The following is a guest post by my friend, B., another Orthodox convert who lives in the US and recently stopped covering her hair. It’s something with which I’ve grappled for much of my married life, both in the US and in Israel (and posted on here). But I asked B. to let me post her thoughts on my blog because she goes into the subject in much more detail, addressing every aspect of her life affected by the choice to cover or uncover her hair. Thank you, B.
She sits with her chavrusa at Starbucks. He walks over, the father of a child in her son’s class. They’ve chatted any number of times in the last three years. But today he merely glances at her, starts up a conversation with the chavrusa, then turns to her and offers his hand. “Hi, I’m R—,” he says. “Uh, yeah,” she says. “Hi, R—.” Puzzled, he withdraws his hand, continues chatting with the chavrusa for a few more moments, throwing her sidelong glances. Still confused, he says goodbye and wanders off.
She realizes, and a few days later confirms — he hadn’t recognized her. “Holy crap,” she thinks. “He’s never seen me. He’s only ever seen my hat.”
I was somewhat surprised when a friend posted her thoughts about uncovering her hair [Not me, by the way. —Shimshonit], since I myself had been thinking along the same lines for a while. Folks who know I usually get a crew cut (or a Chelsea ) for the summer will know that last summer, when I let my hair grow (and grow, and grow), it was different. It’s now back nearly to the length—and color—it was when I married. The length and color of my sheitel.
She pushes her carriage around the bakery section at Shop & Shop. T— from shul stops next to her, glances at her, and picks up a loaf of specialty bread. “Hi, T—,” she says. T— looks up, startled. “Um? Oh —“ her eyes widening. “B.! I — I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you. Um… new haircut? Oh wait, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair before…”
The first question was of course a halachic one. Or two. (1) Is it halachically required for a married woman to cover her hair? (2) Is it halachically permissible for a married woman to un-cover her hair?
Now, when I have a halachic question, I first think, “Ask a rabbi.” But this is not an ask-the-rabbi question, because I no longer have any faith in the rabbeim and their ability to provide real answers to questions like this. Is this stain a tamei color, so that I’m in niddah? No problem. Is my pot treif? No problem. But a question like this is so colored by politics, by considerations not only of what the halacha is or what is best for me as a Jew (i.e. pastoral considerations), but by what other rabbeim will think of this one, should he provide a lenient answer, that I cannot trust him, or any “him” I know of. I don’t need to suggest a cynical “afraid to buck his peers” attitude here — every one of these rabbis has signed a teudat gerut or a get. In the current Hareidi-dominated Orthodox Judaism, his liberal answer on my hair could jeopardize someone’s status as a Jew, could create mamzerim.
So I turn to the literature. Again, no Orthodox rabbi will give a definitive liberal opinion in print, but there are numerous survey papers discussing — academically, of course — the halachic status of women’s hair covering. From my reading — see here and here — it seems fair to say that women’s haircovering is daat Yehudit (Jewish customary law, which can flex with changing situations and customs) rather than daat Moshe (immutable Torah law). It may be that the Torah requires a woman to braid or gather her hair. There is considerable discussion about what exactly the language in the sotah passage means. There is also considerable discussion acknowledging that at this point in the history of civilization, anyone who argues that a woman must cover her hair because of lifnei ever — lest she tempt a man — has to know that he comes across like a total idiot. Tznius is likewise a weak concept here: bare hair is ervah only on a married woman. It is true that we have two established legal concepts — not swerving to the right or left of Torah authorities, and that custom has the force of law. As to the first concept, I cannot at this point name a trustworthy Torah authority currently living, alas for us. Our shul rabbi, responding to a different question, once told me that if a rabbi holds thus-and-such opinion (which in my mind was a reasonably arguable position) then he had misused his learning to reason inappropriately and was not to be considered Orthodox. Oh. OK. For the second legal concept, we can then say that the vanguard of custom-changers have then broken the law, but eventually enough folks follow the new behavior in spite of the law to create a new custom. I do not have even an inkling of how minhag and halacha interplay under those circumstances. I have heard the argument that the behavior of those Modern Orthodox and those to their left can’t count for changing custom because the women involved are not Torah-observant, but when push comes to shove, “not Torah-observant” seems to be defined as “they don’t cover their hair,” though in one instance I was told that so-and-so doesn’t count as someone who keeps kosher because she uses chalav stam.
