Frumgirl 5: For Papa, Make Him a Scholar

The four of us were standing around chatting after class one day—Diana, a 29-year-old Catholic African-American, Sadaf, a hijabi (scarf-wearing) Muslim girl of 22, Emma, who is 23 and from Barbados, and myself. Sadaf was entertaining us with talk about her last Islamic studies class over the weekend, when the topic changes to guys.

Suddenly Emma, in a reserved, Emma-like voice, pipes up. “Hey F5, you know…maybe you’ll think I’m crazy or something…but…ever since the first day of school, I was totally thinking that you and Joey would be perfect for one another!”

Having just taken a swig of orange juice from the carton I was holding, I struggle not to give my classmates a shower. A shadchan? Here?! And in the form of a Seventh Day Adventist from the West Indies, no less. Hashem bless my lucky stars…

Joey is a nice, rather funny guy of Syrian descent who is the only yarmulke-wearing dude in the whole program. He’s definitely a sweet fellow, but not exactly what I’m looking for in the slightest. Needless to say very much surprised at the randomness of the suggestion (in a way, I suppose, similar to the “she wears a skirt, he wears pants” shidduch arrangement), I try valiantly to swallow my mouthful.

Sadaf, however, beats me to it. “Nah, that won’t work,” she says casually.

My eyebrows go up. Oh?

Diana joins in now. “Why not?”

Sadaf keeps going. “Well, because Joey is Sephardic, and F5 is not.”

The other two say “ohhh” and nod sagely. I am fighting the urge to laugh. Diana then turns to me and asks, “So, F5, what kind of guy are you looking for, then?”

About to answer, Sadaf beats me to it again. “She’s looking for a Yeshiva student. You know, those guys with the black pants and white shirts.”

I’m looking at Sadaf incredulously now. Where in the world does she get her information from?

On a roll now, she continues. “Oh my gosh! Hello, F5, I totally have the perfect guy for you!! He was in one of my undergrad classes, white shirt, black pants, the whole deal! Hmm…and good looking too…”

Two lessons:

1. The multiculturalism in graduate school is mind-boggling.

2. The shadchan will always find you.

Frumgirl 4: Greener Grass

Fair Warning: moderate use of language herein

I’ve developed a huge appreciation for the laws of Loshon Hara.

In my youth, etc, I never felt like people discussed me behind my back, nor wondered if someone was being nice to me when really they couldn’t stand me. Between having it pounded into our heads that gossip is wrong and two-facedness just as bad, I always knew that the worst case would be that someone was being nice to me as a chesed, because she thought I was friendless nerd. And you can usually spot those, because they’re a bit saccharine. And as for loshon hara… well, most of us have it down to the nitty gritties like “Oops, I made a face when her name was mentioned.”

So it was a cold slap in the face when I first partnered with Joe for a project and was introduced to many of his friends and associates. He’d smile, slap them on the back, ask how they were doing, talk about a movie, promise to see them later, and then say, “That was Rolf. He’s a bastard, but good for a game of football,” or “God I hate her. Such a selfish bitch.” Or, “He’s so goddamn annoying. He kept hanging around me yesterday talking about how he didn’t have any lunch, until I gave him 20 bucks and told him to treat himself. I paid him to leave me alone.”

“What do you say about me behind my back?” I asked one day. He looked at me blankly. “Why would I do that?” I don’t think it even occured to him that he was talking about people behind their backs.

Which could explain my minor paranoia. If I say something, and there’s a slightly longer than necessary pause after, I wonder “Oops, did I just say something stupid?” If there’s an exchange of looks that I don’t understand I think, “Time to fade out…” I never feel like I really know my position in things. I don’t need to have friends in college – I have plenty elsewhere, and my self-esteem is healthy enough. It just makes me uncomfortable to not know where I stand. This keeps me on my best behavior, and it keeps me aloof. The nice thing of which is that when you’re aloof people have to seek you out, which is a sure proof that they’re not just being nice. But it also reminds me that these are not my people, and these are not my real friends. And it helps me appreciate those who are my people and my real friends – the ones who might make faces behind my back, but nothing worse.

