Goodbye Threesome

I admit it. For years, I’ve been having an affair.

A passionate love affair with not one, but two Jewish guys.

We typically meet up in a nearby makolet. Sometimes in the frozen section of the neighborhood supermarket, whichever is open later.

Typically, I take them home, but sometimes we do it outdoors in the park. Sometimes it’s with a friend.

We walk in the door and I immediately slip into something more comfortable. 

I take off the top, then I lick. My tongue touches the tip of the spoon until lusciousness fills my mouth. Heaven!

Creamy, marshmallow, Karamel Sutra heaven.

Oh, Ben and Jerry, you are what every woman needs. Those colors, those flavors, those chunks of thick fudge, cookie dough, toffee, brownie goodness!

A pint of heaven

Ben and Jerry, you make my worst day at work manageable. You make my cramps a distant memory, you make every breakup worth the pain. (Ok, not really.)

You cheer me up when I am down, relax me when I am stressed, and offer comfort when Hamas shoots missiles at us. While our boys went to war, I prayed and carried on my love affair with you, Ben and Jerry. Oh how I remember those hot summer days of Operation Protective Edge. The war wouldn’t have been bearable without you by my side!  

But you’re still there: on my side. And on my thighs, tummy, and (now) back rolls. 

And you just won’t get the hell off of me, no matter how hard I try. I wanted to eat Chubby Hubby, not become one! You are the cheapest therapy a woman can buy, but Ben and Jerry, we need to talk.

Oh so that's what I've been doing all this time!

See, Ben and Jerry, you love me too much. We have grown too much together, and we now tip the scales. Quite literally actually. 

The time has come to let you go. I need you both off of my body, even if it means surgically removing you.

So long to you both, my two fine lovers. It’s been a wonderful love affair, but it’s time to love myself now. Go support another woman in need of some luscious cookie-dough-Phish-Food goodness.

 

I will always have Vermont and the t-shirt to prove it.

Love,

#TheSkinnyGirlWithin

Memorializing Friends

When I was in high school I felt that documenting my life was one of the most important things I could do. I took pictures wherever I went and bought plain photo albums, filling about 4 of them with pictures from my teenage years. I decorated the covers with magazine clippings, making montages with all-things grunge, like Doc Martens, quotes from Pearl Jam and Nirvana, and phrases like “inspire”, “friendship is forever”, “no to conformity” and the like. The puff paint has worn away on the covers, but there’s still enough residue to make out the part that says: ”My Life (fill in the year)”. 

My dream back then was to open up the albums at some point in the future, and look back wistfully at a time when we were happy, inspired, principled; when we saw the world as if every avenue was open to us. I imagined going through the pages with my children, sharing stories of my adolescence.

Yet those photo albums have been on the same shelves for years; unopened, not shared. There’s even a thin layer of dust on some of them.

My Life: 1996. Grunge photos are on the back!

I may have fantasized about all possibilities that the future held for us, but I never imagined that what would bring me to open up the albums would be the death of one of those friends.  

Reva passed away suddenly about a month ago, a young woman of about 37, daughter, sister, wife, mother of a beautiful toddler. Her death has shaken me…awoken me from my metaphorical slumber.

We had not kept in touch for years, but I thought of her often. Not surprisingly, she wasn’t a Facebook user (she always did like her privacy), so I didn’t receive many updates about her life. Yet her death brought together a once close-knit group from high school who are now scattered across the world. For a small group that once shared a one-room synagogue and one small hallway that comprised our high school (yes, our school and shul were that small.), the distance that now separates us is tremendous.

Last week, we relied on an online memorial ceremony to gather together, sharing memories of Reva. How ironic to use an online social networking tool to remember a friend who valued her privacy offline. Friends recounted a vibrant young woman who was dedicated, principled, loved to question and share ideas. She didn’t see the value in small-talk; she thrived on making real friendships based on deep, authentic conversations.

This online memorial was actually the second one I participated in this summer. In early August, we commemorated the first yartzeit of Ayala Pamela, another friend of mine and young mother who passed away at the age of 40 from breast cancer five weeks after her diagnosis. Her illness spurred groups around the globe to pray on her behalf, yet within five weeks, she left this world for a loftier one. (For those curious, we used Google Hangouts and Skype.)

