Frum N' Flipping

Frumsatire's post on why he loves being an Orthodox Jew had me itching to write one of my own. So here's the female perspective, on why I'm glad I'm religious. Deep existential reasons aside. Shomer Negiah- I complain about it endlessly, about how tough it is not to be able to touch my boyfriend, OK, how tough it is not to even HAVE a boyfriend. But, when push comes to shove, being Shomer Negiah is a great excuse to get out of kissing old men on their dry parchment skin, or hugging fat uncles, or basically any physical contact whatsoever with the male species who are, on a whole, less than appealing . It's bad enough having to kiss every female at a wedding; Thank God the men keep to their own side of the Mechitza. And even if we do end up making out with the opposite sex, we limit touching to the guys we find attractive. The rest of the clan we can tell "Sorry, I'm Shomer." Also, I'm glad I wasn't pressured into sleeping with my boyfr...

It's the swimming. The separate swimming. Praise the lord for his mercy. I shuffle into the dressing room, clad in fluorescent crocs and a colorful but not especially flattering bathing suit. Goosebumps rise on my limbs, strands of wet hair cling to my neck. I try to avoid looking in the mirror. I defy any woman to look good in a bathing cap and goggles. Let's face it, all females have hang ups about some part of their body. If you don't believe me, read the beauty columns in magazines, when beach season is approaching,. "How to get rid of cellulite in 20 days". "The 5 step guide to a smooth stomach". That's before we even start with the tans. Here no one cares. There are no fake tans, nor waterproof makeup. If you don't own a bathing suit, no problem, underwear under a T-Shirt will do the job. A bikini, a housecoat, it's all good. As I plow down the swimming lanes I catch fragments of conversations drifting by. Women greet each other, sto...

"Yes, I know, I know, you've told me before, you're not a feminist." I nod. He can't see, of course. He's on the other end of the line. "But, if you were a Chiloniya [secular], you would be a feminist. Admit it." "If I wasn't Frum I would be a lot of things." I feel like saying. But I don't. Instead I'm silent, waiting for the barrage. "The way you told me you 'got your brother to admit sleeping in the Sukkah is a Mitzvah for women too'. It sounds like you argued until he caved in." I gasp. A two minute light hearted conversation with my brother while tying down the Schach has been turned into a family dispute. We actually never argue in my family, for better or for worst. We just silently disagree, and keep it to ourselves. "I never said women have to sleep in the Sukkah. I only said it's a Mitzvah if we do. I started doing it last year. I built it, it's there empty, it's seems a waste not to ...

Layers. On the surface I'm a saint. However hard I try to look hot, sexy, rebellious, I always end up giving off the same good–Bais-Yaacov-girl vibes. Frum, sweet, innocent, that's me. Yet underneath lie all the needs, the wants. The guys I'd flirt with if I could work up the nerve. The times I've done more than that, and let's not go there. The mini skirts and tight jeans I'd love to wear. The Brachos I usually forget to say, the Davening I often miss. The times I've thought "Oh,what the hell!", and rifled through my Muktzah purse on Shabbos, to fish out earrings, or a key. The god I get angry with, sometimes. The god I forget about, or try to, when there are things I want more. A hypocrite, I was scared of being. Bad under good, wants under wishes. But I don't think I am. A hypocrite, that is. Because underneath it burns that flame. That holy-light-inside-every-Jew thing, of Carlebach songs and Chasidic tales. The me looking for truth, ...