COMMENTARY: Why I Keep My Hair Under Wraps

c. 2004 Religion News Service (Judy Gruen’s latest book is “Till We Eat Again: Confessions of a Diet Dropout,” published by Champion Press. Visit her Web site at http://www.judygruen.com.) (UNDATED) A few weeks ago I found myself spellbound while watching the movie “Girl With the Pearl Earring.” The movie, based on the excellent Tracy Chevalier […]

c. 2004 Religion News Service

(Judy Gruen’s latest book is “Till We Eat Again: Confessions of a Diet Dropout,” published by Champion Press. Visit her Web site at http://www.judygruen.com.)

(UNDATED) A few weeks ago I found myself spellbound while watching the movie “Girl With the Pearl Earring.” The movie, based on the excellent Tracy Chevalier novel, is a fictional account of the history behind Vermeer’s famous painting of the same name.


The novel revolves around a servant girl, Grete, who became a secret assistant to the painter in his studio. In this scene, Vermeer accidentally glimpses Grete with her hair uncovered. The moment is electric. Grete, like all women of her social station, covered her hair at all times. It was as if Vermeer had caught her unclothed.

It felt odd to feel such a kinship with a fictional character, and one who lived in the 17th century at that. But, like Grete, I also keep my hair covered in front of all but family members.

Over the years, I have begun to feel that my hair is a very private part of me. Revealing it has become an almost intimate act.

I didn’t always feel this way. Years ago, I wrestled with the idea of living as an Orthodox Jew _ the most important and difficult spiritual struggle of my life. While I was captivated with the timeless truths of the Torah’s teachings, I insisted that I could never fulfill the “mitzvah,” or positive commandment, of covering my hair after I married.

The Torah considers a woman’s hair part of her crowning beauty. Covering it after marriage symbolizes not only the woman’s modesty but also her exclusive relationship with her husband.

On some level I found this idea to be repressive and anti-feminist, and could not make peace with it. But I had a problem: in my new circle of Orthodox acquaintances I kept meeting Orthodox married women, bewigged or wearing scarves or hats, who failed to match my unflattering stereotype of the Jewish “Stepford wife.” These women were intelligent, educated and lively. They had chosen this spiritually rich lifestyle despite myriad available choices.

Even after I married and adhered to most Orthodox standards, I did not cover my hair. I wanted to want to do it, but I couldn’t bring myself to take on this monumental obligation. I attended lectures about hair covering, but left depressed because I had not found the beauty or inspiration I had sought.


I no longer viewed the idea of hair covering as repressive, since Jewish men, both single and married, also wear garments that remind them of their unique obligations as Jews: the yarmulke on their heads and the four-cornered, fringed garment (tzitzit, in Hebrew) under their shirts. I understood that these guidelines were designed to help us incorporate spiritual awareness into the physical aspects of our lives, including how we dress.

Eventually, I began covering my hair to set a good example for my sons. After all, how could I expect them to make blessings before and after eating, wear their little yarmulkes, and uphold our religious standards when I failed to uphold one of the most obvious ones?

But it remained a struggle. I vainly missed compliments about my hair’s beauty, and feeling the wind in my hair. I continued to talk to friends about it, still searching for meaning. One woman said that covering her hair made her feel special, like royalty. Jews are supposed to be God’s chosen people and should dress the part. Stylish, modest clothing and head coverings did the trick for her. I liked this idea of hair covering making me special.

These days, when women and girls bare so much skin in public, I know that my manner of dress makes me something of an oddity. Looking at me in my long skirt, mid-sleeve blouse, and hat or beret on my head, many can instantly identify me as an Orthodox Jew.

I like being marked this way. I appreciate how Judaism has taught me to resist the ordinary and the faddish in an effort to become exemplary. My modest attire and hair covering remind me that I must always separate the private from the public. My body, including my hair, is private.

When Vermeer saw Grete’s beautiful, naked locks, it added a level of intimacy to their relationship. It took me years to realize this, but eventually, I found that reserving my hair only for the closest of family members _ and especially for my husband _ has done the same for me, too.


DEA/JL END GRUEN

Donate to Support Independent Journalism!

Donate Now!