Untamed Hair — Samson, Rapunzel And Reclaiming Your Power
By JH Simon
In the Bible, a Nazir, or ‘Nazarite’, is a man or woman who voluntarily takes a vow to abstain from wine (and other grape products), as well as refrain from cutting the hair on their head, in order to completely yield themselves to God. The meaning of the Hebrew word ‘nazir’ is literally ‘to separate’. This relates to the Nazarite’s desire to remove oneself from the trivial pursuits of society in the hope of moving closer to God.
Samson was a Nazarite whose vow gave him Herculean strength. Lacking the force to counter their enemy, the Philistines sent Delilah to seduce Samson and discover the source of his power. After tricking Delilah multiple times, Samson eventually admitted that his gift was derived from his Nazarite vow. When Samson was asleep, Delilah then proceeded to cut off his hair, rendering his strength null, and allowing the Philistines to take him prisoner.
By Max Liebermann — Städel Museum, Public Domain
The story goes further and deeper, and the symbolism behind the tale runs deeper still. Betrayal by the feminine, masculine hubris, and the rewards and perils of forsaking one’s society.
How I Accidentally Took The Nazarite Vow
The power of the Nazarite vow has captured my imagination in recent months. It started in 2015, at a time when I had a quarrel with my grandmother, who began attacking my full beard after I grew it out. For some strange reason, she despised beards, only tolerating the traditional Arabic moustache on an otherwise clean-shaven face.
I had been clean-shaven my entire life, yet after moving to Berlin and pursuing my childhood dream of becoming a writer, I gradually found myself letting my hair and beard grow out. Looking back, I attributed this to my ‘artist phase’, where I quit my job, cut out all distractions, and dedicated every waking minute to writing. In hindsight, I can see how I ‘separated’ myself from ‘the trivial pursuits of society’, spending all of my waking hours at the keyboard. For six months, I stopped spending time with friends or attending social events. It was an exceptionally formative and productive phase of my life, while also leading me into unhealthy social isolation and impacting my mental health.
During this time, my beard expanded and thickened, and I began to get compliments wherever I went. Men who were unable to grow a full beard told me I had ‘good beard genetics’. Certain women found the beard irresistible. Best of all, I entered into a period of immense creative flow.
Nothing else mattered but my writing. I even stopped worrying about how I dressed, walking around in shabby slacks and singlet without a care in the world. I was high on creativity, often remaining awake writing until the early hours. I had no interest in drinking alcohol, as it numbed my ability to create, opting for coffee instead. It seemed my dedication to my craft, my thick locks and my imposing beard had brought me into God’s favour.
Unconscious to me at the time, I had taken a Nazarite vow. Yet instead of being gifted Herculean strength, I was given Aristotelian wisdom and creativity. My first book ‘How To Kill A Narcissist’ was an instant success, resonating with thousands upon thousands of readers looking to understand and break free of narcissistic abuse. Even now, I still have no idea who wrote that book. I was possessed by a wild fervour. It seemed like someone else was writing through me, as the six-month process whizzed by in a flash.
Much like Samson, my Delilah arrived soon after in one unexpected form, and another form I should have seen coming— my grandmother, and my girlfriend.
Those Who Fear Of The Beard
Me, during my unconscious Nazarite vow, circa 2019
As my beard grew thicker, my grandmother slowly turned cold towards me. Eventually, she could no longer hold her tongue. She ordered me to shave it off, and each time I light-heartedly refused. However, she was not joking. This culminated in an expletive-filled outburst, and her not speaking to me for six months.
Luckily, my grandmother came to accept that the beard was not going anywhere. Also, with my grandmother nearing her ninetieth year, we both understood how limited our time together was. As a result, we found our way back to each other, as mortality brought us closer than ever before.
Once this threat faded, I began dating someone during my travels. Her approach was more subtle. She stated that she loved beards, and accepted mine. However, she preferred them groomed. The hair above the mouth should be trimmed short to ensure the lips were fully visible. The beard should be brushed a particular way with a specific kind of brush. At first, I compromised. Yet my moustache began to look butchered, and I grew resentful at having my facial hair micro-managed. Eventually, I set hard boundaries, and allowed my beard to grow as it pleased.
