By Ian Lander

My father’s name was Lewis Lander. He sometimes went by “Big Lew the Jew from Avenue U.” This nickname was self-applied, even though he was not from Avenue U, and was admittedly only “a majestic five foot seven on a good day.” He was, however, a Jew. He rarely attended synagogue, and was comparatively unfamiliar with religious practices. I think his Judaism came out in his sense of humor. He used it as a way to view the world and deal with the absurdity of life that he recognized all too well.

One Jewish tradition that he did observe was leading Passover Seder in our home. When it came time to do hand washing, he would say, “Now please join me in washing,” and then spit air into each hand and clap, rubbing them together. That’s how we knew it was time to eat.

When my mother told him she was pregnant with their first child (me), he looked at her with wide-eyed excitement and said, “You mean I’m going to have a brother?” Once he had children, they of course had to have nicknames. I was lovingly named “Thornbush,” undoubtedly a nod to my warm and cuddly demeanor.

My dad had a way of remaining funny while dishing out biting criticism or complaint. I remember going with him to a diner where he thought we had waited too long to order. He stopped a waitress to ask her if there was some sort of secret password that he didn’t know to get service. All I could do was sink down in my chair and be glad that it wasn’t directed at me.

He recognized comedic genius in others too, even if it was unintentional. There was his never published book, “Mangled Idioms,” a collection of mis-sayings by his sister-in-law. “You can’t kick a dead horse in the mouth” remains a favorite of mine. A chicken scratched rough draft remains in the bottom drawer of my mother’s dresser.

God, did he have fun with my mother. There was a period where he was calling her “New York,” paying homage to his beloved TV show “Flavor of Love.” He could always spin it when my mom got mad, saying that New York was Flav’s favorite woman, as she was his.

Big Lew was also willing, once in a while, to make himself the butt of the joke. One day I came home to find him out in the street playing catch with my brother and wearing a humongous “R.I.P. Tupac Shakur” T-shirt.

He would say things like, “Don’t you know I’m challenged?” when he’d spill food on himself or forget to do something important. He called himself “Homer.” In this way, he used humor to cope with his own shortcomings and problems, some of which were quite serious.

I have a lot of my father in me, for which I must laugh to keep from crying. When we buried him two years ago, there was a long silence after the earth was filled in. Eventually uncomfortable, I broke it by shouting, “All right, who’s hungry?” Those who knew us well enough laughed with me, and we started back home.

I miss Big Lew terribly. I’ll remember him and laugh through my tears every time I spit wash before eating Pesach dinner.

Photo by Kevygee, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more posts from Issue 09: “What’s So Funny.”

By Ari Averbach

The funniest, most inherently Jewish joke that I have ever heard is one that was never intended to be funny. It stems from deep within our Jewish roots, from a place we all know and feel. And we only laugh at the joke because our only other option is to cry at our loneliness and the humiliation of being set up with another complete mismatch. Here’s the classic joke. The line that kills every time. The epitome of modern Jewish humor – “I know the perfect person for you.”

Being 26 and single (like REALLY single) is fine. Not ideal, but fine. I work with all Jewish women, I make regular guest appearances at my mom’s school where all the teachers are Jewish women, and I’m very involved in my community. You could only imagine the harassment I get. I take in stride, I take it as a compliment. Sometimes, the one setting me up says such nice things about me that I find myself interested in meeting this version of me. But the truth is that I’m nice, I do lots of charity work, I have some good qualities. Super. Everyone assumes that since I am single I am looking to be set up. (Well, until someone brings up the Richard Simmons story and then they think I’m gay, which is also fine but not true and even then they have someone for me.

Just this week, I got a call from a teacher at my mom’s school. “Ari, will you do me a favor?” Mind you, I have never met this teacher before in my life, but that’s okay.

“Sure. What do you need?”

She then explained the favor – something humiliating but fun involving a cape, a mask and her kindergarten class.

“Yeah, that sounds like fun.”

Here it comes. I can feel it.

“Great. See you Thursday. Oh, and I have a daughter. She’s gorgeous. I’ll show you a picture. She’s single. She’s in college. She’s a real knock-out. She’s perfect for you.”

Choke. Wow. Really?

“Great. I’ll see you Thursday.”

(Side note: Never saw a picture of the daughter. I’ll be okay.)

The last time someone set me up with “the perfect person for me.” I could tell it would end poorly before it even began. But how can I turn down a “she’s perfect for you” when I’m single? Then I’ll get barraged with, “this could have been the one and you turned her down because you didn’t like her Facebook profile? This is why you’re single.”

