Between Pedestals and Prison Walls: Women, Freedom, Identity, and the Cost of Equality

Freedom Is Not the Same as Becoming Like Them

Women’s liberation has never been a straightforward march toward equality. It is a complex negotiation between dignity, survival, rebellion, and conformity—shaped as much by law and societal norms as by family systems and unspoken social contracts. Across history and across nations—America, Italy, Mexico, Israel, Iran, Iraq, and within Indigenous cultures—women have fought to be recognized not merely as capable or equal but as whole persons, deserving of respect and free to remain themselves without the necessity of hardening into vulgarity or erasing their identity just to survive a male-dominated environment.

The question is not whether women can do what men do—history has already answered that—but whether equality requires them to abandon qualities that once offered protection, reverence, or symbolic elevation, even if that same elevation came with confinement and objectification.

This tension is not an abstract philosophical dilemma; it is embedded in real, lived experiences. It manifests in childhood homes, workplaces, religious traditions, and revolutionary movements. It appears when a girl learns that obedience is praised more than curiosity, when a woman learns that silence is safer than protest, and when adulthood teaches that “fitting in” often supersedes integrity. Feminism, then, was never just about breaking chains; it was about dismantling pedestals, exposing how often what replaced them was not true respect but exposure—public and internal—without the moral or spiritual support to sustain it.

A Childhood Indoors: Gender, Control, and Boredom Disguised as Protection

Growing up, I learned early that gender dictated geography. My grandfather held firm, backward ideals about where I belonged—inside the house—regardless of how diligently I completed chores. My brothers and grandparents worked the farm, breathed the open air, and engaged with the community outside; I was confined to indoor labor, waiting for permission to go beyond the walls. Even during summer, I was only allowed outside when my mother came home from work—an arrangement that limited my freedom to a few hours. I remember how I would go stir-crazy during winter nights, when the sun set early and the moon rose, yet I was forbidden to go outside once darkness fell because the coyotes were bold, intelligent, and unafraid—they stalked us like predators, and the explanation was both literal and symbolic.

Over time, that arrangement created a deep sense of frustration. I was physically capable of going outside, but I was barred from it—my confinement dressed as protection. I remember the boredom, the restlessness, the gradual emotional suffocation of being kept indoors, even when chores were done and I was eager to connect with the outside world. I longed for freedom, for social connection, for the respect that came with trust. The day I finally snapped, at age fifteen, I used a scam call to tell my grandmother someone had called for her. The reaction was immediate: “What are you doing out of the house?” as if I had committed a crime. When a tomato customer asked who I was, I told him I was their granddaughter, and he responded: “I’ve been a customer every two weeks for years, and I didn’t know you had a granddaughter.” My trauma brain only heard “boys mattered more.” That moment, simple yet brutal, planted the seed of a profound internal message: my worth was subordinate, and boys were better.

Cost of Equality: Becoming What the Environment Demands

That moment of rebellion—small as it was—became the foundation for my lifelong mechanism of survival: adaptation. I learned to mirror environments—singing, adopting accents, tolerating crass language—because I believed that fitting in was the only way to be safe. Psychology describes this as trauma-based accommodation, where the psyche adjusts to hostile environments by becoming fluid, often at the expense of authenticity (Herman). I didn’t understand then that my mother’s own stories of being confined and silenced—her being kept in her room until she was an adult—were part of a larger pattern of systemic suppression and control. Only as I grew older, in healing from my own trauma, did I realize that this pattern was inherited; the cages had different names but similar functions.

Today, I am leaving a job I’ve tolerated for years—an environment that was crass, disrespectful, and toxic. Looking back, I see how much emotional labor I invested in “fitting in.” Women are often expected—explicitly or implicitly—to endure locker-room talk, accept verbal degradation, and tolerate disrespect without protest. Men, meanwhile, are not expected to apologize for their crass behavior; they are reinforced in their dominance. The internal struggle is universal: how to survive without losing oneself.

Ancient Resistance: The Power of Staying Who You Are

This dilemma is not new. The biblical story in Parashat Shemot (Exodus 1:1–6:1), read on January 10, 2026, demonstrates that even in slavery, the Israelites refused to internalize the false identity imposed upon them. Their resilience was rooted in an unwavering connection to their names, their lineage, and their moral purpose. The midwives Shifrah and Puah disobeyed Pharaoh’s orders to kill Hebrew boys, refusing to internalize the systemic cruelty. Miriam watched over her brother Moses, refusing to accept an environment of death and despair. Moses himself, raised in Pharaoh’s palace, did not surrender his core identity; he recognized his divine calling and moral responsibility.

This resistance without assimilation is a blueprint for women and oppressed peoples: how to navigate hostile environments without surrendering core values or internal integrity. The Torah repeatedly warns against losing identity through assimilation (Exodus 23:2), and this message echoes in Islamic teachings, where the Qur’an reminds believers: “Do not let the hatred of a people prevent you from being just” (Qur’an 5:8). True resilience requires conscious restraint—not retreat into isolation but deliberate refusal to internalize systemic lies.

Unity

Feminist Revolutions and Laws: The Fight for Dignity and Rights

Across history, legal reforms have been pivotal in transforming women’s lives. In America, the 19th Amendment (1920) enfranchised women, ending decades of grassroots activism led by figures like Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton. These women fought not just for a vote, but for their moral right to be recognized as full persons, capable of shaping the nation’s destiny. Italy’s feminist reformers in the early 20th century—like Anna Kulisch—challenged traditional gender roles, advocating for women’s education and legal reforms. In Mexico, women’s suffrage was achieved in 1953, after decades of activism and repression.

