrifice. In doing so, they transformed instruments designed for the pursuit of earthly desire and pleasure into religious instruments prepared for the service of God, exalted be He.”
According to these commentaries, the women who assembled at the sanctuary cut themselves off from their earthly desires in order to bring themselves closer to God. Yes, there were Jewish thinkers who supported asceticism and even quasi-celibacy, and that is what the comments of Ibn Ezra, Abraham the son of Maimonides, and Seforno reflect. But the Talmud and Midrashim take an approach to this text that is poles apart. Rashi, in his commentary on this verse, offers a shortened version of their narrative:
“The daughters of Israel possessed mirrors which they used when they adorned themselves. Yet they did not refrain from bringing even these (beloved possessions) as a contribution for the Tabernacle. Moses rejected the mirrors because they were made for the evil inclination. The Holy One, blessed be He, said to him: ‘Accept them, for these are more beloved to Me than all the others, because through them the women established many assemblies of descendants in Egypt. For when their husbands were exhausted from the harsh labor, the women would go and bring them food and drink, feed them, and then take the mirrors. Each woman would look at herself together with her husband in the mirror and entice him with words, saying, “I am more beautiful than you.” In this way they aroused their husbands’ desire and were intimate with them, becoming pregnant and giving birth there, as it is said, “Under the apple tree I awakened you.”’ This is the meaning of ‘the mirrors of the women who assembled.’”
Under the apple trees of Egypt, these heroic women built families. Pharaoh had hoped that the stress of slavery would destroy marriages and, in turn, the Jewish people. But these righteous women refused to accept that fate. And, the Talmud explains, it is only through their merit that the Jews were redeemed from Egypt; clutching a few small mirrors, they were able to defeat Pharaoh.
We remember the devotion of these righteous women at the Passover Seder with a special food, charoset. The Talmud explains that charoset is made of apples in tribute to these heroic women who, despite everything, conceived during crisis.
Rashi is offering a very different perspective on sexuality. To him, the soul is not in opposition to the body, nor even disconnected from it. Rashi offers a unitary vision of humanity, where the physical and spiritual are intertwined. What the righteous women saw in their tiny mirrors, and what we all see in the mirror, is the tzelem Elokim, the image of God.
Judaism embraces marriage because “it is not good for man to be alone.” To truly flourish, we need to embed ourselves in relationships. And as a community, we cannot fulfill our mission without raising future generations of Jews.
To truly flourish, we need to embed ourselves in relationships.
For Jews, who build their spiritual life around family and community, the “sex recession” presents a troubling challenge. It is far more difficult for singles to meet; we must find them a home in our community and help them connect with each other. We also must support couples who are struggling with infertility. There are so many people who desperately desire to build marriages and families, and we need to stand with them.
The righteous women teach us that no matter how difficult life is, we must never stop thinking of the future. And at a time when antisemitism is rising, that is a critical lesson. The haters want us to disappear. But we won’t. On the contrary, we need to respond by becoming even stronger, by having more marriages and more Jewish children.
The righteous women understood how holy family is, because, in order to have a Jewish future, we need to have more Jewish babies. And that is exactly what we need now.
Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz is the Senior Rabbi of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in New York.