I have been set up with girls who are married, lesbians, shomer neggiah, and live thousands of miles away. All of them were “a perfect match.” I think since the days of the shadchan being the center of a Jewish society, matchmaking has been an art form that everyone thinks they have. It’s somehow engrained in us. But this is the divine comedy. While some of these shidduchs turn out well, most just make for great stories with friends.

I’ll end with my favorite one.

“Ari, I have the perfect girl for you,” two separate people told me.

Fine, I’ll meet her. Why not?

During our (already awkward) first encounter, one of our matchmakers lets out this gem: “By the way, did you know that you two are cousins?”

Forget Woody Allen, Jerry Seinfeld, Mel Brooks – anyone else that we consider a Jewish comedian. This is the real hilarity.

Photo by emanuxa, licensed under Creative Commons

Read more posts from Issue 09: “What’s So Funny.”

By Emily Comisar

I’ve always been a sucker for a funny man.  Most of the other girls my age went for the guys who played guitar or were easy on the eyes.  I think it runs in my family.  The story of my parents’ courtship includes a scene that goes something like this:

Mom (A news anchorwoman): You know, you’re a very good looking man, have you ever thought about working in front of the camera?
Dad (A camera man): No.  I prefer to pull the puppet strings.

My grandmother met her late husband in a similarly snarky fashion: as she primly passed by, he laid out on the hood of his car.

Growing up I always dreamed that I would meet a fella who could sweep me off my feet in the manner of Groucho Marx or Mel Brooks, with a raise of the eyebrows at the end of a punchline.    Instead, everywhere I turned, it seemed that the generation of sexy Jewish humor had passed. Let me be clear: I’m no ageist, but I’m not interested in geriatric seduction.  Did they have grandsons who would take me to dinner?

It wasn’t until recently, when the new wave of Jewish comedians arrived on the scene (bearing their new brand of Jewish humor), that I realized what I was really missing.  It wasn’t that Groucho, Mel, and more recently, Adam (Sandler), were funnier, but that they were shamelessly, unabashedly, flag-wavingly Jewish.  I feel the same way watching them as I do every time a friend makes a lame joke about gefilte fish. Given that being Jewish is substantially “cooler” than it was two generations ago, jokes that center around the subjects of latkes, bubbes, and bris are no longer necessary to get the point across – that these funnymen (and funnywomen) are Jewish.  These days all it takes is an awkward run of the hand through that curly Jew-fro hair and we all know.  They may look too goofy to pull off Clark Gable sobriety, but when these guys turn to their borscht belt antecedents, I’m a goner.

Photo by re-ality, and Son_of_Groucho, licensed under Creative Commons

Read more posts from Issue 09: “What’s So Funny.”

By Rita Polevoy

A few weeks ago, I went on a date with someone who was Shomer Negiah, meaning, someone who doesn’t engage in physical contact with members of the opposite sex. The expectation of no touching was there from the start of the date, but the thought of not being able to even hug him was a turn-off for me. The only positive aspect was at the ever-awkward date goodbye – I didn’t have to worry about whether he would go for a hug, a kiss, or more.

Physical boundaries can be useful at times. Hugging someone you haven’t seen in a long time is gratifying at first, but the sensation does not last forever. It makes me question the reasoning behind Shomer Negiah. Is the idea that touching a person of the opposite sex makes you want to have them sexually? Or does an observant man not want to shake my hand in fear that I am menstruating and am considered “dirty”? Is he afraid of what his wife would say if she saw us shaking hands? I have a hard time understanding the problem with basic physical contact. Some argue that a single touch from another human being can spark desire, emotion, and provocative thoughts, but even looking at another person can have these same effects. It would be ridiculous to suggest that we stop looking at each other too.

Orthodox rabbis and other observant folks who argue in favor of Shomer Negiah claim that it heightens the sexual experience once you finally engage in sexual activity with someone you love. They say that in the end, it isn’t all about sex anyways – it’s about love and closeness between two people. They also mention that divorce rates are much lower among those that follow the practice. I’m not trying to degrade the Orthodox community, I just want to point out that throughout the life of an average human being, most people have multiple sexual partners (A study conducted by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in 2007 showed that men average seven partners throughout their lifetime).

Many children are taught to hold off on any sort of sexual activity until marriage.  However, I was taught that sexual desire, and eventually in later years, sexual activity, was acceptable. My parents still warned me about consequences of having too many partners and always encouraged me to use protection. Because of their understanding view, I found it easy to talk to them about “the birds and the bees,” and this led me to make thoughtful choices about who I slept with, and about how far along into a relationship I wanted to be before making such a personal commitment. Why did my parents raise me this way? They always said that good sexual chemistry is an important factor in a healthy relationship and that it’s dangerous and potentially disappointing to walk blindly into a commitment when you haven’t experienced the physical side of that person. Sex cannot make a relationship, but it can certainly help strengthen its bonds.

