Parshat Naso: The Origins of Hair Covering

That's me with a tichel, circa this time last year in Jerusalem.

Hello faithful blog readers! I've been meaning to do a video blog for a while, but I just haven't had the time to sit down and do it. Any topics you'd like me to speak frankly on?

Anyhow, I wanted to post really quick about this week's parshah or Torah portion (Naso), because it is within this that we find the beginnings of the laws of hair covering. I've written extensively on it, because I think that it's important that we understand the halachot or laws of hair covering, but also the societal and cultural norms that have painted our colorful history of hair covering. Thus, I give you two blog posts:

• Cover Your Hair: Why? -- This gives the halachot and rabbinic background on the topic.

• Covering Your Hair: Leprous Plague? -- This looks at the cultural context of hair covering and how/when sheitels or wigs came into practice and the various opinions on the tichel (scarf) versus the sheitel, as well as different modern rabbinic takes on hair covering.

Enjoy!

The Covering Crisis of 2011

Not that I needed a reminder, but thanks to Facebook, I was reminded that

On This Day In 2010

Chaviva Elianah Galatzis now a member of the Sisterhood of the Traveling Sheitel ;)

Ahh, memories! It seems like just yesterday that I went with my bestie Ally to a sheitel sale where I picked up my first hair piece -- a hat fall. I blogged about it (Taking the Hair Plunge), with pictures and everything, and to this day it is my most-read blog post. In that post, a year ago, I wrote,

I like to joke that I was born with bangs. I've had these bangs since forever, and when I started covering, I vowed to keep them there, and I have. Everything else covered up, I've discovered that I love covering with scarves (okay, I knew I would), with one small caveat: I miss the volume. I miss the shape of my hair. I miss the way my face and my head look with the hair all up and out like it used to be. I miss having a "look," that made random strangers in random stores ask me if I'm a hair stylist. 

Do I miss it enough to give up hair covering? Of course not. I miss my hair's shape and body like I miss putting 70 buttons on my purse and wearing tons of colorful bracelets on my wrists. It's nostalgia. It's a "moving on" kind of nostalgia. A choice that I'm 110 percent okay with.

Followed by,

In the end, I'm still a tichel kinda girl. But a sheitel gives me something that a tichel doesn't right now, and that's body, a 'do, something to work with. I look forward to wearing it on Shabbat, with cute winter hats, and for specialsimchas and events in cities and locations that, well, are perhaps a little more sheitel appropriate. It gives me something to play with, to do like I didn't do once upon a time when I had long, irritating, thick hair. And, as myreal hair begins to grow long, I look forward to taking it to a special place: growing it, cutting it, donating it. Repeating. That, it appears, is what the awesome gals in my complex do, and I admire them for doing that. (Of course, first I wondered why people don't get their hair cut and turned into a sheitel, but then I realized how silly that was. *wink!*)

Oh how the tides have turned, and oh have my opinions, needs, and feelings changed. To all of those people who said that it would get hard, you now can say "I told you so!"

The headband fall that I just can't love.

A year and a half after getting married and taking on the mitzvah of hair covering, I'm standing in front of a mirror hacking away at my own hair, wondering why I don't feel beautiful anymore. Twice in the past few weeks I have chopped off lengths of hair. Too long, then too awkward, and now? Well, I don't know why I look the way I do. And those bangs that I've had since birth that I've always loved? Also struggling with liking them these days (sorry to those of you who covet my bangs).

Have I worn my fall every day over the past year? No, but I've worn it plenty, and I've complained about it plenty, too. Falls are hard when you have bangs and have to figure out what to comb that fall into, which has left my head often aching. Likewise, the long-hair look just isn't me. It's never been me, and although I enjoyed having some length in the beginning, I ended up throwing it into a ponytail about seven months ago. And still? It hurts, it's too long, it isn't me.

I spend most days taking hats, tichels, and scarves on and off, trying to figure out what looks right. Over the past few months? Nothing looks right. Nothing feels right. But I still cover, it's a mitzvah that I can't give up because the act, itself, is part of who I am, and I believe firmly in everything it stands for. But how I want to do it has changed.

