Standing with Zach by Manny

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The conflict in the Middle East unleashed so many protests on campus. They were loud, unpleasant affairs with people shouting at each other and making outrageous claims. But, it was all rather impersonal and very unconnected to me until….

"What is it, Zach?" I asked my roommate whose face looked ashen.

He had stepped out of our dorm room on his way to class, but immediately come back in, slammed and locked the door. Zach seemed petrified.

"They’re coming after me," he finally blurted out. "I’m a Zionist pig, apparently."

I had never seen Zach so agitated. He was a nice, mild-mannered guy. Jewish, yes, but certainly no Zionist pig.

I figured there was something in the hall and went to see what had unnerved him so.

Sprayed on our dorm door was this ominous warning, "Go back to where you came from, Zionist pig." A few crude swastikas were painted over Stars of David.

"Oh, Zach! That’s awful. I’m going to report it to the campus police and the Dean of Students," I said, horrified by what I saw.

"Don’t expect much sympathy from that crowd. It seems as if college campuses are no place for Jews anymore," he murmured.

It made me feel sad to see Zach so rattled. And, it also disturbed me that our centers of enlightenment, tolerance, inquiry, and learning were morphing into factories of hate.

Zach continued, "I have a test this morning, but I don’t feel like going out there…."

"Let me go with you, just to give you some moral support," I urged.

"And help fend off any bigots?" Zach asked, cracking a bit of a smile. "Sure, I’d appreciate that. I feel shaken, that’s all."

We walked together and things on campus seemed normal. I was glad to give him enough confidence to go ahead with the exam.

Throughout the next couple of weeks, I tried to support Zach in any way I could. It was obvious he appreciated the encouragement. We spent a lot of time together, and our friendship grew ever closer.

One thing that made me sad was that Zach had stopped wearing a kippah. He had always worn one in public, as part of his identity. He was not ashamed of his faith, but the hate message on our door shook him deeply.

I decided to engage with him on the matter.

"You stopped wearing your kippah, Zach," I noted as he was getting ready to go out one afternoon to get some supper.

"Can you blame me?" Zach retorted.

"I miss seeing you fastening one of your head each morning. Kippahs are so fun â€" the bold colors and patterns. Sometimes small, sometimes larger. Made of any fabric, suede, leather, or crocheted yarn. A man-only accessory, like a necktie," I noted lightheartedly.

"Then, why don’t you wear one?" Zach asked me. "Here, let me give you my favorite."

Zach rummage through his drawer and pulled out a beautiful kippah with a blue, maroon and white geometric pattern.

"Is it kosher for a Gentile to wear a kippah?" I asked, a little apprehensive, admiring the embroidered piece of fabric.

"Of course, it will be a sign of solidarity and respect. Since you profess to be God-fearing, it should also be a sign of your submission to the Almighty, a recognition that He is always above us," Zach explained.

"Will you put it on me?" I asked, warming to the idea.

As he searched for another hair clip, I became very excited about donning a kippah myself for the very first time.

Zach ran his fingers through my thick, blond wavy hair that hung to my shoulders. He smoothed it in place and then clipped the kippah right on top.

It felt so right up there, somehow.

"At least you have plenty of hair to keep it attached," Zach noted as he moved me to the mirror where I could see it.

"How do bald men keep on their kippahs?" I asked.

"It’s a challenge," Zach laughed.

"Can I come with you to dinner?" I asked. "I’m feeling a bit hungry myself. And, please, wear a kippah. You shouldn’t feel bullied like that."

Zach rolled his eyes and then flashed a smile. "Why not? You’re sweet, Christopher. Thanks for supporting me so much over the past weeks. I was telling my rabbi about you. He said he wanted to meet you, that I should invite you to a Sabbath service."

Somehow, I felt strangely warmed and enveloped in a sort of mystical, divine embrace. I glanced in the mirror again and admired the kippah.

"Yes, please take me the next time you go to temple, Zach. I want to meet your rabbi," he said.

"You know, he’s at the Hillel Center tonight. We could eat there, and I could introduce you," Zach said.

"Your rabbi?" I asked. "I’d love that."

"He’ll be happy to see me wearing a kippah again," Zach said as he clipped a very bold white and blue skull cap with a Star of David in his copper-colored hair.

Zach’s wavy, coarse hair was cut into a rather short taper.

"There! My Magen David will serve as a bull’s eye for the bullies who want to attack me," he laughed.

"Attack US, you mean, we’re both sporting kippahs," I added.

