Frum N' Flipping

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

I've disappeared for a while. Here's my excuse. "Do me a favor, and don't ever show that to any guy you want to marry, OK?" "Isn't it a bit late for you to be telling me this now? I already showed it to him." Not to mention to a few hundred blog readers. But she doesn't know about that. "Oh, you were obviously trying to scare him off, last night." "I was?" "Yes. That story shows the worst side of you, the cynical side. It doesn't give a flattering picture of its author. Any decent boy who reads it will run a mile." "You could have told me that when you read it." "Well it is well written. But, sweetheart, I know you, you're not like that." "I was trying to copy Dorothy Parker's style." "But did Dorothy Parker ever get married?" I don't remember the answer. I guess it's a no. "Men don't want to marry Dorothy Parkers. Or Jane Aust