So a month ago I went online and bought a very, very inexpensive "fake" wig off a Chinese website geared toward "cosplay" (that is, people who are into Japanese manga and want to dress up, I guess). I bought a cute bob, short in the back, longer in the front, with side-swept bangs. I wasn't expecting to like it, let alone love it. I figured, for $25, I can't go wrong. If it's a bust, it's a bust. If I love it, maybe I can take it to a sheitel macher and say "this is what I want" and get it done, without winging it with a sheitel stylist.

The fake. Yes, it looks a lot better in this photo
than it does in person. Believe me. 

The "fake" wig arrived, and I was in love. The color wasn't really right, and it was incredibly shiny, but I loved it. I loved how my face shown through the frame of the shape. I didn't wear it for a few weeks, scared that someone might really spot it for the fake it was, but then, on a whim, I wore it out to dinner with some of my convert buddies, and they all loved it as much as I did. Filled with confidence, I wore it to shul a few weeks ago, but it was spotted -- it looked fake. It was too shiny, and no matter how much baby powder I've thrown on it to tame the gleam, it just hasn't worked. The netting is done poorly, there are no combs in it, and the hair already is falling out.

My response? Get a real sheitel in the style that I love, that frames my face, that makes me feel glamorous -- a feeling that I haven't had since getting married. But that, friends, is $500+, money that it's hard to convince your spouse is worth spending, especially when your spouse -- G-d love him -- doesn't dig the sheitel look, period.

And this is where I stumble back into that mirror and try to figure out who I am and why I can't feel beautiful as is. It's silly, and I never thought I'd be that person who couldn't pull that inside beauty out and just suck it up under a tichel and deal. But this is the narrative of many women who take on hair covering, who buy a sheitel or fall and months later need something new. First one's never the charm, that's for sure, and most women will tell you that. I was even warned that the fall would be short-lived, and although I scoffed at it, well, those who told me that were right.

So where do I go from here? How do I figure out how to either deal with the hand given me or to magically find $500 and convince my husband that it's worth it -- to me? Is it an investment worth feeling good about oneself?

From Sisterhood of the Travelling Sheitel to the Covering Crisis of 2011. If this is what happens after a year, where will I be in 10?

Tale of a Sheitel, Tale of a Scarf

I'd thought long and hard about video blogging this (vlogging, as it were), but I opted out of it. When I vlog, I tend to wander and not stick to a set trajectory of conversation. Thus, here we are, a text blog. Old fashioned-style.

I went to an event last week, between all of my orientations and receptions at NYU. My first day of classes is Tuesday, so I was excited to hit campus last week and meet the new students and do some student-y activities. So I showed up for a Jewish student event to visit the Jewish Heritage Museum down in Battery Park, eager to meet some students (knowing most would be undergrads) and excited to see the museum. I walked in to this facility around 10 a.m. where we were congregating before heading down to the museum and was greeted by a familiar face who quickly jetted off to a meeting or something elsewhere. Then, I was left in a room of about 10-15 people, whom I didn't know. There were about three or four individuals who were dressed in the facility's garb, and it became quickly clear that these were the group leaders, there to introduce themselves to the students, ask them how things were going, and make them feel warm and welcome as we schlepped down to the museum. So I stood there, awaiting the introductions. And then?

One of the group leaders stepped -- literally, and I mean that -- in front of where I was standing to address a group of students sitting in the lounge area. She proceeded to introduce herself to everyone in the room, except for me. She asked them their names and what they were studying. She even went out of her way to walk over to a guy that walked in a little late, asking him his name and how he was liking everything. He, too, was a graduate student.

So I stood. I waited. I thought, Okay, this girl is going to talk to me, right? She's made an effort to speak to every single person in this room, so I'm next. And I waited. I waited. I waited for anyone in this group of people -- leaders and students alike -- to say ANYTHING to me. And? Nothing. Not a darn word. Not a smile or a look or anything.