It seems to me that a woman who marries and decides not to cover her hair is in a strong position to justify her behavior. For a woman who has covered her hair and wishes no longer to do so, there are two additional issues: has she gone down in kedusha (not permitted!) by uncovering her hair? And if it is permitted, need she do hatarat nedarim?
In the first case, I can give only my personal answer, which is that I do not see sufficient value in covered hair as a marker of kedusha to say that uncovering it is a descent. If it is a descent, it’s for the sake of ascent: covering my hair has for a number of reasons made me increasingly uncomfortable as a Jew and as a person. Physically, my hot, itching head is unbearable, particularly if I don’t have full faith that it’s actually required by G-d, and psychologically, the thoughts of why it’s covered and what that means are disturbing.
As to the hatarat nedarim issue, I suspect that a woman deciding to stop covering her hair does need to do it. But practically speaking, I am not sure in what context I could pull together a bet din for this — see my above comment regarding my sense that I cannot get reliable advice from a rabbi on the issue of hair covering.
I covered my hair in the first place because it was presented to me as the halacha, though I was never taught it as such by the rabbi who handled my conversion, nor was it specifically mentioned by the woman who did my taharat hamishpacha “class.” It was just… expected. And the bet din, while it never put a hat on me as a formal requirement, asked about it so many times that I had to see it as part of the “contract,” as it were. That said, I have heard of two other and more recent converts through that same bet din who were explicitly excused from agreeing to cover their hair as a condition of conversion, and know two others who said that the bet din never asked about it.
As I learned more even before marriage I had serious doubts that it was the halacha that a woman must cover her hair — too many of my Orthodox friends insisted that it was not, too many observant older women didn’t, and in both cases some could even justify their behavior. (“That’s ridiculous,” one said to me. “The Rav’s wife didn’t cover her hair!”) But that’s the freedom of a born Jew. One reason I covered my hair was that I didn’t want anyone pointing to it and questioning my sincerity. Over the past few years that sense has changed as well, because I now realize that there will be some portion of the Jewish community that will point at anything, anything, to reject someone’s status as a Jew. My bare head is only one of many things that could be used against me — and yet, I insist that I am a Torah-observant Jew. Just not their “Torah.”
A final quasi-halachic issue is that because bareheadedness is a characteristic of a single woman, a married woman who bares her head is identifying herself as available, which is fraud and transgresses on the kedusha of her marriage. This is related to the argument that her hair is reserved for her husband alone, something special between them, as if the space from collarbone to knee weren’t enough. These all refer to an untrue social context. (As to the question of the kedusha of my marriage, I have discussed the matter with my husband, and he’s OK with it, does not feel that I’m advertising myself as available when I’m not.)
She heads into the shul building, suddenly conscious that she is bare-headed. Rummaging through her bag, she realizes that the black cotton beret that was more and more often in the bag rather than on her head is missing. She glances at the time, considers. This is really the only chance she’d have to jot down notes for the bathroom renovation project. There isn’t time to run home for a hat, as she needs to go be menachem avel this afternoon as well. She thinks of all the frum women she knows who wear a hat for services but enter the building bareheaded for other activities. “Oh, well,” she thinks. “It was going to happen eventually.”
Inside, the Torah Academy girls look her over. Long skirt, dull-colored sweater, bare head. Two sheiteled teachers glance her way. One is a friend: C. lent her wedding dress, C. has rebuked her for swimming at the same time as men, C. has suggested that she teach at the Bais Yaakov. Now C. glances up, and back down at her papers. The other teacher approaches, talks to her. Now C. looks up again, startled. “Oh! B.? B.! Um. Oh.” Staring. Looking away.
In the frum community a married woman’s wearing a hat indicates her belonging, her commitment to halacha and trustworthiness in areas as diverse as “Can I eat in her kitchen?”, “Should I give her the frum discount?” and “Is my kid OK with her?” Oh, and it indicates her married status. If I want to fit in with the frum community I have to cover my hair.