I sometimes joke, “The farther I get from Jews, the more I like them.” When you’re immersed in a community, it’s easier to see its faults. But from a distance, it’s easier to see the positive traits. One thing I have definitely gained from my college experience is an increased appreciation for Jews and Judaism.

Frumgirl 1: Easily Teased, Me?

Warning: this entry is not as clean as would be desired due to necessity of content. It is hardly explicit, either.

In the infinite wisdom of my most infinitely illogical professor, two from a collection of symposiums, panels, and lectures that fell under the heading of “Sex in Medicine Week,” were mandatory to all students in my program.

No, discomfort was not a valid reason for failing to show up. Attendance was taken, after all. To give you an idea how unnecessary these lectures were to begin with, the “in Medicine” portion of the title “Sex in Medicine Week” was really, really small in comparison to the other two title words on all the signs promoting the event. The more apt nomenclature of “Sex Week,” was used by everyone, and as that accurately predicted, the symposium was little more than a social lets-all-get-together-and-talk-about-sex-in-public event and not a sort of informative session on medical issues. The consequence for not sitting through the entirety of both sordid lectures was severe enough to make anyone think several times before braving hooky, to boot.

So off went this poor Frumgirl, scrunching down in a back seat and pretending she was anywhere but there, listening to 300 students and faculty members loudly yell “orgasm,” at the top of their lungs on the behest of a rather famous 80 year old accented “sex therapist” radio personality.

Said former Hagana-sniping, WW2-surviving sex therapist was signing books after her well disguised sell-job of a lecture, and I could think of nothing I wanted to do more than magically procure a rivaling public-personality sex therapist’s book for her to sign. Sort of a silent protest for being forced through one of the more uncomfortable hours of my life. Sadly, I did not come prepared for this.

The other discomforting lecture was billed as a talk about the issues of men and women with developmental disabilities; men and women who may ask certain questions of their favorite health professionals. Sounds not all that objectionable, right? In reality, it was merely another opportunity for people to talk about private matters before all and sundry. Except this time it was people with developmental disabilities airing their dirty laundry. With one redeeming factor: it discussed the prevalence of abuse in residential homes, which is staggering and quite frankly appalling.

Around halfway through this lecture, the speaker asks the audience to form small groups, answer a page of questions, and choose a leader to represent their answers when asked.

Now guess who was immediately nominated?

Bingbingbing! Yup, you guessed it.

“C’mon, Frumgirl, step out of your comfort zone for once!” (Um, why?)

“Yeah, Frumgirl, we’re just trying to get you to say the word sex out loud for once!” (I totally do in reference to matters of clinical relevance!)

“Besides, Frumgirl, I bet you know the answers to all the questions!” (That would be such a great compliment in any other situation.)

I managed to worm my way out of that particular responsibility, but never let it be said that grad school is all about the future profession or that one can possibly walk away with an advanced degree in one subject area without receiving a certain amount of education in many other areas, as well.

Frumgirl 1: Reconstructionist Fashion Advice

Here’s a question of the day: why would anyone ask a frumguy fashion advice?

You’d think that one look at the lack of deviation and stylistic flair the typical frumguy sports on an informal daily basis would be enough to warn people off. Maybe, if it were a frumgirl doing the asking, one may optimistically believe the average frumguy knows something of clothes actually worth hearing through exposure. Otherwise, in my experience, you may as well ask an Innuit about swimsuit design for all the decent fashion expertise you’re likely to receive.

Perhaps it was the belief that frummies know every single minutaie about Judaism that prompted the Long Island classmate to ask the class Hassidic Dude whether a particular dress of hers was appropriate for a Bat Mitzvah in a Reconstructionist temple. He looked a little lost, so I helped him out.

