A head start in synagogue etiquette
SOME TR A DITIONS die hard. They may go underground for a while, especially in this technological age but still they keep popping up. “New clothes for the New Year” comes in this category. It is a natural response to wanting to look good for a celebration and make a change from the workaday.
The subject attracts little attention in ancient sources but 18th-century east European rabbis gave the subject some thought, mostly in the context of when and whether to say
They agreed that looking smart for Shabbat and festivals was the Right Thing. Nice to have rabbinic endorsement.
But fashion today is deceptive — both simpler and more complicated. You may well buy some new clothing as part of the build-up to Rosh Hashanah, before you get down to cooking in your jeans and T-shirt, but it is far more likely to be a single item, perhaps a jacket, shoes or trendy earrings, rather than a complete outfit.
It was so much easier for our mothers and grandmothers. Women wore tailored woollen suits, or costumes, as they used to be called. Variety came from your array of blouses in natural fabrics — cotton, silk or linen — featuring perhaps a Peter Pan collar or broderie anglaise. Shoes were pretty standard — court shoes on solid heels or sturdy lace-ups for older ladies.
Hats were de rigueur. Felt or straw, they had a rounded crown, possibly with a trilby dip, brims of varying widths going up, down or both, and a band. Interest lay in the colour c o n t r a s t between hat and b a n d a n d i n t h e b a n d ’ s t r i m — feather, flower, ribbons, bow.
To be different, you might wear a brimless pulled-down cloche, a dainty pillbox or small head-hugging velvety crescent, swathed in coquettish veiling.
The 1980s saw a new look, when crowns went from rounded to flat and brims flared out at the base, making the wearer look like a walking lampshade from a distance.
Conservatism was the hallmark of men’s clothing, especially hats. Plenty of bowlers among the trilbies and homburgs (a stiffer hat with ribbon round the brim). The softer, broader-brimmed f e dor a , f a v o u r e d by Hollywood, was s c o r n e d . Un i t e d Synagogue wardens wore shiny top hats. Unt i l t he Fi r s t World War, a c c o r d i n g to my grandfather, on High Holy-days at Bevis Marks the wardens) wore a tricorne, the three-cornered hat. And who had ever heard of a baseball cap?
But enough of this harking back to the past and the shul fashion parade. (Norrice Lea and St John’s Wood in the 1970s spring to mind.) Today’s easy styles and availability have blurred the distinction between formal and informal. New sy nthetic qualities of stretch and f luidity cover and f latter the most awkward of shapes. The younger generation does not k now what oldf a s h i o ne d corsetry is.
But wit h t his freedom from constriction and abundance of choice comes a dilemma for younger shul-goers. What are the conventions? How casual can you go? Can a woman wear a trouser suit to a simchah, let alone to a synagogue service? For some 20 years, confusion reigned, though things have calmed down recently, according to Gloria Cohen, emerita rebbetzin of Stanmore synagogue (and if the title doesn’t exist, it should — rebbetzins deserve it).
“Everything has its season and people are more decorous now,” Mrs Cohen observes. The era of confusion coexisted with the move towards greater religiosity in the 1990s. This resulted in one of the strangest sights in Mrs Cohen’s experience — a woman who, following the ban on wearing leather shoes on Yom Kippur, turned up to shul in fluffy slippers. Stylishly dressed women i n trainers also became a common sight. Trainers started to become e v e r y d a y footwear in t he 1 980s. Before then t h e y w e r e regularly worn by men on Yom K ippur, alt hough they tended to be plain plimsolls. When Crocs came on the scene in 2002, in rainbow colours, teenage boys seized on them. From the mid-1990s, the open-necked shirt marked the rise of the younger religious male and demise of the tie industry. For today’s women the big issue is hats. They were at risk of becoming an endangered species at one stage, leading the late Lady Jakobovits to insist that United Synagogue rebbetzins wear hats. At issue was the rise of the the wig that surged back into Orthodox fashion with the 1968 introduction of synthetic and therefore affordable hair. I can only surmise she instituted the rule for fear people would be misled by the natural look of this “hair” into thinking that married women no longer needed to cover their own tresses. It was royalty who rode to the rescue. Lady Diana Spencer’s marriage to the Prince of Wales in 1981 ushered in an era of eye-catching outfits with matching hats that sparked off a renewed love affair with millinery. The “crown” has been picked up by the Duchess of Cambridge, who favours small hats perched over her long tresses and even smaller hats used as a base for decoration. In other words, the fascinator — which leads to a halachic problem. When is a hat not a hat? For R abbi Meir Salasnik, recently retired from Bushey Synagogue, the answer is: when it covers less of the head t h a n a kippah. But given that the kippah itself has no standard measurement, “most halachic opinions expect all a married lady’s (or formerly married lady’s hair) to be covered.” Barbara Kaye, a millinery specialist, says: “Hats can be very expensive — but they don’t have to be. “The techniques have changed but the materials and basic shapes stay the same. It’s the trim that makes all the difference.”