Beyond that, the current state of affairs in the right-wing Orthodox world that is increasingly the Jewish world is that some day my children may find their marriage prospects stymied by a negative answer to “Does your mom cover her hair?” It may even influence what yeshiva they can study at. I don’t think I’m going too far out on a limb to say that a negative answer to that might lead to their being written out of the Jewish community entirely if the Hareidim have their way. (“Oh, your mom didn’t cover her hair, starting fourteen years after her conversion? Um, well, then you need gerus l’chumra.”)
As I thought about doffing my hat — and as I indicated above, I’ve been growing my hair back since last summer because of this thought process — I asked around. Friends who cover their hair, and those who don’t: Why (not)? The answers? “I never learned it as halacha; I only do it because of peer pressure.” “If I want people to eat in my house I have to cover my hair, otherwise they assume I don’t keep kosher or Shabbat.” Among those who don’t cover: “It’s not the halacha,” “It’s uncomfortable, and it’s not required,” “My mother didn’t, and she was frummer than most of the women who do!”
Community sets the standard. Who is my community? If “the Jewish women in my geographic area” — i.e. standard Shabbat-invitation distance — then the majority don’t cover their hair. How about “frum women in my geographic area”? Well, except that “frum” tends to get defined by clothing, so it’s circular. How about “women in my geographic area at whose houses I would eat”? Now we’re at about 60 covered / 40 uncovered. Refine it more: “women in my geographic area at whose house I would eat and who would eat at my house (removing the issue of haircovering).” Because community is defined by food exchange, at least in my book (and with the exception of chalav yisrael, which I think is evil — and I don’t mean that rhetorically — I’ll bend over backwards to make it possible for someone to eat in my house). Among those who participate in reciprocal social relations with me it’s 30 covered / 70 uncovered. That ratio doesn’t change much if I instead define my community as “women whose observance level over a broad range of mitzvot is similar to mine” (40 covered / 60 uncovered) or a more restrictive “women whom I admire qua Jews” (10 covered / 90 uncovered. Sadly). On that last, I do have to say that between the behavior and attitudes I’ve personally seen or heard expressed, and the neverending dishonor roll of Orthodox “leaders” in the news, I don’t want to be associated with the frum community. My favorite phrase this year is “tumat ha-goyyim.” But I digress.
She turns off the hair dryer. “Hi, S—, you always seem to be arriving just as I’m leaving.” S. asks whether the pool was crowded when she left. She brushes her hair, ties up the ponytail, and heads out of the locker room. “No hat?” S— calls after her. “No, I’ve stopped covering my head. Well, mostly,” she replies. “Yeah,” S— responds. “I lasted about two years after I got married. It’s too uncomfortable, and it’s not the way I was brought up.”
Talking about my Shabbat community, though, is simplistic. I’m a member of many (Jewish) communities and I have to consider the impact a change in behavior will make on my standing in each community. In shul, the people I actually care about don’t cover their hair themselves, and won’t care if I stop. There are of course some busybodies, some of whom don’t themselves cover their hair, who will be nasty, but they’re nasty about everything. In the broader frum community, I expect that a few women I consider actual friends will be distressed by the change and will stop considering me a real (frum) Jew. The biggest concern is at my son’s school, not only because at least one man has never noticed me except as a hat moving along five feet from the ground for the last three years, but because in a school that touts its pluralism and that is one-third Orthodox, I’m one of the very few women who cover their hair. I don’t want to be anyone’s poster child, but if I have to be, I’d rather be the poster child for “See? We even have women who cover their hair here” than for “She sent her child here and now she’s frei’d out.” And regardless of the community in question, people get very uncomfortable when someone changes a behavior. If I am unreliable in this, what else has changed? What else may change?
The woman with the South African accent but who actually turns out to be from London sighs. “I wear a sheitel because that’s what you’re supposed to do,” the woman said. “It doesn’t matter whether it’s halacha or not, it’s what Jewish women do. If they care about Torah.”
Later in the conversation she says, “You realize it’s a slippery slope. You send your kids to a public school, then you’re thinking it’s OK to be swimming co-ed, now you’re talking about your hair. Next it’ll be women reading from the Torah and after that, McDonalds.”
She shifts uncomfortably, feeling naked. Well, she is. It started as a quick, friendly question following a friendly compliment on the lost weight, on the long hair. It was an attempt for a bit of international perspective. Now she wonders if she’ll be shunned on the playground. More than she is already, with her plaid-shirted, colorful shrugie-kippahed boys, with her bare toes sticking out of her Tevas beneath her ankle-length skirt. She starts to answer, shrugs, heads down the stairs. “Kosher!” “Kosher!” “Kosher!” says the not-South African woman.
