“Clothes make the man.
Naked people have little or no influence on society.”
Mark Twain
רבי יוחנן קרי למאי מכבודתא
Rabbi Yohanan referred to his garments as “those which give me distinction.” Bava Kama 91b
עז והדר לבושה
איזהו מכבד, המכבד את הבריות
Who is honored? Whoever honors others. Pirkei Avot 4:1
Schools—Jewish and secular—have struggled for many years with the issue of dress codes. Should students be homogenized into a whole that emphasizes equality and helps blur the distinctions that arise from socioeconomic differences? Does that democratization destroy individuality and rob students, especially girls, of the ability to express themselves in a world that otherwise expects conformity of behavior? Is the visible breakdown of standards in the general culture so pervasive that it is nearly impossible to keep those forces out of our schools? And finally, is the only answer clearly defined standards that ultimately result in uniforms?
It took the better part of a decade to explore these questions and finally arrive at a satisfactory resolution in our school.
Beth T’filoh in Baltimore is, by title, a “community school,” created to serve a student body with a wide range of religious observance. Our mission calls for “a modern approach to traditional Judaism,” and we “welcome children from a broad range of backgrounds and beliefs, respecting the spiritual dignity of those beliefs” (a phrase adopted from Rabbi Norman Lamm). It is, nonetheless, a school that is governed by Orthodox practice. Our lower school has been in existence for more than 65 years, while our high school has just graduated its 20th class.
Our high school began with this guiding principle: to create a Jewish school that was a part of the existing culture, which would appeal to, in the language of the founders, “ordinary, normal American kids.” It could be argued that, when the high school was founded more than two decades ago, times were different, and styles were not as outrageous. In truth, however, every era has its contemporary styles, and there are always standards that schools try to set that attempt to elevate its “citizens” above the existing culture.
In its early years, our high school allowed girls to wear slacks, even jeans, as was the rule in the lower and middle schools. But as the high school grew, we felt that our identity needed more definition. Were we trying to model ourselves on the progressive school down the road with its very loose dress code? Or were we more closely identified with the modern co-ed day schools, mostly in New York? And if the latter was how we saw ourselves, then the conclusion would be that jeans skirts were the norm. Inevitably, the skirts grew longer and longer, until they brushed the floor, and our students appeared sloppier and sloppier. As we began to reflect on our school’s founding principles, we were forced to confront the very important question of whether external appearance is itself a cause of behavior that exemplifies a breakdown of values or merely a reflection of already held negative, or unacceptable, values.
The predominant view among my colleagues in the (secular) independent school community is that appropriate dress encourages appropriate behavior. Sloppy shirts and torn jeans encourage sloppy thinking, sloppy habits, sloppy attitudes, even sloppy relationships. Classically, this is a reflection of the saying that “clothes make the man” – a clear expectation that when you look nice, you’ll act nice.
This argument began to resonate with us. So, rather than instituting a “uniform” per se, we instituted a “uniform look” and attempted to define that “look” as specifically as we could. As we worked our way toward a more definitive identity, we determined that slacks (not jeans) fit smoothly into that identity, with the understanding that they would not be too tight fitting (not a very objective standard!).
This initiative was an abysmal failure. The “dress code” was difficult, if not impossible to define and then to enforce, but one thing was certain: the students took advantage of every loophole they could find, and the external appearance of our student body reflected a certain looseness and an acceptance of that looseness. It was interesting that prospective parents who toured the school invariably commented on the way the students looked – not on religious grounds, but purely from the perspective of what was “appropriate” for a school that prides itself on rigor and professionalism.
“…when you look nice, you’ll act nice.”
The questions posed earlier now took on greater relevance and meaning. To what extent did this new “dress code,” this “uniform look,” address those questions satisfactorily? Designer styles were still being worn, albeit in prescribed colors, so the issue of the haves and have-nots had certainly not been resolved. And although students continued to express their individuality we discovered that they channeled such individuality into the color of their socks, rather than into the creativity of thought we tried to encourage. Finally, it proved impossible to keep the pervasive negative values of society out of the clothing choices made by our girls. One mother told me, in a moment of candor, that she cringed each morning when her daughter left the house. Her daughter was a student council leader, a model student, even modest in her actions and behavior, yet she genuinely did not see that her shirt was too short, too tight, too revealing, and indicative of everything she was not.
That was when we made the decision to require uniforms in the high school, followed soon after by the lower school and the middle school. No nuance, no interpretation, no “because it doesn’t look nice” – but clear, defined and prescribed clothing (including the option of slacks for girls) from a specific manufacturer with a specific fit.
This approach is perhaps not oz vehadar levushah – but a significant statement about the value system of a school community that thinks beyond the external, but strives to create an environment in which external appearance and internal values are consistent. The transition to uniforms has been almost seamless. Parents of all school divisions have expressed to us their relief that they no longer have to confront daily conflicts with their children over their clothes. The clarity of the dress code with uniforms is an important factor in its enforcement. Of course students in middle and high school occasionally try to push the limits, but we have appointed one administrator as the “dress code chief” so that teachers are not put in a position where they have to be punitive about any lack of adherence to the standards.
The introduction of a uniform led to one profound change that was somewhat unexpected: male and female students essentially began dressing alike. This change served to minimize some of the sexualization of the girls’ physical appearance and limit the centrality of appearance in general. It was only then that our girls – and their parents – understood a belief I had tried, so far unsuccessfully, to articulate and that I genuinely hold dear. It was really something I learned as a young child and that has informed my thinking ever since.
Let me share a simple experience that had a profound impact on me. When I was eight, my mother received a shocking phone call one morning; her brother had suddenly passed away and was being taken to Israel for burial. She needed to catch a plane very quickly to attend his funeral. I will never forget the image of my mother preparing to leave for the airport. She got dressed, put on lipstick, and then pulled on her white gloves – that symbol of refinement and civility. The eyes of a young child are discerning, and I asked my mother, “Aren’t you sad? Why does it matter how you look?” And her reply is the reason why I never leave my house without my version of “white gloves,” and why uniforms are our version of “white gloves.”
She said, “It’s kevod habriyot; it’s not about me, but about God’s creations, which I honor when I dress this way.” She meant it, and she showed it. This holy rebbetzin, this Tehillim-saying woman to whom people came for “berakhot” (I guess if she had been a man she would have been a rebbe), valued God’s creations and the tzelem Elokim in which we are created, and expressed these deeply held beliefs in the way she presented herself externally.
Perhaps that is the meaning of Rabbi Yohanan’s phrase, “My clothing is my distinction.” In the words of Pirkei Avot, “Eizehu mekhubad, hamekhabed et habriyot: Through the way that I dress, I honor others, and by so doing, I bring honor, and respect, to myself.”
My girls—and their mothers—now understand.