One of the girls offered water bottles to everyone in the room, I said no thank you, and we were off. As we were nearly at the transit station, finally a girl said something to me. "What are you studying?" she asked. I told her, she said that it was nice, and moved along.

Now, I'm not trying to play the oppressed Jewess here, but after my day there and at the museum I sort of had this realization of being exceedingly uncomfortable as the Frum Jew in a Secular Room. There was one guy there in tzitzit and a kippah, but he was the life of the room. There I was, in my skirt and ridiculous sleeves for the heat of the weather and the scarf covering everything but the tefach of my bangs. And no one wanted anything to do with me. People didn't look at me, smile at me, come near me. I was the leper in the room. At least, that's how I felt. It's entirely possible that these people were just as shy as I was. But that girl ... that girl who made such an effort to speak to everyone in the room ... bypassing me with a serious effort ... that says something to me. Something negative. Something hurtful.

I later thought to myself that maybe if I had been wearing my sheitel (wig), I would have fit in. Looked normal. Like a girl with long dark hair like the rest of the girls in the room. I would have been worthy of an introduction or a "hello" or something. Anything. But is that a good enough reason to actively wear it?

I spent Shabbos tormented over this incident and my sheitel. We were back in West Hartford, in our old community of no scarves or some scarves. I opted out of wearing my sheitel both Friday night and Saturday during the day for two reasons: fear of judgment that I'd gone off the deep end and my husband's aversion to the darn thing. I ended up throwing the sheitel on for motzei Shabbos as we drove to the Poconos because it's the easiest way to travel with it -- on my head. Friends saw it, and some said it was cute and one told me I looked silly. I felt ... relaxed. I felt the sheitel on my head, the netted cap causing a bit of an itch, but I felt good. I was irritated with myself that I had let what I worried the community and my husband would say reign over my emotions. The rabbi's wife wore her sheitel both days. Why didn't I? Fear. My old community is a very Conservadoxish one. When we siad we were moving to Teaneck we got laughs, scoffs, and questions of "Why?" I didn't want them to think I'd consumed the Kool-Aid or become one of those "rightwing judgmental Jews." I'm still me.

Sheitel or not. I'm still Chaviva. I'm still who I've been and will be.

But for those who don't know me, I'm a girl in a scarf or a hat or a sheitel and whatever my headgear says about me, I find myself frustrated. I've been told before that I've become more judgmental since becoming "more observant." The funny thing is, I almost feel like my observance allows other people to judge me in ways I have never been judged before. The way I dress, my headgear, my language, everything physical about me says to other people that I'm something that I'm not.

I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated that a scarf on my head made a room full of Jewish people not want anything to do with me, and that the thought of wearing a sheitel made a room full of other Jewish people cringe at who I've become. But how much of this is a projection, and how much is reality?

I guess I'll never know.

Taking the (Hair) Plunge

Before I got married, people told me that I would be unrecognizable with my hair covered. Why cover your beautiful, spiky, unique hair? people said. That hair, after all, had been my signature since nearly the turn of the millenium. A friend once recognized me in a crowded Washington Heights synagogue -- purely by my hair. Women at synagogue described me as "you know, the one with the hair," complete with hand signals to describe the way my hair looks (imagine jazz hands).

I like to joke that I was born with bangs. I've had these bangs since forever, and when I started covering, I vowed to keep them there, and I have. Everything else covered up, I've discovered that I love covering with scarves (okay, I knew I would), with one small caveat: I miss the volume. I miss the shape of my hair. I miss the way my face and my head look with the hair all up and out like it used to be. I miss having a "look," that made random strangers in random stores ask me if I'm a hair stylist.

Do I miss it enough to give up hair covering? Of course not. I miss my hair's shape and body like I miss putting 70 buttons on my purse and wearing tons of colorful bracelets on my wrists. It's nostalgia. It's a "moving on" kind of nostalgia. A choice that I'm 110 percent okay with.

My hair is still there, of course. No, I didn't shave it. It's funny how long it's gotten, but it's still not long enough to put into a ponytail (grrr), and it's at that obnoxious length that makes it hard to really do much of anything with it under a tichel or outside of it in the privacy of my own home. I pin it, tuck it, pin it some more, band it, and sometimes, I stare in the mirror imploring it, "GROW! GROW DARN'T! JUST GET LONG!"

