Frum N' Flipping

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...

"'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...

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...

"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...

Would you go on a date feeling sick? I don't mean sick at the sight of him, which isn't a good sign for future marital happiness, rather sick due to ghastly diseases like the common cold, and the flu. The thing with dating is, there's no one to provide a sick leave note. The Shadchan is never happy, being asked to make another batch of piggy-in-the-middle phone calls, delaying the auspicious meeting to a latter occasion, to a time when you're hoping you won't feel like a clan of elephants are playing hockey in your head. You feel sorry for the guy, too. Maybe the poor thing has already showered, and shaved, and now his efforts are going down the drain. He's going to have to make do with the 'company of sweaty guys' - as one boy described his roommates to me-instead of cavorting with a charming Shidduch Maidel. The fears lurk, unspoken. What if he thinks I'm generally sickly? Not up to being a future baby machine? What if he doesn't believe it...

You think it is, I think it is, but aren't you curious what the Rabbis of Israel have to say about it? We are sitting on the sloping hill, alone aside for the trees and the moon. I've convinced The-Yeshiva-Guy-I-Didn't-Marry to sit down on the grass with me, instead of on the customary bench. It's a new sensation, sitting on the grass with a boy. I cross my knees, pull my skirt down to cover them. He sprawls out on his side, a few inches from me. This is so much more relaxed than benches and chairs. It's the first time I've ever done it, on a date. A part of me whispers that that's a rather sad fact. "Are you attracted to me?" I ask. There's a certain light missing from his eyes, when he looks at me. He doesn't look at me the way the boy before him did. I'm worried. I don't know what they've been telling them in Yeshiva, about feelings coming later, and all that. I know one thing, I don't want that to be the case with my hu...

When you like him, he doesn't like you. And when he likes you, you try your hardest but simply don't like him. And then someone comes along, and you actually like him. And guess what? He seems to like you too. And you're both so shocked, that you marry each other. That's my grandma's take on how people get married. I'm still waiting for it to happen.

"Hold on a sec. He's a twin?! And he's from ____? I think I went out with his twin brother then." "You think?! Sweetie, you don't know who you went out with?" "Hmmm. I did hear the name, don't remember if we ever went out. So, is he like the brother?" "Yes, totally. Except the first one is married now of course." "Oh." "You didn't like the brother?" "Well he dumped me after one date. But I wasn't that keen either. I don't really want to go out with his twin. If it's the same guy." "Maybe you should decide if you two went out or not." "Well I did go out with some twin from there. How many twins can there be in that little town? And then someone tried to set me up with the other one when it didn't work out with the first." "So you've been out with this one too?" "No. Didn't want to date twins. Made me feel like something out of 'Pass the...

You'd follow me on twitter! A while back I was wishing I could post the only status I care about on facebook. Now I can do it! Real time updates from the life of a serial dater.

I feel sorry for my husband. Not because the first time he'll see me wearing glasses, with no makeup, it will probably be too late. Not because I'm capable of getting lost in my own neighborhood, and anyone relying on my map reading skills is sure to get led astray. Not even because I'm a secret blogger, and as one commenter put it "won't your husband mind you sharing personal details of your life". (More on the blogging when married topic another time). No, all that he'll be aware of on dates. I began to feel sorry for my future husband, really and truly sympathetic, when I cleaned out the family refrigerator on Erev Shabbos. I filled a garbage bag with rotting vegetables and decaying dairy products. I scooped out chunks of solidified pasta, prepared for dinners long gone, and piled high in the sink their former containers. I used up an entire roll of paper towel, scrubbing weeks of acquired gunk off the shelves. I wouldn't have done it, I wo...

I've dated many men, in the last few years. They have some things in common. For a start, they are all single. Also, they are all in their twenties. I also go out with women. Mainly married women. Their ages range through the twenties to sixties. Don't be shocked. Hang on, and I'll explain. I'm in town, meeting up with a pal, one of the rare occasions she's in the hood. I get a phone call. It's my friend's mom, who since her own daughter recently acquired a new last name, has sweetly joined the ranks of those attempting to marry me off. "Someone wants to meet you. She has a guy." "Right. But I don't meet women. Who is he?" 'She won't tell me anything. She wants to meet you first." I entreat and I protest, but eventually I give in. The meeting is set up for the following night. Wednesday evening I get home from work. I choose an outfit which I hope the mystery woman will like or at least approve of, touch up...

Career girl and Shidduch Maidel- two diametric opposites. After a day at the office, getting dressed up for a date isn't enough. A major personality switch is needed too. I lock the screen, pull off my ID card, breathe in, breathe out, and shift gears. Body language, tone of voice, that changes automatically. Next comes the attitude. Work: Get across that you’re wrong, and I'm right, without actually saying so. It should be obvious that my idea is the one we should use, how could you ever suggest otherwise. Date: Give the impression I think you're amazing and brilliant. I totally agree with everything you say. In fact you're what I've been looking for my whole life. Work: Be assertive, without raising my voice. Sound firm and uncompromising. Date: Be soft, pliant and feminine. Flutter eyelashes occasionally. I don't know how I ever managed without you, opening doors is just so hard on my own. Work: Sell myself. Do nothing without proper recognition and ...

"His Mom wants to see your picture". "No way. Sorry, I don't do pictures" "She says she won't show him, it's only for her to see." "She can ask everyone what I look like; height, weight, hair color, eye color, length of nose, promince of cheekbones, whatever she wants. " "No, that's not good enough. She says her son wants to date a clever girl, and most clever girls are ugly. So she needs to check." Have you ever?! Intelligent Women of the World, let us unite.

Moonlight. Park. Bench. Third Date. "So, do you have a Rav? Like, someone to ask?" (OK, that's the guy asking. Not my style question.) "Um, well. I ask Y. when I have questions. He's got Semicha. He looks it up for me if he doesn't know." (Nothing like illustrious relatives. The whole learning in Kollel thing comes in useful sometimes.) "I mean real questions, you know, life questions. Not Halachic questions". "Oh." (Long silence.) "No, not really. I used to ask a couple of Rabbis stuff sometimes, in seminary. But I never get round to phoning them nowadays." If I like him I may bother trying to explain more. Usually I don't. I do feel faintly guilty about it. "Not having a Rav", that is. I had to memorize Mesilat Yesharim in High school. That whole paragraph with the Rabbi being up on a hill, able to guide lost and clueless lil' you through the maze of life. So Rabbis are the kind of thing one needs, ri...

"Frum or Modern?" "Can't I be both?" "You know what I mean." "Frum", I type. Can't get away from it, even on the Web. "Chasidic?" "No." I sigh. Close the private message window. On second thoughts, open it again. What the hell. "Married?" "No." "Age?" "22, u?" "28." "Cool. But you're married of course. What's wrong with her?Too many pregnancies?" "No, just I felt like a change. One woman,for all these years, same body, same positions. It loses it's excitement" "I C". "So, what are you wearing ,baby?" . I know where that's leading to. I close the window. There are ten other minimized windows, flashing neon orange , I'll concentrate on those guys. ____ Why do I chat? I used to think it was for male contact. All girl school, all girl camps, no brothers the right ages to bring friends over and tu...