Frum N' Flipping

Dating is misleading. It can give me a feeling of being in control. Phoning people, finding out about boys, scheduling dates; I've learned the rules already, I know what I'm doing. There are the rules of the game, there are moves you make, the responses you foresee. I can handle it. There are those moments when the world seems to gang up around you in order to thwart you, there are days when the world seems to disregard you, and ignore your existence, not care about the ticking time and you remaining single. But even then I'm usually caught up in trying to set things to rights. I use logic, and thought. I "try different types", and "mix in a new crowd", and "speak to so and so who I met in Shul and should know the right people" I forget to pray. I'm so busy running the show I forget how helpless I really am. Until I'm sitting on the bus, silent after 2 hours of talking, thinking, thinking about him. I really liked him. We kept

The good news is, I've not been abducted by aliens. Yes, I know that you've been getting worried. It's been almost a whole month without posting. I hear your fear. And all I can say is – Sorry. I've just been rather busy lately. Mishpacha asked me to write a story for them for their Sukkos issue, and that's taken up all my free time, the time I usually use for blogging, or working on my novel. Even when I wasn't writing it, I was thinking about it, and thinking that I should be writing it if I could only get myself to stop reading/resting/randomly wasting time. I've never written a story with a deadline before, and I'm not used to the pressure. Inspiration goes out of the window, and forcing myself to clang away at the keyboard arrives instead. But I think the end result was OK, I'll let you know when it appears. My other update is that I won't be coming to New York this August. It sounded like a ton of fun, and I was really looking for

I asked a girl for directions today, and we ended up chatting through the rest of our shared ten minute walk from the train station. I felt happy. Not because I saved a soul, not because I helped a secular Jew see the light, but because I made a friend. Just like Yeshivish Harry says perfectly in his post on being friends with secular Jews , relating to other Jews shouldn't be all about Kiruv, it should be about conection, and caring. Hopefully, the next time that my ten-minute-friend thinks of Chareidim, she won't think of the men throwing stones in the Meah Shearim, but of a girl who's a lot like her inside, even if she is dressed a bit differently. And you know what, even if that doesn't happen, even if our conversation changes nothing about the way she views religious Jews, it doesn't matter. Because for a few minutes, two Jewish girls were friends. And I bet that when we were smiling, God was too.

She felt at home here. The polished mahogany tables, the stiff brocade sofas, the gold velvet curtains falling to the floor, nothing had changed in the years since her first visit. The same pictures still hung on the walls in their gilt frames, obtuse splotches of dark paint; she was beginning to find them almost attractive. The boy was pulling back his jacket sleeve, looking at his watch. He did it openly. He didn't seem to care that on Shidduch dates it was rude to check the time; that it showed he didn't want to be there, with her. Brachy could have saved him the bother. She was quite aware of the amount of minutes that had passed, and the amount that were still left to be gotten through. An hour and a half was the standard duration of a first date. His face creased, as he examined the watch's hands. He looked back at Brachy, and at the half full Coca-Cola bottle and nearly untouched glass, on her side of the table. Both his bottle and glass were empty. "Wha

Hi Karen, How was Shavuos? Did you manage to go to the Shiurim you were planning to? I ate a very good cheesecake, but I'm ashamed to say that I still have no idea how to make one myself. I have a request for you, Karen. I know you don't want us to meet. I understand why you feel we are not suitable for marriage. I hear your fears about certain details which I mentioned. But let me explain my reasoning please. We are still corresponding. Despite the so called irreconcilable differences you speak of. If there is really no chance of this working, perhaps we should say goodbye and wish each other good luck in life? I hope your heart trembles at the thought, as much as mine does. I enjoy writing to you; I enjoy reading your emails. I feel that we have somehow "clicked", is that not so? There is a meeting of the minds. We understand each other. Perhaps I'm enjoying it too much. Your words, your lines and phrases, burst into my thoughts at the most inoppo

When to tell him? When to share the scandalous news? Will it scare him off, make him run away? But I'm going to have to share it with him, at some point. 'Him' being whoever I one day am destined to marry. Marriage is about trust, and has no room for secrets. The question is- when? The answers I got on Twitter ranged from: A. After 4 dates - "I would get a Kosher phone, just I need the Internet for Facebook, and for the anonymous account I have on Twitter, and for this blog I write. But aside for that I barely use the internet." To: B. After five years of marriage , or three kids. (Whichever comes first?) - "By the way dear, you should check out my site, I've been sharing there a lot of juicy details about our marriage. But don't worry, it's anonymous. Oh is that the baby crying?" Why am I even worried? Any guy who's right for me will be cool with the idea of me writing a blog. Right? Not quite. The real issue isn'