There are many different viewpoints on whether it is okay to share your body with a person who you are not bound to by a legal contract. Either way, we all have sex eventually. Here’s where some religiously-observant people argue that having sex before marriage defiles the true purpose of sex. However, sex is not written on paper and confined to the boundaries of a Ketubah. A signature will not bring the guarantee of sexual understanding, satisfaction, or if ever needed, escape from marital rape and sexual abuse. Having listened to arguments about what sex before marriage is or is not, it seems like some people have formed a preconception about what it is supposed to be. We are all, regardless of our level of religious observance, prone to extra-marital affairs or even some pre-marital experiences. Between two consenting adults, there is no person of authority present to say “no.” Sex is holy and great and wonderful and, pun intended, absolutely orgasmic.

Many secular people understand just as well as observant people that sex is something special.The magic of sex is that even after the first time it leaves one craving for more. There’s no doubt that the sanctity of sex can be compromised by multiple one-night-stands, random hookups, porn, rape, or abuse, but to reduce sex to a physical act performed by two people in a “holy way” is not fair to the act of sex or to the people performing it. I won’t deny that sex is probably really amazing when you and your partner are virgins and you’re touching and caressing each other for the first time – this is exciting, of course, but it is foul to say that people who have more than one partner throughout their lifetime (say two or three) find sex less exciting or thrilling. In fact, pre-marital sex can be a blessing, not only by bringing a person who is experienced in what they are doing (like being able to identify what their partner likes and needs) but it takes away the discomfort of feeling insecure about what one looks like naked and the excruciatingly painful moment of being penetrated for the first time and being confused about what is going on and how it is all supposed to work.

There is nothing in secular society that says that you absolutely must “test drive the car before you buy it;” people in this realm are treated the same as in observant realms – as individuals that are able to make their own decisions. I am of course in full support of anyone who chooses to abstain from sex or even from physical contact before marriage, but I am also in support of those who have experienced what it means to have sex with a person you love and respect and who feels the same about you.

Photo by stephend9, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more articles from Issue 08: “The Sex Issue.”

An Interview with Burlesque Performer Minnie Tonka

Interview by Sarah Pumroy

It’s the second night of Hanukkah, and I’m sitting at the bar, eating greasy potato latkes and staring at naked Jewish women.  I knew there was an active burlesque scene in New York City, but never checked it out until I was invited to  ”Menorah Horah” in December.

There were the typical elements of a burlesque show – the slow, seductive shedding of long gloves, skirts, and undergarments piece-by-piece to vaudeville music. But there was also (nearly) naked dancing with menorahs, women wearing pasties in the shape of Hanukkah candle flames, and jokes about Manishewitz wine and other Jewish cultural references.

Why does Manishewitz, pasties, and nudity feel like so much fun? It should have felt dirty, even blasphemous. I was intrigued, and wanted to interview one of the performers from that night, Alyssa Abrahamson, aka Minnie Tonka, who has been performing for audiences in New York and across North America since 2003. Minnie Tonka spoke to me about her Jewish identity and what it means to be a Jewish burlesque performer.

Although the term “burlesque” has become synonymous with female striptease acts, the word also can be used a verb meaning “to mock” or to caricature something. But while Minnie Tonka’s Hanukkah show was certainly outlandish and humorous, it was clear that it wasn’t rooted in mockery of Jewish traditions. As she explained to me during the interview, burlesque is actually an art, one where she can showcase her pride for her Jewish identity. Be sure to check out Minnie Tonka at her upcoming show, The Burning Bush vs. The Second Coming on Saturday, April 3rd, 2010.

Alef: You’re involved in something known as “Jewish Burlesque,” can you tell us exactly what that is?

Minnie Tonka: For me, Jewish burlesque is about creating and performing a burlesque act with intentional Jewish content. For example, I have an act to Joan Jett’s “I Hate Myself for Loving You” that is about a Jewish gal feeling guilty about loving bacon. Or, the Schlep Sisters (my duet with Darlinda Just Darlinda) has an act that we call, “Schlepping through the Desert” where we tell the story of the Exodus through burlesque.