What I should have said was to wear whatever she’d feel comfortable wearing to a church.

Instead, I provided my standard non-frummie propriety standards; of hemline, sleeves, and neckline, only one may be skimped upon.

It was the wrong thing to say. The dress she intended to wear was extremely low cut, had no sleeves, and fell on the shorter side of mid-thigh. Frumgirl 1: 0  Social awkwardness: 50

On the other hand, the Hassidic Dude has been inside a Reconstructionist temple the same number of times as I have: zero. Given that the Long Island girl didn’t know this, I’m going to assume she fell prey to the Hassidim-know-everything stereotype rather than wonder on her perception of my fashion acuity, having gone to him instead of me.

Frumgirl 1: Scallions

“You’re Sephardic?” asked the southern baptist black woman of the patient in the next chair over thumbing a Parenting magazine. She’s had prolonged exposure to all sorts of frummies, and can even tell the differences, apparently.

“Yes, I am,” replied the woman politely, social smile gracing her face, “I’m Persian.”

“So that means that you beat the groom with a scallion at the wedding?”

W-wait a second there. Where’d she get that one from? Sure, I’m all for beating grooms with things at weddings, but scallions strike me as not particularly effective weapons. And who wants a scallion-smelling groom, anyway?

Frumgirl 5: The Natives Know

Break from class found us again in heated discussion. And again, as usual, us frumgirls were featured in the center of a highly curious questioning session. This time it was about Jewish Holidays.

One frumgirl, who awes me with her ability to explain even the most confusing of Jewish concepts in ways that make me want to convert to Judaism all over again, was leading the conversation. “Imagine,” (and I butcher it trying to replicate what she said,) “having Thanksgiving dinner every single week…Fresh, fragrant food, your family sitting around the table together sharing in one another’s company, the warm, comfortable atmosphere… That’s what the Sabbath is like. Every week.”

The rest of the girls and women in the group (no guys there that day) sit in varying degrees of interest, with the most enraptured of them all being the Catholic Latina girl we’ll call Gabriella. Gabi is fascinated with us, but until coming into graduate school, never really knew much about Orthodoxy, or any Judaism for that matter (“So you don’t believe in Jesus?!” That was before Judaism 101.)

Anyhow, that day we were discussing different wonderful aspects of being Jewish. This time, Sue takes center stage. Sue is as non-affiliated as they come. She’s not Jewish or Christian or Muslim or anything. Sue is just…Sue. Jeans and spaghetti-strap tanktops and bicycle helmet and all. So Sue pipes up, “Hey, I once went to my friend for one of the Jewish holiday dinners!”

“Cool!” a few of us chorus. “Which one?”

“No clue,” she shrugs. “Some holiday with a lot of little plates.”

After a few minutes of confused pondering on our end, one of us thinks to ask her if it was Passover.

“Yeah! That was it! It was cool.”

Then Gabi, eager to have her position back, asks what kind of special food we have on the Sabbath and holidays. Try explaining potato kugel and gefilte fish to a bunch of kids who just heard you exclaiming how amazing your Jewish food is. Our spokesgirl begins talking about the delicious challah when Sue interrupts.

“Yeah, you have gefilte fish.”

The rest of us are aghast.

I turn to her looking perplexed, but pleasantly surprised. “Sue, how in the world do you know what gefitle fish is?”

Looking slightly insulted-as if it should have been so obvious to us-Sue states matter-of-factly. “Frumgirl5, of course I know what gefilte fish is. I’m from Brooklyn”

Go figure…

Frumgirl 4: Jewish Geography

“Did you see who’s coming to speak?” I asked Joe Joeson. A religious woman was giving a lecture, and I knew that Joe, with his obsession with religious Jews, would be interested. “Sarah Joeson. Are you going to listen?”

“Sarah Joeson? Is that really her name? I wonder if she’s related to me.”