I haven't wanted long hair. Not since I cut my hair. Long hair, contrary to how I feel about my former 'do, is not something I'm nostalgic about. Having had bangs and the same haircut since, I dunno, kindergarten, I really loathed long hair. It didn't fit my face, my physique, my anything. It was what everyone else did, and I didn't do that. I would have missed the ease of putting it up in a ponytail, but let's be honest: my spiky 'do took me about 2 second to do.

But then I got married, and I moved to Teaneck, and I realized that there were options for how I was going to cover my hair. By that I mean tichels, scarves, sheitels, hats, you name it: there are options. I vowed, from the time I started discussing hair covering, that I would not, I repeat would not be buying or wearing anything that consisted of someone else's hair. Never, ever, ever, ever. Period. Stam. No conversation. Zehu!


But living here, living as a hair covering woman in a hair covering world, well, I saw the allure. So I bit. Last night, my fashionista friend and I took off to a sheitel sale, with the agreement that there would be no pressure to buy. I was looking. We walked in to a table full of hair, women doing each other's hair, asking each other questions, and my friend knew exactly what she was looking for. Then, it came to me, "So, what are you looking for?"

Um. Newbie here. Fake hair that's real hair? I haven't a clue. I don't know what I'm looking for. I wasn't really looking for anything. In truth, I was initially there for the experience of blogging it. Imagine it, me at a sheitel sale. What a riot!


But then, after some attempts at matching my hair color (no, I don't have blonde highlights), and some guidance from my friend, there I was, standing in front of some stranger's dining room mirror, with long hair. I was staring at someone I didn't know. So I grabbed my cellphone, took a photo, and emailed it to Tuvia. "Who is that?" he responded. I replied with how much the piece -- a headband fall, which is sort of a half-sheitel (aka wig) that would thus allow my bangs to do their thing, with only a headband between my bangs and the fall -- cost. "That's not bad, it's up to you," he responded. Then, conveniently, my phone died. 


I showed the conversation to my friend to verify that, indeed, it was up to me. A seriously look-altering item was up to me. 


I inquired with the seller if I could maybe take the piece home and wear it around for a few days, see how it feels and whether I like it. After all, it was my first one. "No," was her response. Thus, I had to decide whether it was worth it. Would I wear it regularly? Only on Shabbat? Maybe in the winter when I can blend in. Would I cut it? Would it be a "special occasions only" sheitel? What would my parents think, my friends, my ... husband? 


I bought it. As my friend said, if it ends up being a mistake, it's the cheapest mistake in the sheitel department that I can make. But, I've put it on a few times. I've put it on and smiled in the mirror. Taken photos. Sent them to my mom, "Did you get a wig? Your dad and I like it!" was my mom's response. Tuvia's response was, "Just don't wear it all the time, okay?" 


In the end, I'm still a tichel kinda girl. But a sheitel gives me something that a tichel doesn't right now, and that's body, a 'do, something to work with. I look forward to wearing it on Shabbat, with cute winter hats, and for special simchas and events in cities and locations that, well, are perhaps a little more sheitel appropriate. It gives me something to play with, to do like I didn't do once upon a time when I had long, irritating, thick hair. And, as my real hair begins to grow long, I look forward to taking it to a special place: growing it, cutting it, donating it. Repeating. That, it appears, is what the awesome gals in my complex do, and I admire them for doing that. (Of course, first I wondered why people don't get their hair cut and turned into a sheitel, but then I realized how silly that was. *wink!*)


So here it is, folks. Here is what Chaviva, nee Amanda, looks like in a sheitel. Here's what a Missouri-born, Bible belt bred, Nebraska grown girl looks like when she takes hair covering to a new and interesting place, with a mop of someone else's hair. I'll admit. I feel pretty ... pretty glam. Like a whole new and different person. Do I like that person? I think so. 


Don't get me wrong, folks, it's still really really really weird.