But, this question really deserves a conversation. Just like the question “what is Jewish art?” there is no simple answer and it will depend on who you ask. Is art “Jewish” because the artist is Jewish even if there is no Jewish content? Or is art Jewish because it has specific Jewish content? I know some non-Jewish performers who have Jewish-themed burlesque acts, such as a dreidel act. Would that be considered Jewish burlesque? On the same note, would a Christmas-themed or Easter bunny act be considered Christian burlesque?

In my experience, people in the burlesque community do not use the term “Jewish burlesque” (except for me, Darlinda Just Darlinda or Susannah Perlman of Nice Jewish Girls Gone Bad). People in the Jewish community use this term because, I believe, it comes from a place of ownership, pride, and sometimes an attempt to appear innovative or edgy.

Alef: Why did you choose to incorporate Jewish identity into your performances?

Minnie Tonka: Since Jewish identity and creative expression was something I was very involved in and passionate about both professionally and personally when I first started performing burlesque six years ago, I made it a point to be very “out” about my Jewish identity through my performance. In 2004, I co-founded and continue to produce an all-Jewish burlesque revue – Kosher ChiXXX. It was important to me to showcase talented Jewish burlesque performers and give them the opportunity to think about their art in a new way – within the context of a relationship to Judaism. But, the acts don’t always necessarily have specific Jewish content. At that time, I’m not sure anyone in NYC was doing any specific Jewish-themed burlesque acts. For all the performers, including myself, it was a new, challenging, bonding, and empowering experience.

Alef: How did audiences reacted to this new type of burlesque?

Minnie Tonka: Over the years, I am proud that I helped create a name for “Jewish burlesque.” It has been rewarding and validating in many ways. For example, when I started performing and “Jewish burlesque” was very new, people would (and still do) come up to me after shows and thank me. They thank me for showing that Jewish pride and identity can be expressed and celebrated in many different ways.

I have a friend, Trixie Minx, who is the director of Fleur de Tease Burlesque Revue, based in New Orleans. I met Trixie at the New York Burlesque Festival in 2006. The Schlep Sisters performed our Hava Nagilah act and Trixie introduced herself, thanked us, and said she was surprised and inspired by our performance. She is Jewish and said she had never considered incorporating Judaism into her burlesque acts. Since then, Trixie has created and performed a few Jewish-themed burlesque acts that are fun and fabulous. She’s a very talented lady!

Alef: How did you get into burlesque and why did you go into Jewish burlesque specifically?

Minnie Tonka: My burlesque debut was in the winter of 2003/2004 with the Schlep Sisters. Darlinda was the person who inspired me to try out burlesque. We met and talked about all sorts of artsy things. She was really interested in burlesque and she sparked my curiosity. I love choreography, I love dressing up, and costuming. I have a background in dance and figure skating, so being in front of an audience was nothing new to me (although it had been years since I had last done it). I always surrounded myself with artists but, at the time, didn’t have a specific artistic outlet myself. I wanted to explore my creative side and this seemed like a great opportunity. At first, I was intimidated by and uncomfortable with the striptease aspect, but I took it on as a creative challenge. Six years later, I’m still hooked and going strong!

Alef: Have you ever been criticized for “sexualizing” Judaism?

Minnie Tonka: For me, burlesque isn’t about sex; it’s an art form and it is about creative and artistic expression. I have never been criticized for “sexualizing” Judaism. Over the years, I have only received compliments and praises for expressing my Jewish identity through burlesque. Many people are searching for ways to connect to Judaism and it demonstrates that there are many different ways of connecting to and celebrating our heritage and tradition. It can be validating and encouraging to many people.

Alef: What do you enjoy most about being in the Schlep Sisters?

Minnie Tonka: The Schlep Sisters are FUN! I love collaborating and choreographing acts together. Our differences really compliment each other and whatever we do it always a creative and inspiring learning experience. I am very excited to say that we are producing an upcoming springtime holiday show: The Burning Bush vs. The Second Coming: The Ultimate Burlesque Showdown, which is on Saturday, April 3rd at Le Poisson Rouge in downtown Manhattan. It’s going to be a fun and fabulous show that showcases both Passover and Easter acts with some of NYC’s most talented burlesque performers like Dirty Martini and Tigger!. This show is not to be missed!

Read more articles from Issue 08: “The Sex Issue.”

By Masha C.

Imagine yourself playing an amazing game with a partner. Perhaps it’s a high-energy game of tennis at the Australian Open, or a game of chess on an antique chess board with stone-carved pieces. The game is only as good as the people playing it. What does your partner look like?

Most of you probably imagine an attractive member of the opposite sex – unless you are a true fan of the game. If you happen to be a true lover of chess, you’d much rather spar with Viswanathan Anand than against any Brazilian supermodel. The difference in visualization of partners comes from the difference in focus of the goal of the game. Is the joy of the game in the end result, or is the game merely a means to enjoy the company of the other person?

