Frum N' Flipping

This story of mine appeared in Mishpacha's Sukkos Calligraphy.  It's one of my favorite stories so far, so I wanted to share it with you guys too. It came under a lot of fire from Mishpacha readers, and I'm interested to hear what you have to say. I am a woman, at last. I look at my face, enveloped by the wavy brown sheitel .  The wig frames my narrow cheekbones; the pony masks my too high forehead. I turn my head from side to side and enjoy the swish of the silken mane. I look like any other young woman, young married woman. "How much is this one?" I ask. "Ah, you chose one of our best pieces. A hundred percent European hair, soft and silky. You have good taste" Many would suck in their breath when she names the figure; I don’t. I'm prepared for the expense. I've been waiting for this day for years, too many years to count. Not in this way, no, my dreams were more fantastic, but this will have to do. "I'll take it" I say. ...

I have time. Four weeks to be precise. Wonderful beatiul amazing vacation. The reason? I quit my job. Don’t worry, I made sure first that I had a new job to go to. I'm ever concious of being the sole breadwinner of the house. But I carved out for myself this month of blessed freedom in between jobs. “To Write.” I said. So I didn’t make plans, didn’t even commit to woking on the thesis that’s haunted me all year, freed up my diary and my days for one mission, to finish my book. I have the most time on my hands since I started working, after college. That was a long long time ago.  I had big plans. But so far I’ve read at least ten novels, gone to the pool, slep till midday, basically did everything except write. The irony.

We are bumping along in the airport shuttle bus, my hand luggage clutched on my knee.  “I’m so glad we are flying EL AL” I say happily. “The way to the states was such a nightmare with Iberia” (who knew it takes 30 hours to fly from Tel Aviv to Madrid?) TCO just nods. Men are like that. “Next time we are flying ELAL both ways. I can’t handle a connecting flight again. Besides, their service is so much better.” Famous last words. If life was a movie, dramatic music would have been playing in the background at this point                                _________ “Flying has really changed” I say to TCO, pulling out a folded pieced of paper from my purse. “Remember when you had to go to the travel agent and he’d give you a little plastic pouch with tickets that were blue ink booklets?” Little did I know that I would soon be longing for those days. Oh, sweet 90s. _________ We h...

My friend is getting married next week. She's the last of the "chevra" to cross over to the dark side. It's her shower.We are sitting around a table piled high with wrapped up pots and pans and peelers. "I want you all to give me advice now", she says ."One tip for a good marriage from each of you" I suppose being the last to marry has its advantages. Not only do we know to give her already toiveled dishes, but apparantly we also can share advice. Well they can. I'm still a rookie. One by one they mention giving to your husband and caring about him and encouraging him and all those other good traits "It's important to still leave time for yourself" I say when it's my turn "Just because you enjoy being together doesn't mean you won't sometimes need your own space, your own time for the things you like to do" The others look at me like they pity TCO, like I'm a selfish wife. I blush. Who knows, ...

I found this post in my Ipod. It was written "735 days ago". That's back when I was single, skeptical of ever finding the right guy through a Shidduch date, and meeting quite a few of my online readers. You read my blog. You like it, that's why you carry on reading it. You want to meet me. You have this picture of me in your head. You expect me to be vibrant and energetic. You expect me to be bubbly and charismatic. You expect me to be  like my writing.  I'm not. I'm quiet,  I speak softly. Often I don't speak at all, because I'm still thinking. You either expect me to be rebellious and critical of society (based on some of my posts), or you think I'm flipped out, like my name( which was chosen by mistake, but that's another story). I'm neither. I'm just another frum girl. The type you wouldn't look at twice if you passed in the street. I do have some  criticism of society, but so do most people, they just don't bother...

Will this last forever? I'm estatic, elated. I straighten my shaitel, half skip, half run.  I'm on the way home to my husband. I'm married, really married! And I have the most wonderful husband in the whole wide world. Life feels like a dream. It's too good to be true. When did this happen, when did everything change, drastically and amazingly?  I'm scared I'll wake up. Newlywed bliss; an enchanted fairytale that the two of you are living in. Everything’s wonderful, everything’s perfect. You're married!  I wondered how it would end, when the happiness would dissipate. Sheer amazingness couldn't last, they told me. "How are you?" My long married friends asked "I'm so happy!" I said "Yeah, newlyweds…" "Don't you feel the same?"  I asked them I didn't understand. Why should the happiness end, if you're supposed to be loving each other more and more, not less and less. ...

I’m free. I can do whatever I want. I don’t have to listen to anyone, I don’t have to care what anyone thinks of me. (Except for TCO, but then we agree on most things, so that works.) I savor it. My short period of freedom. I’m not in school, ducking into a store when I see a teacher or a classmate in the distance, anyone who will report my long jeans skirt, strictly forbidden by my Israeli Bais Yaacov. I’m not in Seminary, I can’t get kicked out for speaking a boy. (Not that I ever did.) Best of all – I’m not in Shidduchim.  I can go to a wedding with no makeup, I can be unfriendly to annoying yentas, I can even make shocking and controversial statements comparing the Shidduch scene to an auction. We live in a mixed, non Charedi, neighborhood.  I could do cartwheels in the street and nobody would care. I wear a baggy old skirt and glasses to the supermarket. I never go to anywhere just to “meet people”.  When I try to decide if my outfit is tznius, I on...

1.Throw back shots of whiskey. Liquor will do too. Anythig with high alchohol content. If no drinks are available, complain loudly about lack of booze. 2. Tell tall tales of extreme sports. Recent bungee jumps or skydiving is best. If the most adventurous you've been is walking up the steps insead of taking the elevator, lie loudly or make fictitious plans for next week. 3.Ostentatiously carry packs of feminine hygiene products into bathroom. Enough said.  4. Ask to be the kvatter at a Brit 5. Leave a packet of contraceptive pills lying around What not to do: - Wearing tunic tops or any form of baggy clothes is stricly forbidden. Wear tight and form fitting clothes only. (Sorry rabbi.) - Never be sick, Ever. If you are sick, don't tell anybody. Nausea is off limits, whatever virus you have. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Events of the past week have fortified my belief. Yeshiva guys are all pedophiles. And so are their moms. I get a frantic phone call from Mrs. Mom-of-Yeshiva-Guy. “She’s 25! 25, not 24!”  “Oh.”  “Does she look her age?” “Her age?”  “You know, does she still look young, or does her age show?”  Her age. In any other western society except for the one I live in (and possibly Mormons too) twenty five is considered young. In fact, women are considered to peak in the late twenties and early thirties – according to Cosmolitan . Check out the average age of most female celebrities (who aren’t exactly famous based on their IQ)  But Yeshiva guys like them young. High school girls are illegal, but the good news is that most eighteen and nineteen year olds, fresh out of seminary in their sweatshirts and ponytails, still look like high school girls (and sound like them too)  Then there’s the fact that by the time an average Charedi woman hits her mid twe...