Modestly Yours

A Life of Imperfection

Do you know how experts authenticate precious gems? Upon close inspection, they can tell whether or not a gem is real because of its imperfections. A stone that isn't marred by tiny bits of debris or discoloration is fake. It was created by man in a laboratory somewhere where the conditions were so pristine that the stone comes out looking perfect.

But it isn't genuine.

I find that comforting. In all my striving to be as good as I can possibly be at every single thing I set my hand to, I always wind up finding all sorts of specks and spots in myself. My first instinct is to consider them a sign of defeat. How can I be a winner at life with so much debris clouding up my soul?

My language isn't perfect. My thought life isn't perfect. My modesty is not perfect.

But I'm trying. Every day I'm trying to move closer to the ideal that I've set as a goal for myself. And I guess it makes sense that as I take each step forward, I'm bound to stir up some dust. I do my best to shake it off and leave it behind, sometimes some of that dust sticks. It's inevitable, really.

I don't like that it sticks. I wish it would all blow away and I could always be shiny and bright and radiant. I would look so perfect. Darn it, you could put me on a pedestal and charge admission just so the public behold me in all my perfect glory.  

But I wouldn't be real. I'd be a fake. And nobody likes fake. It might look pretty in the short run, but in the long run it won't hold its value.

We are all gems in some state of roughness. We can wallow in our flaws and despair over the fact that they haven't gone away yet, or we can simply accept their existence, do our best to do what's right and keep moving. One step at a time.

That's what I'm doing. I don't want to settle for illusions. For me, genuine is the only way to be, even if it means I'm not perfect.

Pornography and Social Stratification

Melissa May's recent post on the social effects of porn got me thinking about the reasons why I think that porn is a negative force in society, and why, like May, I believe that we have an obligation to continue speaking up about it.

Personally, my main objection to pornography (and strip clubs, etc.) is that these institutions rely on and enforce the idea that there are two different kinds of women, for two different kinds of uses: the kind of woman at whom you gaze anonymously and throw dollar, and then, on the other hand, the kind of woman you respect, marry, and have children with.  The fact that a man who looks at pornography might be disturbed to find a sister, a friend, or a daughter in the pages of the magazine highlights this idea: women I know = not okay to objectify; women I do not know = okay to objectify.

Pornography suggests that the use of some kinds of women is okay, because they are a different kind of person, and their dignity is somehow defined differently, whether it is because of their level of attractiveness, their personal choices (like choosing to pose nude in for a magazine), or a variety of other reasons.  Espousing these kinds of ideas openly is not acceptable in US popular culture/society in general in terms of economic status, race, or even gender in itself, but somehow if we balk at the division between "women it's okay to objectify" and "women it's not okay to objectify" in the context of pornography, then we are being backward and repressive and ashamed and needlessly puritanical.

What gives? Why is it all right to debase one woman and not another?  Who decides who gets classified one way instead of another?  Why is this not a larger debate?  What do you think?

(I frame this discussion in terms of women as the object of the gaze simply because that is the case so often, and because I am speaking from my own point of view as a woman.  Other points of view interest me and I would be interested to hear about what it means when a man is an object, etc.)

Rebels Marry Young

My brother, who is the lead singer of the band Hockey, recently wrote a song called “Rebels Marry Young.” We experienced the song live when the band performed at Koko in Camden, London.  

 As hipsters slamdanced in the moshpit in a kind of terrifying yet elegant display of controlled wildness (lucky for us, we stood on our own balcony, peeling and eating oranges), my brother sang a song about how the non-rebels avoid marriage, suggesting that real rebels get married at a young age. The paradox was striking: the “rebellious” unmarrieds were jumping up and down and bumping against each other in a frenzy to a song about the rebellion of marriage.

 My brother recently sent me the lyrics. The song is not on the band’s current album but will appear on Hockey's next album. Here is an excerpt from the lyrics: 

    REBELS MARRY YOUNG

You look right at your face 

Got no time to waste 

Work on your career 

You want to see the world

No one holds you down 

And you'll climb any cliff. . . .