Having failed using her anger, my grandmother opted for a similar strategy to my now ex-girlfriend. She gently told me that I should trim my beard so it doesn’t get too thick. For a time, her sweet, loving approach softened me, and I found myself grooming it again with unconscious unease.
Then one day, I happened upon the story of Samson and Delilah, and the previous nine years flashed before my eyes. My artist phase was no fluke. I had made an unconscious vow, and God had rewarded me. So many people had told me how masculine my beard looked. It projected strength, much like Samson, and being creative by nature, my strength in writing grew.
My grandmother and ex-girlfriend are good people at heart. Nonetheless, being the natural matriarchs they are, the unabashed and fearless exhibition of my beard in all its glory threatened their core. They needed to tame my masculinity.
In the story of Samson and Delilah, when Samson had lost his strength and been taken prisoner, the Philistines gouged his eyes out and forced him to mill grain. One day, after his hair had partially regrown, the Philistines took Samson into their temple, where he asked to rest against one of the columns. In that moment, Samson prayed to God, and miraculously regained his strength, allowing him to push over the columns of the Temple, bringing it down and crushing himself and the Philistines at the same time.
Luckily for me, I woke up to my truth, and have reclaimed my right to grow my hair how I like. My moustache is back to its flowing self, often catching food crumbs as I eat, and my beard is mostly untamed. The idea of it first seemed petty, yet the symbolism of it imbued this boundary with meaning. My beard is an outer manifestation of my masculinity. My masculinity is between me and God alone.
Funnily enough, the granddaughter of my grandmother had a similar, albeit far more traumatic experience than mine.
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let Down Your Hair
Weeks after my realisation, I was discussing untamed hair and Nazarite vows with a close friend, who directed my attention to another story of similar nature. A light bulb then went off, awakening thoughts of this particular granddaughter, who as a child had gorgeous, thick blonde hair running all the way down to her hips. In a dark-haired, olive-skinned Lebanese family, she was an exception with her pale complexion and golden locks — an occasional occurrence in our bloodline.
In the story of ‘Rapunzel’, a man is out looking for the rapunzel plant, which his pregnant wife has desperate cravings for. This leads to him stealing some rapunzel from a sorceress’s garden, and being caught. To avoid punishment, he makes a deal with the sorceress; his new-born child will go to the sorceress in exchange for an unlimited supply of rapunzel. Unable to deny his pregnant wife’s need, he reluctantly agrees.
The sorceress proceeds to take the baby girl as her own, and names her ‘Rapunzel’ after the plant her mother craved. Over the years, Rapunzel grows into a beautiful child with exceptionally long golden locks, during which the sorceress locks her into a tall tower with no doors.
Only the sorceress could visit Rapunzel, with Rapunzel letting down her golden hair to allow the sorceress to climb up. Having witnessed this one day, and being enchanted by Rapunzel’s singing voice, the prince emulates the sorceress’s voice and tricks Rapunzel into letting him up. They fall in love immediately, and plan to run away together.
However, the sorceress learns of their intentions, and cuts off Rapunzel’s hair and banishes her into the wilderness to fend for herself. When the prince comes to visit Rapunzel, the witch tricks him by lowering the cut-off hair. The prince then reaches the top and is shocked to find the sorceress, who tells him he will never see Rapunzel again. Grief-stricken, the prince jumps out of the tower, landing in a thorn bush. He survives, yet is blinded by the thorns.
This granddaughter was a beautiful child, and she carried immense pride in her gorgeous hair. My grandmother, ever the uncompromising matriarch, could not accept this. One day — without warning — she sat her granddaughter down and cut off all her hair, leaving it as short as a boy’s.
Yes. All of it. All. Of. It. Just like that. She gave no reason for it.
This is no fairytale — it is a true story. The granddaughter spent the next months distraught, walking the schoolyard grief-stricken, wandering the wilderness of her soul without a compass. She never fully recovered from the trauma of that day, and her hair was never the same again.
The Sinfulness Of Abandoning Our Society
At the conclusion of their vow, a Nazarite must make three offerings to God: A lamb as a burnt offering, a ewe as a sin offering, and a ram as a peace offering. This is followed by the Nazarite shaving off their hair to conclude their vow.