Moving inward, the next question is, what does my husband think about this. “It’s your head,” he says, but it’s more than that. Within certain contexts, my bare head suggests my availability for marriage. Even outside those contexts, we could turn the hat upside-down: while my bare head does not, in non-frum contexts, necessarily imply my availability, my hat makes me less attractive to men (and women). Do I have a positive obligation to my husband, to be specifically unattractive to other men?
Atop that, within a Jewish context, my bare head may be understood as diluting the “frum” branding of our family. It reflects not only on my observance but on his: it turns him into the type of Jew whose wife doesn’t cover her hair. For some fools, it implies things about our observance level. My husband says he isn’t concerned about that issue. And after all, two of our kids are in a *gasp* public school without having a good reason (i.e. severe learning disability) to be there, and one’s in a pluralistic one. And we drink regular milk, and dress the boys in colored shirts on Shabbat. So we’re already kind of beyond the pale. Still, this is a community that, alas, focuses on the outside: my validity as a Jew (and as a convert: “See, she’s abandoned observance, after a mere decade! This is why we need to be tough on potential converts”) depends on that hat.
Except that, frankly, I’m not part of that community. Not really, not anymore, probably not ever. And the more I see of them, in the streets, at the playground, on the news, the more disgusted I am by them. Them, not us.
For myself, covering my hair makes me physically uncomfortable. Outdoors in the winter is fine, but indoors it’s hot, never mind summers. My head itches: I have horrible dandruff (which has magically disappeared in the last few months hat I’ve been bareheaded, something no amount of Head & Shoulders shampoo could manage). The damn hat is why I’ve been getting buzz cuts every summer for over half my marriage. No one sees my hair anyhow, so who cares what it looks like to be a thirty-some-year-old woman with a crew cut?
The “ugly” reason is not small. Covering my hair was OK when I hated the way I looked anyhow. But there was a certain point in the last two or so years, as I’ve gotten further and further from my birth family and in particular from my mother, that I’ve actually looked at myself in a mirror. What I see is different from what I’ve been told is there. (“Homely. Ugly. Fat. Stupid Polack-face, just like your grandmother. Can’t believe you’re still a zit-face at your age.”) What I see is worth not uglifying with a hat. In a certain sense, then, one of the concerns of poskim is right: by taking off my hat I’d be making myself more attractive to other men. But that’s not my intent here: it’s to make myself more attractive to myself. I hate the way I look in a hat. Is that a small matter in halacha? Of course it is, at least in the post-Hareidi, post-Chassidim-infect-everything-with-barely-judaized-christian-paganism world: If it’s the body, it’s bad; if it’s female, it’s evil. But anyone who knows me knows that I reject Chassidism utterly. It’s what I came from, without the organ music.
She gathers the kids back into the car after ten minutes at home— bathrooms and getting the groceries into the freezer and fridge. Time to pick up the oldest kid, zoom zoom! Halfway there she realizes that she is bareheaded. At a light she searches her bag, the car: no backup beret. In the rearview mirror she sees her friend’s car, pulling into the school lot after her. She gets out: “Do you have a hat I can borrow?” Nope. “Oh well, I guess it had to happen sooner or later.” She squares her shoulders and walks into the school.
By the time the fourth person comments, asks a question — this is a school with a weak sense of personal boundaries — she blurts out, “OK, I’ve frei’d out, OK?” Her son’s chiloni Israeli teacher grins. “Now I know why your kids are so light,” she says. Actually, she thinks, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Wait till the summer sun bleaches it out, back to its pre-marriage color. A friend tells her later that someone has inquired quietly: Has there been a status change? “What do you want me to say?” the friend asks. “Well, you can point out I’m still wearing my ring,” she responds.
Two mornings later she makes a point of being seen close by her husband at the boy’s “milestone celebration.” Hopefully body language — Do we LOOK like a divorced couple?— will answer anyone’s questions on the status point.
