Frum N' Flipping

Naming my last date is easy. He's the Weather man. Now there are a lot of stereotypes out there about a certain nation being obsessed with the weather. I'm an open minded girl. I don't believe in stigmas. Except that in this case they were spot on accurate. "Did you enjoy the weather today? So nice and sunny. With only a light breeze. I loved the weather today. Such a lovely day! Wouldn't it be great if every day was like that? I don't see why the weather has to change every day. I wish every day the weather would be the same. Don't you sometimes wonder why the weather has to change?" "Well it is giving us something to talk about …" Let's just say he didn't get the hint. I'm still trying to figure out how he dumped me for our "Hashkafa being incompatible". What Hashkafa exactly? The evening reminded me of the advice given in My Fair Lady. When in doubt, stick to the weather, your family and your health.

Remind me never to listen to a cab driver again. Telling me I'm better of walking. Huh! I mean, I'm sure he meant well, but I'm freezing. This may be my favorite coat, but it's not very warm. Everywhere seems so much further in heels. I hope I won't be too tall in them. Why do all the men in the street have to be Arab? Aren’t there any Jews in Jerusalem? And why do they think I'll understand what they are saying to me in Arabic? I hope I'm not being stupid, walking here alone. Was that a whistle? Oh good the guard is waving me through. He's not making me open my bag. Lucky, I don't know how I'd get it closed again, if he did. It's not easy fitting a science book into an evening purse. I suppose I don't look very suspicious. Maybe he recognizes me from the last time I was here. It was only a week ago, after all. I'm a regular, you could say. Please, please, that can't be him. No. God, listen to this prayer at least, don't let

Or more to the point, is my blog Tznius? Got some not-so-positive feedback recently. Here's my response. Being a Bais Yaacov girl means many things. Most of them are good. I made a conscious decision to study in the places I did, to belong to the society I do. I don't regret it. But along with the schooling came a pattern. The pattern of Chareidi society at large, perhaps. What not to say, where not to go. When I was in high school it was non Jewish music, movies, boys. These subjects were taboo. Good girls didn't even think of them, at least not aloud. Even now, in the discussions of "kids going off the derech" flourishing in the Frum press, so many theories are produced, for what drives teenage boys and girls to hang out together. What they never mention is hormones. Awakening needs, wants, temptations. Teenage boys want to be with girls, teenage girls want to be with boys. Sometimes it's as simple as that. Some kids do it. Do the forbidden, the banned.

"The surest way to tell the prostitute walking into a hotel is to look for the lady in the designer suit. Fact." From Belle Du Jour. Diary of a London Call girl. Now where does that leave us Shidduch Maidels? Better stick to the Marriott, girls, and not venture into the Ritz-Calrton, at least not in your best black suit. Don't want to give some gentlemen the wrong impression.

"Raise your hands if it's a challenge for you to look your husband in the eyes." I almost raise mine. It's sure a challenge for me. I've looked hundreds of men in the eyes. Deeply, soulfully, admiringly. I've even resorted to fluttering my eyelashes at them. But I'm yet to look my husband in the eyes. I wonder what color eyes he has, and when I'll get to see them. Oh, that's not what she means. She's talking about relationships with our husbands, about Shalom Bayis. I guess that's what this Shiur is going to be about. A warning would have been nice. I was looking for some uplifting spirituality, not a reminder of how lacking I am on my own. I hope my mother, sitting next to me, is not upset. I hope she's not thinking of how much she'd give to look into her husband's eyes. An opportunity she's not had since he died. I wonder how many other widows, divorcees there are in the room. I catch the eye of a single woman in her fift

"You're going where ?!" A score of faces turn to me in horror. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to bring this up at the Shabbos table. "It's a conference. For work." "You want to go to Germany? Of all places!" "I don't want to go to Germany. But that's where the conference is going to be. In Berlin." "So don't go." "But it's for work. I need to go. You know I'd never go just for a vacation." "You don't need to go. You want to go. Nobody is forcing you." "Well yes. OK. True. I could skip the conference entirely. But I really want to give a presentation there. It's a great opportunity." "Work. Phuh. IBM also justified being in Germany before the war, they also said it's just for work." "This isn't the same thing. Germany is the least anti-Semitic country in Europe at the moment." Even in my ears it sounds lame. I feel I'm playing devil

It's the swimming. The separate swimming. Praise the lord for his mercy. I shuffle into the dressing room, clad in fluorescent crocs and a colorful but not especially flattering bathing suit. Goosebumps rise on my limbs, strands of wet hair cling to my neck. I try to avoid looking in the mirror. I defy any woman to look good in a bathing cap and goggles. Let's face it, all females have hang ups about some part of their body. If you don't believe me, read the beauty columns in magazines, when beach season is approaching,. "How to get rid of cellulite in 20 days". "The 5 step guide to a smooth stomach". That's before we even start with the tans. Here no one cares. There are no fake tans, nor waterproof makeup. If you don't own a bathing suit, no problem, underwear under a T-Shirt will do the job. A bikini, a housecoat, it's all good. As I plow down the swimming lanes I catch fragments of conversations drifting by. Women greet each other, sto

Well I know why I don't blog, and that's for the cash. I sure don't make much money out of this blog. It's more lucrative to write for Horizons magazine, who are infamous for their "we barely pay for the ink but here's a free copy of the magazine thrown in" deal. So far all I've gotten out of this blog is: One Nokia N97 to trial, which I have to give back next week (parting is such sweet sorrow). And one date, which I can't even write about. (I realised the toughest part about going out with a reader is that you can't post about it afterwards, him reading it and all) So along comes Heshy and offers me the opportunity of a lfe time. Advertisers! Maybe I'll make enough to retire to a life of challah baking and scrapbooking? Truth is I wasn't so keen at first, because I don't think much will come of it anyway, so why sell my soul to the devil? But this ad is actually for a company that I believe in. I heard about it a year back and tho

You can fool some of the people all of the time, and you can fool all of the people some of the time, but try fooling all of your neighbors, all of the time. Let's say I decided my Perfect-Shidduch-Image could use some damage control. An open letter to my neighbors: Following what has come to my ears of the Vaad Habayit meeting on October 25th, I would like to clarify a few points: 1. I do possess more than one set of clothing. I'll be happy to provide receipts, from weekly mall forays, or give you a guided tour of my closet. I am aware of the fact that, whenever I open the door to you, I'm attired in the same faded jeans skirt, and stretched stripy T-Shirt, both of which have seen better days (think 9th grade). This is due to the fact that on the rare occasions I'm home for the day, and as such available for opening the door, I make full use of the "Yay! I'm not going anywhere! No-one (but the neigbours) is going to see me!" opportunity to crash in

I just wanted to write. That's all. Write whatever's in my head, in my heart. Write without censorship, without holding back the things I most want to say. Frum newspapers all have the same procedure. To start with, their authors know what not to write, what not to say. They are well trained. So was I, once. The editor has her own eagle eyes. She usually catches any untoward lines that slip through. Finally the "Mevaker", the official censor, gives his stamp of approval. There is not much I have to say nowadays, that would make it through the screening. So instead this blog came into being. A diary, you could call it that. Except none of the diaries I've tried to keep ever lasted beyond a week. I do want to write, but I want it read too. And I'm loving it. But together with my blog I entered a world. A virtual world. A universe builds up around me. I'm drawn in. It captures my thoughts, my time. Not everything thought should be spoken, Solomon said. And