No one counts on you 

And no one counts on me 

Go anywhere we want 

Do anything we please

The other night I had a conversation with my brother about the song. He said that the subject occurred to him while in college: when couples he knew decided to get married, people around them responded aghast.  Marriage seemed so shocking, so radical. He noticed that his self-proclaimed radical friends began to seem conservative next to these mad humans committing themselves to "until death do us part."

To appreciate the irony here, one must understand the anti-establishment ethos that drives his culture of friends: creative, rebellious, and willing to explore unknown frontiers, they have disconnected from societal norms in thought and action; their ideas were sometimes quite "out there" and non-mainstream. For instance, I remember one friend professed to believe that Dick Cheney and other political figures were actually certain types of reptiles originating from other planets; this friend had several books on the subject. These radical ideas became normative in the culture of these friends. 

The ability to make a life commitment to the person you love, perhaps, embodied a rebellious wildness akin to dancing in a dangerous moshpit. This juxtaposition reflects the theory of Wendy Shalit's The Good Girl Revolution: what was once considered "goody two shoes" and mainstream can now be understood as rebellious.

What does it mean to be truly radical? What does it mean to be a rebel? "Rebels Marry Young," presents a picture of the non-rebel, the non-risk taker, the one who doesn't have time for a lasting relationship, the one who believes in the ethos: "Do anything we please." When one marries, after all, the "do anything we please" dictum goes out the window. One must sacrifice and give on a regular basis. The "No one counts on you / and no one counts on me" motto no longer applies. You count on each other. Completely. Everything you do affects your spouse, and everything they do affects you. And you just have to continue to give and give. It's unknown, strange, risky terrain; it's sometimes painful, often blissful, always inescapable. Now, perhaps, that is radical.

Paint Me Pollyanna

 "Are you a Pollyanna?"

The person who asked  me this is a good friend and respected mentor of mine in the art world whom I visit once a week at a gallery while my daughter is at ballet.  When he inquired about my Pollyanna status, I was surprised and felt defensive for a moment b/c I sensed that the question wasn’t a compliment. 

It wasn’t intended as a compliment.

For a split second, I had to think about it and then wonder as to why I would feel insulted by the question.  I guess that the reason it took me by surprise is that I am a Pollyanna.  I just had never thought about it in those terms before. 

I ended up saying yes to his question and, after some consideration, eventually reveling in my answer.

Yes, yes, I guess I AM a Pollyanna….and proud of it!

I mean, how many Pollyanna’s are there out there?  I’m a Pollyanna if I not only stay at home with my kids, but love staying at home and even love homeschooling?  I’m a Pollyanna if I unashamedly express my deep and abiding affection for my husband of 11 years?  I’m a Pollyanna if I dress and act modestly? Honestly, I’m not tooting my own horn here b/c I’m fully aware of my many flaws, but why is this such a bad thing?  Didn’t Pollyanna win the day in the end by changing an entire town for good?

I was then informed, by this same person, that my art is “too innocent”.  “You need to take the innocence out of your art,” I was told. 

This was very puzzling to me.  What constitutes innocent art and why is innocent art so bad?  I’m certainly not suffering for sales.  I can hardly keep up with all of my orders right now.  I’m currently 2 months back ordered! 

Then it hit me….I don’t paint nude people in horrendously awkward poses!  My art doesn’t drip with anguished emotion or dark, naked images that are supposed to mean something existential. 

My mentor pulls out some charcoal sketches of nudes…mostly women, laying around listlessly, naked. (On a side note, can I just observe that this is NOT reality...who has time to lay around naked?  Not me!)  

In all fairness, I can see his point.  The human body is a difficult subject to master successfully and takes time and talent.  Many of the ancient art masters spent years sculpting, painting and sketching the naked form, but must I?  I felt awkward and embarrassed looking at these pictures, created by other male artists, of nude women in various contorted poses that would keep any chiropractor busy.

I spent some time considering these two things…Pollyanna and innocent art.  Do I really want to sacrifice my morals so that I can be an edgy artist?  Can’t I paint what inspires me?  Things like my children on the beach, nature, light and portraits?

I am certainly not a Pollyanna in the sense that I don’t know the reality of pain and suffering.  My life is no different than yours, my friend.  Pain is a part of life, I have experienced my share and I’m absolutely positive there will be more to come.  There is just a choice to look up, be cheerful and leave the worrying to a higher authority.