I had worried about the transition, but in the end it wasn’t so bad. The friend who had been asked about my marital status pointed out that showing up bareheaded mid-year is better than showing up, as I had planned, after the summer break. Still, where and in what contexts do I keep it covered still? In shul, obviously (what about times that aren’t services?). But where else? When I go to mikvah? At the local Jewish book store? (Whoops, there goes my frum discount!). The whole of Jewish Main Street? And what elements should go into the ten-second explanation, for those who actually ask (and aren’t close enough friends for a real answer)?
There are practical issues as well. I have to comb my hair now. I have to use a hair dryer now. I don’t remember how to braid behind my head anymore. I don’t even remember: How do I keep it from sticking up all over?
She walks into the library, sees the first little boy with the velvet kippah, knew which mom she’d see, would see her (hair). She thinks: “Grab the hat out of my bag? Is it even there?… Nah. It’s gotta happen eventually.” R—, viciously right-wing, recognizes her, or maybe just recognizes the children and infers her identity. Greets her. She braces for the next comment, but it’s mild. “I’ve never seen your hair,” R— says. “Yeah,” she says. “I’ve stopped covering it, mostly.” Braces herself again, but what follows is a respectful discussion. The woman accepts without argument that she doesn’t think it’s actually required in halacha. R—’s points: (1) She knows other Modern Orthodox women who do cover their hair, and (2) If you don’t do it what message are you giving the kids? What legacy of Jewish identity do they have if you don’t toe this line (and every other — because once you step over one, where does it stop?). We went on to discuss where her kids are in school (learning disabilities that the local frum school can’t handle: in spite of severe language issues even in English, plus behavioral problems and mild retardation, they’re being forced along the learn-full-time track, the only acceptable one in her world). She wished me a good Shabbas as I left, no shunning, no shock.
The last issue I considered was spiritual (as distinct from halacha). Is this in fact a slippery slope, as the not-South African woman said? She has a point regarding trajectory. But the money question is this: Do I behave any differently because my hair is covered (or uncovered)? Is my behavior more modest when my hat’s on, am I more aware of my identifiable Jewishness (frum-ness) and thus less likely to do or say something inappropriate, either in the halachic or derech eretz categories?
Well, yes, I do behave differently, actually. I feel different. I’m no longer so keenly aware, because of the physical discomfort, of this thing sitting on my head all the time. I’m more comfortable therefore. I feel less ugly, less… marked. Less like I need somehow to try to express the notion that I’m a person, rather than a walking hat, like I need less to work against what everyone thinks they know about me and my life, simply because they see that I’m one of those women who cover their hair. I am no longer publicly identifiable as Jewish, it’s true — at least in those contexts where people knew what the deal was with the hat — but that also means that I’m no longer so sensitive to what everyone else is thinking, and therefore I’m no longer so outraged, when an identifiably frum person does something repulsive out of a who-cares-what-goyyim-think attitude. I’m even more comfortable changing the topic away from the inappropriate, since my hat is no longer declaring me to have a “frummer than thou” attitude.
Over my lifetime I have worn many hats, and will wear still more. For now, though, the literal ones are going into the closet. Maybe they’ll return in a few years: They’re in the closet, not the Goodwill box.
I was nervous as I pulled up. What was K., a Reform Jew of sorts, going to say when she saw I had stopped covering my hair? She said nothing. Finally I broached the subject: “So as you can see, I’ve stopped covering my hair.”
“It’s about time,” she responded. She paused. “So now, when are you going to stop keeping kosher?”
Same thing a frum woman asked me. Hmm.
Shimshonit 
It seems to be such a thorough post that I think I’ll print it before I read it- and include it in the next weekly review of course.
A friend linked to your post on Facebook. His wife is a convert.
It is easy for me, as a born into an observant home Jew, to not cover my hair and be part of the Orthodox community. In the sephardic community, there are observant women who don’t even cover their hair in shul. Only non-Jews ask (and rarely at that) for explanations. I just say: people are complicated.
[…] Guest Post: Hair: Not the Musical, a firend of Shimshonit’s writes about hair covering […]
I think you are spot on regarding the social issues involved. Orthodox Jews are quicker to trust women who cover their hair as Orthodox, kosher, or whatever. I used to fall into that trap too, until I met enough serious women who don’t cover their hair. And you’re also right that it is a hard thing to do.
A word about the transliteration–dalet-taf, meaning religion or practice, is usually transliterated as dat, and dalet-ayin-, taf, meaning knowledge, is usually transliterated as daat. Dat is correct in this context.