That same difference in focus distinguishes Western culture from Judaism. Every rabbi that has lectured me on relationships stressed the importance of focusing on the other person, that everything should be simply a means of enjoying the other person. Yeah, right! I nodded and pretended to listen. I’m a true Westerner in this regard – I don’t care about the player, I care about the game. If you want to play with me, you better make me happy. Otherwise, I’m not interested, I’m bored, and I move on.

About a year and a half ago, I went to Spain on an organized Jewish peer trip. Along with learning about Jewish history in a beautiful country, I wanted guaranteed entertainment. I picked my partner carefully. He was a tall former gymnast with an odd sense of humor and a perfect eight-pack. He was just the type of a partner that could entertain me. He was also naïve in relationships, which suggested to me that he would not question my “rules of the game.” I picked myself an ideal play toy and asked him if he wanted to room with my friend and I for the trip. He agreed.

“Silly thing!” I smiled to myself. “I love nice Jewish boys! They are too easy.”

And he really was easy. Less than two weeks later, I knew exactly what he was like in bed. I didn’t yet know whether I would want to date him, but I knew what he liked and disliked, what excited him and what he would never want to do. I also knew I liked what he did for me. Although I never intended for our relationship to extend past the end of the trip, thoughts of him kept me coming back. I began asking him to sleep over on Saturdays, even when we didn’t hang out earlier in the evening. Our dates consisted of attempting to watch a movie at my house but never getting through even half of it.

I am not sure when my mindset changed. One day, I knew that I longed for him more than in a purely physical sense. I wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to know his opinion. I even enjoyed his company fully dressed!

More importantly, I enjoyed him not fully dressed more than I ever had before. This shocking discovery meant there was more pleasure to be derived from the game than I’d ever thought! Maybe the rabbi was on to something after all. Turns out when sex is with someone truly important to you, the pleasure is magnified to a level otherwise unreachable.

Of course, I would never dare suggest that purely physical, loveless sex is unworthy or unnecessary. It is just not optimal. To experience the true pleasure of the game, you must have a skilled and valuable partner. Unfortunately, a Brazilian model with the chess skills of Viswanathan Anandum is nearly impossible. Thankfully, having someone you love in your bed is much easier! You just need to find the right partner.

Photo by kooklanekookla, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more articles from Issue 08: “The Sex Issue.”

By Will Newman

When I graduated high school sexually inactive, my grandfather was terribly disappointed.

“This is because you went to Catholic school,” he told me. “They messed you up.”

The fact I went to Catholic school bothered my grandfather, who was concerned that I was turning my back on my Jewish heritage. Jews, he explained, are not as conservative sexually and thus not haunted by whatever evil spirit was keeping me sexless. So, in an attempt to show him that I hadn’t betrayed him, I made a concerted effort to lose my virginity in college.

Here’s a tip: When trying to sleep with college girls, don’t mention that you’re trying to bed them to prove something to your grandfather. This “creeps them out.”

So, unable to reason with women, I tried the next best thing. I got really drunk on cheap beer and tried dancing at frat parties. And where there’s cheap beer and dark rooms and loud music, there are dance floor make-out sessions. After a steady record of evening tongue action, my grandfather was still not convinced of my commitment to our faith.

“How is most of America having sex by your age and not you?” he asked, rubbing my sexual insecurities in my face. “You damn Catholics are too afraid of hell.” To rectify this, he told me, he would set me up with some easy women.

Fun fact: if you strike out with a girl your own grandfather thought was “easy,” you may not be cut out for sex.

I was about to explain to him that it wasn’t the fear of hell that kept me a boy and not a man. Instead, the opportunity just never presented itself. But instead I got set up on a date with a girl that made it clear in the middle of dinner what her intentions were.

“I’m hoping to get married as soon as possible,” she said.

That didn’t make me feel comfortable. Though her demeanor during dinner was very cold and professional, she invited me back to her place for some of the most robotic kissing I have ever had. It was like kissing a vibrator whose batteries were dying. Since I was not a sexual connoisseur, I really only had refined tastes in kissing and assorted other “hookup things to do.” And, call me a snob, but I needed more than the Kissbot 9000.

I tried to explain this to my grandfather when I told him I didn’t want to date that girl again.

“My God, what is wrong with you? Do you know how old I was or your father was when we lost our virginities?”

Important knowledge: never ask that question and, if that question gets asked to you, never ever say yes.

