Learning about Islam, Through a Curtain

The classroom for female seminary students in the holy city of Qom is partitioned by a two-meter high green curtain. The male seminary teacher enters the room from a separate door on the opposing side, and presides over the lesson through the meters of fabric. The female students only hear his voice, and can sometimes hear his feet rustling. When the instruction is over, instructor and students file out through separate doors, having debated and discussed the core tenets of Islam, without ever having caught sight of one another. 

When a friend of mine told me that this is how classes are held at the al-Zahra Society in Qom, a seminary named in honor of the Prophet Mohammad’s daughter, Fatima Zahra, my interest was so piqued that I had to ring them up for myself. 

Al-Zahra Society belongs to the Qom network of seminaries and is one of the most important religious educational establishments for women. The society falls under the oversight of the office of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, and unlike many seminaries, which simply admit students on the basis of grade point average, it requires prospective students to pass an entrance exam. Graduates of its more basic levels go on to teach Arabic or religion in schools, and preside over women’s gatherings. Those who graduate from a higher level can teach or conduct their own research at seminaries, and train other seminarians. 

The person responsible for admissions was a man who answered the phone with a guttural  “hello.” I introduced myself as a woman interested in studying at the seminary and asked whether it was true that male professors teach women from behind a curtain. “Yes, in classes where male teachers lecture there is a partition so that both the teachers and the students will be comfortable,” he confirmed. 

He then proceeded to tell me that Fatimah Zahra “who sets the example for Muslim women”, has said that “a Muslim woman should not see strange men and strange men should not see a Muslim woman. She meant that women and men who are strangers should avoid seeing one another to the extent possible.”

Perhaps hearing the surprise in my voice, he said that the seminary must follow Fatemeh Zahra’s “unique moral source,” and that “both the teachers and the students are happy” with the way the classes are held. 

I approached some female students but they were not willing to talk with me. I finally found a woman called Samieh Sadat Hosseini, who agreed to be interviewed. She attended al-Zahra Society and completed the first, or general, level. She is now studying for the second level and at the same time teaches Arabic and religion basics at a middle school.

“I know your website and I know that you don’t believe in such things,” she says to me in a calm voice. “But I speak so that you would know what we believe in and why. We must be able to listen to our critics.” What follows is a transcript of our conversation. 

At al-Zahra Society what is it like in classes taught by male teachers?

The students enter the class before the teacher, in chador and some with veil. The teacher knocks, enters the class and sits behind his desk on his own side of the curtain and starts teaching without seeing any of the students. If necessary, he writes on the blackboard and keeps his back to the students so that we can takes notes.

Before starting at the seminary did you know what classes would be like?

In the first and second semesters we had no classes with male teachers. It was strange to see classes with two doors. I had always wondered how one could study without seeing the teacher, but now I am very comfortable in these classes.

Why doesn’t it bother you?

Well, in these classes we don’t have to cover our faces and or hang on to our chadors in fear that the teacher will see us. It really is difficult to keep proper hejab and write notes at the same time.

But in Islam it is permitted to show you face and the palms of your hand.

Yes. [She laughs.] We don’t cover our palms but the face that Islam says can be uncovered is not how our faces are now. In Islam it means an adorned face without makeup. Plucking the eyebrows is a kind of makeup. Women should cover their faces when they’ve had their eyebrows shaped and colored. Many of my classmates wear the full-face veil to be more comfortable but they remove it in class, and they couldn’t do this before a male teacher.  

Do you wear the full-face veil yourself?

I wear my chador over my eyebrows and I do not usually use makeup so I don’t wear a pooshiyeh (niqab) unless I want to go to a wedding or a party, in which case I wear it in the street. But many female students believe it is easier to wear the veil.

How do people react when they see you with a niqab on the street?

Some show respect but others react with a surprised look. Some grumble under their breath. There are always women who approach me and ask questions. Isn’t is too hot? Isn’t it difficult? I answer that I don’t think it is harder or hotter than the fires of hell.

As a teacher yourself, don’t you feel that teachers and students not being able to see one another somehow compromise the learning experience?

Look, the teacher must be able to attract the attention of the students with his tone of voice. He must have good diction and speak well. Fortunately all the teachers in the seminary have these qualities. Some teachers walk behind the curtain while they speak to keep the spirit of the class up. To gauge the level of students’ attention, they ask questions about what they are teaching.

What do you do when you want to ask a question?

If necessary, we talk to the teacher and ask questions. For us, the class is like attending a lecture, the same way that in sermons the women do not see the clerics. They listen to the sermon in a partitioned area of the mosque. In many mosques, a curtain separates men from women.

***

A few hours later a friend of mine contacted the management of the seminary and introduced himself as a philosophy Ph.D student at Tehran University who is interested in teaching at al-Zahra Society. 

“You must pass the teachers’ test,” says the man on the other end of the line. “Provided you are at least 28-years old and married.”