Reaction to a Reflection on Head Covering

A charming and thoughtful personal account of one woman's journey with head covering of various sorts.

A couple of highlights, for me:

I was the little girl in the large, floppy hat.

It was called my “davening hat,” and I wore it dutifully every morning during prayer services as a child. Even though I was raised in an Orthodox home, my parents sent me to a Conservative day school starting in kindergarten, and I did quite a few things differently at school than I did at home.

All students, girls included, were required to wear kippotduring our school prayer services. This upset me on several levels. First, I did not want to wear what I recognized so distinctively to be boys’ clothing; gender difference was a particularly sensitive issue when I was at an age when cooties were still relevant. But more than that, I did not like the idea of some obscure (and apparently fickle) religious authority instructing me what I should or should not wear on my head. A healthy spirit of defiance beginning to stir, I went to see the principal, my 5-year-old self sitting across from him at his handsome oak desk, my feet not nearly touching the floor.

Together we came up with an ingenious solution: I could wear a hat instead. But even though we had shaken hands on the idea, my small palm getting lost somewhere in the conciliatory gesture, my flower-emblazoned pink sun hat made me feel silly in the reverent pews of the school sanctuary. The deceptively cheery flower perched front and center did not match the gloomy pout persevering underneath. I felt uncomfortable. The hat made me look different and strange—a blaring sign that a disgruntled kindergartener was flouting communal norms.

This is both a familiar experience for me (without it even involving a separate piece of clothing) and something I both fear and expect for my daughter.  How do I bridge the gap between our family's practice and a world that has smaller and more separate "boxes"?  I grew up often feeling different, and it was hard- but it also made me who I am, in ways that I now think were worth it.  It's an on-going question.  But I appreciated this story.

Ans skipping to the author's adulthood, newly married:

But when I one day chose to wrap a colorful Israeli scarf around my head, similar to the ones my mother always wore, my head covering signaled to the world that I was different. While my teenage-self had blanched at the idea, my adult self wore the look proudly. My scarf was an external sign of oneness with my community.

No head covering is arbitrary—every detail, to the carefully trained eye, is significant.

For me, however, covering my head has evolved from an attempt to appease my community into an effort to belong to my community.

 In other words, a head covering is a symbol of identity- and only feels right if it aligns you, in your own vision, with your perceptions of yourself and who you see as your community.

 

 

Neither Fish Nor Fowl?

I came across this quote in the midst of a piece about mikvah, and it resonated with me in a very uncomfortable way.

"At one salon, a woman asked if my husband was home and when I responded no, she sighed in relief and pulled off her sheitl, wig. Women around the living room followed suit, pulling off sheitls, tichels, scarves, and hats, a collective shedding of our inhibitions. This was a safe space to open up and be in solidarity as women."
-http://www.myjewishlearning.com/blog/the-torch/2014/08/27/jewish-women-deserve-better/

It highlights the ways in which I am both part of the Orthodox community and in which I am specifically not.  I too would not remove my scarf if the host's husband were home- but without knowing in advance and packing a kippah or cap of some sort, I'm not going to take part in that collective intimacy of relaxing from the public face of hair covering- because I don't have a way of covering my head without my tichel on.  The issue is only accentuated since I presume some of this was a discussion of Torah, about which I feel even more strongly about doing with a covered head.

I don't think I've ever actually been in one of these situations.  But the thought of spoiling some sort of connection, or being excluded from it, because I am fulfilling two different Jewish values with my covering, is painful.  Yes, it's a pair of choices that I made- but out of a sincere attempt to follow halakha diligently.  Changing my mind would be a rejection of that.  But it can be something of a lonely place.

Finally Back: Sharing Kippah Reactions

Hello All,
I'm sorry I've been AWOL for so long.  I started out taking a break because I had a terrible first trimester of pregnancy and didn't have the energy for pretty much anything- certainly not for putting anything interesting on my head or writing anything worthwhile.  Since then, I've been out of the habit.

However, I saw a blog post that was worth sharing with you today, sharing the reactions that a (female) colleague received while wearing a kippah in Israel.  So I'm using that to get back into blogging, although I imagine that another break is likely when baby makes their appearance in a few months.  Hopefully, it will be a shorter break.

Reaction: "My Kippah, Myself"

This article resonates with my own experiences.  It is one woman's description of her experiences wearing a kippah for the last 20 years, starting at age 9.  She shares some of the challenges she has experienced- and the theology and identity that lead her to make, and to continue to make, that decision.  It's worth the read.

