Miryam's Space

 Did you ever feel the need to be like Thoreau living on Walden pond, opting out of the “rat race” for a while?  To ditch the “military industrial complex” (a phrase I learned from my twenty two year old kid) or like Wordsworth to separate from the

“world (that is) too much with us, late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers…”

Not to numb the senses and simply escape, but to find out how to connect to G!d, nature the infinite universe? How would it feel staying apart?  What would be gained and lost? What of the loneliness? And how would others recognize your choice and give you space, and… what would you do about your hair?!

 In this This week’s parashah, Naso, a pathway is given

Bamidbar chapter 6:2: If anyone, man or woman, can make a Nazir’s vow, to set themself apart for G!d,

There are really only three requirements to becoming a Nazirite: 1. No wine or other intoxicants  2. not go near a dead person, not even a close relative 3. To grow your hair wild!

 “Kodesh yihyeh, gadel pera s’ar rosho” For all the term of their vow as nazir, no razor shall pass over their head; it will remain holy for all of their days as a Nazir, Holy to  G!d, the hair of their head being left to grow untrimmed. 

There was a loud party in my neighborhood this past weekend, blasting the silence of the night as I took a walk, with typical dance and DJ songs. Alcohol I’m sure was had, and people celebrated, and I’ve been there. My daughter’s Bat mitzvah was celebrated in the back yard, and I enjoyed sharing food and drink and laughter with family and friends. Sometimes, though,  feeling hollow, hevel, as Ecclesiastes says, I yearn for only the silence, and to step out under the stars. Sometimes I cannot join genuinely in the rejoicing. Requirement #1, if you vow to be a Nazir is not to indulge in alcohol or intoxicants: no celebrations.

The second requirement of the Nazirite is to not attend a funeral, to be unavailable to share in the community’s losses, or even those of your own family. Without the solace of becoming vulnerable in your joy, perhaps the symmetry is not to be vulnerable to the loss of loved ones. It reminds me of  what my yoga teacher, Maria says about the Buddhist masters who respond with equanimity to life’s highs and lows.

So why the long, wild hair?  Rafael Sforno, the renaissance commentator says it means the hair should not be coiffed, not formed into any shape. Perhaps it makes the Nazirite less judgmental of self and others.  I had previously thought that maybe the wisdom was in avoiding the harsh metal razor.  But the holiness of the hair is mentioned too many times:  I recognize now that it’s more of a mountain-man/-woman thing: letting be what will grow. Just as so many haven’t taken haircuts this year!

Rashi explains: “his hair shall be holy, In that he must let it grow freely to let grow the overgrowth, in Hebrew  perah of the hair on his head..  Interestingly the other meaning of the word “Perah” is a leader.

The Zohar pictures the white hair and beard of the Ancient Holy One, Attika Kadisha as rays of shefa and mazal.

And of course there was Shimshon -whose name is related to shemesh , the sun, and who is according to Dr Ely Levine a “a liminal hero, sitting on the edge of what is acceptable and what is not.”  Hair is interestingly a liminal material, between life and death. Formed in the follicle within the dermis by living cells, cells die as they are forced up through the shaft, and all that we see is entirely made of dead cells and materials. Why does a toddler cry during that first haircut? They think it will hurt! But it doesn’t. The other body material made in a similar way are finger and toenails, Klippot. Both are formed from dead cells filled with the tough protein keratin. Fish scales, shark teeth, feathers, fur: all keratin, as is the dead outer protective epidermis of our own skin. Ironically fingernails are considered to have demonic potential, even as the Nazir’s hair is holy. They grow a bit after death, dirt accumulates beneath them, they can be sharp and cutting, and to keep them growing very long will curl them and make using the hands difficult. Traditionally you would cut nails before Shabbat, and either burn them (best choice) or bury them, or they are dangerous according to Tikkunei Zohar! And when we do havdallah, turn nails toward the flame, to ensure that the light holds sway over them during the week.

When your vow is done, a ceremony of cutting the sacred hair, and burning it ends the Nazirite’s separation when he or she rejoins with a drink and celebration. Or perhaps donating to locks of love.

The musical Hair opened on Broadway in 1968. I was ten years old, and I saw a 50 year revival. A time of civil unrest, similar to today, gre w a youth culture of subversive disengagement. Opposition to: the war in Vietnam, racism, to sexism, and to poisoning of the earth, reactions to the assassinations of King and the Kennedy brothers, was expressed by young men by growing their hair “long as I can grow it” In this musical, hair became a symbol of a new culture, The dawning of the age of Aquarius. When violence and war take a friend’s life, they urgently pray to let the sun shine in!

Israeli New Age musician Idan Raichel had beautiful long dreadlocks, which somehow made the cries more plaintiff Mimaamikim karati eilaich- From the depths I call to you! He cut his long dreadlocks recently, and shaved his hair close to the scalp. He explained: he’s a family man now, with two pre-teen daughters.  Perhaps the symbol of his new role in society was to shave his head as the Nazirite does .

All of these are possible answers to the opening question: Why the wild hair? But the most beautiful answer floated to my ears yesterday in the words of poet Elana Klugman spoken in her poem Revelations: The Toratot of  Ruth about Ruth and other tales, and hopes for gentler times, as she imagined G!d as

the infinite

tenderness of All

caressing our wild hair.

That’s why the wild hair.