Frum N' Flipping

"Shake my hand." I say to my husband "Huh?" he replies. We don't usually shake each other's hand as a greeting. "I need to practice" I say. "For the interview." He looks worried. "Because it's a woman who’ll be interviewing me." I explain. “They said her name is Ilana. I"ll actually be able to shake her hand, so I want to check my handshake is ok” He still looks rather confused. "What's the big deal?" " Everyone knows there's a lot they learn about you from your handshake. It's very psychological." I should know, I’ve been reading enough online posts about how to prepare for an interview. (Tip: don't say your biggest weakness is hating routine boring work.) I’ve shaken hands with someone perhaps once in my life. I've spent my last thirteen years making excuses for why I can't shake hands with men, an art form mastered by most Frum women. We know the hold cell

Straight- "stick straight"- hairstyles were in fashion when I was in ninth grade. On my trek from home to school I ogled the glossy photos pinned up in the local hairdresser’s windows- models with choppy haircuts, layers of varying length, all falling in perfect symmetrical lines. My torturous attempts at blow-drying resulted in puffy, frizzy, waves. Straightness was out of my reach except for on those rare visits to the hairdresser for a cut- from which I emerged with glossy locks, content until I couldn’t drag out the days any longer, my hair needed to be washed, and returned to its natural wavy state. I counted the years until I’d be able to wear a wig. I already knew which wig I would choose; it would be fall below my shoulder in beautiful straight layers. I didn’t count enough years. Fast forward a decade, and I was still making do with my own hair. A lot happened in the meantime. I discovered the wonders of the straightening iron, and finally straight hair could b

I try not to be a typical newlywed. In fact, I never really liked newlyweds, caught up in their own little blissful worlds. One common newlywed trait is matchmaking. And for newlywed bloggers- the complaining that goes with it. Suddenly singles are "pushy" and "picky" and "ungrateful" I swore never to switch roles quite so drastically, and I hope I'll stand by my word. But yes, I am guilty of being a newlywed; of the type eager to make matches. And some things really do get me upset. True fact - We don't know who we are going to marry until we marry them. I have lots of different types of friends; some are loud, some are quiet, some are shark and some more easy going; basically every friend is different. And that's normal. Most of us have more than one friend, and usually our friends are not identical. In other words, we get on with all sorts of people. So why, when it comes to dating, is there a perception that a girl can only da

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

OK, I know Rosh HaShana has been already. But it’s like Tashlich right? I can push it off my new year’s post to before Yom Kippur, or even up until Hoshana Raba. (Hey I made Yom Tov, that’s a ton of cooking and I don’t even know how to cook, so gimme a break.) Once upon a time I wished my friends Shana Tova in person - we met in school, in Shul, “around”. Then came the phone calls – we’d moved areas, switched schools, started Seminary. Text messages were next – a constant beeping of poetic wishes throughout the day. I blame Kosher phones for the shift to mass emails . But emails are so 20th century. Nowadays we wish Shana Tova intimately to our close friends – using Facebook Statuses, Tweets, and of course – on our blogs. So Shana Tova everyone! Thanks for your loyalty, if you’re actually reading this, after my neglect. Blogging more regularly- that's my new year’s resolution. Together with finishing my novel. Oh and being a better person etc. etc., but we don't

The seats are all taken. I stand next to TCO, both of us clutching the hand rail. Through the front window we see old ladies leaving the Shuk with their shopping trolleys and cutting in front of the traffic. The bus crawls along Aggripas street, the driver trying not to run over any of the old ladies. Now before I continue, I better clarify one thing. I'm skinny. That's my body build, and even 6 months of no exercise hasn't changed that. We're on our way back from a lunch date, so I'm wearing a new tunic top from my TJmaxx spree in the US, My shoes and hat also match, and I'm feeling pretty fashionable. Then a middle aged woman makes eye contact with me. She's sitting in a single seat by the door. She asks me I want to take her chair. I shake my head. "I'm fine." I say. I wonder why she's asking. She's older than me by at least two decades. She stands up, and gestures to her seat . "Maybe she's getting off the bu

"I wear a hat at night." She says it matter-of-factly. "You wear a hat to bed?" I try not to sound shocked. She's not Chasidic, she's not even Chareidi. It seems rather extreme to me. "Yes, I decided to keep my hair covered at all times." That's the point when naughty questions pop into my head, like when exactly does she show her hair, but I bite them back, being the nice frum girl/woman I am. "Oh." I say instead. "I don't cover my hair at home." "Unless we have guests of course." I add. I've got my reputation to mantain. "Of course" She says. "I mean it's a good thing, covering your hair all the time, I guess… There's that story with the woman who merited torah scholar sons because the walls of her house never saw her hair…" It's a Bais Yaacov classic. I always hated it, but that part I leave out. The conversation leaves me thinking. I don't cover my h

I'm suffering from a dreadful case of writer's block. Well maybe it's more like newly-married-and-haven't-blogged-for-six-months block. But in any case I really want to get back to blogging, since as I revert into a 9-6 working gal who cooks supper and does laundry on the side, I feel like I'm losing a part of myself, a very precious part, that I was rather proud of. So my half year anniversary resolution is that I'm going to blog again. I won't write , that's too scary now, the blank white word documents stare back at me when I try to write . Instead I'll simply share the things I'm thinking, and hopefully, one day, this will be the blog it used to be. Or in other words – Hi readers, I'm still alive, please come back. Anyone? One thing I still haven't gotten used to is my new "title". "Gveret" Is he speaking to me? I'm not a "gveret", a lady. I'm a "bachura", a girl. (That'

It was too late. I was naked when I found out the truth. I clutched the towel around me and stared at her in horror. I was trapped. Only I could make such a stupid mistake. I missed all the clues- the sandy path that was longer than I remembered; the sign post for the Mikvah Keilim I didn't recall; the type of women inside- I should have known something was wrong when I saw the women. Nine of them, lined up in a row, one empty chair in the middle that they seemed to have saved for me, ready to interrogate me; the questions- how long I'd been married, how many times I'd been here before; the blessings that I wouldn't need to be back the next month. "I've been married six years and this is my fifth time at the Mikvah" one woman proudly told me. I tried to do the math in my head, while the other women congratulated her. The woman sitting behind the till wore a thick turban. She wasn't Simcha, the Mikvah attendant I'd come back here for. I'd

I owe a big apology to my readers. I disappeared, and it wasn't very nice of me. All I can say is that planning a wedding sure takes a lot of time. But at least I'm back now :-) And I missed you! One of the big differences with married life is the sudden secrecy that veils your life. There are two of you now, and the things that go on between you should remain between you, should be private, intimate, told to no one, shared with no one. That's right, that's good, that makes sense. And it really is wonderful, being together, sharing a life and a home and a future with someone you love, who loves you. It's so good you don't know how you survived so long on your own. It's like tasting heaven. It feels like a dream you don't ever want to wake up from. Yet still the secrecy bothers me. I wish I'd been more prepared for the halachic aspects of marriage, the physical aspects of marriage. Nobody told me, because nobody talks about it. Ten sessions wit