A Modest Proposal

This is a sermon about two little girls. The first one is named Naama Margolese. She is eight years old: a blond, bespectacled second grader.  She lives in Beit Shemesh, a city located between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Naama’s parents made aliyah from America to Israel; they are modern Orthodox Jews. Naama attends a religious girls’ school called Orot Banot that opened in 2011. Last December an Israeli television show featured a story about Naama, in which she confessed that she was afraid to walk to school because groups of haredim, ultra-Orthodox men, would spit on her, insult her and call her a prostitute because of her supposedly immodest dress.

The news story ignited an outcry in Israel and throughout the Jewish world. It was the latest episode in months of conflict between the Haredi extremists of Beit Shemesh and their neighbors, including instances in which Haredi men threw rocks and eggs at the police and security forces seeking to control them, or screamed insults at female journalists covering the story.

Nauseated by the spectacle of grown men spitting at an eight year old girl, the public struck back. Several thousand Israelis rallied in Beit Shemesh to protest religious extremism. Some Haredi women, repudiating the actions of extremists, gave flowers to the students at Orot Banot school, telling the girls that they were beautiful. Prime Minister Netanyahu announced that “Israel is a democratic, Western, liberal state” and promised that “the public sphere in Israel will be open and safe for all.” Some Orthodox and Haredi rabbis spoke out in public addresses and in print against behavior they called despicable and un-Jewish, arguing that such acts are the work of a violent minority seeking to impose their views on the majority by force  [“Israeli Girl, 8, at the Center of Tension Over Religious Extremism,” New York Times, December 27, 2011; “The Battle Of Bet Shemesh,” The Guardian, Dec. 18, 2011].

The Beit Shemesh dispute has catalyzed a national conversation in Israel about increasing efforts to ban women from public space and enforce separation of the sexes, such as requiring women to sit in the back of the bus on bus lines serving certain ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods.

Yesterday we were fortunate to welcome to Beth Am Anat Hoffman, the director of IRAC, the Reform Movement’s Israel Religious Action Center, who told us about her organization’s vigorous efforts to combat this religious oppression. It was IRAC that spearheaded the legal case in the Israeli Supreme Court that resulted in the ruling that separate public transportation for men and women is illegal. We are fortunate to have Anat Hoffman’s powerful voice for sanity, moderation, human rights and women’s rights, and IRAC deserves the support of every one of us. [For information and to make a donation, see: http://www.irac.org/].

Lost in the discussion about the ugly events in Beit Shemesh is another, related story – this one about a six year old girl named Ariella who lives in Houston, Texas. I read about it in a Houston Jewish newspaper. Here’s how it began. “It was one of those mother-daughter moments. Vicki Teller and her daughter, Ariella, then six, were in Target last December. Ariella was looking to spend a gift card she got for Chanukah.

“Mom and daughter are in the doll aisle and the first thing Ariella goes for are the Bratz dolls. In case you aren’t the parents of young girls, the Bratz line of dolls is currently the top selling fashion doll with a market share of about 46%. The dolls are characterized by their heavy diva-like makeup and their ‘oh-I'm-so-bored’ ….expressions. They wear ‘fashionista’ outfits that are usually pretty skimpy, detailed accessories and play sets which reflect their ‘cool’ (and somewhat materialistic) lifestyle…..”

The article continues: “Ariella asked her mother if she could use the gift card to buy a Bratz doll she pulled off the shelf. Vicki gave her an instant ‘no’. As Ariella stood there, waiting for her mom to explain, Vicki was trying to figure out a way to explain why this isn’t the kind of doll she wants her daughter playing with.

Vicki Teller remembers standing in Target and thinking ‘What values am I trying to instill in my daughter’?” [From “A Modest Path to Modesty,” by Aaron Howard].

What connects these stories of two little girls who live in different worlds many thousands of miles apart? It’s the Hebrew word “tzniyut,” usually translated as “modesty.” Tzniyut is what the Haredi men in Beit Shemesh were enforcing when they assaulted Naama Margolese. It’s the motive behind separating men and women in some Israeli busses, municipal offices and the Western Wall. Tzniyut is what’s demanded by the signs you will find in ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods commanding “daughters of Israel” to cover their heads and wear long sleeves, long, loose-fitting skirts and tights or hosiery that “masks the legs and covers them well” [from “Modesty -- An Adornment for Life,” Rabbi Pesach Eliyahu Falk].

Our instinctive response to such attempts to dictate women’s attire is often anger or, at best, ridicule. It seems to us an expression of patriarchal domination that has no place in the modern world. Among the ultra-Orthodox in Israel, it’s true -- the concept of tzniyut has been used, as one Orthodox rabbi wrote, as “a weapon to subordinate women or intimidate them out of the public square.”  He added: “The unconscionable physical and verbal violence against women in Beit Shemesh and elsewhere [has] degraded the religious concept of tzeniut (modesty) by associating it with misogyny and oppression.” [Rabbi Aryeh Klapper,  “Reflections on Tzniut and Beit Shemesh, January 19, 2012] As such, it is abhorrent to us.    