We spoke about sheifos a lot, in seminary. Ideals, religious ambitions, spiritual goals. We said man is defined by his sheifos . We spoke of homes of Torah, saintly husbands, pious children, worlds of Chesed, revolutions of inner character work. We had big dreams. I spin the glass around, between my fingers. I look up and out, at the sea and sand beyond us. There are two Israeli Air Force officers, flanking my right and left. Another couple of guys have joined us too, but they are less glamorous in their civilian shirts, so I don't pay them quite as much attention. We speak about trips to Europe and past conferences. They follow me, as I walk from drinks table to the railing. They've been smiling at me all day, looking to see if I laugh at the jokes the lecturer makes, catching my eye in the silent pauses. I can barely believe that these good looking, polished, sophisticated army officers are interested in me, but even clueless me can read the signs. I always wondered wh

I'm coming to New York!!! Well to be more accurate, I found a place to stay in Washington Heights, and the unbelievable happened and my boss gave me three weeks off in August, without blinking. (I don't think he realizes that I'm already in a vacation day overdraft, but I'm sure not going to be the one to remind him.) So…all that's left is to book a ticket. But before I do that- I want to ask you, my dear American readers- is it a good idea? Because some folk here are telling me that August in New York is horribly hot and humid, and smelly, and worst of all - dead- with everyone clearing out of the city. Fact or Fiction? I'm collecting votes. And if you're of the "Do it!" camp, then have any advice and tips?

My Guide to Tznius shopping is more for those "I desperately need a new outfit for wedding/date/trip and don't care how much it costs" occasions. Or in other words, a lot of the places mentioned are pretty expensive. But how can a girl look stylish without breaking the bank? Nothing compares with the satisfaction of finding a bargain. A female returning home with bags filled with clothes bought at half price is the modern equivalent of a triumphant Amazon huntress. So where are the best deals? Bargain Stores Heavenly - (I think that's what it's called, I'll check next time I'm there) have a big selection of pretty skirts. All you need is the patience to carefully go through the racks. I've spotted some really good French labels there, which I remember from my last trip to Paris (doesn't that sound posh?) and even some Old Navy's. (Prices:50-100 NIS for a skirt. Location: In the Tachana Mercazit, enter and turn right, carry on till

Warning: Men should stop reading this right about now. So you're in Jerusalem, the holy city. And you want to be holy, and dress modestly. But you don't want to look holy . You want to look good . Never fear. I'm a secret Shopaholic. And arriving home loaded with shopping bags tonight, I suddenly felt like sharing my accrued wisdom with the world. This is going to be an exceedingly shallow post. 100% Chitzoniyus and Gashmiyut. My only defence is that a girl in Shidduchim has got to be well dressed! Frum stores I'm not so into shopping at Frum stores. Something about the idea of being dressed exactly the same as every girl in Bnai Brak and Sanhedria Murchevet gives me the shivers. But if you're aiming for a Frum-yet-classy look for a Simcha, where you want Tante Baila to approve of you and suggest a fine Bochur for a Shidduch, then check out One-of-a-Kind (Location: Go down Rechov Haturim, which is off Malchei Yisroel, and then turn either left or right, I

Sometimes a boy and a girl meet, on a Shidduch date, and they know right away that they are perfect for each other. They have the same Hashkafa, outlook on life, the same ideals. They have the same hobbies, and CDs, and favorite books. The character traits they were looking for, their "list", is sitting right across from them, in flesh and blood. They should be thrilled, because perhaps they've found their soul mate. There's only one problem. They aren't very happy about it. "There are classical music concerts for free, on Monday afternoons" Daniel said. "I go to them with my sister, she's also in Jerusalem this year" "That's so interesting" says Karen. "I love classical music. I never heard of those free concerts." So he's a fan of classical music, the same way she is. Another point in his favor. Why is she wishing this date was over? "I think balance is very important", Karen is saying. &quo

Sunshine, grass, trees, wind catching at her hair, shadows falling in patterns on the ground, the gentle sounds the world made, when it was left alone. And Avner, always Avner. He crouched beside her as she bent close to a wild flower, perched on a boulder as she climbed up to where there was a better view. Brachy grew to know the steady click of his camera's shutter, as he snapped frame after frame, always staying within breathing distance. Brachy giggled, as she watched the group gathering around one lone blossoming tree, surrounding it on all sides with their cameras and eager gazes. She flipped the lid off the lens. "Makes you feel sorry for the tree, doesn't it?" Avner whispered into her ear. Brachy jumped. She smiled up at him, but moved away, putting some distance between them. He continued, ignoring her reaction. "So much pressure. I sure hope that poor tree is photogenic." "Rather it than me." Brachy said. "Oh I'd w