So it turns out that my father and grandfather lost their virginities before I did — my grandfather pointed out that this took place before the birth control pill. I wanted to tell my grandfather that there was a whole ocean in between celibate and sex, and while I hadn’t yet slept with someone, I had my share of fun. But the problem is that while it’s occasionally appropriate to talk with family about sex, it’s nearly impossible to discuss the many other sexual things naked people can do. When these are the only other things you’re doing, it makes it hard to communicate that you’re not joining the priesthood and letting your Jewish ancestors down.

“Don’t you want to have children?” he asked me. “Do you know where children come from?” I wasn’t at the top of my college class, but I had an inkling. So to placate my grandfather, I let him set me up again.

This next girl and I had a lot in common. We liked the same movies, read the same books, and had the same grandmother. As it turns out, she was my cousin. When I had this realization, twenty minutes into dinner, I grabbed my cell phone and called my grandfather.

“Is this girl my cousin?” I asked.

“Yeah, by marriage. So?”

“This is gross.”

“She’s pretty and she’s smart and you of all people can’t be so picky,” he said. He had a point, but I wasn’t going to stoop that low. Perhaps I was a virgin, he suggested, because I was too choosy. If I disqualified women for such petty things as looks or being related to me, I would be a virgin forever. My grandfather insisted I could do worse. Best of all, he pointed out, she was Jewish.

I still said no, carefully reasserting that it wasn’t because she was Jewish but because she was a little too close to my tribe.

I eventually did have sex with someone outside of my family. But by the time I did, I had learned to appreciate the other aspects of a good hookup. Which made the pseudo-bar mitzvah my grandfather had for me bittersweet. So after the whiskey and celebratory prayers, I told him about some of my other adventures, trying to use as respectful language as I could while still getting my point across. He put his arm around me and told me he was proud.

Will Newman hosts a weekly podcast about making out which he, unabashedly, calls “Making Out With Will.“

Photo licensed under Wikimedia Commons.

Read more articles from Issue 08: “The Sex Issue.”

By Ruvym Gilman

It was a cold December night. The girls were out in far too little clothing, hugging themselves and shivering as they walked around in their clackety heels. The wind, never overly sensitive to the sentimentalities of pedestrians, played coy, reclining just long enough to convince them to relax the tensing of shoulders and scrunching of necks before reappearing to lash at exposed skin. But one young man, just days shy of his 21st birthday, wasn’t suffering with the rest of them on the street. He was indoors, in the warmth of an East Village apartment, finally losing his virginity.

By 20, his virginity had gone from being that annoying family member your mom forces you to speak with during Passover dinner to the unwelcome friend you have crashing on your couch who traces your movements with sleepy eyes every time you walk into the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal in the morning.

“Dude, when are you going to find your own place?”

“What? I’m bothering you? You already want me to leave? I thought we were friends. We’ve known each other since we were kids man.”

“No, sorry, listen, that came out wrong, it’s just that-”

“You’ve changed. It’s really sad.”

He poured out his Honey Bunches of Oats/Cocoa Krispies mix and retreated back into his room.

–

Things with the girl had started off innocently enough. They met during the relative innocuousness of Taekwondo practice. Convinced by a friend to join the team, he showed up ready to find something new to occupy the waning days of senior year. She was a law student who looked nothing like someone called to mind by the word “taekwondo.” Basically, she was attractive, a girding-of-the-loins sort of attractive, and watching her kick and sweat and grunt for that first 2-hour practice didn’t necessarily alleviate any notions he started developing immediately upon meeting her.

But he was a good guy at heart, and he had a hard time reconciling the innate animalistic tendencies we all feel with the desire to be a gentleman. So after he finally left practice and got himself away from her physical presence, he started thinking less about how much he wanted to have sex with her and more about how he really just wanted to ask her out and, if he was lucky, maybe she’d become his…(giggle, giggle)…girlfriend.

Then again, who was he kidding? He was a kid next to this 23-year-old, law school-attending, “mature” woman. He didn’t think he had a chance, he didn’t even think she knew he existed outside of the awkward introduction during the first practice when he stuttered his name and quickly turned red. But on the other hand, there was nothing to lose, and having just climbed out of his post-pubescent years of acne and bad haircuts, he was finally feeling a little more confident in himself.

So, after a few weeks of holding kicking pads for her and accidental glances in each others’ direction, he finally asked her out. He had thought over in his head, a million times, about the least-stress-filled date environment he could find, and finally decided on something that was liable to make her feel totally at ease and score him some “nice Jewish boy” points – a dinner with a Chabad Rabbi and his family.