Zach let out a laugh. "No one would think you Jewish, Christopher, I can assure you of that."

I shrugged and guessed it was because I was blond and had a distinctly Nordic look. It was only when we were talking with the rabbi that the real reason came out.

"So this is the young man, your hero roommate. A modern-day ‘righteous among the nations’!" the rabbi laughed. "Hassidei Umot Haolam. That means you’re a ‘good goy’."

"Good boy?" I asked, puzzled.

"Not boy. GOY! A good Gentile," Zach clarified.

"And, you’re wearing a kippah!" the rabbi exclaimed.

"I’m standing with Zach! I suppose everyone thinks I too am Jewish," I said.

"Not with hair like that," the rabbi noted.

"Blond?" I asked.

"Long!" he replied.

"But Samson had long hair," I stammered.

"Ah, ready for a theological debate! Now, that’s making me think you’ve got some good Jewish genes way back in your DNA somewhere," the rabbi said with a twinkle.

Zach explained, "In our faith community, the general principal is that men look like men and women look like women. There are unwritten, but widely observed guidelines. It’s generally considered a shame for a man to have his hair long, like that of a woman."

My face blushed. Zach just suggested I looked feminine!

"Oh, I see," I murmured, as I pawed at my shoulder-length tresses.

As we continued to chat, I looked around and noticed that almost all the Jewish men wore their hair cut short and appeared manly. These were modern-looking fellows â€" no side curls or prayer shawls in the room, but plenty of colorful kippahs paired with tailored jeans.

And then there was me, with my bouncy blond locks, dancing about my shoulders. I definitely did not fit into their standards of coiffure.

I had a fun evening at the Hillel Center and enjoyed the sense of community very much. The food was great too. Nothing beats falafel.

On our way out, the rabbi thanked me again for supporting Zach and for coming to the center.

"If you’re interested in learning more about Judaism, or if you just want to chat, let me know," he offered, handing me his contact information.

It was like a dart had pierced my heart. It was exactly what I wanted!

I stumbled back to the dorm in a daze. Zach babbled on about a few things, but I wasn’t even listening.

In the morning, I asked Zach, "Where do you get your hair cut?"

"The Plaza Barber Shop. Why?" Zach asked.

"Well, yesterday, your comment about my hair, about it being feminine, made me feel, uh, um," I stammered.

"Oh, Christopher, I’m SO sorry! That is the last thing I intended. I was just trying to explain our customs…it’s not even in the Torah or the Talmud, it’s not that important," Zach replied.

"But no one else there had long hair like mine," I pointed out.

"I was only explaining the rabbi’s comment about length when you assumed it was the blond color that marked you as a Gentile," Zach noted.

"True," I conceded.

Zach stroked my long hair tenderly with his hand. "You have amazing hair, Christopher. Sometimes, I wish I could grow mine out like this."

"You can! The requirement to have short hair is not in the Torah or Talmud, you know," I sassed.

"Oh, the instant Talmudic scholar! Or did you graduate from a yeshiva?" Zach chuckled.

"Keep it short, Zach! I love your tidy look," I said admiring his shorn head.

"Then, let me take you to my barber," Zach laughed. "You’ve been doing everything for me, of late. It’s time I do you a good turn. And that includes a decent haircut!"

"This morning?" I asked.

"Now!" Zach replied.

Just then, my phone pinged. It was a message from Rabbi Rosenfeld!

"Let’s go. I want to get shorn before my meeting with the rabbi. I have a few questions for him," I said with excitement, seeing a text pop onto my screen.

"What?! Did you get a text from the rabbi?!" Zach demanded.

"I sent him a message last night when I was unable to fall sleep," I confessed. "There is so much going through my mind."

"Maybe when we dispatch this mass of hair to the barber shop floor, you can think more clearly," Zach teased, batting at my tresses. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Totally! Fire up the fastfeed electric hair clippers," I whooped.

Zach found a parking space near the door of the Park Plaza Barbershop.

My adrenalin was running high as we approached the door. Stepping inside was like being back in the late 1960s. The horrible fake-wood paneling was everywhere! And, there was dull gray linoleum floor with padded mats around the chairs to ease the barbers' aching feet. The empty big black chairs faced away from the mirrors.

"I'll be with you in a minute," the beefy barber with a foreign accent said, popping his head out from the back area of the shop. "Take a seat there, in the middle."

Zach sat on a hard chair in the waiting area.