I didn't start wearing a kippah as early as Gila Drazen did, nor as consistently- I often swapped over to a folded scarf or a headband.  But when I wore a kippah on the street (or at the grocery store, department store, post office...) I got the same reactions that Drazen did.  They were glorious and they were miserable.  They were, most of all, inescapable.  By the time I went to Israel, it's no wonder that I didn't have the energy for the infamous "Ben O Bat"?" (Are you a boy or a girl?) conversations that many of my friends have had.

Drazen's story reminds me of my own in so many ways.  There is no moment of definition- there's only her moment of recognition that she's known all along- the kippah her parents give her is sparkly, purple and Jewish, of course she was going to wear it all the time.  For me, it was an even earlier moment of "I'm Jewish", therefore- for me, I was 5, and I insisted that my parents send me to Hebrew School.  Her story resonates in its very lack of revolutionary energy.  There is nothing at odds with the Jewish life she already was living in this decision- it barely Was a decision.  It's only later, interfacing with the external world of the broader Jewish community and the non-Jewish world that it becomes a challenge.

I too had a conversation with a man in a black hat about my kippah- except I didn't get to have the conversation.  I was walking with two Jewish men (with kippot and tzitzit) and a non-Jewish woman, a Protestant seminarian, after an interfaith conference.  A man drove by, pulled over, and asked my male colleagues- "why is she wearing that?" I tried to answer- he didn't look at me, or listen to my answer.  "Who said she could wear that?" "Why can't she just bake challah and light candles?" My colleagues tried to answer him- they said what I might have said, only more politely.  Our Protestant company was passed by without comment, although she was wearing jeans, and a low-cut shirt.  But my kippah (over a dress and long-sleeve, high-necked shirt)- now That was confusing, and a threat.

It's a reminder that clothing can be about us as much as it is about our way of shaping how other people see us.  There is a connection between identity and identification, obviously- but the way that the kippah gets grabbed as a signboard can be very trying when one wants to send no message more controversial than Ï am a Jew who is in relationship with God".

In the end, Drazen's message is one I heartily approve of, even as someone who no longer wears a kippah herself- at least when you can see me:

My kippah is not about you any more than the rest of the way I present myself is about you. My kippah is about me, it’s about God. It’s about Judaism and family and tradition. You are not the official arbiter of what Judaism is or is not. I do not require your understanding or your approval; however, respect is appreciated. 

Have you had one of these experiences?   Are you curious about why women wear a kippah, or how they made that choice?  This is an open space for respectful communication about the topic.  Please share stories, questions, and answers.  Anything disrespectful will be removed as soon as I can.

Haircut, Style, and Covering

I read this article a few days ago, and somehow, although it's explicitly about short haircuts, and eccentric haircuts, it felt like something worth sharing here.  Here's the general claim of the article:
"Hair doesn’t make anyone beautiful but anyone can make their hair beautiful by rocking the ever-loving everything out of it. Have the length of hair you want at any given moment".
And that's something that I think is totally part of the style message that I want to send (even if most of the article is about cutting your hair off, and my hair is now the longest that it's ever been, and I'm pretty crazy about that).  To apply it to my topic at hand, I really believe in this covering thing- but do it in the way that rocks your world (not a phrase I'd usually use ever).  

The phrase that caught my attention is "command of her own presence".  Making your own decisions is taking command of your own presence, it's owning what you do with your body.  And it takes courage to do that.  Especially when I wore a kippah much of the time, it took courage to be myself, and to let other people react to it however they were going to react.  I still have those moments, although they're fewer.  

In other words, "Sometimes, in cutting off this type of hair, you really achieve a wider, louder broadcast of your identity as it is and as you want it to be."  The head has this power to project identity.  A headshot is all we put on drivers' licenses and passports because it's enough to see our heads in order to see who we are.  So doing something authentic to yourself with your head is a really powerful way of signalling who you really are.  

In other words- go forth and be yourself.  It seemed like a message worth sharing.  

Spiritual Functioning of the Kippah

I was talking to my husband about how he felt about wearing a kippah.  What we came up with was this:

Wearing a kippah is about a baseline.  It isn't so noticeable in itself, but it means that taking it off is a signal to yourself.  Taking it off, or disguising it, means that what you're doing is likely to be questionable.

