Frum N' Flipping

Take 1. I feel his breath on my neck. I shift position, so that his thigh isn't pressed against mine. His arm is raised, grasping the rubber grip handing from the ceiling. As the bus circles the hillside, we tilt slightly, I grip the floor with my feet, close to falling into the circle of his arms. At least the guy behind me is cute. An old and entirely unappealing man stands in front of me. Bulging out in every direction. Wearing an old pair of pants that keeps slipping down. We are close enough for me to count the bristles on his chin. As the bus comes to a sudden halt, he falls back into me. Cut. Take 2. "So tell me, don't datiyot have boy friends?" "No." "Chamuda, you're not looking for a boy friend?" "No. " "We could have a lot of fun together you know." "That's the address. Thanks." I give him the fare and get out, slamming the cab door behind me. And the list can go on and on. Did you know that it's

The night before: I pick what I'm going to wear (I'll spare you the shopping sagas). I empty out an entire drawer of tights, and eventually find a pair with no ladders or holes in the toes. I do my hair, nails, eyebrows, legs. I pack makeup, find a lipstick between some magazines, and shove that into my bag too. The morning of: I scramle out of bed, and sit for a long long time on a stuffy bus, trying to daven against a background of Mizrachi music and R&B. The day of: Slaving a way in front of a computer all day, monotony only broken by meetings and lectures. In between emails, call hairdresser. The evening of: Cancel a meeting with my boss, grab bulky bag, and hail a taxi. Arrive at hairdresser, wash hair in her sink (We're low tech in Israel), then have a soul-to-soul on what was wrong with the last guy, while she does her stuff. Hail a second taxi. In random location (friend's pad/changing rooms in mall/hotel bathroom) wriggle out of the long skirt

"Frum or Modern?" "Can't I be both?" "You know what I mean." "Frum", I type. Can't get away from it, even on the Web. "Chasidic?" "No." I sigh. Close the private message window. On second thoughts, open it again. What the hell. "Married?" "No." "Age?" "22, u?" "28." "Cool. But you're married of course. What's wrong with her?Too many pregnancies?" "No, just I felt like a change. One woman,for all these years, same body, same positions. It loses it's excitement" "I C". "So, what are you wearing ,baby?" . I know where that's leading to. I close the window. There are ten other minimized windows, flashing neon orange , I'll concentrate on those guys. ____ Why do I chat? I used to think it was for male contact. All girl school, all girl camps, no brothers the right ages to bring friends over and tu

Funniest: Wandering around a graveyard, thinking it's a park. Took ages for us to realise where we really were. Made me feel Guiltiest: Being sent love letters by a guy I dumped. Most Clicheish: hard to say, I've done them all. Coca cola in the Sheraton Plaza Lobby along with every other hotel in Jerusalem, Moonlight walk in Yemin Moshe, Cafe Hillel in Emek Refaim, Cafe Rimon in Mamilla, Tayelet in Yaffo. If there's something I missed, let me know, I'm sure I've been-there-and-done-that too. Most Annoying: Having a guy arrive an hour late vies with the not being taken even to a bus stop. Davka the one time I hadn't brought a lot of spare cash. And they were both Brits! Why do people think the British have manners? Weirdest: Seing a guy I'd just broken up with, after a rather intense relationship,also on a date, and not being able to say anything to him. Funnest: Still waiting. Never had a truly fun date, the fun stuf I do with the non fun guys, so it d

Some guy asked me that, one moonlight night, when I thought he was about to propose. Anyway, you, dear reader, didn't ask me this romantically, under the stars, but here's the answer all the same. Aside from G-d, and his plans (yes, I'm sure he features heavily in the equation, I am religious after all) and aside from me being kind of picky (no, shadchanim, I didn't really admit that, this blog is ANONYMOUS), I'd account a lot of it to falling between two worlds. We, chareidi children of Olim, are neither here nor there. We can choose to be Israeli, but that means giving up so much. Thinking for ourselves, for a start. Accepting others, educating ourselves and our children, and so much more than that. I don't want to tar and feather all of Israeli chareidi society, but yes, that's what it would be to me, if I married one of the Israeli boys I've dated. And Americans? Making aliyah was a struggle, learning the language, figuring out how to make it here. A