These were two simple, deeply soulful women who had strong, authentic friendships. Both of the memorial ceremonies included friends who logged in from their living rooms from around the world. How ironic to use social media - meant to connect people together- for mourning the loss of the deceased, especially for one who chose not to even have any Facebook presence. Yet these online ceremonies were powerful, cathartic, inspiring.

A few weeks ago, an Israeli friend once saw my collection of photo albums and commented that I was ‘too sentimental”. I keep too much stuff from the past, she said.

If only she knew the extent of it, I thought.

I made those albums for posterity; so I’d always be able to remind myself of my youth and the inspiring people who gave me the foundations that built who I am as a person.  For me, there is no such thing as being too sentimental; there is documenting your roots so you can always know from where you came.  The memories of Reva and Ayala will go on specifically because there are sentimental friends out there who wish to document their lives and remember their legacies.

Losing these two friends has reminded me that life is short.  It’s crucial to concentrate on what is fundamentally important. It is easy to get caught up with everyday life and its challenges, its frustrations and annoyances. We sometimes forget about the people who have led the way to our successes and accomplishments. More frequently, we take for granted how quickly it can all be taken from us.

How apropos for Elul.

Admittedly, I am wistful this time of year, for that time when we would see our closest friends every day, in person and not over a computer screen.

I am wistful for the time when we had our mentors accessible to us, guiding us, teaching us, inspiring us.

I am wistful for when life was simple.

I am wistful for a time when the framework and rules were clear; when we questioned as much as we wanted, aspiring for clarity and truth. Little did we know that adulthood would bring so many unanswered questions, mainly where the justice is in taking away two wonderful women who created families of their own, who left a host of loyal friends who gather together across the globe to share memories of how much they meant to them.

My lesson from mourning these two friends is not to wait until another friend passes on to contact them. Pick up the phone, go visit. Spend Shabbat together, and yes bring your spouses and children. They should get to know each other simply because you are all meaningful to each other. If you choose to meet for coffee during the week, you will survive leaving work early, taking a slightly longer lunch break and don’t worry, your spouse will figure out how to make dinner for the kids. While you can, go spend time with the people who inspire you to be exactly who you truly are or aspire to be.…

Sadly, the deaths of two young women, Reva and Ayala Pamela, were the catalysts for such a reflection. I hope to use our time here in this world to stay connected with and impacted by people whom I cherish.

New Year's/Old Years

This stormy weather out there reminds me of my years in New York: the sound of the winter winds howling outside, the balls of hail bouncing off of the window panes, the air so cold that the minute the door opens to the outside, you’re already shivering. I am thankful this only lasts a few short days here in Jerusalem. The cold makes me cranky and my body moves slower. I hate cold drops dripping on me. Yet there is something endearing about being forced to get inside and spend some quiet time at home. Instead of wandering around town, the cold weather pushes me into the space that I’ve created for myself. Whether I like it or not the winter tells me: "Go be in your own space and enjoy it." Apparently I have difficulty with appreciating what I have.

So here I am: my warm apartment, a snuggly new pair of Old Navy pajama pants, and memories.

Ten years ago. New Year’s 2003. New York City.

I was young and clueless on so many levels. Looking back, I had so much going for me: a decently-paying job, a beautiful apartment in NYC, wonderful friends and a caring, affectionate boyfriend.  I shouldn’t have had a worry in the world, but at the time I was too uptight to realize that. I had (and still have) this talent at looking at what’s missing; what’s not perfect; what’s not there. So much so that I sometimes completely overlook what actually is there. What actually is going right. 

If I would’ve known then what I’d be like ten years later, would I have made the same choices?

Would I have said goodbye?

Would I have left the only man that I ever truly loved?

That evening, I had bought a bottle of sparkling grape juice along with a sleeve of small plastic cups (I had known that it was illegal to consume alcohol in public spheres; if nothing else, I've always been responsible and terribly socially conscious.) Boarding the A train, I set out for a 1.5 hr subway ride to JFK. I had encouraged him to go to London with a group because I felt it would give him clarity, inspiration. Maybe that was my way of giving us both some space. Likely it was a combination of all of that.

Somehow I had timed-out the journey accurately enough that I caught him just as he was boarding that same train. The doors opened, I was thrilled. Exhilarated to see him,  and proud of myself for having such damn good timing. 