 Sometimes, questioning it may yield the answer that you're answering to another Jewish value that makes doing something that is halakhically marginal appropriate (for example, going into a non-kosher restaurant to be with your family).






Sometimes, it turns out to be a reminder that actually, this isn't a good choice.

But either way, without the baseline, you don't have the reminder.  It makes an awareness of other people's gaze into a reminder of God's gaze.

What message does your kippah (or devotional head-covering practice) send you? 

 How do you feel about it?  

Head Covering as a Spiritual Practice: My Story

When I started wearing a kippah, it was a spiritual practice.  It made me more aware of my tefillah, it made me more aware of God's presence.  First, I wore a covering only when making brachot, studying, or eating.  The extra action made me more aware of each moment, of each blessing, of the presence of God.

Then I started covering all the time, and it brought a little bit of that awareness to getting dressed in the morning.  Whether I was wearing a kippah or a headband or a scarf, I was aware of having something on my head, and that would help me to remember why I did it.  It brought me more awareness of God, for a while.

It also brought me a lot of obnoxious questions and comments.  I've blogged about that in the past.  "You know that's not for keeping the rain off" about a kippah, and "when did you get married?" when I had a beret on outside, etc.  But the spiritual benefits outweighed the social annoyance, and the obligation to do education at any and all times, including while shopping for new bras.

However, over time, my awareness dimmed.  A kippah, or a scarf, or whatever I wore, just became something that I put on in the morning, just like a shirt, or socks.

And then I got married.  And I had a different awareness of what was on my head.  For a little while I was deeply aware of the double meaning of my new way of covering my head.  It was a thrill, because it reminded me that I was married (and of how wonderful my husband is, etc- I'm pretty sure that I was a quite typical newlywed).  It was also a reminder of the spiritual significance of covering my head, which I'd become sort of numb to.

Now, when I'm aware of anything, it's usually a social marker, what sort of Jew I look like.  And that's not nothing.  It is a part of my spiritual identity.  (Spirituality being generally defined as my connection to something greater than myself, to my community, to meaning, and to myself) But it doesn't help me remember God when I'm seeing a beautiful day outside, or when I'm spending time with the family of a dying patient in the hospital, or when I'm studying Talmud with my husband.  And that's an aspect of spirituality that I want to get from my head-covering practice.

So sometimes I think about that- and more often, I don't.  And I don't like that numbness.  That's Not The Point of this practice, or at least, not the only point.  I like that I look frum, I'm not going to lie about it.  But that's not the aspect of this that is foundational for me.

So I'm thinking about how to help myself remember.

Is covering spiritual for you?  In what way?  What keeps it fresh and meaningful?

Being Seen: A Reflection on "My Fashion Choices—and My Husband’s—Reveal the Risks of Looking Hasidic"

A friend pointed out this article, in which the author compares how it felt to wear a wig on the train on her own, to do so in the company of her husband in Hasidic clothing, and  to wear a scarf on the train.

Rambam on Men's Clothing and Headwear

Coming back to men's or ritual headcovering, after a break, here's the Rambam, discussing how one should dress for prayer.  So here we're in Egypt, between 1170 and 1180 in the Mishneh Torah.

Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Tefillah 5:5

תקון המלבישים כיצד? מתקן מלבושיו תחילה ומציין עצמו ומהדר שנאמר "השתחוו לה' בהדרת  קודש".
  ולא יעמוד בתחילה 

באפונדתו ולא בראש מגולה ולא ברגליים מגולות אם דרך אנשי המקום שלא יעמדו בפני הגדולים אלא בבתי הרגלים

Translation:  The standard arrangement [literally: fixture] of one's clothes (when one prays), what is it?
One should arrange his clothes first, and then he should distinguish himself and beautify [literally, glorify], as it says "bow down to God in the glory of holiness".  And in an ideal circumstance, he should not appear with his purse, and not with an uncovered head, and not barefoot, if the way of the people of the place is not to stand before the great without something covering their feet.

Commentary: Head covering for prayer here is connected with other ways that one "dresses up", it's a demonstration of formality and respect for God, in the same way that dressing formally (or, here, wearing shoes) displays respect for people in authority.  This is wearing a hat the way that one wore a hat for all respectable occasions until sometime around the 1960s.  It would be fair to say that it isn't a separate aspect of one's wardrobe that has a purely devotional purpose.  We're talking about being appropriately dressed for a respectable environment.

