I can't remember if I have mentioned this in a previous blog post or not, but I absolutely love a blog called Kol Isha: Reform Women Rabbis Speak Out, published by the Women's Rabbinic Network. The posts are funny, thought-provoking, and absolutely spot-on when I consider my experience as a young female rabbi in the 21st century. A friend and colleague of mine recently posted about kippot - why and when she wears one, and her struggles and thoughts about the practice of wearing a kippah. The link to the blog is http://womensrabbinicnetwork.wordpress.com/ and I'm also copying her post here. Enjoy!
Kippot
By Rabbi Jill Cozen-Harel
Kippot
By Rabbi Jill Cozen-Harel
Kippot as kodesh?
Ever since my first year of rabbinical school, I’ve worn a kippah
when I’ve prayed. That first moment of placing a kippah on my head of
thick, curly hair felt contrived; it felt like something my brother or
father wore, or something that a friend who considered herself a serious
feminist would wear to make a statement. I wanted to make it mine, the
same way that a tallit and even tefillin have become mine, but the
kippah has been the hardest for me. I hoped that it would bring me more
kavanah or more yirah (awe/fear) of God, and occasionally it does, but
mostly has simply been part of distinguishing holy time from chol time. As it turns out, that distinguishing – the why of
wearing one or not has become far from simple for me. Did I wear a
kippah when I was sitting in class during my days at HUC? Learning in a
classroom and taking notes on my laptop just didn’t feel like avodat kodesh. I
tried wearing a kippah in that context but it felt artificial to me.
Teaching, though, was different. One synagogue asked boys in its
religious school to wear kippot during class and explained to girls that
kippot were optional. None of these 7 year olds wanted to wear kippot,
but if I had any chance of getting them to do so, I knew that I had to
model it. Egalitarianism is a core principle for me. I couldn’t
wholeheartedly tell half the class that they had to do something that
the other half didn’t need to do and I didn’t need to do either. So I
committed to wearing a kippah while I was teaching. I watched several
of my male friends begin to wear kippot regularly through the day and a
piece of me longed to do the same. Did I want to wear a kippah
regularly as an outward symbol of my Judaism? Or could I feel just as
confident about taking it off when I ended a holy time as when I put it
on?
Rote or ritual?
Still, the nuances continued to blur. A year after ordination, I
was teaching at a Jewish day school and it seemed like the majority of
what I would be doing during the day fell into my ‘praying or teaching’
bracket. So I started wearing a kippah throughout the school day – in
meetings, at recess, in class, in tefilah, anywhere and everywhere while
I was on campus. I aimed for it to all be holy work, although, of
course, in the midst of middle school drama and constantly changing
plans, I often forgot that I was even wearing a kippah. I had hoped for
those transitory moments of connection when I put it on before I prayed
at HUC to remain throughout the years and infuse my days of teaching.
Sometimes feeling it on my head did help me refocus my priorities. But
on the days when it didn’t have that role, was I wearing it because I
hoped for that kavanah in the future? Because I felt like it gave me a
different sense of symbolic presence with my students? Because it was
now simply what I did? During that time, my reasons to wear a kippah
kept evolving. I wore a kippah because it symbolized my love of Judaism
a certain context. Unintentionally, it also started to symbolize my
being a rabbi. When I realized that I spent more and more time at
Jewish communal events that weren’t exactly learning or praying, but
were very explicitly about exploring Jewish identity, it felt
appropriate to continue wearing a kippah in those contexts too. Since
wearing a kippah is not a mitzvah like wearing tzitzit, a tallit, or
tefillin, each person is even more free to find his or her reasons for
wearing (or not wearing) one.
Rabbis?
A few months ago, I was at a lovely gala for a Jewish organization.
I was talking with someone who I was just meeting and a rabbinic
colleague – the three of us were talking about our mutual connections –
and my new acquaintance remarks that she sees four or five women in the
room wearing kippot, including us. Can she assume that they are all
rabbis? Stumped. I was almost certain that all of the women who were
wearing kippot that night were actually rabbis but I did not want to
make her think that the only women who wore kippot were rabbis. Would
she have asked that question about the men in the room? Doubtful. When
did wearing a kippah symbolize my being a rabbi? I’m not entirely sure
when or where that started but there it was, staring me in the face.
There are moments when it’s useful that someone is able to identify me
as the rabbi more quickly because of a kippah, like when a patient’s
family saw me in the hospital and before I could even introduce myself,
grabbed me and said, “You’re a rabbi? We need you now!” Yet I hope
that does not become the sole reason that I wear it (or any other
religious item, for that matter). At the end of the day, I hope and
pray that I am always rooted in the person who I am primarily, followed
by the role that I fill as a rabbi. Otherwise, how could I be authentic
in my work, as I sit with patients and families in their pain and pray
for God’s comfort? I would offer the same words whether or not I was
wearing a kippah. I would pray the same Amidah tomorrow morning. And
yet, it might feel different. The family might feel less connected to me
if I am wearing one. If they were looking for a peer to hold their
hands and the see my kippah as signifying my being a rabbi, has my role
changed? How much does it matter what you wear? Do symbols speak
louder than your own voice or your own actions? Is the kippah about my
role in someone else’s life or about God’s role in my life?
In this week’s parasha, God tells Avram, “lech lecha” - the Mei HaShiloach explains this as “Go forth to find your authentic self, to learn who you are meant to be.” When I put on a kippah and fasten it with those two little clips, I ask that it digs me into a deeper awareness of God’s presence. And on the other hand, I ask that as I listen to God whispering lech lecha that I know my authentic self and only wear a kippah when it feels true to my sense of who I am. Jill. Rabbi. Woman…and when it feels true to my sense of what I am doing. Learning. Praying. Teaching. Comforting. Building community and creating connections to Israel or social justice. All avodat kodesh.
Rabbi Jill Cozen-Harel is a chaplain at California Pacific Medical Center in San Francisco.
