I don’t “wear” at work.
A yarmulke, that is.
Oh I wear it. Everyone who works in my office has seen me in my yarmulke. I wear it when I make a brocha on my coffee and when I wash for lunch. You might see me in the corridor muttering something when I come back from the men’s room. My office is full of family pictures with me and my male family members all neatly capped on top. I’m not hiding anything, really. But the “modality” of my everyday interaction with colleagues and support staff and the rest of the professional world I inhabit is secular.
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