So, here I am.  I’ve entered the intimidating, high and mighty, hoity-toity art world.  Will I make it?  Probably not.  I really don’t have any desire to lay my morals on the altar of the weird, the ugly, the art that insults your senses and doesn’t satisfy the need for balance and beauty….basically the altar of artistic gallery success and fame.

There, I said it.  Now all you art critics can collectively gasp in horror.

Will I paint nudes to sell more art?  No.  Will I sacrifice my “innocent” art to make more money?  No.  I paint what I love, what brings light to people, what is beautiful and inspiring.

Is it so bad to be content with the simple things in life, to be committed to one person only, to not desire fame and fortune and to be happy in my own modestly-appareled skin?  

I refuse to compromise my art.

I think my next painting will be named "Pollyanna".

www.cadydidrooms.com

Tolerance: A Two-Way Street

"I feel unappreciated by a society that operates under a facade of acceptance" -- Nurit Weizman

 I read Nurit's post yesterday and immediately felt like shouting for joy. I have thought about this for a while now. Why is it those who preach tolerance don't tolerate opposing views? 

I have seen many a Law & Order episode where a lawyer says something like - "I may not like what they are saying but i support their right to say it". Well, shouldn't that logic be true outside the television courtroom? If you want me to accept your behaviors, whatever they may be, then you should be willing to accept my behaviors as well. 

Often people challenge us with ideas like, "How do you live with such repression?", which has undertones that we are stupid because we don't realize we are repressed. They have a tone of patting a child on the head, "You must not be mature enough for such a 'sophisticated' idea". And of course the classic, "You must not be comfortable in your own skin" (HA!). 

Christina Augilera has a song about it called "Still Dirrty" defending her uber sexy ways. I'd like to flip around her own song and use them to defend my not-so sexy ways . . . Still Modest? But i digress. . . . 

Here's my thought on all this. I would be willing to bet those who try to push their ways on others are not being their true selves. It seems as though if you want everyone to be like you, you must not be comfortable enough in your skin to be an original. In a way, it's a defense mechanism. Are people clinging to society's ideas and ways because they truly believe in them, or are some a little afraid to stand up to those around them, to develop an individual identity?

My "Coming Out"

Hello everyone! My name is Nurit Weizman and I am the women studies student here on this wonderful blog. I decided to "come out" as myself today in order to share my experience with all of you.

When I was a sophomore in college I became a feminist. After a few women studies classes, I felt as though I had been given the answers to many unresolved questions. For instance, “Is sex an inherently emotional experience?” No, not necessarily. “How do I know what is right in this world for me?” Read the book Our Bodies, Ourselves and find the answers that lie within you.

That same year I met an Orthodox campus Rabbi. He gave me a card for a Torah-learning trip to Israel and my mind gave him a look like he was crazy. Long story short, I decided to go on that trip to Israel. Then I went on another one. After learning and experiencing so much, I began believing that there is a G-d who knows more than we do. The more I believed in this, the more women studies had a problem with me. In one of my classes, I tried to share the Torah perspective on gender roles. After I finished, the teacher responded, “Well, you do know that Judaism is a sexist religion, right? Eve was taken from Adam's rib.” I answered by saying that G-d actually created women as spiritually more intuitive than men. She responded, "Ah, I see, so Eve was taken from a really good rib". 

All of a sudden, I was constantly being mocked and challenged. From intense criticism for my decision to “wait till marriage”, to condoms being handed out around me, to pressure to justify my reasons for not going out on the weekend, to being seriously asked if I felt "repressed" after spending time with an Orthodox Jewish family I love dearly--I felt completely attacked and misunderstood. 

So I decided to do something about it.