Shabbat shalom.
[…] Shimshonit’s friend explains her decision to stop covering her hair, claiming that it is more … […]
I covered my hair during my first marriage. I did this for almost 21 years. I wore that hat throughout the entire time my husband and I were separated and in divorce proceedings. I wore that hat going into the Beit Din to receive my get. With get in hand (handbag, actually), I walked out into the sunshine and threw my hat into the air.
Now I’m married for the second time. Before the wedding I asked my now husband if he wanted me to cover my hair. He said it was my hair, my external persona, my choice. I decided to go hatless. Five years into this marriage I sometimes thing about putting that hat back on. And then I feel the wind in my hair and put that thought on the back burner, once again.
It’s not your external persona that makes you a good person in general, a good Jew in particular. It’s who you are on the inside, who you believe yourself to be, that makes you the person you are. It’s all about good midot, good thoughts, and how you behave towards the world, both outside your front door and inside your house.
Never judge anyone by what they wear, and never let anyone judge you.
Miriyummy: Despite what the prophets so often rail about in the Tanach, it sometimes seems as though what matters in Judaism today is more the externals than the internals. (Just goes to show how little Judaism has changed in 2500 years.) Thanks for sharing a part of your story.
Hi,
I was wondering, are there any websites online that go through the halacha from beginning to end and explain all of this in depth… with the conclusion of not covering hair? Or a book?
Has any Rabbi ever explained why so many women didn’t cover their hair in the previous generation, including Great Rabbi’s wives? I’ve always wondered about that. I’ve always wondered whether their husbands, the rabbis, asked them to, and they refused to, or what?
Thanks,
Shira
Shira: Other than my own post on this subject (which is NOT written by a rabbi or a Torah expert), I don’t know of a book or online source that concludes with non-hair-covering. When I asked my rabbi in the US why Rav Soloveitchik’s wife didn’t cover her hair, he said he didn’t know, but that that was not relevant to me (i.e. that I had to). I too would be interested to learn why some prominent women didn’t cover, but don’t know a source to ask.
Readers?
There is a book written by Lynne Schreiber: Hide & Seek: Jewish Women and Hair Covering
I read it 4 years ago but if I recall correctly it explored the issue without really reaching a conclusion.
Shimshonit, I think your friend and I are leading parallel lives. I, too, converted. I, too, am finding the hat/sheitel cumbersome and wondering if it’s detracting from my efforts in other areas of Torah. I spend so much time thinking about my hair and not enough time thinking about my speech or whether I’m paying enough attention to my kidlets. I could have almost written this post (the author is much, much more learned than I am).
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. All these thoughts have been running around in my head and someone gave them life.
I’m guilty of continuing to cover only because a) I’m worried about “them” revoking my conversion and b) I worry others won’t eat at my house anymore.
I’m still thinking. I may go get a killer haircut, though, and show off the gray streaks my children have gifted me.
Elisheva: Thank you for your comment; I’m glad you appreciated B.’s thoughts. I mention Schreiber’s book in my own post about my own hair-uncovering experience, and while she presents stories from women on both sides of the aisle (so to speak), her conclusion (which I think she mentions in the introduction) is that covering is preferable to not. Still, a pretty well-balanced look at the issue, and one which I considered as part of my own shikul when making my decision.
Thanks for responding Shimshonit. The book I learned from at Nishmat, with Yocheved Cohen, was the one by Rav Ellinson (a pale green cover…), that has since been translated into English. The Hebrew version had all of the quotes from the sources, which I really liked.
From your other post, I had a few questions, but I don’t know if those original commenters will see this to be able to answer.
Michael Makovi wrote about ‘sexual enticement’ and that since most women don’t cover their hair up these days, then hair is no longer a sexual enticement… but I was wondering if those changes in action can be based on women at large, or does that principle need to be based on what Jewish/frum women are doing at large (which would be Dat Yehudit, right?).
Deborah Shaya wrote:
“There is No codified Halacha that a married woman must cover her hair totally and constantly whenever she steps out of her house.
