Should women be seen? I think so

by Merri Ukraincik

For the longest time, I was uncomfortable in front of a camera. I felt vulnerable and exposed. I was also insecure about my features, my shape, and the other imperfections I’d parse with forensic scrutiny when I saw myself in a photograph.  

There came a point when I more readily agreed to be in pictures anyway – with my husband and our sons, at least, especially when the boys were small. In truth, my husband insisted, wanting to preserve the memories. Meanwhile, I began to envision future generations – great-great-great grandchildren, should we be so blessed – looking at these images long after we were gone. Without them, how could they get a sense of who we once were or search for any family resemblance?

But me, model, if the opportunity were to present itself? Not a chance. 

Everything changed when a friend and her husband were honored at a fundraising dinner. Where did she go? I asked myself when I noticed that only he appeared in the invitation picture. It wasn’t the first invitation like this we’d received. I’d also noticed images of women erased or pixilated in some of the frum magazines. Yet I had never watched someone I know disappear like that. 

As a writer, I rarely struggle to figure out what to say, but I was at a loss. Then the words started tumbling out of me. I discussed the issue with everyone, as if I were trying to patch a deepening hole. Look! I wanted to shout: My body is modestly covered, my hair hidden beneath a tichel. I remain deeply committed to Hashem, to His commandments, and to a community I cherish. And yet, I feared I might float away. I was compelled to keep peeking in the mirror, just to make sure I was still there.

What came to mind then was the Torah story of Eliezer setting out to find Yitzchak a wife. When he happens upon Rivka at the well, he sees her kindness, modesty, and potential as a future matriarch reflected on her face. Tovat mar-eh me’od, he observes. She was of comely appearance. The eyes and the face are indeed the windows onto our souls. By hiding them, we diminish the rest of who we are. 

So when the opportunity presented itself, I volunteered to model for The Jewish Life Photo Bank. 

(The Jewish Life Photo Bank-Gitty Gottdiener) 

The Photo Bank features modestly dressed Orthodox women and girls, indeed families, from different countries and backgrounds, in all shapes and sizes. It shows them living their lives – raising their children, working in their professional spaces, enjoying their friends and hobbies, and engaging in Jewish ritual. The photo bank now has over 2000 beautiful stock images from photoshoots in England, France, Israel, and the United States, providing a wonderful resource to media outlets, institutions, and businesses that include women in their publications.  

When I first scrolled through the online collection, I saw spirituality and strength in each of the pictures. But mostly, I sensed joy emanating off the women’s faces. They were delighted to be included. I experienced a tug in my heart, a longing to be a part of it, too.

(The Jewish Life Photo Bank-Laura Ben David)

Several friends joined the photo shoot I hosted in my home. None of us feel vanished by our observance of mitzvot or our adherence to the rules of modesty. Yet we all understand the importance of promoting a healthy view of women within our community and providing visual role models for our children. There was palpable excitement as the camera flashed, a sense that we were mending something broken.

The women posed doing what they love. The nurse, the optometrist, and the chemistry teacher modeled with the tools of their trade. Another friend sat with her guitar. The pastry chef caramelized a crème Brûlée. 

Excited but nervous while awaiting my turn, I took to paraphrasing Rabbi Yisrael Salanter’s well-known quote. I’m not sure I can change the world, but I can change me, I said, over and over like a mantra. I wore a new black dress, touched up my sheitel, and put on lipstick for the first time since the start of the pandemic. I modeled while reciting Tehillim, crocheting an afghan, and making a salad for the photographer. 

Because a leopardess cannot change her spots, I still wonder if I should’ve worn a more colorful outfit instead. I’m also not crazy about how my wig was styled. But being a part of that photo shoot was a powerful moment in my life. An investment in our future, in our wholeness as a Torah community that honors Hashem and all His creations with respect and kindness. 

Mostly, I am grateful that my future grandchildren – should I be so blessed – will not have to wonder, Where did she go? Where did all the women go?