You know those Shidduch posts you read, somewhere, anywhere, and really love? The ones where your reaction is "That's exactly how I feel", the ones that leave you thinking, or get you grinning. Tell us about them! We are collecting the best of the Shidduch Blogosphere, over here . Our goal- Publication. Don't you feel sorry for those poor souls who don't have Internet access, or who haven't yet discovered the blogosphere? And wouldn't it be great, to have the very best posts collected in one book? Our motivation- Making a real difference in how singles are being viewed in the Frum Community, and providing a genuine, uncensored, well written narrative about Shidduchim Bad4Shidduchim launched the project today. Here are some FAQs we are being asked: Who can nominate a blog post? Anyone! You don't even have to register on the site (although it would be cool if you did!) Can I nominate my own blog posts? Yes! Who knows your best posts bette

They fascinated me. They lived beside us, but in a system entirely apart. Talking to them would cast me into a state of mortal sin, but I badly wanted to hear how yeshiva boys lived, and talked, and thought. I wanted to hear what went in within the hallowed halls where my feet could never tread. I gathered up crumbs of information, snippets of conversations. And I wondered. Fast forward ten years, out of high school and into Shidduchim. Yeshiva boys are coming out of my ears. Can this be God's repayment for my once secret interest? "You want to hear what it's like in Yeshiva, do you? You'll hear what it's like in a hundred Yeshivas!" For I am now an expert on Yeshivas. A Chareidi colleague discusses where to send his son to Yeshiva. I inundate him with a wealth of information; I tell him the pros and cons of each institution, the type of boys who go there, the families they come from, the staff's approach to Chinuch, and the comfort level of the fo

I have good news. In fact, I have fabulous news. You know how we are always venting about the Shidduch scene? Well, I misjudged it. The cloud does have a silver lining. The Shidduch world is not that bad after all! We can start counting our blessings. Blessing #1: There is no list of top eligible singles published every year in Hamodia. Let's all take a moment to say a little prayer of gratitude. (Something along the lines of"Thank you O Lord, for sparing us") For our less fortunate brethren, those abiding in the 'Swamp' of Kattamon, have this to deal with every year. When Nati on Srugim made it to an online list of eligible Religious singles, I wasn't sure if it was a joke. Turns out it's for real. Every year NRG publishes a list of the top Dati folk who are on the market for a spouse. I'm so glad I'm Chareidi! Or should we be starting our own version of "The List"?

"There are no words for this perfection. No mortal expression can capture the sublimity of your creation." Dovid took another bite of cheesecake, and rolled his hand around his stomach, to show how much he was enjoying it. "Thank you, thank you." Shulamit grinned. "So your big sis' is good for something, eh?" "Shulamit, you outdid yourself this year." Ima said. Shulamit's annual Shavuos cheesecake was a family tradition. "At least she's making the most of all the free time on her hands." Abba said. "Better a gourmet cheese cake than another hare brained scheme." Ima turned and frowned at him. At least on Yom Tov let there be no disagreements. "Actually, I have some amazing news!" Shulamit said, turning to her father. "Just wait till you hear this!" "Well go on then." He said, cutting himself another slice of cake. "I met this girl at the wedding last week, and I real

"What are your plans for this year?" That would be my boss talking. He looks at me expectantly. The answer is obvious. The words flash in my mind, as if spelled out in neon light bulbs on the top of a store front window. "Finish my novel." Wrong answer. There's no way I can say that. He doesn't even know I'm writing a novel. "My plans?" Stalling for time is always an option. "How do you want to develop this year?" He doesn't shift his gaze from my face. I take it "Finally get a driving license" is also out? How about "Work on my Middos"? Does that count as development? I spend a hefty chunk of my day here, between four office walls. I shouldn't just be killing time, waiting to leave, to date, to write. "I'd like more responsibility." I mumble. "And more opportunities for creativity." Yeah that sounds passably professional. Last year the answer I bit back was &

