Frum N' Flipping

She peered through the wooden slats. They were there, dozens of them; young, and single, and eligible. Karen had always liked the sound of their Yeshiva, the boys who went there were supposed to be smart, and also independent. She'd been trying for months, to be introduced to someone, anyone, from there. Karen liked the look of one boy in particular. He slung his jacket casually over his shoulder, and his Kippah perched at an angle on his head, as if he'd thrown it on without caring where it landed. His hair wasn't cut as short as usual for a Yeshiva student, and flicked up and out, in little waves. Karen was sure he must be fun, relaxed; not uptight like the boys she dated. His friends gathered round him, followed him from buffet to bar to dance floor. He was a leader. She liked that. If only she could go out with him. If only this wedding wasn't separate. He was but a few meters from her. It could have been an ocean. She pushed the Mechitza slightly aside, wide...

It's got to be one of the worst fears of an Orthodox girl. How can you tell, if the boy you are dating is really not that into you, is not that into any women. Religious men are told to keep it a secret, to keep their leanings under wraps. There are those that don't listen to the rabbis, that step out of the closet, those of the YU variety for instance, but they are the minority. So meanwhile a huge percentage of homosexual guys are out there, on the Shidduch circuit, looking for a nice Frum girl to marry and have kids with, build a family with. Which may admirable, in principle, but let's just say I don't want to be that woman. And there's no real way to find out ahead. You're in a Shomer Negiah relationship. You’re not checking out the physical side of things. You jump in on faith, telling yourself that you like each other, that it will all work out later, in the Yichud room, once you're passed the wedding canopy. You rely on 'chemistry',...

I don't think I'd be able to write this now, even if I tried. I found some scraps of paper, which I wrote during Shnat Avel, and put them all together. And sorry about this sad streak of posts. Someone asked me for an essay about mourning, by special request. The Day He dies. Death. You think it's the worst thing that can possibly be, the end, to everything. It's not real. It's a dream, a nightmare. You're sure you'll wake up soon. You are numb. The Week Slowly you feel again. You thought mourning was sadness, you weren't expecting the pain. You feel pain, you live pain. All of your being is pain. There is no escape. You can't shut it out, you can't let it out. You don't cry, because if you start to cry, you'll never stop. No rainfall of tears will ever be enough. The Month It hurts to see the sun shine, to hear people laugh at a joke. All you can manage is a wan smile. Everything seems unimportant, trivial. Daily life pales...

Karen stifled a laugh. Yishai's emails always made her smile. He took what she'd written, and pinged it back with a twist, adding another smart, amusing, facet. There was something about the Internet, about corresponding with each other only through the written word, which caused communicating to be much deeper. It was as if they had skipped the shallow facade of looks and gestures, of dressing up and being introduced, of polite nonentities and social norms, and delved straight to the essence. She felt freer to speak her mind, to share the private and personal. She wasn't shy, or embarrassed. Because he wasn't here. He couldn't see her, he couldn't watch her face. She didn't blush, and her voice didn't drop to a whisper, unconsciously. They were only emailing. Also, it turned out that she liked writing. She could pause, and think, and go back a line to delete, fix, clarify. There was no rush to press send, Karen could wait until she'd managed to ...

"Is that Shulamit?" The voice on the other side of the line was warm, and low, and slightly hesitant; a man's voice. "Yes, speaking." she said. "Hi!" his voice became more confident now. "It's me, Daniel, remember? I was at your house." Of course, the flower seller . Shulamit recognized his voice now, with its tinge of a British accent. She wondered why he was calling. They hadn't spoken since that Friday. She'd promised him that she'd phone, as soon as she thought of a girl for him. But none of the girls, summarized neatly on the pink papers in her binder, seemed right . "I was thinking about what you told me" he said. "About, being a matchmaker...?" "Yeah." she said. Wondering where he was getting. "Well, Shidduchim haven't been going so well for me lately, so I was hoping we could meet and discuss your ideas" his words came out all in a rush. "Oh Daniel, but I...

Brachy didn't know when it was, that she started wanting it. She'd seen the advertisements hundreds of times, she'd heard it discussed and seen picture displayed. She'd never thought it could be meant for her though. She was a teacher, she was solid and sensible. She wasn't creative; she wasn't artistic. She wasn't the type of girl who learned photography, especially not in a place like Kattamon. "But it's mixed" she said to Ima. "Brachy, you're a good girl, I trust you; I'm not worried. If this is what you want to do..." "But I can't go, Ima. I was only joking." "Brachy listen to me now" Ima's voice was firm and strangely compelling. "If you think you will enjoy studying photography then I want you to do it. You're a mature girl who can handle herself fine wherever she is. I think this course is a great idea. You said the school will pay for it?" "The ministry of edu...

"Write about good dates", somebody commented, "Not only about bad ones". So these are my good dates. They are rare, but they do exist. Oh, and, um, sorry to let you all down, but this post is not based on recent/current events On a good date you don't care that you’re meeting a semi stranger in a hotel lobby, surrounded by other identical couples, you don't care that you feel part of a primitive mating ritual , you manage to get past all that, and beyond it. On a good date you feel yourself. You don't automatically and subconsciously slip into a façade that isn't really you, in order to be on the same wavelength as him. On a good date you don't need to explain yourself much, he understands what you mean, he understands you. On a good date you're surprised and pleased that there's somebody else in the world who thinks the same way as you do. On a good date you can speak of science without him thinking you brainy, you can speak ...

Silence came, without warning. They had run out of things to say. They had used up the standard topics of conversation, drawn them out as much possible. Karen listened to the rain falling outside. The patter of raindrops on cement reached her even through the closed glass patio doors, and ornate velvet drapes. He picked up his hat, from the low manhogany table, signaling it was time to end the date. "Shall we?" he said. She nodded. They both stood up, and walked past the fountain, and towards the exit. They stood by the revolving doors. The same revolving doors that she'd entered by an hour and a half previously, with such high hopes. At least she'd brought the car, and didn't need to rely on public transport and on boys' goodwill anymore. No flurrying into and out of a cab, careful to sit modestly, and not brush against her escort, even by accident. No more being dropped off at a crowded bus stop, and standing alone, arrayed in all her dating finery...

It could have been romantic. The moon hangs low in the sky, over the walls of the old city. The ivory paving stones are smooth, trodden by hundreds of couples who have come before them. They both lean on the railings, with a panoramic view of Jerusalem below. A breeze ruffles Brachy's hair and her full skirt, that falls down, to below her knees. She clutches the flowered folds of fabric, preventing them from sailing up, and showing Yaacov long nylon encased legs; a forbidden sight, for him. Brachy glances at Yaacov. He is dressed in a black suit, probably his best, and a black fedora hat, polished to a sheen. He tugs at the hat now, pulling it lower, then higher, before turning round to look back at her. "It's a pleasant night" He says. "Yes. It is." She agrees "We are lucky to have such good weather today. Yesterday was a Chamsin" "Yes. We are." Shulamit had been so excited about putting them together; Shulamit really thoug...