A couple of weeks ago, I had to give a presentation in my senior culmination class for women studies majors. With a shaky voice, I told them that I am a growing-in-observance Jewish woman who felt excluded by feminist theory. In legitimizing the idea that casual sex is normal, feminism de-legitimizes those of us who believe sex is special. Insisting on making sexuality louder makes it harder for people like me to keep sexuality private and unique. I have been told that when I go to my Rabbi’s house for Shabbat—the Jewish day of rest from Friday at sundown to Saturday at sundown—that I am running away from the real world. But the real world makes it extremely hard to be spiritual. How do I remain spiritual when I can hear parties down the street Friday night? When I’m expected to be casual with guys and just have a good time? I do not feel as though I am running away. I feel as though I am not welcome. I feel unappreciated by a society that operates under a façade of acceptance—something I didn’t realize when I too was part of the feminist club. Now I see that if the open-mindedness were true, I wouldn’t be scared to tell people I am going to Jewish seminary next year and I wouldn’t feel so alone in my classes.

During the time I was presenting all of this to my class, I saw tears in many of my classmates’ eyes. The student who presented after me came to the front of the room crying, telling me how sorry she was for the experience I went through. Almost everyone came up to me at the end of class to tell me that they wished they had heard this perspective sooner. Another student told me, “Something happened here today”, and the rest of them agreed. So here I am! Making something happen. Proud for being myself-- finally.

Lady J

I am new to London. After about a month of living here, I wanted to get to know the Jewish community in which I live; so I attended a local panel discussion. The title of the panel was something strangely specific like "Managing Your Relationship with Your In-Laws." The panel's subject was not particularly interesting to me, but I wanted to hear some of the speakers, well-known psychologists and teachers, and this was my chance. I was vaguely aware that Lady J, one of the panelists, was a beloved and renowned figure, but I did not know much about her. I did know that I was impressed by the title "Lady" as I am an avid reader of 19th century novels. Who knew that the title still existed? I was a naive American out of a Henry James novel.

I sat in the first row and waited for the panelists to enter the room. When they did, a very pretty and feminine elderly lady with delicate jewelery and rosy cheeks sat in front me at the panelists' table, and while the other panelists were pouring water for themselves and arranging their notes, this rosy-cheeked lady smiled and said in a melodic French accent, "Hello, what is your name?" During our discussion, she learned that I was new to London, and then she said, "You look so happy! You don't need to listen to this panel!" I blushed. I wanted to say, "You just made me feel happier!"  

I felt aglow from the conversation as I basked in her presence. This woman had an ineffable quality that made me smile inside. Then the panel began, and I learned that this was none other than Amelie Jakobovits, the former chief rabbi of England's widow, affectionately known as Lady J.

It became evident, early on in the panel, that Lady J's perspective on the subjects discussed was so wise and clear that, at a certain point, everyone, including the other panelists, simply began to ask her questions. She was the fountain of clarity, and we were thirsty. At one point she revealed her "10 Commandments: Recipe for a Successful Marriage and Parent-Child Relationship," a card she held in her hands; and we were on the edges of our seats. What are your 10 commandments, we wanted to know? Before reading them to us, one could already see what some of them were by witnessing her charming banter. For instance, whenever one of the panelists referred to their children as "my children," Lady J would admonish them with a friendly pat on the back of their hand: "our children," she would say with a smile, emphasizing the importance of always keeping one’s spouse in mind.

The daughter of Elie Munk, the former chief rabbi of Paris, Lady J was born in Germany; the family escaped, and they survived the Holocaust. She met her husband, Immanuel Jakobovits, when she was 19, and her husband went on to become a leading figure on medical ethics and later, the chief rabbi of England. She and her husband were a famously dynamic team; they even named their home "Immalie," an amalgam of Amelie and her husband’s first names, which reflected their harmonious merging. After her husband's death, Lady J continued her work and became more and more active as a speaker and patron of hospitals and other charitable organizations. She was a sparkling force for good.

A friend whom I had gushed to about Lady J, later told her how much I enjoyed meeting her and that I needed some advice about life in London. Lady J then called me, inviting me to have lunch in her home! We ate in her kitchen, and as she served me the soup, she offered to help me with various things such as ideas about how to find work, advice about marriage, and information about the community. Here is one thing she said about marriage: "The goal is not perfection but rather, harmony." I gazed around her kitchen, which was filled with photos of her children, grand-children, and great grand-children (amounting to over 100!) and little sayings and plaques such as one that said, "It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice."