"'Just one date', they'd tell me. 'A couple of hours, why not? Isn't it worth a try?' "And they were right in a way. I couldn’t rule out guys before I'd met them. Because I'm a mix, and I needed a mix. I couldn't know ahead what was the exact combination of Israeli and Chutznik, of Yeshivish and open, that I needed. Because it depended on the guy really, it's not an exact science. So I kept trying. "But one date was never one date. There's the 'before', the whole getting ready business. But what's worse is the 'after', the deliberations, the 'should I try again?'. The hoping he'll say no, because you don't have the courage to be the one to end it. Second dates are almost autmoatic, because how can you know him properly after only one date? Eventually it ends, two or three dates later, one or two weeks later, after endless phone calls and debates. And it always ends for the reason that y

"We don't know each other. But maybe we'll get married one day. I like your name. I'm sure we'll fall madly in love" I grin. I wonder what he'll make of that! It serves him right for insisting on this crazy method for winnowing out the unsuitables. Then I crumple up the paper; I've got to try to take this seriously. I lay out a new blank white sheet on the desk. What should I write in a letter to someone I've never met, never even spoken to? It doesn't matter really. He just wants to see my handwriting. He doesn't care what I say. I can't believe I agreed to this; giving a guy a sample of my handwriting, so that he can analyze it, before we even go out. I bet he's not even my type. I don't go for this sort of stuff. My writing looks messy on the paper. I always joke that my handwriting is encrypted, because I'm the only one who can decipher it. I wonder what the scrawled letters and lines will teach him about me.

I'd love to see your comments on my guest post about being a fanatic in Jerusalem.

She tells me there's another way. She tells me it can be different. I try to keep my disbelief from showing; I try to keep the skepticism out of my eyes. I humor her. I nod along as she speaks. The poor girl can't be quite all there, if you know what I mean Her eyes are steady, as she looks back at me. She seems normal enough. Perhaps she merely doesn't realize the implications of her words, and no one has taken the trouble to teach her, to show her the way things need to be. Her statements tumble out in a stream of perplexities, until I break in, interrupting. I can't keep quiet any longer. "You go to the shows that sound the most 'fun'? You only go to Shiurim that you 'find interesting'?" She nods. She doesn't deny it. "What about weddings?" I ask her. "Which weddings do you attend?" "Weddings that I want to go to." "But what if there's nobody there?!" "There's always so

There was a kit for sale. Cheese, cookie crumbs, topping, all wrapped up neatly in a plastic tub, instructions included. It was tempting. She already had a cheesecake recipe, waiting at home, torn out from this week's Mishpacha. The ingredients she needed were listed on the back of the envelope, tucked in the purse somewhere, if only she could find it. The recipe had looked good, when she'd read it. But the half-the-work -done-for-you kit would be less work, less of a bother. It was double the price the ingredients would cost stand alone though. And it wouldn't come out as good. Besides, she made a cheesecake every year for Shavuos, she loved baking. What had gotten into her? She wondered what would happen if she went home, without the ingredients? What would happen if she didn't make a cheesecake? What would happen if she stayed home, and didn't go to Shul? Could she pretend it wasn't Yom Tov? Could she ignore the date, and wait for it to be over? Shav

It wasn't coming out right. Was it the lines that were wrong, the shading? Shulamit wanted the dress to be simple, fresh, but instead it looked flowery and naïve on paper. She ran a thick x through the center of the charcoal figure, and folded over the sheet. The blank whiteness of the new page reflected back at her, as if it were the enemy, mocking her. She'd never found it so difficult to work before. In school she'd always been drawing. While the teachers drawled on, while the girls giggled and gossiped, Shulamit had drawn out her fantasies, working her way back from the ends of notebooks to their centers, only stopping when she reached class notes and homework, encroaching from the beginning. The pictures she'd produced had been admired, praised. "You're so talented", they told her. 'You have a gift." "Don't forget us when you're famous." And she'd believed them. She'd always known what she wanted to be when sh

To stop you thinking I've been slacking off, to dispel the impression that I've been spending my free time lounging around in a hammock on the shores of the Caribbean, instead of typing away like a dutiful blogger should be, I figured it's time to post some links. I've been blogging for Midnight East at the International Writer's Festival in Jerusalem. (But don't get your hopes up- I'm not shedding the cloak of anonymity. It's a pseudonym.) I was worried I'd be discovered for a fraud beforehand. I couldn't believe that despite usually teetering around in heels, on the one day I meet the President of Israel(well I didn't actually meet him, but let's not get nitty gritty here) I'm wearing sneakers and looking a mess. Guess that's life. And I did enjoy the Invitation Only press conference and opening ceremony. What do single girls like ? Or more precisely, what do Frum single girls who are in Shidduchim like? And what do