She came in clothing that made him look twice, at her legs, at her chest, at the line her neck made in its slide down towards her clavicle. During dinner, as the Rabbi’s kids bounced around between the dinner guests and tipped over hummus plates while reaching across the table for soda, the Rabbi’s wife smiled in their direction and nodded as if she was approving of this particular combination.

After dinner he suggested – offhandedly, thanks to the wine – that they visit a friend’s birthday party at a bar near Union Square. But it was only during their walk to the bar that he panicked from the realization that she didn’t actually know his real age, and that as the go-to-responsible one among his friends, he didn’t even have a fake ID.

“IDs please.”

He froze and stared up at the bouncer timidly. His mouth had gone dry.

It was at this exact moment when he was prepping himself for social disaster that the girl touched the bouncer’s arm and cooed in his ear – “He’s with me. Is that OK?”

A smile and a nod later, he was shocked to see the doors thrown open for them. Inside, he quickly wished the friend a happy birthday and proceeded to buy her a drink. She would only take whiskey, on the rocks, and he was too inexperienced at the time to fully understand what this meant. As she sipped on the drink, she pulled him onto the dance floor and drowned him in the deep twisting of her body in candle-lit corners. His head began to spin and he closed his eyes. His hands reached for her hips, desperate to get some grounding as the world seemed to slip from under him. And then, somehow, in the accidental turning of his head, his lips caught themselves on a spot just under her ear and she let out a light moan.

She didn’t invite him back to her place so much as tell him he was coming. And of course he followed her obediently, dragged by hand through that same winter lashing he would, in a few moments, be casually observing from inside her apartment. His feet moved methodically, stepping down from icy sidewalks onto icy streets and scraping their edges against the mesh metal webbing of overflowing garbage cans.

It all seemed surreal that this was actually happening. After all this time? He nodded to himself incredulously. As she led him into the 300 sq. ft. studio and shut the door, he felt the old shell of his world coming apart, sliding onto the floor. And even though he didn’t know all that much at 20, he knew that this was him, finally melting into manhood.

Photo by Mangui, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more articles from Issue 08: “The Sex Issue.”

By Shoshanna Howard

I recall taking a Jewish-American Literature class in college where I had to write my final paper on any sort of Jewish literature my heart desired. What did I choose? Naturally, sex. Not the “S-E-X” sex, but the erotic, persuasive, literary intrigue of S-E-X. I mean, come on, this was a college course we’re talking about. When I told the intimate class of 15 that this was to be my topic, a few people scoffed and snickered. My professor, however, was rather impressed that I had already found literature to base my thesis on: The Oy of Sex: Jewish Women Write Erotica and Neurotica: Jewish Writers. You may be surprised to know that Jewish erotic literature exists. But why would a nice Jewish girl like me want to read and write about sex? Well, sorry grandma, but I am quite confident that we all think about sex regularly. And what better way to make that fact less taboo than by writing about sex with words that create images that evoke and empower the sexual psyche that resides deep inside all of us.

This was my first real encounter with sex and Judaism. Before this, I knew it was a mitzvah to make love-a-dove-dove on Shabbat, and that a husband is required to be particularly in tune with his wife’s innermost desires and needs, and that, most obviously, to have sex means more Jewish babies, thus ensuring continuity of the Jewish people. But that was the extent of my knowledge of Jews and sex.

Boy, was I wrong in thinking that was it. Further investigation led me to stories that varied with their range of characters, plots, needs, love, sex, desires, and more sex. But one common factor present in almost every single story was struggle; some sort of internal or external conflict. From an orthodox couple’s dilemma with oral sex, to a gay couple’s deep anxiety in religion with their sexual needs, to a story that seems to be so common in a Jewish woman’s world (and one I’m highly familiar with) – the “you don’t look like a Jew” quandary.

This last theme resonates with me the most because those exact words have been spoken by several men I’ve dated. At first, this didn’t bother me, as I never really thought that all Jews looked a certain way. But after reading a story about a woman’s relationship with a goy who couldn’t accept her identity as a Jewish woman and led her to forsake all the “un-kosher” members in the world, my spectrum began to shift.

I haven’t reached this pivotal point of forbidding myself of other, uhh, “fruits,” but I did start to see myself reacting differently to men’s comment about me not “looking Jewish.” This comment alludes to the idea that Jewish women are perceived to be unattractive in the eye of the beholder (in this case, non-Jews). It was almost as if by saying this, the man passes on the fact that I am Jewish, making me feel like I had to be more desirable. I am what I am, but I don’t look like it, so that makes me hot, right?

