This past winter break I spent a week with a dear friend in Los Angeles. I stayed in the house of her in-laws who were away, and had graciously allowed me to be there in their absence. Although I was, yes, in LA, I actually did not leave their house very often. After all, they had this huge Jacuzzi bathtub large enough to swim in, a closet full of fluffy romance novels, and a sound system that would rival that of many movie theaters. So, mostly, I slept, ate, read, and took long baths where I managed not once, but twice, to squirt myself in the face with the water jets proving to myself that I definitely was NOT born wealthy.
I had a few modest goals for my time in LA. I had expressed an interest in hat shopping for an alternative to the scarves I’d been using to cover my hair. So, one evening we went to Venice Beach to shop for hats. The Venice Beach Hat Shop is this trendy, noisy shop filled with every kind of hat you can imagine. And, I should mention, some particularly delicious looking men with strong Australian accents. Now, I am not sure how this particular shop came to accumulate such a fine looking group of hat salespeople, or how the hiring manager got around discrimination laws to hire ONLY the most amazingly handsome, adorable, men. But, yes, that is the case. And, I will also add, that these men are probably all aspiring actors (this WAS LA) because they sure knew how to flirt outrageously as if you were the positively most gorgeous creature who had walked into their hat shop. I am certain they sell a LOT of hats to women and, well, to men too (after all this IS LA).
Now, I have to explain something. As a married orthodox woman, I am supposed to keep my hair covered in the presence of unrelated men; Which, as you might understand, is a bit of a dilemma when you are trying on hats. Trying on hats involves removing hats, and then putting on new hats. In the process, hair is exposed. And, at first, I tried to be discrete. I hid in the corner and whipped one hat off, and the other one, as fast as possible trying to ignore the floor to ceiling mirrors, or the wandering sales-gods as they tried to help other customers. But, at some point, Mr. Blond and Muscular must have spotted me and sidled over, hat in hand, and said in a low flirtatious voice… “Here, try THIS hat”.
Hmmm
I stood there for a second in the midst of a great moral struggle. Do I let this scrumptious representative of maleness see me hatless (oh the scandal)? Now, granted, he had no idea whatsoever the implications. To him, I was just another customer. And, well, I was here to try on hats. And, if he could be cute, and charming, and flirtatious, he might be able to sell me more hats. I understand this. On the other hand, however, you have to try to grasp just how BIG covering your hair is in Orthodox Judaism. This very act, covering your hair after marriage, is seen as something huge with moral and community implications. You cannot possibly understand if you are not part of that mindset. I had been covering my hair religiously (forgive me) for most of the last two years. In the face of seductive allure of accented foreigners, would I hold true to my newfound Jewish ideals, or cave in glorious temptation?
I caved.
Mr. Beautiful with the totally sexy accent took off my hat, and then, gently, placed a new hat on my head, stepping back with an appraising look, only to say… “Beautiful”. Which, I must say, was true. This was one HECK of a hat, and I looked pretty darned cute, I might add. And, after that, the die was tossed, and Mr. Wonderful brought me several other hats to try, and I succumbed. At the end of the night, I did buy several lovely hats, which have served me well since. But, the experience got me to thinking about how much I have changed in the last three years.
Now, you need to understand something about me. Although I have never been someone who “displayed her wares” (so to speak) by wearing tight, revealing clothing, neither was I one who was particularly worried about nakedness. I mean, clothing covered the body, and bodies were just bodies. I’d never been one to be all too worried about undressing in the gym. And, of course, there had been that streaking episode in college. And, yes, none of this was particularly “sexual” to me. And although I kept my clothing on MOST of the time, I didn’t tend to notice people who were mostly undressed, and nor did I take special notice of the effect my clothing had on those around me. I dressed to suit myself, in clothing that was comfortable, and that was all.
However, starting about three years ago I started experimenting with the Jewish idea of tzunis which, loosely translated, means modesty. I could explain the basics of modesty in dress, however, this wouldn’t really go very far to explain what “tzunis” really means, which is more of an overall mindset and attitude than anything else. However, what is most visible, of course, is how one is expected to dress. Tzuinis, for women, involves dressing so that you are covered from collarbone, to elbow, to knee in clothing that is attractive, but not revealing. The process for me started with abandoning my shorts, tank tops, and spaghetti straps in one fell swoop of inspired cleaning, figuring that not having them around would lower the temptation of wearing them, especially in the heat of the unrelenting Arizona summer.
For awhile I settled on Jeans, and T-shirts which, I might add, is not a huge departure for me as I have always been a Jean and T-shirt kinda gal. Not enough to make me stand out as particularly “tzunis” with one exception:
I covered my hair.
Now, I have to explain this. Why? Why cover your hair? At the time, I was NOT Jewishly married by any stretch of the imagination, and had no real reason to cover my hair. And, I was still comfortably sporting jeans, and T-shirts, that would make me look VERY out of place in any religious Jewish community. So, why a head cover? To explain this, you have to understand that when I first started looking into Judaism, I fell firmly into the “liberal” camp, and looked askance at “Orthodox Jews” as, at best, quaint representatives of a closed-minded dead religion, and at worst this oppressive, male dominated, group of sexist men, and women who put up with things for some reason I couldn’t quite fathom. And, covering one’s hair seemed, on the surface, one of the MOST clear expressions of domination I could imagine, something akin to the hajib for Islamic women.
We need not dwell on my ignorance.
But, at some point, my mind began to open, and my attitude soften, toward orthodoxy. But, I still wasn’t quite sure that I could manage to live my life with all the restrictions placed on me, including giving up my cherished jeans, and, yes, covering my hair. So, I decided, instead of wondering if I COULD do this, I would just try. And, I made the decision to try out the single most obviously obnoxious part of dressing tzunis I could imagine. I decided to try covering my hair, every day, every time I went out of the house, for the foreseeable future, as a way to see to what degree I felt the practice to be obnoxious and oppressive.
To my shock, covering my hair was not nearly the “big deal” I had expected. For one thing, my life was immeasurably simplified in some practical ways. I could get up, throw on a scarf, and go out the door without worrying if my hair was presentable. No curling, no primping, no worrying about how I looked. Secondly, I was, well, shocked by the way people started treating me. More respectfully, especially the men, who were more likely to open doors, to speak to me kindly, and to avoid the kind of “once over” appraisal I’d become unconsciously used to as a woman. Granted, maybe they all figured me for some kind of cancer survivor, however, there was a decided difference to how people, both men and women, treated me.
Before long, the rest of my clothing caught up with my hair. I ditched all but one pair of my jeans, invested in a variety of flattering skirts, and traded in all my T-shirts for shirts that covered my elbows. And, the transition seemed natural, and came, totally, from within, not from any kind of pressure to adhere to any kind of “imposed” external standard. And instead of feeling oppressed and dominated, I was feeling liberated, and strong in ways that I could not have imagined. I liked how I felt, I liked what I represented. And, I found that dressing this way also had clear advantages. Men looked at me appreciatively (after all they still are men) but in a different way, as if they were seeing the entire me, and not just whatever body part of me they preferred. My students responded to me with more respect, and with less tendency to misbehave, as if dressing this way commanded more respect and authority. And, people, religious and not, in all venues treated me respectfully, as if what I said and did suddenly had more importance, and more weight.
Which, three years later, brings me to a hat shop in Venice.
I now own three hats. But, more importantly I have an understanding that what we wear DOES matter in our attitudes, how we think about ourselves, and in what we portray to others. And, if I had to realize this in a hat shop in Venice beach, then I can’t think of a more entertaining way to have the point made. However, next time, I’ll probably decline the sales help.