We toasted a Happy New Year on the subway car back up to Manhattan, celebrating with a group of strangers, probably student-tourists trying to save a penny by not taking a taxi to the city (like us).

I recall being happy; lonely; happy. Always riding this see-saw ride, navigating between being in love and fearing the future.  Being in love, and yet always wondering what else, who else may be on the horizon. Somewhere better, someone better.

Ten years later, I look back. I see that life is about choices.

Nothing is perfect. No one is perfect. There comes a time when we all choose. Priorities. And we have to somehow deal with those imperfections called life. We grow, we make progress, we learn. 

Most importantly I am learning to be present and appreciate what I have in life. In many ways I am a perfectionist, and I'm damn good at avoiding things I don't think I can do perfectly. 

My desire is to be cherished. To cherish. To value the present and embrace the wonderful man who lays next to me. To build. To bring inspiration and meaning to those around me. Priorities.

I had that. I could have had it for longer, but I was too uptight to realize how good it was.

Then again, maybe memory is playing games on me. After all, I was not stupid or blinded. Yes I loved, and I was loved, but there were problems, issues. I had issues. I couldn't commit. I was scared. I certainly wanted to build back then, but my foundations wanted to be built halfway across the world. 

Ten years. 

Celebrating New Year's with memories from the Old Years.

But overall, delighting that this storm is bouncing off my window sill in Jerusalem.

Today's Parenting Crisis: The Single Child

Active involvement in the dating scene means that on any given day, our emotions can range from euphoric to lonely; sad to flattered; hopeful to despairing; feeling awkward or uncomfortable to care-free and confident. We are told to keep an open mind, to be emotionally available and to radiate a positive energy. Yet introducing ourselves and our lives to new people who may or may not want to meet us again is exhausting. We go out on dates, hoping it will lead to something serious, yet the other person may decide to not continue based on something you do; how you dress; something you say; how you look; whether you wear pants or skirts; what you do for a living; what kind of kippah you wear on your head; if you have a car or not; your town of origin; how long your sleeves are; whether you are shomer negiya or not ; what kind of animals you like; how much hair you have on your head ; if you have a few extra pounds or aren't tall enough; etc. In addition, having to face intrusive questions about our personal lives by random strangers "who might know someone" can certainly wear us down. 

So we try our best to stay positive and maintain a healthy self-confidence by not defining our self-worth by our marital status. Why? Because if one’s self-worth is defined by one specific thing, one will probably fall into despair at times when one is unable to achieve that one goal in the way one envisions.

Most, if not all of my friends have wonderful qualities and are pretty confident people. They are proud of the lives they’ve made for themselves over here. When I say “proud”, I don’t mean in an arrogant way, I mean that they seem to have a healthy self confidence in that that they are leading productive, satisfying lives. They are intelligent, attractive, friendly, educated men and women who have modestly successful careers in variety of industries. Most of them have chosen to move across the world and have been successful in making their lives in Israel. They are kind, responsible, stable adults. And yet, I believe that all of us share a basic common desire: to make our parents proud, and to know that that our parents love and respect us. In fact renowned psychologists (Abraham Maslow, to name one) theorize that feeling respected, along with feeling a sense of love and belonging, are fundamental needs for everyone (I want to blatantly include unmarried Orthodox thirty and forty-somethings in the category of “everyone” in case there was any doubt).

And so right after the holidays, when a friend shared with me that her parents explicitly told her that they were embarrassed of her and asked her to leave the house for Rosh HaShana dinner, I was stunned. Speechless. They relayed to her that they felt that her presence would be awkward and that they were embarrassed to have a daughter her age (she’s 29 or 30) who is still not married.

I did my best to hold back tears of empathy, but it was extremely difficult. I felt sad for my friend that she had to face rejection from the people who are supposed to be the key sources of love and affection (yes, even adults still need to feel love from their parents), but I also felt anger towards her parents on her behalf. How is this young woman supposed to radiate a positive attitude and self-confidence when her primary caregivers are shooing her away? Pretending like she doesn’t exist anymore? How is she supposed to feel good about herself when her very parents are embarrassed of her (regardless of whether it is shown explicitly or implicitly)?

