More than a shave, Matsiyahu’s shorn beard represents a change in outlook

Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

CHULA VISTA, California — The other day, I watched an interview with the Jewish Reggae singer Matisyahu, shortly after he had shaven his beard! I could just imagine what some of his Hassidic fans were saying to one another after they heard the news, “Matisyahu! Please tell us that ain’t so!” [1]

Beards in the Hassidic and Haredi communities epitomize the essence of manhood. This attitude is quite ancient and well attested throughout much of ancient and modern Semitic society.[2]

Much of the ancient Israelite’s personal identity was bound up with his beard—the crown of his masculinity. Anyone who would attack a man’s beard was considered to be a huge social degradation; it was almost like a symbolic castration of one’s manhood. To be without a beard, made men feel as though they were “effeminate.” When David’s men experience return from a diplomatic mission from the Amonites, the Amonites contemptuously shaved half of the men’s beards. They refused to show their faces until their beards finally grew back (2 Sam 10:4–5).

Interestingly enough, in times of mourning it was pretty common for mourners to actually shave their beards as an expression of grief! God later instructed the prophet Ezekiel to shave off his beard as a token of coming destruction (Ezek. 5:1; cf. Isa. 15:2; Jer. 48:37).

Subsequent rabbinic tradition taught that maintaining a beard is considered to be one of the 613 mitzvot; in fact, some Halachic authorities ruled that shaving a beard is considered as a biblical prohibition against cross-dressing based on the passage in Deuteronomy 22:5:

• A woman shall not wear a man’s garment, nor shall a man put on a woman’s cloak, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the LORD your God.

The original purpose of this passage aimed to keep the sexes apart, for as we have seen many times, the male sex drive will do just about anything to have easy access to available women.  According to the medieval work known as Targum of Pseudo Jonathan, this proscription for a woman not to wear any kind of religious garment that men wear in prayer services, e.g., the prayer shawl, phylacteries, because these rituals enforce the social distinctions pertaining to men and women.

However, must of us are no longer living in a world where men have to wear beards to define their masculinity. In Western cultures, influenced largely by the Greek and Roman civilizations, men and masculine identity is perceived in radically different terms.

From a psychological perspective, beards, hats, and even glasses often serve as ways through which we disguise ourselves from others. Whenever one grows a beard, it is a psychological way of hiding the nudity of the human faces. When one shaves, it represents a willingness to be psychologically exposed to the world around us. Any Hasid who has taken this leap of faith, knows exactly what I am talking about. The feeling of vulnerability—especially in the “face” (pardon the pun) of criticism coming directly from one’s family origin in the religious community—really requires a lot of inner strength and hutzpa on Matisyahu’s part. He is determined to live one’s own life, to discover his own spiritual truth.

Matisyahus’s spiritual journey is familiar to many of us who have walked the same path. Decades ago, I had a beard between the ages of 17 and 31. After shaving the beard, the face staring back from the mirror hardly resembled me; I felt like a stranger; this feeling lasted for several weeks.

The Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas writes about the nudity of the human face and much of his message certainly speaks to most of us, who have decided long ago to let go of our beards:

• The being that expresses itself imposes itself, but does so precisely by appealing to me with its destitution and nudity–its hunger–without my being able to be deaf to that appeal. Thus in expression the being that imposes itself does not limit but promotes my freedom, by arousing my goodness. . . .  The face opens the primordial discourse whose first word is obligation, which no “interiority” permits avoiding. . . . The will is free to assume this responsibility in whatever sense it likes; it is not free to refuse this responsibility itself; it is not free to ignore the meaningful world into which the face of the Other has introduced it. [3]

After explaining the mystical symbolism of the beard in the Kabbalah, where the beard acts as the conduit for manifesting Divine mercy in the world, Matisyahu surprised me with his next comment. He explained that if God believes he is worthy of mercy, then surely God is not going to withhold mercy from him. However, what kind of God would withhold divine compassion from a person just because he no longer has a beard? Matisyahu came to the mature realization that one doesn’t need a beard to be blessed by God.

On the other hand, if God made divine mercy contingent  upon men wearing Hassidic-styled beards, then Houston: we really got a big problem . . .  In all candor, God is not the One Who is neurotic—but those people claiming to speak in His Name are definitely the ones who are missing a few screws, bolts, and nuts . . .

The greatness of a person is not in one’s appearance, but is measured by how one conducts oneself toward others and God. By respecting the human face of ourselves and others, we can embrace the greatness of our humanity. In doing so, we may actually come to recognize the Face of God, whose reflection is always mirrored in the faces of all of our most ordinary and extraordinary relationships (M.Buber).