The Halachah has been MISinterpreted. When the Halachah refers to “Covering hair,” it does not mean “Cover your hair with hair!” and “constantly for life.” The Halachah is that:
A married woman is required to cover her hair when:
(1) she lights the candles to welcome in Shabbat and Yom Tov – lechavod Shabbat ve Yom Tov, and
(2) when she goes to the Synagogue, because that is the place of Kedusha.
The Halacha does not require anything more from married women. This is the true interpretation of the Halacha.
The misinterpretation of the Torah is completely Assur, and a twisting of the Torah.The Torah must remain straight.”
And I would love to know where that comes from.
She also wrote this: “In ancient times, a woman would only cover her hair upon entering the Beit HaMikdash. Similarly for the Sotah-otherwise she would not be required to cover her hair ordinarily, day to day.”
And I would love to know where that came from as well.
Shira: Michael and Deborah Shaya will have to answer your queries about their comments on their own.
I did learn from a woman I studied with that what passed for hair covering in Temple times was a wide headband and a braid. (B. mentions in her post the idea of tying one’s hair back; this seems akin to that.) That suggests that the idea of a tefach (hand’s breadth) was that a tefach was covered, not a tefach left uncovered.
I hear a lot of anger and judgment in this post, directed both toward other Jews and in vividly imagining how others might be judging the author. I empathize deeply with her conflicted feelings about this demanding mitzvah, and I wish her peace and resolution in her relationship with Hashem and klal Yisrael.
Chaya: Thank you for reading the post and taking the time to comment. I know the author, and read her words differently. This is a post about grappling with an area of halacha that is not easy for everyone, and which affects her social and spiritual life on many levels. She is not someone who is fearful or judgmental, but rather is very perceptive of the different ways that a visible practice such as hair-covering is perceived by different individuals in different camps in the frum Jewish world. I commend her for exploring this struggle so deeply, for sharing it, and for being an exemplary member of klal Yisrael which, I note, means “struggles with God.”
For what I deem a very solid treatment of the halachot of kisui rosh, I’d direct the interested person to R’ Ari Kahn’s shiurim posted on his website (www.rabbiarikahn.com) where he treats the issue quite thoroughly in a series of shiurim that he delivered at Matan in Jerusalem. A parallel text that I studied in tandem was R’ Yehuda Henkin’s Understanding Tzniyut.
As per R’ Kahn:
Seeing the sugya in Ketubot as separate contextually from the sugyah in Brachot helps to explain what constitutes “malpractice” on the part of a married woman as different from what a man may not see/hear whilst he is saying shema. This effectively removes the tefach discussion from the “requirements of a married women” sugya. As far as the latter is concerned, a sharp delineation must be drawn between covering the HEAD (dat Moshe, a de’oraita issue) and the customary way that married Jewish women in any given community identify themselves as such through their haircovering (dat Yehudit). The first is easier to assign a hard-and-fast definition to (cover your head), the second is obviously much more subjective and community-sensitive. A married woman must honor dat moshe and dat yehudit to avoid malpractice.
I’m not sure how a decision to stop covering the HEAD as opposed to the HAIR could be justified within the bounds of halacha. Changing the way in which one covers her hair is a different issue entirely than “throwing the hat off” completely.
Oh, I should look up Rav Henkin’s writings. I went to Nishmat a long time ago, and I still feel an affinity for the Rabbi’s there, even after all this time and no longer being observant. I’ll look up his book.
Here is a question. How is Dat Yehudit determined in modern culture? We all live in mixed groups, with all kinds of frum Jews in the same neighborhoods. Also, just one generation ago, prominent women didn’t cover their heads at all! And also, that generation did the doily on the head thing when in shul. So, did that become the defacto Dat Yehudit? And then, I remember hearing that the current batch of youngish married women did the opposite of their mothers and do cover there hair… becoming more strict. Did that then become the Dat Yehudit? Or is it just do what the women in your shul do? What if you are visiting another shul, or family?
You’re right in that dat yehudit varies and depends on how women in any given community cover their hair. And you’re right that there are different subgroups in each community that choose different methods of haircovering. It would seem that me’ikar hadin, as long as 1) your head is covered and 2) your hair is covered in such a way that is customary among a subgroup of married jewish women in your community, then there exist no malpractice issues.
