The F Word

Flipped.

For a seminary girl, there is no “f” word more obscene.

In high school, my friends and I used to countdown the days until Pesach. Not necessarily because of the two week break, although that was an added bonus, but because it was the anticipated return of the past year’s sem students. As they stepped into their old stomping grounds, we sat idly by, ready to pass judgment. With a quick glance at their knee, we felt we had the ability to sum up their year of growth. We treated their return like a runway show. If our subject was a proud, patella bearing rebel turned Mimu Maxi fanatic, we deemed them “flipped out.”

“Classic sem girl,” we would say.

“They sure brainwashed her.”

“No way it will last.”

“She used to wear less clothes than I wear in the shower.”

“She’ll be back to her old high school self before the chag is over.”

Our wrath was not only reserved for these newly frum girls. Old friends who walked in visibly unchanged or in less modest attire would be privately berated.

“What a waste of a year.”

“$25,000 down the drain for some cleavage.”

“I knew she couldn’t handle the intense learning.”

This went on year after year until it was my turn to spend the year away. When I unpacked my suitcase on the first day of seminary, I noticed something different about my clothes. I had always been on the more observant side of my friend group and this had a big affect on how I perceived others. Since I had sacrificed so many cute mini skirts and short sleeve shirts throughout the years, I had the right to look down on those who didn’t make the same choices. My juvenile and sanctimonious views of my religion allowed me to look down on others for years, yet all it took was one day of seminary to ground me.

As I walked around my seminary on that first day, I noticed that I was no longer “the frum girl” in town. Moreover, I definitively had the shortest dresses of any of my seventy peers. All at once I felt like the recipient of my previous stares. As I walked through the halls, I had the sudden realization that there are few things as personal as one’s own concept of modesty. In a moment, the same clothes that I had always worn left me feeling naked.

For the past four months, we have been learning the value of tznius. The laws regarding what needs to be covered and why, the benefits of presenting oneself in a humble manner, and the tools to attain this goal. More than anything I have learned that tznius isn’t a cause, it is an effect. The only truly tznius people I have come to know don’t judge others, rather they merely live their lives in a positive way.

Since getting rid of my low cut shirts and hiked up skirts, people often comment how hard I’ve “flipped”. I smile as I do my best to suppress my disdain for the hated “f” word. I try to remind myself that since those days in my high school hallway, I’ve learnt that there is so much more to someone than the length of her skirt. For a religion that puts so much emphasis on the soul of a Jew, we have to see beyond one’s physical exterior regardless of how clear the picture seems. Learning this lesson is a greater process than I had known previously and through my development, I found a way to embrace my exterior as a reflection of my internal growth. Perhaps the “f” word isn’t so bad after all.