That night I ate dinner standing up and leaning over the sink in my suite’s kitchenette. They were serving baked potatoes and roasted vegetables in the cafeteria, but I was afraid to sit at a table with other girls right away, as if they might have some way of sensing that I had just accepted a date from an Arab. And I wanted to tell someone. I could picture my friend Yona’s face as I told her, and I knew she’d be embarrassed for me, would pity me for being so desperate, but that didn’t change how simple and strong the feeling of being wanted was. When I focused on it I could feel a little shame, but not enough, really, and that surprised me. I wanted myself to be stronger or smarter.
I took a mug of coffee to my first class the next day, where Rebbetzin Mizrachi, a small woman with birdlike features and a massively pregnant belly, led us through several pages of dense text. In the beginning of the year she had given a lecture comparing Midrash to icing on a cake. She said it bound all the layers of law and text together, and smoothed out areas that otherwise would be unattractive. Sometimes it could be too sweet for our taste, or we’d be frustrated by how much of it there was, but it was so important, so vital, that we needed to stay absolutely focused in her class. She would not tolerate daydreaming.
I sat in the second row and tried to take notes, but ended up emptying six packets of sugar into my mug, creating a white mountain of sweetness melting into the cold brown coffee.
After an hour we had a five minute break. As I closed my notebook, Rebbetzin Mizrachi, who had lowered herself into her desk chair, raised her eyebrows at me. “I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time paying attention.”
This was seminary code, and I understood it perfectly. Most of the other girls in the class were the sincere types who never missed a class, always buttoned their shirts to the top button, sewed up the slits to their skirts, and couldn’t wait for the days when they would be married to rabbis, pregnant, complaining about how itchy sheytls are. Their fingernails were French tipped, and their hair was silky and long. Their fathers were computer programmers and bankers and businessmen. They ran into their friends at the open market, and shrieked, “Rivki!” while hugging and kissing each other’s cheeks emphatically. Some of them vomited after every meal, and some of them were fat, and all of them had perfect rounded handwriting that they used to takes pages of notes for each class. Named Shoshi and Nomi and Tali, their clothes were always clean, and they smiled constantly in a way that made me sad. Rebbetzin Mizrachi loved those girls, and usually I made an effort to mimic them, but that morning I hadn’t been able to gather the necessary energy.
“I’ll be more focused for the rest of class,” I said, “I think I just need to go outside and get some fresh air for a minute.”
“Make sure that you’re back on time.” Rebbetzin Mizrachi flipped through some pages in her notebook.
I shuffled out of the classroom, and then reached into the pocket of my skirt, pulling out my cell phone as I headed for the front door. I hadn’t allowed myself to turn it on in the morning, too sure that a message from Sami would distract me, but it was obvious I was going to be distracted anyway. Pushing through the revolving doors and nodding at the Ethiopian security guard I stood on the front steps in the shade of a slightly stooping palm tree. For a minute I looked out at the bright street in front of me, gardens just beginning to send up warm shocks of tulips, adobe style houses glaring white in the sun, and an extra-long bus rumbling by, its accordion middle swaying. I pressed the power button on my phone, and then listened to a series of chimes before being informed that I had no new messages.
Celebrating 10 Years & Marking the End of An Amazing Project
Celebrating 10 Years & Marking the End of An Amazing Project
The people behind Jewrotica are quite quality! I have confidence that any project these folks take on will be equally quality.
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.
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!
Jewrotica rocks. It’s funny, it’s informative, it’s sexy, it’s interesting. Check it out!
Jewrotica is inspiring Jews and erotica with holiness and coolness, and is the pride of progressive Judaism. Jewrotica – awesome!
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.
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!
Such an amazing experience! The Sarah Lawrence Jewrotica workshop was more than I could have ever expected – a comfortable, safe, sultry environment where participants clearly felt good about sharing or listening to each other’s intimate experiences and relating them to sexy stories from the Torah. From the moment the workshop began, Ayo had a sweet presence that was kinetic and spread around the room; her storytelling abilities had everyone enraptured and made the conversation topics relata… Read more
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 love the inclusiveness – there is something for everyone, in and out of the Jewish community.
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