But there is another conversation we could have about tzniyut – a conversation about Vicki Teller, a well-educated professional woman and an observant Jew, who is standing in the toy aisle at Target and wondering whether she should buy her six her old girl a doll featuring skimpy clothes, heavy eye shadow and a big, pouty, lipstick-smeared mouth. Vicki Teller, too, is thinking about tzniyut, because it is a fundamental aspect of Jewish spirituality and ethics.

What is tzniyut, really? Is it all about covering up women’s elbows and knees? A recent column on an Orthodox website tried to address some common misconceptions about the purpose behind the laws of tzniyut. A questioner wrote: “Why does Judaism tell women to keep their bodies covered? Is there something shameful or evil about a woman's body? If men can't control their urges, then it's their problem, not women's. Why should a woman have to hide herself just so others shouldn't be tempted?”

This was the answer: “You are assuming that the only reason for modest dress is to avoid temptation. While this may be the case in other religions, for Judaism this is not true. The Jewish way of modest dress is not merely about how other people view women, but more about how women view themselves.

“Covering something doesn't always mean being ashamed of it. Have you ever noticed how we treat a Torah scroll? We never leave it lying around open. It is hidden behind many layers. The Torah is kept inside a synagogue, in the Ark, behind a curtain, wrapped in a mantle, held tightly closed with a belt. It is only… taken out when it is to be used for its holy purpose, to be read during the prayer service. For those special times we carefully draw the curtain, open the doors of the ark, bring out the Torah, uncover it and unwrap it. As soon as we have finished we immediately wrap it up again and put it away.

“Why do we do all this? Why do we go to such trouble to conceal the Torah? Are we ashamed of it? Is there something to hide? Is there something ugly about the Torah? Of course not. The opposite is true. Because the Torah is our holiest object, because it is so sacred and special and precious, we never leave it exposed unnecessarily. We keep it under wraps because we don't want to treat it lightly, we don't want to become too casual with it. Were the Torah to be always open and visible, it [might] become too familiar, and its sanctity minimized. By keeping it away from sight and only bringing it out for the appropriate times, we maintain our reverence and respect for the Torah.

“The same is [true of] our bodies. The body is the holy creation of G d. It is the sacred house of the soul. The way we maintain our respect for the body is by keeping it covered. Not because it is shameful, but because it is so beautiful and precious.” [from Aron Moss, “Do Women Have Something to Hide?” www.chabad.org/article.asp?aid=650631] .

This piece, written by a male, is only modestly persuasive to me. Certainly we do keep our most precious objects under wraps, hidden away from public view. But it is usually the owner who determines how and when to display such precious possessions, and in the Orthodox community it is men who determine how women’s bodies are to be attired in public.

Still, there are some interesting pieces written by Orthodox women who choose to dress modestly that help us understand how this practice feels from the inside. Here’s one example, by a woman named Chaya Rivka Jessel. She begins by pointing out that the concept of tzniuyt is not just about clothing. She writes:

“… [T]zniut is a way of life -- how one dresses is simply its most visible application. It encompasses our behavior, our speech, and even our thoughts. Whereas in its colloquial sense, ‘modesty’ implies docility, low self-esteem, and a basic lack of ‘oomph,’ in Jewish terms, tzniut is a source of power and self-worth, and a prerequisite for spiritual growth.’

She continues: “….One of the key words in my feminist vocabulary was ‘self-esteem.’ This, I felt, was vital to a woman’s sense of achievement and accomplishment. When first learning about tzniut, I mistakenly associated it with a sense of self-deprecation. As I learned more, it became apparent that, on the contrary, tzniut is the most significant contributor to a strong sense of self and self-worth.”

Chaya Rivka says that for her, the decision to dress modestly brings a sense of freedom and power – it is a kind of women’s liberation. She writes: “Observing the laws of tzniut makes a statement to ourselves and to the world at large that our self-worth is not reliant upon the approval of others, but rather upon doing what is right in God’s eyes. Tzniut frees people from superficiality, and in this way, engenders a stronger sense of self. I am more than my body, and I am no longer ensnarled by the current fads of fashion. Tzniut frees me to soar to ever-greater heights” [from “Banishing Barbie,” by Chaya Rivka Jessel].

Interestingly, I heard an American Muslim teenage girl in Berkeley, California, give a similar explanation of why she chooses to dress in modest clothing and wear a head scarf. She said, “It helps me remember that I’m not just an object whose purpose is to be attractive to boys – I’m a person.”