I slipped into the barber chair that had a collection of cut hair around it. I felt uncomfortable, but excited, waiting for the barber. In the neon light, my blond locks blazed with vitality. The natural highlights were in their post-summer prime. I was anxious for the cutting to start! I wanted to be free of my girlish hair.

The barber shuffled out and reached for the cape. He tossed it and struggled to fasten it on the account of the long hair.

"I'm Moshe. What’ll it be for you, today?" he asked in a grumpy tone.

"See that fellow over there?" I replied.

"Zach, yep. He’s a good guy," the barber replied.

"Just like his," I declared.

Moshe picked up a pair of shears and primed them a bit.

"With pleasure," he said, as he snagged the flow in back with his comb and delivered a huge CHOP!

Then he seized another shank and whacked it off.

As he chopped away, Moshe muttered about "girly hair" and how horrible it was.

"I will make you look like the man God made you to be," Moshe declared as she swapped the shears for a set of Oster clippers.

I bowed my head, almost as an act of reverence and submission.

Moshe had a firm touch as he drove the clippers tight up the back. It felt good. I was happy the long hair was quickly becoming history. All I could think about was getting my hair cut very short and how I welcomed that. I watched mounds of my blond hair fall to the cape as the clippers cleared away the growth from the sides, although not all the way down to the scalp.

"How are you doing over there, friend?" Zach called out.

"Moshe’s doing a great job with the haircut," I replied quickly.

"Are you going to leave him some hair, Moshe?" Zach asked.

"Enough….although I’m not sure why he ever let it get so long," the barber muttered. "Look at the floor!"

"He was a lapsed lamb and now wants in the fold," Zach laughed.

"And the first step is to shear off the matted overgrowth," Moshe replied.

The barber snagged the forelock and took it almost all off.

I blinked at the rapidity of the assault.

Moshe paused. "Is this short enough?" he asked me.

Nothing on top was over an inch in length. The sides and back were tapered short and rather sparse.

"Yes, I believe it is," I replied.

"Then, I believe you are finished," the barber announced.

The amount of cut hair on the floor was staggering when I finally left the chair. My head felt light and carefree. I looked like a different person.

"Looking like a handsome, virile man," Zach commented, as we left the shop.

I told him I felt nervous about my appointment with Rabbi Rosenfeld.

"What are you going to talk about?" Zach wanted to know.

"Hell, whatever. Life!" I replied.

"Do you want me to come with you?" he asked solicitously.

"No!" I snapped. "I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself."

"Sor-ry!" Zach answered back curtly.

Zach dropped me off at the temple.

I knocked on the rabbi’s office door.

"Christopher! Come in. I’m so delighted you wanted to chat," the rabbi called out from inside his private study.

When I walked in, he whistled in amazement.

"What a transformation! Your long hair…." the rabbi exclaimed.

"I just left the barber shop. It’s all been dumped into a trashcan by now, I suppose," I said, feeling my tapered pate nervously.

"You look a thousand times better without all that long hair," the rabbi said, showing his total approval.

"Perhaps now might people mistake me for sharing a faith with you if I had on a kippah?" I asked.

"Is that what you’ve come to discuss? A faith journey? Have a seat," Rabbi Rosenfeld said. "Embracing Judaism takes more than a trip to the barber, Christopher."

The remark felt like a mild rebuke. But his eyes were kind and his smile warm.

"If you had to sum up your faith in a nutshell. Scale it down to the bare essentials…what’s it all about?" I asked.

Rabbi Rosenfeld looked at me thoughtfully. "Do no evil, do no harm. That’s what it’s about."

"I like that," I said, feeling a glow spreading through my body.

The rabbi opened his desk drawer. He pulled out a beautiful kippah. It was almond-colored, portraying doves intertwined with olives branches.

"My son was wearing this when he was mowed down by a terrorist in Jerusalem ten years ago," the rabbi said.

I blinked nervously. "I am so sorry about that. Certainly the perpetrators did not follow the ‘no evil’ mantra," I said.

"I’d like you to have it, Christopher," the rabbi said. "Give it new life through its ‘no harm’ message!"

I took the kippah in my hands. I felt nervous and swallowed hard.

"But what of the claims of others being displaced by the conflict and suffering?" I asked.

"It's a legitimate question," the rabbi replied. "I won't have a satisfactory answer. Think of it this way, the conflict makes the 'no harm' imperative more important than ever for all communities, for all people."

As I placed the kippah on my head, I knew my journey was heading in a beautiful direction.

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