Although no one would consider me as any kind of exemplar when it comes to observance (I avoid working on Shabbat only because I’m lazy, not because I consider it verboten), I have always liked to think of myself as having at least a smidgeon of spirituality lodged deep inside somewhere. But now, with the mists of autumn descending and the High Holy Days rolling in over us in waves, it is a time to cast a cool, appraising look in the mirror.
I try to consider my reasons for going to shul on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur afresh each year – to make sure I am going with intent and not just because, well, that’s what we do and it’s nice to see the familiar faces of the tribe, especially in these dark times. As I have spent most of my life as a devout but disappointed atheist, it is not easy to find good reasons to attend without feeling like a horrible hypocrite. I savour the symbolism of renewal and the feeling that one has a chance to reflect on one’s flaws and failures and step into the future with at least a sliver of hope, but is that enough?
To remind myself of what it’s all supposed to be about, I decide to check the principal rules for observing Yom Kippur. Obviously, even I am aware of the injunction to fast and I remember about not wearing leather shoes (though I remain unclear about why this rule doesn’t seem to apply to handbags). A quick recce online reminds me that you’re not supposed to bathe or shower or – horrifyingly – brush your teeth. I think of the vast marquee where our congregation gathers and realise I have never smelt so much as the faintest whiff of BO, which suggests that I am not the only one who’s repeatedly ignored that prohibition. I think I’m fairly clean overall so I probably wouldn’t be pongy if I skipped a morning shower, but I can’t bring myself not to brush my teeth. I presume that it’s because there’s a danger of swallowing both water and toothpaste, thus breaking the no eating and drinking rule. But – I know, you’re thinking I should have been a Talmudic scholar for I can always find an exception somewhere – I only have one kidney (tumour years ago, long since evicted). This means that I am not allowed to go without water because the remaining one must be kept in fine fettle. My oncologist instructed me to drink plenty of water every day. I tell myself that means brushing my teeth is really just part of that.
No anointing myself with perfumes (this includes deodorant. Hmm.) Currently, both husband and son are fond – overly fond – of using copious quantities of aftershave. I like a faint whiff of some fresh scent as much as the next woman, but they both self-spritz as if they’re marketing the stuff to passing potential customers, walking around in their own microclimate clouds of heavy fragrance. If I’m hunting for one of them, I don’t bother to call out – I just track the scent trail. But we must each make our own decisions, surely? If they want to anoint, let them be; I’m not telling them to skip the aftershave.
And then I see another prohibition that I wasn’t aware of before – no jewellery and no make-up. Now that I think about it, of course it makes sense – so have I “forgotten” it because I didn’t want to observe it, or did I genuinely not know? I’m not sure.
I don’t mind about the jewellery and I don’t usually wear much make-up anyway – partly because I can’t be bothered and partly because, as I’m so deathly pale, if I wear skin make-up such as foundation or blusher and then take a day off, everyone thinks I’m ill. Better for them to get used to the fact that this is just the way I look. But I do usually like a lick of mascara and lipstick so that I don’t seem as if I’m at death’s door.
Actually, if I’m honest, I think I must have come across this rule before but had suppressed it as something I didn’t feel comfortable with because I know I look significantly better with make-up than without. So, simple vanity then. A sobering thought. I don’t like to think of myself as a vain person, but it seems as if I am.
And so, in a heartbeat, I know I have found my personal challenge for this year: to attend Yom Kippur with no make-up. To look in the mirror and see not just my unadorned, pallid face but also to allow myself to be with nothing between me and the outside world, nothing between me and other people. I know it’s the right thing because I feel nervous about it, afraid of what others might think, afraid of being seen with no comfort-offering mask. It strikes a chord in the core of me. So, welcome to the plain truth. But don’t worry, I am definitely going to brush my teeth.
