In the not so long past, I was actually left somewhat
speechless. I had innocently asked an acquaintance to which
seminary she was thinking of sending her daughter. The
subject is quite intriguing to me, as my oldest daughter is
already in grade six. It's not yet too threatening, but soon
it will become an issue for me to deal with. The acquaintance
smiled with a knowing look and said, "Oh, I'm planning on
sending to seminary X. That's where the frummest girls
go." "Frummest girls?" I thought to myself. "What does
that mean? Is it the shoes the girls wear or the style of
their clothes? How do you measure such a thing? Is there a
frumometer that I don't know about?"
"Well, each girl should go to the seminary that is right for
her," I mumbled under my breath.
I kept pondering the subject. I suppose very frum
would mean not being trendy, overly involved in fashion or
acting in a way that brings too much attention to oneself. An
aidel maidel, as they say. Of course all these things
have their level of importance. Certainly every seminary has
to set standards that are appropriate to the Torah values
that they are representing. I'm not arguing the need to
insist on these standards. Does frum, in this context,
automatically mean yirei shamayim? Which is more
important? Can anyone really quantify another person's fear
of Hashem? What about all the trials and tribulations that
go through in life and tests that they pass, that no one else
knows about?
I'll bet all our teenagers — no matter what institution
they go to — are subject to numerous tests with their
yetzer hora and come out with flying colors.
A memory from about more than ten years ago surfaced to the
shore of my mind. A neighbor and I were talking about this
and that. I really don't recall what, when suddenly there was
an uncommonly serious expression on her face, to the point
that she looked almost ready to cry. "My poor sister suffers
so much. Now she might have trouble getting into seminary."
This time we were talking about the post-highs-chools which
the girls from abroad attend.
"She has beautiful blonde hair," my neighbor started to
explain. "She likes to dress nicely. Some people might even
say that she dresses trendy. But what they don't see is the
golden soul that resides within. They just look at her and
make up their mind that she must be 'modern.'"
Having only briefly met her sister once or twice at family
events, I didn't have much to say. She seemed like a pleasant
and pretty girl. "I'll tell you a story that happened last
Pesach that will say it all," my upset neighbor continued to
tell me. "We happened to go to a hotel that year. It was the
only way the whole extended family could be together. Some of
the other guests started to snicker that my sister's hair was
too blonde, or that she looked too pretty.
"Then my sister started to disappear during the week. She
didn't usually go to any of the group activities and was
sometimes a bit late for the meals. I didn't think that much
of it myself, but people started to talk and not so quietly
either. My parents didn't seem to be too concerned. I asked
them if they knew where my sister was. They said they didn't
know exactly, but they trusted her."
I must admit, I was somewhat curious where her sister could
disappear to at a hotel for Pesach. The answer wasn't long in
coming.
"Finally, at the end of our stay, while everyone was checking
out, a woman I didn't recognize came up to my sister and gave
her a kiss and said. 'Oh thank you so very much, for all your
wonderful help. I don't know how I would have managed without
you.' My sister turned red with embarrassment. It turned out
that this woman was at the hotel with her elderly mother, who
suffers from Alzheimer's. My sister noticed them on the very
first day. She saw how difficult it was for the daughter to
be constantly attentive to her mother's numerous demands and
needs, so my sister offered to help. She didn't want anyone
to make a big deal out of it. She kept it to herself." My
neighbor finished her story with a small smile on her
face.
"What a story," I thought.
At the time, I took it as just another benefit-of-the-doubt
story. Now I'm beginning to see it in a totally different
light. I know that this young woman, the sister, went on to a
very fine seminary, and married a wonderful Ben Torah, who
learned many years here in Yerusholayim. How can anyone pass
judgment on the level of her "frumkeit" solely based
on what they see - or the color of her hair?
At least I know now that I'll try to be very careful judging
the next teenage girl I see; whether I do or don't like her
shoes, her hair clip or some other superficial
identification. I realize that there can be a treasure of a
Jewish soul that resides within and frankly nobody can
measure it with a meter.
[Ed. And yet, that is far from the last word. If someone
dresses a certain way, she cannot help being judged for
endorsing the crowd or outlook that such clothing represents.
So there are two sides to this looking glass, but a valid
point was made . . . ]