Concerning the fact that many women who are observant in other areas of halacha but do not cover their heads, there is simply no halachic basis for such a practice. Perhaps this area of halacha was never sufficiently explicated to previous generations, and was therefore misunderstood as a minhag as opposed to a halacha. I try hard to instill in my students the importance of distinguishing between the two and the need to study the topic well so that each woman can make an informed decision.
So, if at the synagogue we go to, many/most of the women only wear a hat or wide hairband on their heads, with their hair hanging loose, then that is what I should do? Some of the women cover up all their hair, but it seems like more don’t. The Rabbi’s wife wears a wig, and a few others as well. Its a mix.
I can only relay the halacha as it was taught to me, where the tefach issue which arises in the sugya in brachot is not relevant to the core responsibility of a married woman, which is to cover her head (dat moshe) and her hair in the custom of how other married Jewish women in her community cover their hair (dat yehudit). Thus if the headband is sufficient to cover her head (along the lines of a bandana, or a baseball cap), and that’s how married Jewish women in your community cover their hair, then I was taught “yesh al mah l’smoch” (there is a solid strain of halachic psak and understanding to back up such a practice). I’ll reiterate, though, that the halacha of head covering (kisui rosh) is not limited to times of prayer or synagogue, but is the responsibility of a married woman at all times when she is in rishut harabim (outside of her home).
Of course, there are those poskim who conflate the two sugyot and claim that tefach b’isha ervah — for those who are used to seeing with a haircovering (married women), even a tefach of hair is erotic, and they pasken therefore that at all times when a married woman is in the presence of a man other than her husband she must cover all of her hair (allowance for exposure of under a tefach). But as far as I learned the inyan, the two sugyot need not be conflated and thus there is halachic basis for a woman to reveal her hair, but not her head, if there are others in her community who do likewise.
What constitutes revealing her head? Something on top of your head?
The gemara in Brachot uses the term “kalta,” which refers to the woven headcap worn by women at the time which perhaps served as a “holding base” of sorts for whatever basket they would be carrying on their heads (Meiri), an actual basket (Rashi), a round cap shaped like a basket that didn’t cover all of her hair (R’ Yehonatan in the gemara itself), a cap used to absorb grime of hair worn under the normal head covering (Aruch). One of the questions posed in the sugya was whether a kalta sufficed to fulfill the requirement of dat moshe (covering the head), and the answer was affirmative.
Kalta is defined as a cap of sorts that covers the head. It’s hard to see how a headband or doily would suffice to fulfill the requirements of dat moshe. Think of the difference between a bukharian-type kippah vs. a smallish kippah sruga — only the former is a cap. The whole biblical prohibition of kisui rosh stems from the pasuk relating to a sotah “u’fara et rosh ha’isha” — uncovering the accused woman’s HEAD (the implication being that she normally has her head covered, not just a portion of hair on top of her head that might be covered by a headband or doily).
Is this the thing about the two coverings, and wearing only one in a courtyard and both when outside? I remember learning some of that.
I remember learning that the ambiguity in “u’fara” meaning uncover, or muss up/unbraid.
So, it seems like a bandana, or very wide hairband would work? Seems like the definition is to cover to the tops of the ears and all the way around (sort of like the equator, if our heads were the Earth).
What, and leave the top of the head bare? Like a visor?
Oh, no, I meant the top of the head, but only as far down as the ears all the way around. Like you dont’ have to wear a snug hat/helmet that goes down to the nape of your neck, in order to be covering your ‘head’.
I don’t know if more specific parameters can be applied to define kalta, other than the broadly worded “a cap that covers your head.” That doesn’t mean that more specific parameters aren’t out there; I just personally don’t know of them.
Shabbat Shalom
Well, thats kind of nice. The idea of covering hair (not head) and all the different opinions of what amount of hair can be very disheartening. The idea that its simply a cap that covers your head, and not strictly defined is great.
Another question, I’ve noticed that some muslim women will uncover their heads in order to fix their covering… and I know that Jewish women who cover their hair would never do that where men could see. Does covering the head have the same issue of tzniut? Or is it a symbol of marriage status? For example, if someone wears a helmut to ride a bike, is it ok to take the helmet off and switch it for a hat? Or take a hat off for a moment to fix a pony tail (or let some air in)? How about sheer fabrics on the head (not totally sheer, but some fabrics are sort of halfway sheer and you can’t really tell once they are on, if your hair is dark and fabric is dark)?