Frum N' Flipping

She felt at home here. The polished mahogany tables, the stiff brocade sofas, the gold velvet curtains falling to the floor, nothing had changed in the years since her first visit. The same pictures still hung on the walls in their gilt frames, obtuse splotches of dark paint; she was beginning to find them almost attractive. The boy was pulling back his jacket sleeve, looking at his watch. He did it openly. He didn't seem to care that on Shidduch dates it was rude to check the time; that it showed he didn't want to be there, with her. Brachy could have saved him the bother. She was quite aware of the amount of minutes that had passed, and the amount that were still left to be gotten through. An hour and a half was the standard duration of a first date. His face creased, as he examined the watch's hands. He looked back at Brachy, and at the half full Coca-Cola bottle and nearly untouched glass, on her side of the table. Both his bottle and glass were empty. "Wha...

Hi Karen, How was Shavuos? Did you manage to go to the Shiurim you were planning to? I ate a very good cheesecake, but I'm ashamed to say that I still have no idea how to make one myself. I have a request for you, Karen. I know you don't want us to meet. I understand why you feel we are not suitable for marriage. I hear your fears about certain details which I mentioned. But let me explain my reasoning please. We are still corresponding. Despite the so called irreconcilable differences you speak of. If there is really no chance of this working, perhaps we should say goodbye and wish each other good luck in life? I hope your heart trembles at the thought, as much as mine does. I enjoy writing to you; I enjoy reading your emails. I feel that we have somehow "clicked", is that not so? There is a meeting of the minds. We understand each other. Perhaps I'm enjoying it too much. Your words, your lines and phrases, burst into my thoughts at the most inoppo...

Sometimes a boy and a girl meet, on a Shidduch date, and they know right away that they are perfect for each other. They have the same Hashkafa, outlook on life, the same ideals. They have the same hobbies, and CDs, and favorite books. The character traits they were looking for, their "list", is sitting right across from them, in flesh and blood. They should be thrilled, because perhaps they've found their soul mate. There's only one problem. They aren't very happy about it. "There are classical music concerts for free, on Monday afternoons" Daniel said. "I go to them with my sister, she's also in Jerusalem this year" "That's so interesting" says Karen. "I love classical music. I never heard of those free concerts." So he's a fan of classical music, the same way she is. Another point in his favor. Why is she wishing this date was over? "I think balance is very important", Karen is saying. ...

Sunshine, grass, trees, wind catching at her hair, shadows falling in patterns on the ground, the gentle sounds the world made, when it was left alone. And Avner, always Avner. He crouched beside her as she bent close to a wild flower, perched on a boulder as she climbed up to where there was a better view. Brachy grew to know the steady click of his camera's shutter, as he snapped frame after frame, always staying within breathing distance. Brachy giggled, as she watched the group gathering around one lone blossoming tree, surrounding it on all sides with their cameras and eager gazes. She flipped the lid off the lens. "Makes you feel sorry for the tree, doesn't it?" Avner whispered into her ear. Brachy jumped. She smiled up at him, but moved away, putting some distance between them. He continued, ignoring her reaction. "So much pressure. I sure hope that poor tree is photogenic." "Rather it than me." Brachy said. "Oh I'd w...

"There are no words for this perfection. No mortal expression can capture the sublimity of your creation." Dovid took another bite of cheesecake, and rolled his hand around his stomach, to show how much he was enjoying it. "Thank you, thank you." Shulamit grinned. "So your big sis' is good for something, eh?" "Shulamit, you outdid yourself this year." Ima said. Shulamit's annual Shavuos cheesecake was a family tradition. "At least she's making the most of all the free time on her hands." Abba said. "Better a gourmet cheese cake than another hare brained scheme." Ima turned and frowned at him. At least on Yom Tov let there be no disagreements. "Actually, I have some amazing news!" Shulamit said, turning to her father. "Just wait till you hear this!" "Well go on then." He said, cutting himself another slice of cake. "I met this girl at the wedding last week, and I real...

There was a kit for sale. Cheese, cookie crumbs, topping, all wrapped up neatly in a plastic tub, instructions included. It was tempting. She already had a cheesecake recipe, waiting at home, torn out from this week's Mishpacha. The ingredients she needed were listed on the back of the envelope, tucked in the purse somewhere, if only she could find it. The recipe had looked good, when she'd read it. But the half-the-work -done-for-you kit would be less work, less of a bother. It was double the price the ingredients would cost stand alone though. And it wouldn't come out as good. Besides, she made a cheesecake every year for Shavuos, she loved baking. What had gotten into her? She wondered what would happen if she went home, without the ingredients? What would happen if she didn't make a cheesecake? What would happen if she stayed home, and didn't go to Shul? Could she pretend it wasn't Yom Tov? Could she ignore the date, and wait for it to be over? Shav...

