On a Thursday night we met in Rechavia, the neighborhood just south of downtown, and walked west into an area I’d never been in before. There were no cars on the streets and no lights on in the houses, but Sami explained that his friend’s father owned a falafel place that stayed open all night, and we ended up at a small storefront with the door open and a television playing loudly inside. Before we walked in Sami pointed at the kosher certification that was taped to the inside of the front window.
“It’s okay, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, thank you.” I opened the door for him, feeling strangely embarrassed.
The man behind the counter wore a dirty apron and gave Sami a tired smile when we ordered. They chatted in Arabic while I chose drinks from a refrigerator, and when Sami tried to pay with a limp 100-shekel note, the man shook his head and pushed Sami’s hand away.
We ate slowly, and Sami told me about the wedding he’d gone to the night before. His whole family, his grandparents and all his cousins had all been invited, and it was the first time in years that everyone had left the house at once. “We didn’t even know where the keys were,” he said, grinning, “We spent an hour looking for them because no one has used them in so long.”
I laughed and thought of my house in Chicago and the way it sat empty for hours every day after we all rushed out to school or work. In the morning my mother often ran through the living and dining room, lifting piles of papers and checking on pushed-in chairs for her keychain while coffee from her commuter cup sloshed onto her sleeve.
When we finished eating, Sami lit a cigarette and moved to sit next to me, so we could both watch the soccer match on TV. He slouched in his chair and slung his arm around my shoulders, his movements easy and casual. Moving closer to him I tried to focus on the back-and-forth on the screen, but my mind was empty. I watched him, observing the path his cigarette made from his lips to the ashtray, where it shed a caterpillar of grey dust. He looked over at me at one point, his face serious as his arm tensed behind me, pulling me a little closer.
Celebrating 10 Years & Marking the End of An Amazing Project
Celebrating 10 Years & Marking the End of An Amazing Project
I’m Heshy Fried from Frum Satire and I am very, very frum. And I completely support Jewrotica – it’s doing a service to the frum community. We need some sort of kosher sexual education. Jewrotica even has a system that allows frum filters to filter out certain things to make it PG for us. It’s mamish Torah. It’s like The Little Midrash Says for sex.
You may not tell your mom that you’re going to a live Jewrotica reading (or whatever clever name you will dub these events) but you will tell your friends. However, both would be jealous if they find out that they missed it. I think it will only be a matter of time before Jewrotica helps us reclaim the term “Dirty Jew” the way rap music has done for “The ‘N’ Word.” I know I am now proud to be a Dirty Jew!
I attended and participated in last month’s Jewrotica event. The engaging performers and Ayo, our inviting host, inspired the audience to feel like one big community. What a great way to inspire our community to embrace sex as a beautiful thing that can be fun, exciting, sacred, sensual, ridiculous, scary and everything in between!
Jewrotica rocks. It’s funny, it’s informative, it’s sexy, it’s interesting. Check it out!
Jewrotica was everything I had dreamed of and more: sexy attendees, tantalizing confessions, and well-written literature to boot! More importantly, it empowers us Jews to reach inside and own our sexy selves and heritage!
What an incredible night Jewrotica was!!!! There was this fantastic moment, in a sea of Jews of all sexualities, ages, backgrounds and denominations, that I realized we were all in this together! I hope that there are many more events coming to Austin soon!
I stepped out of my comfort zone to be a part of this. I was glad to open up the topic of sexuality in my community. We are trying to build a safe space to talk about sex. The result I am most happy about coming from this event is that hopefully now my friends know they can come and talk to me, that I can be their ‘safe space’.
I love the inclusiveness – there is something for everyone, in and out of the Jewish community.
While many people fear the “sex talk,” Jewrotica offers an opportunity for writers and audiences to speak about sexuality in a open and safe space. When I attended a Jewrotica reading, I heard stories that reminded me that love takes many forms, and that expressing it is a vital part of who we are as a people.
Jewrotica is awesome. It expands the mind and for people who were raised with narrow views on sexuality. Whether you are Jewish or not, or in different sects of Judaism like Orthodox, Conservative or Reform, no matter what your background or where you’re from, Jewrotica gets you to see Judaism and how it relates to sexuality in new ways. I really appreciate Ayo being here and helping us learn different ways to connect with our sexuality.
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