I find it interesting, however, that the requirement for shoes and/or socks is qualified, and the requirement for a head-covering isn't.  You can go barefoot (or in sandals) for prayer if people walk barefoot/sandal-shod in formal situations.  But head-covering doesn't get that qualification.  That takes something away from my previous paragraph- there is Something about a covered head that implies respect, even if it isn't part of the regular dress code for respectable dressing.  There's something special about it that isn't getting defined here, but there's a hint.  I wonder if any of the nosei keilim on this passage pick up on it...  But that will have to be a post for another day.

Men's Headgear in the Talmud, part 1

One of the primary texts from which the practice of wearing a kippah.  The context is a discussion about fortune/fate, and whether or not it applies to Jews, or perhaps more accurately, whether it is unavoidable for Jews.  The stories used seem to suggest that fate impacts Jews, but that meritorious behavior (giving charity, etc- and in this case, covering the head) can alter or prevent or at least modify that fate.

ומדר"נ בר יצחק נמי אין מזל לישראל דאימיה דר"נ בר יצחק אמרי לה כלדאי בריך גנבא הוה לא שבקתיה גלויי רישיה אמרה ליה כסי רישיך כי היכי דתיהוו עלך אימתא דשמיא ובעי רחמי לא הוה ידע אמאי קאמרה ליה יומא חד יתיב קא גריס תותי דיקלא נפל גלימא מעילויה רישיה דלי עיניה חזא לדיקלא אלמיה יצריה סליק פסקיה לקיבורא בשיניה

Shabbat 156b

Translation: And from Rabbi Natan bar Yitzhak,we can also learn that there is no fortune for Israel: A Chalden said to the mother of Rabbi Natan bar Yitzhak "Your son will be a thief".  She did not permit him to reveal his head.  She said to him- "Cover your head, so that the fear of heaven will be upon you, and pray for mercy".  He did not know why she said this to him.  One day, he sat and was learning under a palm tree.  His cloak fell off his head.  He lifted his eyes and saw the palm tree.  His [evil] inclination became strong, and he cut off a bunch of dates with his teeth.  

This Talmudic tale tells us that wearing a covering of some sort gives one the fear of heaven, and even suggests that it has the power to prevent us from sinning, even or perhaps particularly in ways that are natural for us, individually.  In this manner it is a preventative measure, and a step toward being our best selves, rather than our worst ones.  

It also does not, at this point, presume that this is something that most people do, nor that there is any general requirement to do so.  On the other hand, it makes the practice look very attractive- a benefit without any detriment.  It's a way of helping ourselves to be good.  

It also does not say anything about what sort of head-covering is involved- Rabbi Natan bar Yitzhak  used his cloak/outerwear as his head-covering.  So any hat, scarf, turban, etc ought to work.  And as it is a story and not law, there are no suggestions of any sort about how much of the head needs to be covered for this preventative to work.  It doesn't even seem to have anything to do with personal awareness- our protagonist has no idea why he covers his head normally, or that it has fallen off in this instance.  

Therefore, it would seem that if the community at large were to adopt this practice (as of course, has happened, to a great extent), gender might not play a significant role.  There's nothing strongly gendered about this story, as far as I can tell...  

Experimenting With a Cap and a Scarf

 I had some fun experimenting, and here's the results.  I was combining a large crocheted cap/kippah that I made (covering much but not all of my head) and a scarf that's just a little thinner than the width I need to cover my whole head.  Tell me which you think are worthwhile wearing in the real world.  

1. This is the kippah worn the way I usually do, with the scarf wrapped around sort of 1930s turban style.

2. Here I put the scarf on first, then the kippah, then wrapped the scarf over it twice- once, flat, for coverage, and as second time, gathered up, for height.

 3. This looks ok from this and the next angle, but I'm not so sure about the way it cuts across my forehead...

 4. This is maybe the best of the bunch, making use of the fringes on the end of the scarf, and adding a pin to keep the scarf-ends going in the right direction, and making it into a style-feature, rather than a random tie.

 Here's the back of #4.  Maybe braiding my hair and putting the braid in, rather than the bun, would be more successful.

 5. Not so successful- a turban style with twisted scarf-ends.  It would have been more successful if I'd pushed the front of the scarf back just a little, maybe.

6. Similar to 5, but with the twisted ends crossed instead of twisted around each other.