It wasn't coming out right. Was it the lines that were wrong, the shading? Shulamit wanted the dress to be simple, fresh, but instead it looked flowery and naïve on paper. She ran a thick x through the center of the charcoal figure, and folded over the sheet. The blank whiteness of the new page reflected back at her, as if it were the enemy, mocking her. She'd never found it so difficult to work before. In school she'd always been drawing. While the teachers drawled on, while the girls giggled and gossiped, Shulamit had drawn out her fantasies, working her way back from the ends of notebooks to their centers, only stopping when she reached class notes and homework, encroaching from the beginning. The pictures she'd produced had been admired, praised. "You're so talented", they told her. 'You have a gift." "Don't forget us when you're famous." And she'd believed them. She'd always known what she wanted to be when sh...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

The women milled outside, waiting for the men to exit. Friday night was the time for showing off their Shabbos finery. The next day was too late. By the time morning prayers ended, their lipstick had long vanished, their eye shadow had faded, and their hair drooped in wilted curls. Once the holy day had begun, makeup was forbidden, along with all the other tricks of the trade. So instead the women came to Shul the night before. That's when they were looking good. Fresh from the Erev Shabbos showers, made up and pristine. Their perfumes hug low in the air, encompassing the patio with the scents of Dior and Lancôme. Shulamit spotted Brachy. She pushed her way towards her, between the rustling skirts and silken tops. When Brachy turned around, with a smile of greeting on her face, Shulamit grabbed her arm, and pulled Brachy to the side, away from listening ears. "Whoa, Shuli. And a Good Shabbos to you too. What's the rush?" "Brachy, I have the perfect guy fo...

"I'm Shulamit and I'm a…" She couldn't do it. She simply couldn't do it. What was she thinking of? How could she sit in the circle of chairs, younger even than the singles here to be set up, surrounded by stately matriarchs, and announce that she was a matchmaker? She was definitely the youngest person attending. The girl on her right was elegant, and stylish, but she still looked faded, somehow. Perhaps it was the tinge of transparent blue under her eyes, or the way her hair looked like it had been blow dried once too often. Expectant eyes still stared at her. "...a student." She completed the lingering sentence. "I'm a design student." Well a wannabe design student, pending acceptance. And a matchmaker on the side. That she didn't say. It had sounded so simple. An Oneg Shabbos for single girls to network with matchmakers. Shulamit had thought she could expand her customer base. She hadn't realized that they would al...

They never touched. They never hugged, or kissed, like other families. Some would call them cold. Yet they loved her, Brachy knew they did. They just didn't show it, at least not physically. They didn't feel the need to. Except for once, when walking back from where Daddy was buried, Miriam reached out and held her hand. They walked that way, the two sisters, fingers entwined, all the way down the dusty path, past the graves and marble monuments. It felt good, sharing feelings without words, sharing love without awkward phrases. Miriam let go, when they reached the exit, stepping out from under the trees into the courtyard by the parking lot. They stood by the carved water fountain, and freed their hands from each other, ended the contact. They needed to pour water over their fingers, six times in all, to wash away the spirit of death, to be pure. Then, as, its job done, the copper washing cup clanged back against the damp stone basin, Brachy and Miriam walked to the car, ...

"What's she looking for? Well, just a nice boy really, a Mentsh. Middos is the most important thing, don't you agree?" Ima was impossible. How was the Shadchan going to suggest the right type of guy, if all Ima could say was that he needed to be "nice". Nice, indeed. As if that would solve everything. The problem with nice boys was they wanted nice girls. Nice sweet little girls. They didn't want her. Not that she particularly wanted them. Karen gestured to Ima. Stood in front of her and whispered "sophisticated". Ima waved a hand, brushed her aside. "so- phis-ti-cat-ed", Karen mouthed, trying to get her attention. "What was that? Hold on a second please, my daughter's saying something. What do you want Karen?" "Sophisticated. Mature. Put together" Karen whispered. "What? I don't understand. Here, you talk to her." Karen wanted to scream. Ima knew she hated talking to matchmakers directly. That...