“Oooh, you know how to play Jewish Geography?” I asked.

“What’s that?”

“Well it’s a game religious Jews play when they first meet. The point is to find out how many mutual acquaintances you have. Extra points if you can prove that they’re related to you.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Last time I played, I discovered that my friend’s roommate was in my cousin’s bunk in summer camp.”

[Astonishment]

Joe wanders off and meets up with another religious student.

“Hey Janet, did you hear there’s this religious woman coming to speak? Sarah Joeson.”

“Really? Joeson? Is she related to you?”

“Ha! I know what you’re doing! You’re playing Jewish Geography!”

“You know about Jewish Geography?”

“Yeah, sure!” [Proudly] “Whenever you religious people get together you try to find out how many people you know in common.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“And you get bonus points if you can prove the other person is related to you.”

“Um… no…?”

“No?”

Joe related this conversation back to me with a bit of a scowl. “I was doing so well and then… Boy you made me look stupid there.”

Oops.

Frumgirl 1: Back in Kansas

Our apologies for the recent dearth of posts. Events such as finals, school breaks, and real life felt the need to intrude upon our posting habits quite rudely.

I, for one, have not been posting about my forays into the real world because I am temporarily back in the bubble. Back where witnessing someone use a swear word is tantamount to seeing them without a shirt on, where noone compliments you on your haircut when you switch wigs, and where I don’t have to think to substitute “wig” for “shaitel” because everyone understands liberally frum-peppered English.

Which was odd for the first few days. I’d gotten used to automatically speaking real-world English, so people assume me less “frum” than they used to.  It’s never particularly thrilling to go back the environment you identify with to find that you no longer quite fit so well. An alien in both worlds, how absolutely wonderfull. But old rhythms die harder than new ones, and I found myself donning my old alien skin quite as comfortably as ever.

My regular classes resume soon, and regular posting is beginning again. As ever, if you’d like to write something for this blog,  know that  new voices are always appreciated and  graduation comes soon enough.

Frumgirl 4: Species, a Study

There are several species of Jews to be found in secular college. I’ve been astonished and entertained as I stumbled across each variation in its turn, and I document them here for inspection.

Before my first major-studies class, I checked the roster and noticed a distinctly Jewish (and religious) male name. I was excited, because here would be someone else at my side in case we needed to negotiate holidays or similar matters. But after scouring the class for several periods, I sadly concluded that he must have dropped out.

He didn’t, but I wouldn’t have recognized him in a million years without a formal introduction. Forget the button-down shirt his name seemed to require, he didn’t bother with a yarmulke. I know that is quite common on the MO spectrum, but I had thought that all but the most borderline refrained from sinking their teeth into meat they know isn’t kosher. This fellow seems determined to have the best of both worlds. As such, he showed his first interest in kosher food when it was ordered specially for the religious students, but immediately abandoned it when he saw that it was not, in fact, better than the standard fare. He associates almost exclusively with non-Jews, preferring the sort of discourse men once held in reserve until after the women withdrew to the drawing room. He happily piggy-backs on any arrangements made for religious students, and, to my amusement, briefly sprouted a yarmulke when a young and unattached religious woman spoke on campus.

This Fence Straddler is not to be confused with the average modern orthodox student. These are, at first glance difficult to discern as Jewish, but they identify strongly as such. “Didn’t you realize I was Jewish?” asked one colleague, dressed in leggings and a cap-sleeve t-shirt, in complete surprise. Um, no. What was supposed to tip me off? The baseball cap that never left her boyfriend’s head was more of a hint. They do not go near the meat on any buffet, and seek out the company of other Jews. They frequently become involved in communal and humanitarian activities.