In Israel, the Declaration of Independence (1948) proclaimed the equality of all citizens—including women—yet societal change lagged behind legal recognition. Women like Golda Meir and contemporary feminist organizers have fought to close the gap between law and practice. Native American women, long before Western feminism gained recognition, held property rights and exercised leadership within their tribes, challenging colonial narratives of female marginalization.

In Iran and Iraq, women’s rights movements have fought amidst brutal repression—sometimes succeeding, sometimes suffering setbacks. Their resilience underscores that progress is fragile and often reversible when political regimes shift. These struggles are woven into the larger tapestry of global resistance—an ongoing fight to uphold dignity and identity against systemic violence.

Crass as crass can get

Crassness as “Equality”: Feminist Debate and Cultural Tensions

The film Iron Jawed Angels (2004) vividly captures the complex tension: Vera Farmiga’s character, Ruza Wenclawska, proclaims:

> “I want to be able to be just as crass and vulgar as any man on the street, and not have it blemish my reputation!”

Her words challenge traditional notions of feminine decorum but also raise questions: Does true equality mean embracing vulgarity? Emmeline Pankhurst, the leader of the British suffragettes, famously declared:

> “Never underestimate the power we women have to define our own destinies. We do not want to be law breakers. We want to be law makers. Be militant, each of you in your own way. Those of you who can break windows, break them. Those who can further attack the sacred idol of property, do so! We have been left with no alternative but to defy this government! If we must go to prison to obtain the vote, let it be the windows of government, not the bodies of women, that shall be broken!”

These quotes reveal the moral and philosophical debate: should women fight for respect by adopting behaviors that challenge societal norms, or by demanding new standards rooted in dignity? The 1955 film A Man Called Peter offers a poetic reflection:

> “It remained for the 20th century, the century of progress, to pull her down from her throne. She wanted equality. For 1900 years, she had not been equal... Now, being equal with men, she has won all their ‘rights and privileges’—the right to get drunk, the right to swear, the right to smoke, the right to work like a man, to think like a man, to act like a man. We’ve won all this, but how can we feel so triumphant when men no longer feel as romantic about us, when we’ve lost something sweet and mysterious?”

The tension persists: does “equality” mean losing the pedestal of reverence, or does it require a new moral stance? How do women maintain dignity while fighting systemic vulgarity? How do they preserve their inner integrity in environments that demand adaptation at all costs?

The Legacy of Resistance: How Sacred Texts Inspire Us

This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Shemot, is not only a story of slavery but a divine blueprint for resilience. How did the Israelites maintain their identity in Egypt? How did Daniel live in Babylon and refuse to conform? Across faiths and cultures, these stories reveal that internal fidelity—staying true to one’s divine and moral core—is the ultimate act of resistance.

Throughout history, women and oppressed peoples have fought to uphold their dignity in hostile environments. In America, the suffragists challenged systemic patriarchy. In Italy, feminist reformers broke societal molds. In Mexico, women fought for their rights amidst violent repression. Native American women preserved their cultures and sovereignty despite colonial violence. Iranian and Iraqi women organized protests under brutal regimes, risking their lives. All these stories are interconnected; they echo the biblical stories of Shifrah and Puah, Miriam, and Yocheved—the women who defied systemic cruelty and refused internal erasure.

As Gloria Steinem famously said, “The story of women’s rights has always been a story of resistance—quiet, persistent, unwavering.”

These stories remind us that resistance is rooted in the divine capacity to remain true to ourselves, even when external forces seek to diminish us.

Torah

The Moral Power of Inner Fidelity

The layered history of sacred texts—from the earliest divine revelations in the Torah, through the Christian Bible, to the Quran—demonstrates that resilience rooted in faith and morality is timeless. The stories in Parashat Shemot exemplify that resistance is often silent, rooted in moral clarity, and sustained by unwavering inner fidelity.

Today, the challenge is to carry this legacy forward. How do we embody the resilience of the biblical women, the prophets, and the faithful who refused to internalize oppression? How do we stand firm in environments that demand conformity? The answer is simple: we remember who we are—divinely loved, morally grounded, spiritually resilient—and refuse to forget.

When systemic forces seek to diminish or erase our identities, we draw strength from these sacred stories. We stand firm, internalize our divine origin, and refuse to internalize lies of shame or worthlessness. The greatest rebellion—true moral victory—is to remain faithful to ourselves, to our faith, and to our divine purpose, just as Moses, Daniel, and the women of Shemot did centuries ago.

This week’s Torah portion is not just about liberation; it is about the moral and spiritual resilience that sustains us. It is a call for Jews, Christians, and Muslims to uphold the divine spark within, resist systemic erasure, and walk the path of divine fidelity and courage. Because the greatest victory is not external but internal—the unwavering fidelity to who we truly are, rooted in faith and divine purpose.

 Works Cited

- Iron Jawed Angels. Directed by Katja von Garnier, HBO Films, 2004. [https://www.hbo.com/movies/iron-jawed-angels](https://www.hbo.com/movies/iron-jawed-angels)

- “I want to be able to be just as crass and vulgar as any man on the street, and not have it blemish my reputation!” — Vera Farmiga as Ruza Wenclawska, Iron Jawed Angels (2004)

- Pankhurst, Emmeline. “We do not want to be law breakers. We want to be law makers...” (speech excerpt)

- A Man Called Peter. Directed by Henry Koster, 20th Century Fox, 1955. [https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0047194/](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0047194/)

- Herman, Judith. Trauma and Recovery. Basic Books, 1992.

- Brown, Brené. Daring Greatly. Gotham Books, 2012.

- “The story of women’s rights has always been a story of resistance—quiet, persistent, unwavering.” — Gloria Steinem