Does tzniyut have any place in the lexicon and life of a modern Reform Jew? Understood in its broadest sense, I think it can and should. Aryeh Klapper, an Orthodox rabbi, describes three key elements of tzniyut:

First, tzniyut is “a broad Jewish value whose practical expression is opposition to unnecessary and meretricious self-exposure, whether of the body or the soul. It relates to all people, male and female alike, and all of life.” (Meretricious is a good SAT word – it means “attracting attention in a flashy or vulgar manner.”)

Second, tzniyut “is intended to preserve and expand the domain of intimacy. Intimacy is constructed by exclusivity of exposure, by sharing things about oneself that one does not share broadly. People with inadequate emotional boundaries are less capable of achieving relationship through emotional sharing, and people with inadequate physical boundaries are less capable of achieving relationship through physical intimacy.”

Third, “tzniyut is intended to preserve the integrity of personal space – physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual.  People who ‘spill’ emotionally compel others to respond to them – to feel pity when they express suffering, anger when they express betrayal, and the like.  This legitimately feels like a violation.  The same is true of unwanted touch, or of unwanted visual erotic stimulation.”

Rabbi Klapper points out that tzniyut is opposed to unnecessary self-exposure; like anything else, it can be carried to a harmful extreme.  “Excessive tzeniut can be pathological,” he writes. “People who never share their emotions do not experience ultimate intimacy, but rather intractable loneliness….Similarly, in the erotic realm, tzeniut is intended to maximize the space for marital intimacy, not to make husbands and wives chary of each other’s bodies, and to give people autonomous control of their sexuality, not to dissociate them from their physical selves.”

How might we live in a way that avoids “unnecessary exposure” or “emotional spilling”?  It could start with simple things. No loud cell phone conversations in public places; no blasting your car radio with the windows open. Don’t force your seat-mate on an airplane to talk if he or she seems to prefer quiet. You don’t need to dump your troubles on a casual acquaintance or go on and on about the minutiae of your own life when an acquaintance asks how you are. Don’t stand too close or hug too hard. All of these acts could be construed as intrusive, as imposing on others, violating their sense of personal space and privacy.

Practicing tzniyut doesn’t mean that we have to be unfriendly, withholding or secretive. Instead, the concept of tzniyut suggests maintaining a kind of nuanced sensibility in which our self-disclosure is not automatic and mindless but thoughtful and deliberate. We reveal more of ourselves, physically and spiritually, to those who are close; we reveal all of ourself only to one special person with whom we have a sacred, intimate bond.

At the heart of such selective self-disclosure is a sense that we matter. Our bodies, our thoughts and our innermost feelings are important; they ought not to be held cheaply, heedlessly displayed for indifferent onlookers to gaze at and gossip about. We share the deepest things only with those we love and trust fully; those who will value them as they deserve.

Tzniyut could inspire us, whether we’re female or male, to think about how we want to appear in public, what messages we want to send to the world around us through our clothing; what we want others to notice and pay attention to; what we ourselves want to focus on when we get dressed for the day.

Jewish tradition is imbued with a sense of reserve and personal privacy that is certainly alien to many people today. It seems at odds with much of popular culture, which is all about sharing and exposing yourself – whether through low-slung blue jeans and peek-a-boo underwear, talk show confessionals or online blogging about anything and everything. The notion of tzeniyut comes from a different world view, one that is rooted in Jewish spirituality.  Its most famous expression is in a phrase that is part of our Beth Am mission: from the words of the prophet Micah, who challenges us to “do justice, love kindness, and ‘walk modestly – hatzneah lechet – with our God” [Micah 6:8].

Hatzneah lechet – walking modestly, privately, quietly – is from the same Hebrew root as “tzniyut.” It suggests that wherever we walk and whatever we do, we remember that we’re in the presence of the Divine. It implies a way of carrying oneself and conducting oneself that is the very opposite of “in your face” self-promotion and self-advertisement.

It doesn’t mean we can’t relax and have fun. It doesn’t stop us from speaking up when it’s appropriate.  It doesn’t mean we have to hide meekly in a corner or, God forbid, in the back of a bus. It means we take up an appropriate amount of space in the world – not too much and not too little; that we respect ourselves and respect the people around us; that we maintain a sense of personal dignity that comes from within.

No one else is going to teach this lesson, or model this behavior, for our sons and our daughters. They’re not going to learn it from Bratz dolls or surfing the Internet. But we should never discount the power of personal example in conveying lessons for life. And this lesson is worth passing on. Because living with tzniyut, learning to create and maintain boundaries that protect the self, opens up the possibility for wonderful things to happen: deep friendship, loving and joyful sexuality, a quiet confidence that no one can take away from you.