The making of a ‘sin offering’ implies that there is something sinful about the Nazarite vow. Perhaps to ‘separate’ oneself from society invokes its ire and jealousy. In my case, the experience blinded me to the lurking dangers of both the outside world, and what lay in my shadow. Since the heady years of my becoming a writer, I have made many professional and personal mistakes. My blessing had come full circle. My relationship fell apart, brought on by hubris and blindness. I had become lost in the wilderness, unable to see the error of my ways.
My creative drive was also diminished. Eventually, I came to conclude the first seven-year phase of being a writer. I have tossed away my old business model (burnt offering), and done extensive shadow work, accepting my shortcomings and wrongful deeds (sin offering). Finally, I have made peace with who I am, and vowed to be better (peace offering). Last year, I also shaved off my hair. All of this was unconscious, and came to the light of my awareness only after I read the story of Samson and Delilah in detail.
I have also been forced to reflect on the consequences of the path I chose. Separating myself from the ‘accepted path’ to pursue my dream has brought countless blessings into my life. I can safely say that I will look back with no regrets. I did it all.
And yet, the Nazarite path has cost me many relationships. It has reduced me to a ‘separate other’ in people’s eyes; an outcast from ‘normal society’. To my loved ones, I am someone who cannot be placed in a single box nor understood.
Whether we choose our own path or remain on the ‘acceptable’ path, there is a sacrifice involved. You can debate that the Nazarite path is a sinful one, as many biblical scholars have done. Due to the unconscious manner in how mine played out, it makes zero sense for me to consider the moral implications of it. As the Arabs would say: Maktoob. It was written.
Now humbled and aware, I am ready to face the next phase of my life and writing career. My beard is as full as it has ever been, and I am repulsed by alcohol. My creative drive is returning. As for the hair on my head, I like it shaved. For now.
Finding Our Way Back From The Wilderness
A month after having her golden locks cut off and being cast out by the sorceress, Rapunzel had two children; a boy and a girl, raising them in the wilderness. The prince too wandered blind through the wilderness. One day, he heard Rapunzel’s voice in the distance, and they finally reunited. Wrapped in each other’s arms, Rapunzel’s tears restored the prince’s sight, and they lived happily ever after.
After struggling with mental illness for most of her adult life, the granddaughter too is doing better. She spent many years blind in the wilderness of bipolar disorder. Her only sin? Standing out. She had the audacity to allow her beauty to flourish in an environment that was threatened by it.
Yet she has finally found her path. She recently completed a course on hair and skin, and has written a book on skincare and haircare using natural ingredients. Her hair is as long and thick as I have seen it, even as age has dwindled its vitality.
In fairytales, the prince is a symbol for the masculine element of the psyche. Rapunzel, having had her golden locks (her femininity) severed by the matriarch, lost touch with her prince (her inner masculine). This kind of trauma manifests in real life as an inability to find meaning, structure, strength and inner wisdom. To see one’s way forward through life. Rapunzel’s tears represent her grief at everything she lost, but through her grief, returns sight to her prince and rediscovers her inner masculine.
The stories of Samson and Rapunzel hold immense meaning in our quest to find our way back to ourselves. To let your hair grow to its full extent is an act of courage, of allowing your True Self to manifest out into the world.
Yet when we shine fully, we inevitably invite envy and danger. To know when to make yourself small, and when to unabashedly shine bright, is a constant struggle. If we dare to step into our God-given divinity, we create the circumstances for God to bless us. Yet life is perilous, and we may lose our way, either through betrayal from others, or betrayal in ourselves via self-sabotage. We may find ourselves in the wilderness of our soul, divided and blinded.
The most crucial lesson we gain from Samson and Rapunzel, however, is to never give up. The sun always returns to shine on those who maintain their faith, and who dare to seek out the full extent of their personal and spiritual growth. Your hair is your life manifested. Care for it, value it, and invite it to be all that it can be — even when your temple collapses and God seems to have forsaken you, even if you are cast out destitute and traumatised into the wilderness.
After all, God is never far away. He is always ready to hear your prayer. Your prince, lost in the same wilderness, never gives up on you. He too awaits, thirsty for your sight-restoring tears and capacity to make him whole.
