Dear Editor,
I was in Jerusalem recently at the time of the attack on the
No.2 bus. Like everyone else, I was deeply shocked and
saddened, especially as I knew some of the victims. A couple
of days later, there was a talk by a well-known speaker, in
order to give encouragment and insights into the way such an
occurrence should affect each of us personally. I went with a
few of my friends, and to my dismay, he started speaking
about tzniyus. "Oh, no," we whispered to each other.
"Not again!'
Throughout my high school and seminary years, the subject had
been mentioned repeatedly. We knew we had to toe the line
while in school because the Head was a stickler for rules,
but out of school we dressed normally. We didn't want to look
nebby or frumpy.
Perhaps it was a coincidence, or maybe my heart had been more
receptive than I had thought after the lecture. But seeing a
friend climb onto a bus, I couldn't help seeing, as well,
exposure of the top of her above-the-knee socks -- and more
besides. For the first time ever, although I had heard of the
restriction often enough, I realized that there was some
truth in the idea that these socks were not really compatible
with modesty. There is, after all, no other way of getting on
a bus. This small incident made the two of us who were
walking home together, suddenly more aware of other people's
clothes, again for the first time, looking not at fashion,
but at the way they fit.
The shock to the system had not worn off the next day. Most
of us take great care of our weight, and are proud of our
figures. So why shouldn't we show ourselves off to the best
advantage? Especially with this new clingy material which is
so comfortable to wear. Now my friend and I looked around us
and at each other, more critically. A few of us had recently
had our skirts taken in a little further round the hips. Now,
looking at myself from the rear view, I understood for the
first time in all these years what my school principal had
been harping on! I still do not want to emulate her mode of
dress (she is forty years older than I). My husband is an
avreich and assures me that he trusts my judgment and
is satisfied with the way I look. He does not realize that my
beautiful Gucci suit is just an inch too short and from the
rear, just that little bit too tight. It is alright if I
stand still as a statue. But I am not a statue.
My cute little girls have skin-tight dresses too. I was never
aware before that they hitched up their skirts as they ran or
skipped rope. What are we teaching the next generation
because we think it's cute? And how can we undo some of the
damage?
The clothes I bought when I got married were very expensive.
I cannot dispose of them, nor do I want to. The children will
outgrow theirs and I might try to take a little more care
with the next dresses I buy for them. But what about my own,
and my friends' clothes? We have been told that we may be the
cause of some of the terrible tragedies in our community.
At this time, I would like to apologize to the few girls in
my class who were the butt of cruel jokes. So they did not
dress well, and they still don't, but they certainly dressed
well enough to get good husbands! And although it is going to
take time, I personally shall try to make my wardrobe more
acceptable to the Halocha. Does anyone from the younger
generation want to join me?
For obvious reasons I do not want my name and address
published.
And another letter with some wise advice
Help Wanted
She was a jewel, a veritable find. She worked for eight
families, six days a week, reliably, quickly and thoroughly.
Furthermore, she never took anything which didn't belong to
her. Money left lying around was never touched. Her `ladies'
trusted her implicitly and several even entrusted the keys of
their flats to her.
Doreena came to Jerusalem from Rumania five years ago and
soon got into the ways of the Jews. Especially before Pesach,
when she excelled herself and worked like a horse; her ladies
were only too happy to pay the rather exorbitant extra fee
she demanded for her services.
One day, at the end of July, Mrs. K. came home from work to
find that the place had been ransacked. There was no sign of
a break-in, yet all her jewelry was missing, as were most
electrical appliances, and several other items of value. At
first, she did not connect Doreena with the theft, but phoned
her up to ask why she hadn't come. There was no reply. She
then called a few of Doreena's other clients and heard, to
her consternation, that they, too, had been robbed in the
same dramatic fashion. She tried phoning Doreena again that
night, but as soon as the phone was picked up and her voice
recognized, the receiver was hung back up.
They consulted the police, who, understandably, asked for the
name and address of the suspect. Consternation! Nobody knew
her surname, nor the exact address. The police officer said
quite reasonably that there was no way they could act without
more detailed information unless they could intercept her and
identify her.
The next day, Mrs. K. happened to meet one of Doreena's
friends. She asked her if she knew where Doreena lived. "Oh,
she's given up her flat now because she is going back to
Rumania on Thursday." Thursday was Tisha B'Av, nevertheless,
some of the wronged people decided to go to the airport to
see if they could catch her before she left the country.
From early morning they took turns standing watch over the
doors used by intending passengers. The morning passed,
afternoon, too, and most of the families gave up and went
home. Not so Mrs. K. By late afternoon, her husband had come
to join her. Just as they, too were going to give up, they
saw her.
Not the Doreena they knew. This lady was bedecked in jewelry,
some of which Ms. K. recognized, and dressed to the nines.
They hurriedly decided that Mrs. K. should try to stall for
time, while he got hold of a policeman. Mrs. K. approached
the woman and hugged her. Doreena gasped in shock and hissed,
"What is it you want, a ring?" while pulling off one of Mrs.
K's own rings.
Fortunately, two policemen arrived on the scene and took
Doreena into a side room. Amongst other things in her bulging
suitcase was a brand new camera which Doreena swore she had
bought. However, she didn't understand the tag on it which
declared that it had been won in a lottery. A quick call to
the company confirmed who had won this camera. Another of
Doreena's clients.
Most of the items, including the electrical ones which she
had either sold or given to friends, were recovered by their
various owners. However the story has two morals. One is that
if you employ someone, find out a little more information
about them than their first name and phone number. Secondly,
Mrs. K. didn't `happen' to meet Doreena's friend. Someone,
as He always is, was watching over her and guarding her!
