Parashat Naso

            Shabbat Shalom! You may not be surprised to hear that I am often asked why I wear a kippah. People of many backgrounds seem to find this confusing, particularly because I am a woman. And those who know me better like to tease me for the number of kippot I own and how I match them to my outfits. I feel connected to my head coverings and enjoy trying to make them fashionable for myself because it brings God into my mundane every day things like getting dressed. It’s not just an afterthought or something I do because I feel commanded to or expected to, it’s something I think about in the morning before setting out on my day. I also don’t wear one 100% of the time, and that is also a part of my considerations as I prepare for my day. What is on my schedule or to do list today? Are they things I want to physically feel God’s presence above me for? If so, are they in spaces I will feel comfortable wearing a kippah or do I want to opt for a less obvious head covering like a hat or bandana?

            All this to say that sometimes it is possible and even important to bring God into some decisions that may seem outside the realm of the holy and sacred. This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Naso, for example, spends considerable time discussing hair. The Torah tells us that it is possible for people to take stringent vows to commit themselves more deeply to God, but that they do not do this indefinitely. Nazirite vows are to be for a finite period, and this can be a predetermined time, or it can be cut off if a Nazirite accidently comes upon something that defiles his vows. During the time of his purity and commitment to HaShem, Nazirites are not to drink wine or cut their hair, as well abstain from feasts and fast more often than the proscribed fasts. The rabbis disagree about the righteousness of these decisions, which I think is preemptively why they are limited in time to begin with.

            As I was reading through the parasha this week, Numbers 6:9 caught my eye: “If a person dies suddenly near him, defiling his consecrated hair, he shall shave his head on the day he becomes clean; he shall shave it on the seventh day.” It reminded me of the last time I went to the mikveh, in 2015. You may or may not know about me that I have donated my hair several times to non-profits that make and distribute free wigs for cancer and alopecia patients. I like to time these dramatic 10-or-more-inch haircuts to coincide with transitions in my life (following high school and college graduation and getting married, etc.). I had planned to wait until 2016 and cut my hair around the time of my ordination. But the 2014-2015 school year had been a bit tougher than the previous three, and my hair was already more than long enough, and I decided I was ready for a change. Feeling inspired by an amazing course on “Architecture of Ritual” I took that year, I schedule a mikveh date and planned a meaningful, personal ritual with the help of a mikveh guide from ImmerseNYC, an organization that helps provide less traditional but no less meaningful mikveh rituals for people of all genders. The morning of my mikveh date, I cut off about a foot of hair. I didn’t quite shave my head, but it was pretty short. Then I went directly from the hair salon in Brooklyn to the West Side Mikveh in upper Manhattan (the mikveh that allows ImmerseNYC to use its facilities) and felt the purifying living waters of the mikveh run through my freshly shorn hair and over my newly bared neck. I still had the braid in my purse to mail to wigmakers.

I hadn’t been around any death within that previous seven days, but I felt I needed a cleansing and a haircut similar to that which is described in this parasha. In the time of the Torah, mikvot hadn’t quite been established yet – they’re still wandering in the desert; it’s hard to guarantee a pool of fresh water will be available any time someone needs a cleansing. But they did have a process of anointing the person with oil to signify their cleansing after the appropriate time of separation that established the person’s purification. The Torah doesn’t specify if this cleansing was done before or after the haircut on the seventh day of the Nazirite’s purification, but based on my experience I would hope after. I felt so free to be purified by the waters of the mikveh without being weighed down by long and heavy wet hair.

After my most recent donation, I got a letter back from the organization that they now have enough hair to make wigs to meet their projected needs for the next ten years and do not need anymore hair for a while. I heard from other friends who have also donated their hair that many of these types of organizations have said the same thing. So now for the first time in nearly 20 years I don’t really know what I want to do with my hair. My previous process felt holy – the big chop was always so freeing and helped me through transition periods of life, but mostly I did it for the mitzvah of helping children coping with serious illnesses that also cause them baldness. As I think through more ways to continue to mark endings and beginnings for myself, to show my honor for the Divine through mundane acts, and to bring holiness for myself into my daily life, I encourage you to do the same if you don’t already think about these things. How can you include Judaism in your regular decision making as you get dressed, decide on what to eat for dinner, how you wear your hair, how you move from one stage of life to another? Jewish tradition has many guidelines to help you, but there is so much room to go beyond halakha, and especially as Reform Jews it is up to each of us to find the rituals that make our lives most meaningful and lead us more toward a life path directed always toward tikkun olam. May you find your little rituals that bring you sanctity and peace, and guide you toward acts of tzedakah. And since this parasha also contains the priestly benediction: May HaShem bless you and keep you, may HaShem shine on you and be gracious to you, may HaShem lift Their face toward you, and give you peace.