Reading the Signs

Written by Oxartes. Oxartes is a 50 year-old modern-orthodox Israeli who writes erotica as a hobby. ‘Writing is my escape, my therapy,’ he says. For more Jewrotica writing by Oxartes, check out Babylon Nights, Vashti and the Leprechaun, and Samson Agonistes Redux.

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Isaac, 29, and Daniella, 27, both recent immigrants from the USA, walked to the latter’s apartment in one of Jerusalem’s orthodox neighborhoods, after their third meeting. A rabbi who knew them both had arranged their first meeting. They hit it off and agreed to meet again. Their second meeting had also gone well. Isaac and Daniella both knew that in the orthodox world, dating meant looking for a spouse. They would meet however many times, talk (only) and see if they felt enough of a connection to get married. But since both of them came from non-religious backgrounds and had decided, each for their own reasons, to become orthodox, they found it awkward.

“I love my faith,” Isaac said, “but I won’t live some kind of regimented, cookie-cutter life. God’s got to be more broad minded than that.”

Daniella grinned. “You’ve still got some long hair tucked up under that kipa.”

Isaac touched his kipa. “I love that song but yeah, I guess I do, figuratively. Does that bother you?”

“God no, it’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

Isaac blushed. “Thank you. You’re wonderful too.”

They walked silently for a few minutes.

“So, what I don’t understand,” Daniella said, “is how are we’re supposed to *know*.”

“Yeah,” Isaac replied, “We both know why we’re here.”

“But do we know that we’re b’shert, that we’re meant for each other?”

“Maybe we don’t. Maybe it’s all one big gamble.”

“That’s part of it but…”

“Maybe God will give us a sign. You know, ‘Signs, signs, everywhere there’s signs.'”

“I saw Tesla once. But if the signs are everywhere, how do you recognize them? How do you know which sign is for you?”

Isaac shrugged. “I guess you just know.”

They found themselves outside Daniella’s building.

“See you again?” Daniella asked.

“Please.”

“Tuesday?”

“Um no, Tuesday’s not good for me. I have to go to one of our suppliers up north, um, early in the morning.” Isaac was a quality control inspector for a small pharmaceutical company.

“Oh, I just forgot, Tuesday’s no good for me either. I’ve got to meet with a client, also, uh, in the morning.” Daniella was a graphic artist for a website design company.

“How about Wednesday then? Dinner at that Yemenite restaurant off the market?”

“Meet you there at 19:00?”

“Done.”

Isaac waited until Daniella was safely inside. As he hurried to make the bus that would take him home to Modi’in, some 30 kilometers away, he looked up at the sky. *Dear God, I like her, a lot, so I’m asking You, if it’s not too much trouble, please send me a sign.*

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Isaac woke at 03:30 Tuesday morning, dressed in old sweats, took the bag that he had packed the night before and headed out to meet Alan, a secular colleague, and three of his friends, for the drive up north

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Isaac, Alan, the latter’s three friends and about 400 other naked men stood on a hilltop in the Galilee, next to a group of about 400 naked women, as a renowned artist photographed them in the early dawn for his latest series of mass nude photographs. Isaac, Alan and the latter’s friends stood near the side of the men’s group, not far from the first rows of women.

Isaac suddenly grabbed Alan’s shoulder and ducked behind him and one of his friends.

“Nu?”

”Thank you Lord,” Isaac sang in a barely audible voice, ”for thinking ’bout me, I’m alive and doing fine.'”

“Yeah, I like that song too,” Alan muttered, “but shush.”

“OK everyone,” the artist shouted over his megaphone, “Please turn sideways and raise your hands as high as you can.”

Isaac darted another two places down the row.

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“What?” Daniella asked as she and Isaac waited for their dinner, “You haven’t stopped smiling since you sat down.”

“Daniella, we’re b’shert. God sent me a sign.”

“And what sign was that?”

“A cute pink and green butterfly.”

Daniella thought for a second and then stared, wide-eyed.

“I was, um, a couple of rows away from you. You were standing next to that redhead with all the hoop earrings.” Isaac opened a small box and offered Daniella the diamond ring inside.

Daniella blushed. “You know,” she said in a low voice, “I have another tattoo to match the butterfly on my ass.”

Isaac leaned in close. “Really? Where?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” She took the ring and slipped it on her finger.

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Their clothes strewn about the room, Isaac and Daniella fell onto the bed in the honeymoon suite at a posh Jerusalem hotel.

“Nu,” Isaac mumbled as he wrapped his tongue around Daniella’s, “Where is it?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“I love challenges, and you. Now let’s see here…” Isaac kissed Daniella’s chin and neck, working his way down to her breasts. He kissed, licked and sucked each one, and gently took the nipples between his teeth, in turn. “Mmm, not here.” Isaac kissed her tummy and along the line of her neatly trimmed bush to her left thigh, where he spied a small pink and green flower, close to her sex. “Aha,” he mumbled, tracing his tongue over the tattoo to Daniella’s sex. *Thank you Lord* he thought, *for thinking ’bout me. I’m…*

Daniella moaned and reached down to pull him to her.

*…I’ll get back to You.*

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