The other day I was remembering a piece I wrote many years ago for an email listserv group. I thought it was for mail-jewish, but I couldn’t find it in the archives. It’s possible it was posted to a Shamash listserv specifically for Jewish women in the early 90s, because I believe I wrote it around 1994, when I started covering my hair. While I got married in 1993, I didn’t immediately observe kisui rosh.
The concept of hair covering was foreign to me, and I couldn’t imagine facing my non-frum family, friends, and co-workers wearing a head covering. I felt that if the common custom of the majority was not to cover their hair, then I didn’t need to cover mine. I later learned that the only majority that counted in matters of tznius was that of the orthodox population who kept those laws, and not the secular population.
While to this day, I still haven’t been able to internalize that the hair of a married woman is the erva equivalent of other normally covered private parts, I’ve come to personally accept that hair covering for a Jewish married woman is a halachic mandate. The minhag of how much to cover and the type of covering worn can vary by community.
Anyhow, back to my old celebratory article about why I decided to cover my hair. I really wish I could find a copy because it could be Exhibit A of the euphoria a baal teshuvah experiences upon taking on a major observance. I waxed poetic on all of the modern day rationales given as to why a married woman must suddenly hide her own hair from public view after her wedding day (basically it’s now something special between you and your husband, just like all of the other naughty bits). I think I mentioned something about cat calling construction workers no longer being a problem? Don’t ask. Remember folks, crack is whack.
All I know is that a good friend of mine was visiting a shul in California, and my post about hair covering was tacked onto their bulletin board! I guess my cheerleading must have been inspiring to other women either considering covering their hair or validating to those who were already committed to the practice. 1, 2, 3, 4 buzz that hair onto the floor! 5, 6, 7, 8 trim that wig and wear it straight! Did I mention that I used to be a cheerleader in junior high?
At the time, I needed books, classes, the support of other hair covering women, and all the platitudes I could find to justify and bolster my decision to cover my hair. I needed a wide variety of head coverings to fit every occasion, ranging from the comfortable but frumpy (snoods for those Friday night dinners at home), to the lightweight and summery (colorful scarves), to the stylish and imperceptible to the public eye (sheitels or falls for work, weddings, or when I just wanted to have the appearance of hair).
The first time I looked at myself in the mirror wearing a snood, I felt like crying. It seemed that I was looking into a magic mirror, whose glass reflected an image at least 10 years ahead into the future. To a 24 year old, that’s pretty ancient! I thought that it must be harder for someone still young to cover their hair and purposely make themselves appear less attractive. Although much is said about the hypocrisy of expensive wigs looking nicer than the wearer’s natural hair, I never found that a wig looked nicer on me than my own hair (when it’s styled, of course).
Today, as a middle aged matron, I find that my youthful assumption was mistaken. When you are young, you can look good with a dishrag on your head. When you are older, you have fewer physical charms, and hair is often one of them. From a vanity standpoint, I actually find it more difficult to cover my hair today than I did back when I was in my early 20s.
I read a recent post in the Times of Israel, where a kabbalistic feminist talks about taking control of her sexuality by covering her hair with a turban. I say, whatever works to inspire a woman to keep this mitzvah is fine by me. Truly, hair covering is not for the faint hearted – especially if you weren’t raised with the practice. It’s a gigantic undertaking that changes both how you see yourself and how the world sees you. Contrary to the hype, this isn’t always going to be a positive thing.
Like it or not, you are now a representative of the orthodox Jewish community. Are you tempted to snap at the deli clerk serving that customer who clearly arrived after you? If you’re wearing a turban, forget about it! Did you stumble across a $10 bill outside the grocery store? Sure, pick it up and consider yourself ten bucks richer. However, realize that to anyone who saw you take the bill, you’ll be viewed as a hypocrite too religious to let a single strand of hair show, but not so religious that she won’t slyly pocket someone’s lost money. What about going to a movie, a football game, a bar, a play, a comedy club? What’s a tichel wearing lady doing at any of these venues in the first place, you ask? Well, that’s what wigs are for, people! That’s right, wigs are to women what baseball caps and payos tucking are to men. Deal with it.
I digress. Hair covering is no longer something I romanticize. It’s more of a practical obligation these days. Sometimes I don’t even think about it, and it isn’t a burden. Other times, like when I’ve just had my real hair done at a salon (a rare treat), only to squash the stylist’s artistry under a tichel before leaving the building, it’s a real tircha. I won’t even get into covering in hot humid weather, headaches from the vice-like grip of a wig, or the hair pulling from combs and bobby pins. The platitudes only carry a woman so far before practical realities kick into gear. In the final analysis, for those who believe, the rationale for why married women cover simply boils down to, because the Torah says so.
