Making Torah study ‘a sign upon your hand’
Rabbi’s manicures turn painted nails into mini-midrash
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Rabbi Yael Buechler, right, gives Johanna Ginsberg a “midrash manicure” before her son’s bar mitzva.
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December 28, 2011
I really hate getting manicures. So, as I planned my son’s bar mitzva earlier in November, I dreaded the inevitable manicure a day or two before the event.
Then I found Rabbi Yael Buechler.
Buechler is coordinator of student life for the middle school at Solomon Schechter School of Westchester in Hartsdale, NY. While still a rabbinical student, she served as program coordinator of Congregation Beth El in South Orange, where my son would become a bar mitzva.
Buechler has been polishing her nails on a weekly basis since middle school. She ran her own nail business while an undergraduate at Brandeis University — where she had a fingernail epiphany.
“It dawned on me how each manicured fingernail could serve as a canvas for Jewish creativity,” she said. “I began to paint each week’s manicure according to the Torah portion or holiday of that week. I depicted the splitting of the Red Sea on my nails when that passage from Exodus was read from the Torah, and for Passover, I portrayed each of the 10 plagues.”
Now she has fused her interest in nail couture with her training in Jewish textual interpretation to create “Midrash Manicures” for students and “clients” like me.
“Midrash” refers to the literature of creative rabbinic interpretation.
Buechler sees a parallel between her manicures and the mitzva of tefillin. “Midrash Manicures enable the mitzva of Torah study to be ‘a sign upon your hand,’” she said, quoting Deuteronomy 6:8, which describes the phylacteries.
When I found her, I wasn’t thinking about tefillin or signs upon my hand. I was thinking, “Goodbye, nail salon. Hello, creative life-cycle ritual.”
On the Thursday night before the Big Shabbat, I laid out a spread and gathered seven women — including Beth El’s Rabbi Francine Roston — and their daughters at my house.
We welcomed Buechler, who joined us around the table.
With hors d’oeuvres and wine in hand (lemonade for the girls), we studied the parsha under Buechler’s direction. We reviewed the highlights of the jam-packed portion, from Abraham welcoming angelic guests, to the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, to the binding of Isaac. Buechler focused on the section in which God tells Sarah she will have a child and Sarah laughs at the notion of a woman of her advanced age giving birth.
Buechler asked, “As you think about this parsha, what symbols come to mind?”
People threw out ideas like a baby rattle, the desert sun, a tent, an angel, and LOL, the electronic acronym for “laughing out loud.” Buechler drew each onto sketches of nails.
One by one, we headed to the manicure table, where she expertly polished our nails, adding designs reflecting the parsha.
After some hesitation about participating at all, Roston chose “Hineni” — literally “Here I am,” Abraham’s response when God calls him — one Hebrew letter on each nail and a shofar on each thumb. The girls were partial to LOL; many chose stars representing God’s prediction that Abraham’s descendants would be as numerous as the stars, or hearts symbolizing the love between Abraham and Sarah. I chose an image of Sarah laughing, the desert sun, a tent, the angels, fire for the destruction of Sodom and Gemorrah, a shofar, a heart, and three symbols for the bar mitzva — Torah, tallit, and a bear, representing my son’s middle name.
A new low?
Not everyone takes kindly to Midrash Manicures. Writing in the Forward, Israeli writer Elana Sztokman called them “a new low in girls’ Jewish education” — Buechler offers an elective course at the Westchester Schechter — and “a serious regression into some of the most damaging ideas about how girls learn.”
I’m not so sure that connecting with girls where they are and slipping in some Torah study is such a sin. In fact, I consider these girls lucky to have a role model who can show them how to infuse Torah into everything they do. It’s another portal to Jewish learning, not so different from informal education at Jewish camps.
Moreover, Buechler’s endeavor signifies an important shift. The whole idea of a woman rabbi creating Torah manicures could only have happened now, decades after the first women were ordained. “The first generation felt they had to be just like men,” said Roston. “They wore dark suits and felt unable to bring their feminine side into the rabbinate. The second generation could bring their womanhood, as long they didn’t have it as the focus and they didn’t scare congregants away with feminism.”
