Going Undercover

Every woman has a hair history. From our mother’s loving styling, through our turbulent teenage tresses, and on to more mature coiffing, we look through our photos, linking memories to our crowning glory: “Argh! Remember that holiday? My hair! What was I thinking?!” Even others like to refer to certain parts of our lives according to our hair: “I remember you when you were a teenager. All that hair!” In other words, most women are pretty attached to their hair. It lived a life all of it’s own. In my case, it was an obsession.

The day I first ventured out of the house with my hair covered as a married woman, in deference to G-d, was quite an event. It was for me, anyway. I’m pretty sure the rest of the world didn’t notice anything. So how did a hair-obsessed female go from funky to frum (religious) in the flick of a ponytail? The answer: only Hashem knows. But I can at least tell you what appeared to happen from my perspective.

I had been practicing hitbodedut, personal prayer, for a while (how I got into that is a story of it’s own). After months of hourly sessions talking to G-d and clearing out decades of spiritual skeletons, I suddenly felt a little odd. I was about to start a session one day when a small voice whispered, “Maybe you should cover your hair if you are going to talk to G-d”. Hmm. I couldn’t ignore that.

So up the stairs I trudged to find a satisfactory solution: a stylish bandana. I casually wrapped it around my head and sat down to speak to G-d. Suddenly it wasn’t so easy. You see, there was this new weight on my head, which crept down to my shoulders, then finally rested heavily on my heart.

This was a moment that I had been resisting, defiantly, for years. I remained sitting, in silence, contemplating the unfamiliar situation. And then I guess the Evil Inclination went into high gear and a new, more confident voice whispered in my ear: “You know you can take it off as soon as you finish, it’s not a life sentence.” So that’s what happened. For several weeks, I’d cover up, converse with Heaven, and then whip off that bandana faster than you could say, “Who’s she kidding”.

And then the stakes were upped. One morning, as I took off my headscarf, I heard myself saying out loud: “OK, G-d, I know, I know. I can’t promise much, but I will promise to at least try it, once only, outside. But that’s it.” I knew enough to know that if I made a promise to G-d, I’d better keep it. I also knew that I wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. I think Hashem must have gagged and bound my Evil Inclination that day, because there really is no other explanation for what followed.

The next thing I knew, I was walking down the street with my hair half covered, to the supermarket. Since I used to fashion myself as a style maven, I was kitted out in just-so jeans, too-cute top and must-have shoes, with the latest tote bag swinging casually from my shoulders. With my oversized designer sunglasses, I could have been a megastar strolling down Melrose Avenue, which was the look I was secretly yearning for. So my little bandana only added to this image. But in my mind, I was being hounded by the spiritual paparazzi: I was sure the entire world was staring at me, whispering, ”Look at her, she’s becoming religious!” I kept my eyes down and my head low, determined to make it through this experience. Because, you may remember, I had promised G-d. I started to sweat.

Once I got to the supermarket, I looked up, and looked around. There was the usual mix of morning shoppers. There were women with or without their babies, and, since I live in Israel, of varying degrees of religious observance. There were those who looked like me: some with skirts and more hair covered, and some without: some with wigs, and some dressed as if from another era. And then there was the ‘normal’ crowd, which was still my crowd, too. And so I stood for a few moments, trying to decide where I fit in, and where I wanted to fit in. I realized that I was very happy to be a ‘head coverer’. I even smiled at every religious woman I passed in the aisles. They must have thought I was mad.

When I got home, I immediately took off the bandana and flopped down on the couch. Phew. That was intense. It was as if my soul had been laid bare for the entire world to see. I didn’t realize it then, but because I took a step towards modesty; the thing a woman’s Divine soul craves the most – my soul was effectively set free and revealed: both to me, and to the outside world, by way of my ‘new’ dress, though at that point no-one else could have guessed. It was only a baby step, but spiritually speaking, a mountain had moved.

This pattern continued for a short while. I’d slip out, miraculously unnoticed – covered up – and then return to the safety of my home, and my hair. But all that was about to change. And fast. I guess Hashem decided it was time to be spotted.

The lucky first contestant was my unsuspecting husband. One day he came back unexpectedly into the house too soon after leaving, to find me tying up my bandana. Both of our mouths fell open, and he spoke first: “What’s this?” He was already on a strong path of religious observance and had waited for me to follow for many years. I smiled sheepishly and told him what was going on. From then on, it was a landslide. The heavenly tests came thick, fast, and furious. There was a family bar mitzvah ‘unveiling’, a dramatic phone call from my best friend, and finally, bumping into my sister at the mall. “OK,” she said, “that’s it. Something’s going on. You’re in public! Is this permanent?” My silent nod sealed the deal. There was no going back.

Bit by bit, hair by hair, it all got covered up. A few years and several wardrobe clean-outs later, I’ve now officially gone undercover, my body at least. My soul, on the other hand, is as exposed as my hair used to be. You could say that I literally wear my soul on my long sleeve.

It hasn’t always been easy, and it certainly still isn’t always so. But, as my husband reminds me when I’m a little down and pacing for a quick style fix: a woman’s modesty is a 24-hour-a-day, seven-day-a-week, 52-weeks-a-year, 120-year mitzvah (Torah commandment) –minus a few renegade decades, in my case. In other words, he says I’m a walkin’, talkin’ mitzvah in constant action. I simply don’t grasp the Divine magnitude of that, to be honest, but I’m hoping one day I will. Meanwhile, I’m still beating off the spiritual paparazzi by holding up my brightly wrapped head wherever I go.

So what became of my hair obsession? Well, like all obsessions, it’s been replaced – by a healthy and growing collection of headscarves! And what of my so-called style? Well, fashion ‘rules’ have been neatly transferred to Torah rules. So I simply express myself as best I can within the boundaries of Torah Law, instead of Vogue Magazine. And InStyle. And, I must admit, Fashion TV.

It’s amazing how we can simply step over the invisible line that exists between the physical and spiritual worlds, although it seems to be an infinitely gaping chasm until we cross it. As Rabbi Nachman so famously said: The world is a very narrow bridge. The main thing is, not to fear at all.

It really is possible to maintain those positive, innate parts of our personality on both sides, by expressing them in holiness. As our sages say, “The whole world was created for the sake of Torah”. That includes our lives, and our personalities.

EPILOGUE:

Shortly after all this my parents came to Israel. They were understandably a little apprehensive about the daughter they would find, since they hadn’t seen the ‘new’ me. When my mother first saw me, she breathed an audible sigh of relief: “Oh, thank G-d. It’s still you! You look beautiful, darling.”

“Well,” I told her with a sly smile, “for years you begged me to ‘get your hair off your face!’…. I guess Hashem must have heard you!”