These past few days, London has been filled with sadness: Lady J passed away a few days ago. As people tell stories about Lady J, I feel amazed that she took the time to serve me lunch so recently. Between her speaking engagements, relationship with her family, visiting the sick, and reaching out to people, she was an extraordinarily busy woman. I just learned that, when not giving talks or sitting by the beds of ill people or holding the hands of the bereaved, she would call people throughout the day to congratulate or comfort them, or just to say she loved them. Apparently, she would sometimes make 600 phone calls a day. I also learned that she reached out to everyone wherever she went--whether they were religious or not, Jewish or not Jewish. I actually witnessed an otherworldly moment myself: while standing in line (in a queue, I should say) at the bank a month ago, there was Lady J at one of the tellers doing a transaction; and then--I saw it with my own eyes--the teller came out from behind the counter and gave her a kiss. Have you ever heard of a bank teller giving a customer a kiss?

I saw the "Immalie" plaque myself on her house, when I visited her for lunch. Its solid simplicity declares itself with modest dignity on the front of the house. It goes without saying that afterward, I twinkled my way home, and entered our apartment (sorry, flat!) glowing; my husband was worried: it looked like I had fallen in love again. He was right. This time it was with Lady J.

 

The Quiet Revolution

Not a moment too soon, we have some good news.   Townhall.com calls it The Quiet Revolution. What revolution, you ask? The one we are a part of. The movement that's gaining momentum across colleges, inspiring young men and women to say NO ( I think it can be in a loud voice) to the hookup culture.

Thank you Wendy, for leading the way. When I read The Good Girl Revolution (when it first came out in hardcover, as Girls Gone Mild), I was so moved by this generation of girls and young women, standing up for themselves and their conviction that there has to be more to life and love than what the media and popular culture were screaming.

The critics may be skeptical but the medical community is reporting the rampant number of STDs, increase in suicides and depression among sexually active teens and adults. Of course, the media rarely covers the facts-- for instance, that condoms only offer limited protection against several STDs such as the HPV virus.

To all you revolutionaries out there : No,you're not crazy. And you're not alone. There is a lot to be gained by believing that you deserve better - your life might just depend on it. 

A Sex-Symbol's Change of Heart

Raquel Welch, an award-winning American actress and widely recognized sex-symbol who entered the Hollywood scene in the 1960's, wrote an editorial for CNN recently called "It's sex o'clock in America." She beings by talking about the impact of contraception on women's sexual choices, and how the "sexual revolution" affected her own life. And then she says something unexpected: "But if I'd had a different attitude about sex, conception and responsibility, things would have been very different." 

She then launches into an eloquent homily that sounds more like a conservative traditionalist on a soap box. She decries the lack of commitment in relationships, hails marriage as a "cornerstone of civilization" that provides a "sanctuary for children," and expresses her disappointment at how "sexual freedom" has taken the caution and discernment out of choosing a sexual partner ("which used to be equivalent to choosing a life partner," she adds.)

I'm both impressed and baffled by the fact that someone like Welch - who spent her entire career carrying an image that epitomized sexual liberation - can turn around and harshly criticize society's deteriorating moral standards.

"Seriously, folks, if an aging sex symbol like me starts waving the red flag of caution over how low moral standards have plummeted, you know it's gotta be pretty bad.  In fact, it's precisely because of the sexy image I've had that it's important for me to speak up and say, Come on girls! Time to pull up our socks! We're capable of so much better."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

My Little Sex Pot?

Babies are not sexy. (When I say "babies" i mean infants to 4-year-olds.) In fact people go to jail for believing children are sexy. As a society we abhor people who sexualize children (even though we do it all the time but that's another issue), yet I have met people, women expecially, who use "sexy" as a term of endearment equivalent to "sweetheart" or "pretty" for babies. This is not okay with me. In fact it creeps me out.

Some would argue that "sexy" has become ubiquitous - it's just a word. The children don't know what it means. Well, I do. And it is a loaded word. I did my undergraduate seminar on the sexualization of young girls and i know that people will internalize messages they receive as children.

Yes, a 12 month old, hopefully, does not know what sexy means but one day they will. If a person has only known "sexy" as their moniker then as that person grows up, they are forced into a lifestyle they may not want. It also hurts the kids because they will learn the only thing they have to offer the world is sexuality. That is not healthy. It is a small thing to choose words carefully around children, but doing so could make the world a little better.