After she shared her story with me, I carefully expressed that it sounded like her parents’ attitude is toxic for anyone to be around, and that she should do her best to filter out their negativity. What I didn’t tell her is that it was also pretty clear to me that this vicious criticism was likely not circumstantial or a new phenomenon – she probably grew up with the same negative attitude and likely has carried that voice of criticism with her since she was a child. That is something that I can definitely relate to, and my experiences a few weeks ago confirmed it for me.

Why?

Because my parents, too, admitted that they are embarrassed of me being single.

See, in the middle of Shabbat while I was at my parents’ house, there was a misunderstanding about regarding an attractive older man to whom they had introduced me at a kiddush. They did not explain who he was or why they were introducing me to him, and so once we got home, I asked them if they were trying to set me up with him. Based on my parent's history of attempting to get me in front of anyone who "just might know someone", I tried to act courteously, but I was disappointed that my parents were trying to present me to yet, someone else in the neighborhood without actually telling me beforehand. It turned out that this man happened to be married with 5 children. When I asked if they were indeed trying to set me up with him, my parents exploded. "How dare you make such an inappropriate assumption?," they yelled. Certain family members shouted that they were embarrassed of me being single, that they see my life as lonely and pathetic, and even went so far as to claim that the community thinks that I, a single 33 year old woman, am a lesbian (I am not, but what if I was?!). Certain family members drew out their claws, and said hurtful things, as if my marital status is the sole element of my worth and value in life.  Needless to say, I was flabbergasted, stunned and extremely hurt.  

Both of these painful scenarios have had me thinking about our relationship with our parents, self-esteem levels and this thing dubbed the “Shidduch Crisis.” I began to think that there may be a correlation between overly-critical parents and their “older” single children (I intentionally do not put an age label on this because I believe it’s very subjective depending on the community). Therefore, instead of dubbing this sociological phenomenon the degrading term of “Shidduch Crisis”, we should be calling it the “Parenting Crisis”, since frequently it seems that the parents seem to be more in crisis than their happen-to-be single children.

I want to present that the issue is not just about these adults remaining single past an age that is seen as acceptable or normal by the older generation or by the Orthodox community. It is about the very perception of us singles as having some sort of blemish that taints our very essence as successful, accomplished, kind, God-fearing adults. Moreover, it seems that it’s actually our parents who are more embarrassed of our single status than we are; as if our marital status reflects something on them… and perhaps it does.

After all, if our parents have expressed criticism or negativity about us throughout our upbringing, then perhaps it is no surprise that we carry these messages around in our minds; these are the images that we have about ourselves, planted firmly in our heads since childhood! Moreover, if we grow up in homes in which our parents do not communicate, act passive-aggressively (or just aggressively) towards each other, or are simply not happy as a couple, then how are we to have healthy models of marriage in our minds?

We may have gotten older, we may have illustrious careers, and support ourselves financially, but we are still your children. We still need your emotional support, and like we did when we were younger, we still need to feel that have confidence in us and respect us. I do believe, as psychologist Harville Hendrix explains in his work, Gettingthe Love You Want, that experiencing a strong and safe with a partner starts from getting that connection (both physical and emotional) from one’s primary caregiver throughout childhood. Emotional wounds are inevitable because it’s simply impossible for parents to fulfill every one of our needs at all times. 

However, I believe that our relationship, vis-à-vis our parents doesn’t just end when we go off to college or get married. Our dependency and need for emotional support may fade with time, but they don’t disappear. 

And so the more you critique us, or shall I say, the more you berate yourselves – and thereby us – for having an “older” single child or being one, the more your comments or general attitude will serve as detriments to our own success in finding a partner and having a healthy relationship.

Being single includes enough awkward, uncomfortable moments. Perhaps a description in another blog post will demonstrate the painful details for you. But suffice to say that today’s world is complicated, competitive and extremely superficial, and so in order to radiate that positive energy and confidence, we need to feel support and love; not shame and embarrassment from our very own families.

If, as parents, you are unable to overcome your sheer disappointment with us just because we have not managed to get married yet or hold onto our spouses in a healthy marriage, then what we have is not a Singles Crisis; we’ve got a Parenting Crisis on our hands.

I, for one, will not let my parents' false-assessment of my life keep me from moving forward to achieve my goal of finding my spouse and building a healthy marriage. But parents, you're making it much more difficult for me to do so.