Women and Kippot

An incident has stuck in my mind for well over a year now that bothered me quite a bit. There was a women, a Rabbi, who was a guest at a Bar Mitzvah in our community. She was asked by the family to lead Maariv services. Despite her lovely voice, her ruach and energy, I could not help but be distracted by the fact that she was not wearing a Kippah. She wore a Tallit, her own, as the Shalicha normally does for Erev Shabbat, but she did not wear a Kippah. I asked later for an explanation and was told that she considers a Kippah to be a male garment and, as the wearing of a Kippah is a Minhag and not a Halachic requirement, she chose not to wear one.

I wonder, from the distance of time, what would have happened had I removed my Kippah, which I wear all the time, not just for services. I can imagine that someone would have politely reminded that I was not wearing my Kippah. I am sure that they would have assumed I had dropped it or forgotten to put it back on at some point. I imagine the conversation when I say that I see no reason that I need to wear a Kippah if the Shlicha, who surely has a greater obligation than me, chooses not to wear one. The consternation and unhappiness that would have resulted is palpable, even in my imagination.

The point should be obvious: it is not possible to celebrate an egalitarian approach to worship and insist on one's right to reject that which is normative in the community. Had this Rabbi been a member of the congregation, there would have been no issue, since we do not insist on women wearing a head covering when not taking a public role in our service. However, when serving as the Shlicha for the congregation, it seems all to obvious that she should have donned a head covering, whether a traditional Kippah or a more feminine alternative.

Instead, it seems to me, she was arguing, through her actions, that while she insists on her rights as an egalitarian Jew to be counted equally, she does not want the norms of the community to be imposed upon her. She insists, in her autonomy, that she should be treated with respect, yet she fails to respect the community as equally legitimate. Moreover, she seems to acknowledge that there are very real differences between men and women, differences that can be symbolized in clothing, such as a head-covering. If there are differences that are legitimate and worth noting and acting upon, then why are we so committed to the notion that within our service, we need to treat men and women with equal responsibilities and rights.

The answer appears to be that egalitarianism stops with rights and does not extend to responsibilities. Women are to be accorded the rights of men within the ritual space, such as being counted in a minyan, reading from the Torah and Haftarah and leading services. But when it comes to taking on the responsibilities on which these rights are based, it seems that these can be rejected on such flimsy premises that they are Minhag or that they are uncomfortable or that we might offend the sensibilities of some older members of the Kahal.

It is time for those who are egalitarian to insist on that the rights are subject and secondary to the responsibilities. Within Judaism, which is based on mitzvot, commandedness, and not natural rights, we must start with understanding our responsibilities to G-d, to our community and to ourselves. Only then, do we earn the rights that we covet.