Well, this is what I thought, I hid behind a facade of blue eyes and light hair, only admitting my Jewishness to the men if they asked about the origin of my name, which happened rarely. This was my internal conflict: I found myself involved in some strange form of role-playing, like a puppeteer leading these men to think they knew who I was, but keeping a total, dirty little secret from them. What a joke. How cliché of me to allow a silly discord such as this to impact my decisions about love, and mostly, about sex.

From my readings of Jewish-erotic stories, I was able to discover something new about myself: that I am a damn sexy Jewess and I should never let the judgment of others make me think any differently. With that, to you my friend, I ask you to take a moment and read one of these titillating pieces of literature. You just might learn something new about yourself, plus it just is really good entertainment.

Photo by Brani’s fashion dolls, licensed under Creative Commons.

By Meredith Druss

It’s a good time to be a Jewish girl.

It’s been six years since Urban Outfitters launched their “Everyone Loves a Jewish Girl” t-shirt (you know, the one with the $$ signs that they quickly took off the shelves and replaced with hearts instead), but its words are still ringing true. It seems that references to Jewish girls are everywhere these days — TV, Twitter, music, movies, and in the pages of my dentist’s magazines. Jewish girls are IN.

While I’m not qualified to track the real data as to the potential cause of this new phenomenon, I can say with a certain degree of confidence that TV seems to have had a major impact. As a TV lover, and as someone who likes to take fictional situations and see if they apply to my own life, I often seek out and feed off of any Jew(ish) reference I can relate to. In my younger years, there were a limited number of Jewish female characters – Grace Adler from Will & Grace, a vocal, neurotic Jewish character; Monica Gellar from Friends; and Fran Fine from The Nanny.

But we’ve entered the 10s, and with the arrival of a new decade came a new kind of Jew. Jewish girls have matured. We are no longer known as the the “girl next door,” now we are the “other woman.” Take FOX’s Glee - Rachel Berry, played by Lea Michele is TV’s new female Jewish character. Sexy, seductive, and maybe a little bit easy, Rachel portrays Jewesses in a new light. Fast on her heels are characters like smart & dorky Annie Edison (Alison Brie) on Community, sexy & competitive Christina Yang (Sandra Oh) from Grey’s Anatomy, and dirty, dirty comedian Sarah Silverman. These ladies are more than just bangable, they are vocal about their sexual frustrations and needs. Oh yeah, and they’re hot.

Which brings me new characters to be compared with. TV and the media are starting to show the other side of the Jewish girl (ambitious, vocal, smart, funny, hot…). In December, Christopher Nixon pronounced Jewish girls the “ethnic fetish du jour” in Details Magazine. In January, Italian Pauly D. from MTV’s reality show Jersey Shore got the hots for an Israeli named Danielle. In February, Troy, the jock on Community, was convinced of his attraction to Annie after being told “…And she’s Jewish!” With all that, there’s renewed attention being paid to the Jewesses, and it’s translating to real-life.

These days, I’m loud and proud about my Jewish identity – my trump card is to say I’m Jewish. With that one sentence, I get a renewed flicker in the eye, a subtle lean-in, and the words “Wait, did you say that you were Jewish?” It’s also quickly revealed when I mention that I work for a Jewish non-profit organization, as when people see my Tiffany’s Star-of-David necklace. These guys, Jew and non-Jew alike, are definitely more interested once they find out. My friends are noticing the difference for themselves as well.

I recognize that this fetish also leads to some disturbing situations. The sexualization of Jewish girls on TV has planted itself into the minds of the men I’m meeting. See, where it used to be that the Catholic schoolgirls were the sexually-repressed and thus easy-to-lay American feminine stereotype, Jewish girls are stereotypically less taboo about sex. Now, when I meet a new guy, and he finds out that I’m Jewish, I’m confronted with a dilemma. I have to determine whether or not he’s interested in me because I am: (a) one of those desperate or easy girls on TV, (b) totally hot AND would make your Jewish mother proud, or (c) smart, sexy, funny, outgoing, and potential girlfriend material.

But I am relieved and thankful for one thing. The attention has made it cool to be a nice Jewish girl. No longer is it something that I feel like I have to hide or deny. The public attention has also let boys in on the fact that there are many, many ways to be a nice Jewish girl. While I can still compare myself to the Monicas and Graces, I can also throw in some sexy & motivated Rachel, some smart & innocent Annie, and some loud & foul-mouthed Sarah. We’ve broken the old “nice Jewish girl” stigma, which is all of a sudden making me just a little more interesting and mysterious.

Photo by adpk, licensed under Creative Commons.