Buechler, 26, became a rabbi at the Jewish Theological Seminary a generation after the first women were ordained there. She did not have to fight to become a rabbi and cannot be considered a pioneer. But she has something else — the ability to bring her whole self into the rabbinate. She does not have to choose between being feminine and being serious. She doesn’t have to mimic a man to be a rabbi. Because of the women who paved the way for her, she is now free to do midrash with her manicure without contradiction. That marks progression, though complicated and layered — not regression.
In July, with her rabbinic degree and a master’s degree in midrash in hand, she launched a website, www.midrashmanicures.com. It includes her commentaries on the weekly portion, examples of her work, and information about the workshops she runs for schools, synagogues, and JCCs.
“I was hoping that this educational website would serve as a launching pad for sparkling and innovative religious expression,” she said.
For me, Midrash Manicures offers an opportunity to add some depth and content to a vacuous ritual, and a chance for women to learn Torah together and with our daughters.
I can’t think of a better way to prepare for a bar or bat mitzva.
PS: In case you were wondering, yes, my son read Torah and haftara beautifully, his d’var Torah was insightful and funny, and he looked handsome and grown-up in his suit. Of course I shepped plenty of naches; I am, after all, a Jewish mother.





Comments
Elana Sztokman
December 29, 2011
The real question here is: If you hate manicures, why did you feel like you had to have one? When did the manicure become the thing that you absolutely cannot to without at a bar mitzvah or anywhere else?
Because as much as you want to talk about this is an empowering thing, this entire story is one of a woman stuck in socialized body practices that she hates. Hardly the stuff of empowerment. More like the stuff of conformity. The gilded cage…
B’vracha,
Elana
Rabbi Jason Miller
December 29, 2011
I wrote about Midrash Manicures last month on my blog. I think it’s a great idea, but was surprised at how many women think it’s a step backward in the feminist movement: http://blog.rabbijason.com/2011/11/manicures-midrash-and-middle-school.html
Johanna Ginsberg
December 29, 2011
You’re right, Elana. I’m no purist. I live in the suburbs and like to dress up every now and then for a special occasion. There was a time in my life when I refused to shave or bleach the dark hair over my mouth or wear makeup. But there are many kinds of cages. I’ve reached a point in my life when I don’t feel confined by one standard or the other for what is feminine or feminist. I feel true to myself if I can dress up for special occasions, and put on makeup and high heels and feel polished from head to toe once in a while. (Well, I still refuse to pluck my unibrow, but that’s another story.) It’s the getting manicures that I hate, not the having polished nails for a special day in my life. Why is it a step backward to be true to myself? Isn’t it disempowering to have to live up to someone else’s standard of who I should be? I don’t feel like I have to have a manicure—I want one but don’t want to spend time in a nail salon to get one and I’m terrible at doing it myself. I found a way to do it that feels truer to who I am, that’s all. Must I follow someone else’s standard of what is feminist to be empowered?
Elana Sztokman
January 19, 2012
The issue about manicures is not that you may or may not like to have them once in a while. The issue is that it is this kind of forced body-manipulation connected with definitions of femininity. Like, to be a proper woman, your nails need to look a certain way. Or your hair. or your hips. Or your thighs. Or your chin. Or your eyebrows. it never ends. And the idea of associating these kinds of conventions with what it means to be a woman—especially around bar/bat mitzvah—is just sending such troubling messages. Girls are going to grow up thinking that they only way to be a proper female is to be manicured. Just as you could not get around the notion that the only way to me mother-of-the-simcha was to be manicured. That’s really the part that bothers me here.
There’s nothing wrong with having manicures or pedicures per se. It’s turning it into a defining ritual, even combining it with rituals that should be sacred and spiritual, that is profoundly disturbing.
B’vracha,
Elana