Frum N' Flipping

When my father died, I thought I was covered for life. I'd paid my dues. One hardship per person, doesn't it work like that? "You'll see that from now on life will go smoothly for you", said one illustrious Rebbetzin. "God is the father of Yesomim." The other rabbis said. "You'll have special Siyata Dishmaya in all you do." When my years of dating don't bring me where I want them to, I can't figure it out. Making aliyah, tick. Losing father, tick. Older single stuck in the "shidduch crises", surely that can't be meant for me too? I resign myself to my not-yet-perfect life. I just need to get married. One more trial to get through, and I'm home free. Then life will be perfect. Happily ever after. Sure, I'll have to deal with Parnassah, and Shalom Bayis, and Chinuch Banim. But that's OK. That's life. I can't wait. Around me, my friends and peers marry. Ecstatic weddings followed by marital bliss. They

Have you ever heard a question, a question that an entire Dvar Torah rests on, and not gotten it? Noach is the only person to be called a Tzaddik in the Tanach. (I haven't checked the sources myself, but that's what the last Yeshiva guy I dated told me. So if he's wrong, you know who to blame. ) Then Noach only enters the Ark when it starts raining heavily. Why didn't he go in before? Rashi asks. God had already told him that the world was about to be submerged, why wait around? It's because Noach was "מקטני אמונה", of the slight of faith. But how could Noach be called a Tzaddik if he lacked faith?" Pre-empted by the required. "I'm not the type of guy who gives Dvar Torah's on dates, but", my date-of-the-night launched into a long and convoluted explanation. Are you in suspense? Sorry, I don't remember what the answer was. You see, I was still stuck on the question. Why should so called lack of faith be a contradiction to righte

When you like him, he doesn't like you. And when he likes you, you try your hardest but simply don't like him. And then someone comes along, and you actually like him. And guess what? He seems to like you too. And you're both so shocked, that you marry each other. That's my grandma's take on how people get married. I'm still waiting for it to happen.

The guys I date get names. Names I use with my friends, and my family. Names they don't know about. I can never remember their real names, the Avrahams and Dovids, the Levys and Rosenbergs. I don't even try. Instead they become "the poet", "the love letter guy", "the creepy one", and so on. Sometimes they get automatic and simple names, based on the places they study- "the Hebrew U." guy, "The Machon Lev" guy, the [insert name of yeshiva here] guy. This guy became the "Photo guy". I didn't go out with him. Instead I heard about him, heard at length of his merits and vital statistics and why he was a perfect match for me. His neighbors told me, his friends in yeshiva told me, and my friends from Seminary told me. They all thought we should go out. It was a match made in heaven. One person however, disagreed. The boy himself. He'd seen my photo, you see. I was surprised by his reaction. Granted, no one would ca

"Hold on a sec. He's a twin?! And he's from ____? I think I went out with his twin brother then." "You think?! Sweetie, you don't know who you went out with?" "Hmmm. I did hear the name, don't remember if we ever went out. So, is he like the brother?" "Yes, totally. Except the first one is married now of course." "Oh." "You didn't like the brother?" "Well he dumped me after one date. But I wasn't that keen either. I don't really want to go out with his twin. If it's the same guy." "Maybe you should decide if you two went out or not." "Well I did go out with some twin from there. How many twins can there be in that little town? And then someone tried to set me up with the other one when it didn't work out with the first." "So you've been out with this one too?" "No. Didn't want to date twins. Made me feel like something out of 'Pass the

There are three things no woman should buy herself. Flowers, perfume and jewelry. I may build my own sukkah, fix the computer, and kill intruding cockroaches, but I do have my limits. My subconscious mindset worked out fine when I was growing up. My father came home every week with flowers. Granted, they were usually big yellow sunflowers, when I would have preferred pastel roses, but still, flowers they were. My grandmother got out a red satin box on my annual visit, and fished out delicate gold lockets, and antique charm bracelets, which I proudly wore. After my father died, he still managed to send me perfume. At my 18th birthday party, when we were still in the year of mourning for him, my big sister gave me an unopened bottle of perfume, in a faded purple box. "This is from Abba" she said. Then she explained. "He gave me perfume for my 18th birthday. Two bottles of the same perfume. I never understood why he gave me two identical bottles, until now. The second bottl

"Yes, I know, I know, you've told me before, you're not a feminist." I nod. He can't see, of course. He's on the other end of the line. "But, if you were a Chiloniya [secular], you would be a feminist. Admit it." "If I wasn't Frum I would be a lot of things." I feel like saying. But I don't. Instead I'm silent, waiting for the barrage. "The way you told me you 'got your brother to admit sleeping in the Sukkah is a Mitzvah for women too'. It sounds like you argued until he caved in." I gasp. A two minute light hearted conversation with my brother while tying down the Schach has been turned into a family dispute. We actually never argue in my family, for better or for worst. We just silently disagree, and keep it to ourselves. "I never said women have to sleep in the Sukkah. I only said it's a Mitzvah if we do. I started doing it last year. I built it, it's there empty, it's seems a waste not to