Do you ever feel like you're living in a surreal Kafkaesque universe, too weird to be true? Do you ever wonder when the shutters will open, and sense will seep back into the world? If you open up your eyes will it be over? Can you go to sleep and wake up from this dream? You cry, from the sheer frustration; the absurdity overwhelms you, you look around frantically for the clarity that once was. How did you get here, what step along the way brought you to this society of madness? Why don't they see it too; why do they let this happen; where is this leading to? I've been on dates with men. I've been on dates with women . I've never been on a double date before. A double date which is also a first date. A double date where both our moms get to tag along with us, and join in all the fun. I'm confused as to the coupling. Do I pair up with him, while his mom pairs up with mine? Do we trade, me dating his mom and vice versa? "Fine. Wednesday. 9 PM. At the c

We ask about hats, and colors of Kippahs. We ask which stream of society he belongs too. "Which Yeshivas did he go to?" "What do his parents do?" "What do his siblings do?" "Where do they live?" "How many years does he want to learn for?" That's how we match up couples. Surprisingly, despite two people being perfect for each other on paper, despite them both agreeing that the husband should be in Kollel for exactly 5.5 years, until the birth of their third child; despite them both having brothers who learn in the Mir, and sisters who are working in special Ed; despite all of that, they meet and don't click . The infamous click. The adults around them tear their hair out in frustration. "What do you mean you don't like him?!" "He's a very good boy, what's there not to like?" The dater is ashamed. Indeed the boy is wonderfully suitable for her. She too will only eat Rubin and Eidah Cha

Is the internet filled with weirdos? Crazy, creepy, stalkers, who lurk in cyber shadows, afraid to venture out into the real world? I don't think so. I think the internet has become pretty main stream. Regular people use it; nice normal people surf this site, people like me, and like you. Yes, you. And now the question is, Are you a guy? Are you single? Are you smart? Are you a balance of seriously Frum and open minded? Do you want to live in Israel? And if you don't fit the above criteria, maybe you know somebody who does? Frum Satire 's been trying to convince me for months to post a Shidduch profile on his site. I remained skeptical. Why look for trouble? It’s not like I don't have boys to go out with. But I'm trying to break out of the mold. I've been dating for four years, from ever since I turned nineteen. And I don't think I've been meeting the right type of guy. I could carry on with the way I've been doing things. Hear the same

I could buy a Sheitel and a ring, and move to a place where no one knows me. I could say my husband is a Masmid, and learns in Kollel night and day, and thus explain away his absence. I could have a baby, and raise him on my own. I could stop waiting for the right man, and skip to the next stage. I could be a mother, before I'm a wife. I won't, of course. But sometimes I want to. I told my theory to the guy I was dating, when we sat on the grass one night. "First you think marriage is about having a permanent boy friend, and it's not." Teenagers also want to get married. They want a boy to give them red roses and heart shaped candies. They want a boy to tell them he loves them. They want the romance, and the relationship. But marriage should be about giving, not taking. They aren't there yet. If they do get married their relationship will have to mature, after the Chuppah, for it to last. "Then you think marriage is about giving to each other, b

They sat cross legged, in a circle on the grass. As she leaned over, to take the photos from her bag, Brachy's skirt brushed against Avner's jeans. Brachy shifted a little, away from Avner. She did it carefully, for him not to notice and be offended. It felt strange for a boy to be so close. Avner was nice; her one friend in the class. He always saved a place for her, and filled her in on what Ilana had taught, when Brachy arrived late after work. The others mainly ignored her. They were busy with their cameras and equipment. Unscrewing lenses, playing with the settings, using foreign terms like "aperture priority" and "white balance". The two men on her left were having a heated debate on the merits of Canon vs. Nikon. "Canon's autofocus is useless!" the one man was practically shouting. Brachy had a Canon. It lay on her lap now, an even rectangle of metal and plastic. It was dwarfed by the cameras around her. They were big and bulky, ju

The annual Underground Independence Day celebrations continue in the Chareidi world. A funny twist is that my Kollel-wife friends are also joining in the fun and making Seminary/School reunion parties, since they are on vacation, while their husbands don't have off.

