Parshas Beha’aloscha 5785
“Pledges,” or those eyeing entry into a college fraternity, are often willing to do nearly anything to do so. Which is why hazing has become so prevalent. Pledges will be expected to undergo treatment that can be uncomfortable, humiliating, or even dangerous in exchange for their entry into the frat. In fact, it wouldn’t be unheard of for a new pledge to be told that if he really wants in, he needs to shave off every last hair on his body.
Most colleges have adopted no-hazing policies on their campuses. Does Hashem allow it in His?
As part of their initiation into serving in the Mishkan, the Levi’im were instructed to shave. Not just a neat pre-Shabbos trim. Not only their faces and heads. Everything—eyebrows, armpits, you name it. Why, of all things, would this be a pre-requisite to service?
Among the various intentions to have upon immersing in a mikvah, Mekubalim suggest seeing the emergence from the mikvah as an act of rebirth. Inside the mikvah, fully imersed, one finds himself in the same position as a fetus in utero. Exiting the mikvah, then, resembles being reborn. To shed previous mistakes or behaviors and begin again as a new being living a new life.
It is a powerful meditation, largely because it is so sensory. The imagery of new birth is all so readily available—it is easier to see yourself as being reborn when your body is physically going through the motions of playing out that role, feeling enveloped in the waters of the mikvah and then rising up out of them.
Perhaps it is a very similar experience that the Torah prescribes for that first generation of Levi’im. Removal of hair is a means of turning back the clock, of removing from your very body that which it needed time to produce. And while babies are born with varying amounts of hair atop their heads, hair is generally associated with maturity and development. Removing hair is a way of resetting, of starting over, of being reborn.
The Levi’im could simply be told to perform the avodah. To take care of all the tasks that must be fulfilled in the Mishkan, to maintain the edifice and to guard the objects within. Yet all the while they can be dogged by feelings of inadequacy and suffering from imposter syndrome. They can feel like they belong elsewhere, like their presence in the Mishkan is a mismatch.
And so they’re given a gift. Shave off your hair. Reset. Recalibrate. See yourself as being born into this job, into this avodah. You are eminently prepared for this work. It is what you were born to do.
When you suffer from the nagging feeling that “I’m not cut out for this”—whatever the “this” may be—shaving off all you hair is not an easily replicable practice. For one thing, they’d probably look at you funny around the office. But there are plenty of other ways that we can give ourselves the tangible sense that we are meant for the role we now find ourselves in.
As the old adage goes, “Clothes make the man.” Not only in the way that others perceive of him, but in the way he perceives of himself. Dressing the part of the person who in your mind’s eye most closely resembles the role you’re now filling can be a powerful tool in boosting your own confidence and self-worth.
It’s true when you get the corner office or launch a new business. Adopting the outer trappings of those you know have enjoyed success in those positions is an ever-present reminder that this is who you now are. This is your identity; be this person.
And it is equally true of aspirations in avodas Hashem. Who are the people I admire because of the way they daven or learn Torah? Or lead a Shabbos table? Or approach a new face in shul to give them a warm welcome? How do they dress and conduct themselves? Can I adopt some of their speech patterns or mannerisms? What can I do to subconsciously convince myself that I am as capable of fulfilling this role as they are?
Do skin-deep tactics have their limits? No doubt. We, no less than the Levi’im, must ultimately become people of substance and depth and can’t simply fake our character or credentials. Ultimately, we can’t fool anyone.
Initially, though, we certainly can. It is oftentimes that initial bit of self-messaging that can come through external trappings that gives us the confidence we need to first get the ball rolling.
I can’t just buy a new suit, I actually need to be good at the job. But the new suit is the visceral reminder that I am very much cut out for the job. The jacket or shoes or gartel won’t daven my Shmoneh Esrei for me, but it puts me into the mental space of believing that I can daven a meaningful Shmoneh Esrei. This, after all, is exactly how good daveners dress.
External forces can be powerful ones. And while they won’t do the job for us, they put the key in the door. They give us confidence that we can have the uncomfortable conversation, be patient spouses or parents, and run successful businesses. We shouldn’t all shave our heads. But we should be mindful of how effective a practice it can be.