It had been a lovely day. We were going to disembark soon. I said, “Ron” and when he looked at me, I did that thing that sets my children’s teeth on edge. I pinched the hairs of my wig with my fingers, and without lifting it, I moved my wig back and forth over my scalp. Ron’s eyes got very big. “No… You? You are so normal? No!”
“Oh Yes, Ron.” I said. And then we laughed.
After I did the wig slide, Ron wanted to know more. “Why do you cover your hair?” “Because the Talmud teaches that a woman’s hair is considered suggestive.”
“Why a wig? Why not a kerchief or a hat?”
“Wigs are harder to take off. A woman who is wearing a kerchief or a hat may slip it off if she feels embarrassed by her head covering, but she’s not likely to yank off her wig in public.”
I never struggled with the decision to wear a wig. My mother wears a wig. Her mother wore a wig… and well before my teens, I’d been taught the teachings of the Zohar, “…Her children will be superior… her husband will be blessed with spiritual and material blessings, with wealth, children and children’s children.” When I got engaged, in 1986, my mother took me to the wig maker and ordered two wigs — one synthetic and one human hair. In the Kodak prints under sticky plastic in our old fashioned photo albums, my early wigs puff out stiffly. My wig- maker used to empty cans of hairspray onto my head until the wig was helmet-like and would hold its style if I got caught in a wind or a tornado. My wigs have softened over the years. I no longer wear synthetics or use hairspray. The new wigs have flexible netting, human hair that tumbles naturally, and escalating price tags. I have one wig for rain and exercise — that’s the “okay to ruin wig,” and one “good to go” wig set aside for special events — that’s the wig that helps me pull off the “ready in 30 minutes or less” for fancy occasions. Then there are the everyday wigs — the ones closest to my own hair, but nicer, definitely nicer. I replace my wigs when they become discolored or threaten to unravel — every couple of years.
I’ve grown into my own Orthodoxy. Like the new wigs that look so much better on me now, that fit me so much more comfortably, I’ve grown from the child who did as she was told — children used to in those days — to the woman who does what her God asks of her because
her relationship with her God is ongoing and vital to who she is. God asked me to cover my hair after I got married. God didn’t ask that I look unattractive, just that I make it clear that I’m spoken for, that part of me be kept from the public eye.
So why didn’t I own up to my wig when I was asked about it?
The Code of Jewish Law details Jewish observance from the moment we wake and say the first words of the day — an acknowledgement of the return of our soul, followed by the washing of our hands by the bed— until the final prayer of Shema before going to sleep. In the very first page of the Code of Jewish Law, we are instructed, “not to be embarrassed from those who may mock us.”
I didn’t admit to wearing a wig because I wanted to look “normal,” to be just like the rest of the group — a writer working on her craft, wanting to be heard. The wig could make me stranger than strange. The wig could make me seem repressed, or ugly, or “too Jewish.”
I’d been careful— wearing the same wig week after week. When I switched to another wig, I made sure it was shorter than the first, so it would look like I got a haircut. No one had to know. I could be just like the others— except that I believed in God and wrote about it.
But if I believed that being close to God was my reason for being, then why did I care about looking like everyone else? Why wasn’t I unapologetically me — proud of my observance, and able to answer when asked about it. Because that was what bothered me most — she’d asked. She’d wanted to know.
I wanted to fix it. Delete and redo. I wanted to go back to that woman, and to the other women who’d been listening, and tell them that I wore a wig because that was my way of honoring my marriage and of serving God. But I’d lost the opening. I couldn’t work it into a conversation, “Yes I had a nice weekend, and I’m wearing a wig.”
Instead I stared into the blank space, into the hesitation, and met it head on. I believe. And because I believe, I do. And so, this bewigged woman will step out of her home, out of her synagogue, unafraid, eager even, to let others know what and when and how and why she does what she does — though maybe only when they ask.
Devorie Kreiman, MA ED, lives in Los Angeles. She is the author of the Bas Mitzvah Notebook. Her work has appeared on Narrative.ly. She is a popular public speaker on the power of faith, humor and joy. Devorie is currently working on a memoir.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect those of Lilith Magazine.
I can relate very much to this piece. I’ve received many compliments on my “hair” and have not always been brave enough to answer it’s a wig… and begin that conversation.
Beautiful! Thanks for sharing!
But did it ever come up at a future writing group session?
Beautiful! Kol HaKavod!
Beautifully written. Very introspective. Really reminds you to be true to yourself as well as others.
Beautifully written – I can feel your pride. You’re an inspiration and a shining light. Keep on inspiring.
What a beautifully written article. So relatable and inspiring.
Devory, your honesty touched me and I cried. We all have a need for a persona to protect our deepest self. Is it easier for you to share “loss and soul and faith in Gd” than to express the inner joy and pride in how you choose to live? Is this joy the secret of your strength? (It is in the genes. Your grandfather a”h had it and Yossi a”h had it, too.) I am in awe at how you balance your life. I am very proud of you!
Beautifully written, as others before me have said. And it certainly explains to me, on a very personal and understandable level, why Orthodox women choose to wear wigs. It also explains to me why I do not, though. That a woman’s hair is considered “suggestive,” as is a woman’s voice in shul; these suggest to me that men have no self-control and that it is my job to help them. I prefer to believe that men are not children and can (learn to) control their impulses.
As to being spoken for, I believe my wedding band says that loud and clear. My husband’s wedding band, same as mine, says the same thing.
Thank you for a thought-provoking piece.
Beautifully written. As always, your pieces are universal. We all struggle with the push and pull of self revelation and our fear of being “different”
In my humble opinion….as Amy expressed…..there is no reason our men should not be as carefully schooled in appropriate behavior,and appropriate dress. If the fathers spent as much time inculcating in their sons proper self control – controlling their thoughts – as they do drilling their daughters on appropriate dress, appropriate behavior and appropriate thoughts – the twisted idea that SHE is responsible for HIS mind, ideas and thoughts wing erestould be unnecessary.
So while the women are relegated to being responsible for HIS thoughts…it is interesting that there is no reciprocal expectation…..seeing good looking guys with their turn on hairy arms, or tight pants leaving nothing to the imagination, dancing, jumping, wearing tee shirts on a hot day…..or …….
The gold standard of female – we have no thoughts and are made of stone. Or is it we have been from birth – conditioned, trained, instructed, and inculcated with what is appropriate……..Yoo hoo, it can work both ways. By the way..,.while HER wedding she band alerts she is married and spoken for…where is HIS???