Shulamit wished she had a notepad with her, or even a scrap of paper. She loved the line, simple and flowing. She loved the fabric, matte silver lace. She itched to draw it. The girl wore it well; her blonde hair was cut in one clean line, and lay on her shoulders, in bright contrast to the muted lace. The girl had poise, a certain sophistication in her stance, as if she knew it all already, and there was nothing new you could tell her. Shulamit hesitated. Something about the girl looked too perfect, intimidating. Confident people scared her. But she had to know where that dress was from. She picked up a last cookie from the buffet table, and moved purposely towards where the blonde girl in the beautiful dress was standing, by the Mechitza. __________ Karen wanted to cry, from the sheer disappointment. She had spent weeks, getting ready for Sara Leah's wedding. First the dress, which she'd spotted in a window on Betzalel street, spent a solid chunk of salary on. Then f

Brachy paused, halfway down the steps, and looked up at the mirror, suspended above her head, like a modern day moon. It was placed there so that the bus driver would be able to see the back door, but now it served her well, allowing her to check that her hair was still in place, her lip gloss hadn't smudged. She felt the passengers behind her shuffle impatiently, willing her to move, and so she gave a last glance as the shining orbit, and jumped off, onto the pavement below. She was in Jerusalem. They'd told her she could catch the 6, they'd said that would be quicker. She hesitated, when she came to the number 1 bus stop, unsure what to do. The 1 may be a longer route, but it was familiar. There was a man standing there, leaning on the metal wall. He had a short beard, he reminded her of Avner, although he wasn’t as tall as Avner, and was wearing the Chareidi uniform of black pants and white shirts. Avner had always been wearing T-Shirts and jeans, whenever she'

Brachy stood in the doorway. The sun beams slatted through the bars on the opposite windows, and fell on her dark hair, turning it a coppery red. Her eyes were large in her pale face, as she looked around the classroom, at the seats already occupied, at the desks covered with books and equipment. She stood still, not knowing what to do, where to go. There were many faces, looking back at her, some wearing scarves, hats, kippahs, some bare. Avner thought she was quite beautiful. He'd been with so many girls, they were brash and obvious these days. The girl in the entrance looked young, fresh, naive almost. She appealed to him. He picked up a rucksack from the chair beside him, and smiled at Brachy, gestured towards it. Brachy would have preferred to sit next to a girl. It was bad enough to be attending a mixed course, she should try and stick with women as much as possible. That was the only free space though, beside that boy. Besides, it would be rude to refuse, when he was o

"What you need is a more modern guy. Someone open minded." I'll scream if I hear that one more time. And not because it's not true. "You need a more modern guy; not a standard Israeli Chareidi yeshiva boy; someone on the same wave length as you; someone who's seriously Frum, but still knows the world." You all tell me that; my family, my friends, my blog readers. But I've been saying the same thing for years. I need, I want, I'm looking for, a more modern guy. And I'm willing, I'm wanting, I'm waiting to date him There's only one problem. I can't find him. Where are these wonderful, mythical, open minded guys? How do I meet them? There are thousands of single yeshiva boys at Mir, hundreds more at Chevron. In Gruss, the Israel branch of the YU kollel, there are three single guys. That's right, three. (And I can't even get to those ones. So if anyone has any leads...) There are almost no "modern&qu

She screamed JAP, Jewish American Princess, from the flat suede pumps to the black taffeta rosette clipping back blonde strands of hair. She walked with poise, too; heading directly to the table in the centre of the room. Raizl watched the girl pile a plate high with cakes, selecting slices from each tray, layers of chocolate and mousse. She stifled feelings of annoyance. That little girl was acting as if she owned the place. She could only be nine, or ten, years old. Yet she strode around like a little queen. "She's only a child", Raizl told herself, but still the feelings came. Hatred was too harsh a word. Raizl kept track of the girl, as she circled the hotel dining room, backwards and forwards between tables, fetching drinks and desserts, bearing bounty back to the table where her family must be sitting. Resentment, perhaps. Yes, that was closer to the truth. Raizl resented the girl, with her perfect outfit and complete confidence. Raizl was a grown up now, a

I say the words, silently, hear them echo in my mind. There's no cause for self pity, but I do have to face the facts. I need friends, new friends. I'm a fresh yet quintessential loner. My free-time options are being home alone, or being in town alone. I've perfected the art of eating alone; buying a French crepe on Ben- Yehudah, spread with chocolate and nuts, and nibbling at it as I window shop. That's better than finding an empty table at the pizza place, watching the other people there, eves-dropping on their conversations, while biting and chewing down a necessary supper as fast as possible. How did I get here, to this lonely place? I may not be a social butterfly, but I'm no sociopath either. And I do have friends! I consider printing it in bold marker pen letters on a folded piece of cardboard, placing it by me as I eat alone. "I have friends." Just they are married you see. Almost all of them. They can't hang out any more. I never b