On the other end of the spectrum we have the Jewish Press Jew. The title says it all. Any conversation with this student is bound to end in one of two subjects: how Jews are God’s gift to humanity, or Israel. To the Jewish Press Jew, there is nothing else in the world aside from the Chosen Nation in general, and their Mediterranean state in particular. Did you read an article in the New York Times this morning? The JP Jew didn’t, because the NYT is anti-Israel. Are you going to a conference at the UN? The JP Jew wouldn’t; they’re just a glorified gang out to persecute Jews. Is a Nobel Prize winner coming to speak? He’s Jewish, you know, as are 33% of Nobel Prize winners. You studied three chapters for the test on November 27? The JP Jew was glued to the internet, waiting for updates on the status of the Holtzbergs. Is the test scheduled for the week before Pesach? This Jew will wrangle to have it moved because of pre-Pesach preparations.

The Jewish Press Jew needs to be differentiated from the standard-issue centrist/ultra orthodox student. These tend to be less concerned with Israeli politics and more concerned with simply getting their degree as quickly as possible, preferably with honors. They are often startled by how clueless the greater world is of Jewish religious requirements and customs and will make a stir if necessary, but otherwise keep it under their yarmulkes. They easily approach any other religious students for favors as if they’ve known them forever when they’ve never even spoken before. They befriend non-Jewish students on a superficial level, reserving their non-college life predominantly for their Jewish/religious friends.

Frumgirl 1: Reverse Assimilation

I personally can not stand the holiday season when in a secular environment. Chanukah is nice and all that, but we don’t celebrate it with paper decorations, so when people try to be PC and hang dreidels on the lobby xmas evergreen, the gesture just falls flat. Additionally, it’s annoying that a one day holiday somehow manages to dominate an entire season. I understand the the US is dominated by christian leanings, but I am nothing short of resentful that I have to endure their holidays taking over my non-religiously-affiliated school every December.

Finally, I found someone who understands this.

She’s LDS, (Mormon for the less informed,) and from a state out to the west that doesn’t go quite far enough to actually hit the other coast. She comes into school one day and says, “What’s a dreideldreideldreidel?”

“A what?”

“A dreideldreideldreidel,” she responds, “my son came home from daycare, where they sing all the carols, and he was singing this song, too. It went “oh, dreideldreideldreidel,’ and I was wondering if maybe it was a Jewish thing.”

So I laughed. And explained it to her.

But she was so miffed that her kid was taught this song amongst all the traditional carols like it belonged in her home.

I felt like saying “welcome to my world.”

Frumgirl 4: Punk and Pak

FrumPunk’s comment in “so you want to be a blogger” about frum students marveling over befriending Muslim classmates left me feeling left out. I have not befriended a single Muslim.

Ironically, it’s not for lack of trying. The gaggle of Pakistani Muslim girls in my class were the first to whom I made overtures of friendship. It seemed logical to me that they’d be used to the same style of society that I was, and we’d therefore have something in common.

The problem is, most of them are of the wannabe off-the-derechnik type, and I’ve never really enjoyed the same pastimes as the people in that demographic.

Don’t get me wrong – I read Seventeen and Cosmogirl in my early teen summers, and I remember when Jason of N’Sync (or was it 98 Degrees?) wore a skirt on stage, but it was never more than an anthropological interest. I read about celebrities like I read the plaque outside the cages in a zoo. I follow styles from a distance, with raised eyebrows. I think of makeup as a utility, not a hobby. I don’t live vicariously through other people’s hairy dating stories. And so on.

A friend of mine from summer camp didn’t either get the whole deal and used to join the magazine flippers in their daily flip-and-squeal armed with a National Geographic. Whenever one of them would squeal “Oh he’s sooo cute,” and all the others would rush to see whose picture she was looking at, my friend would also squeal “He’s sooo cute,” and bring them rushing to her – where she’d be gazing adoringly at a koala bear.

Sitting in a club office working on business, with a bunch of Pakkies behind me comparing their Pollywood (or whatever they call their star scene down there) crushes on YouTube, I was temped, very tempted, to dig up the video of the sneezing panda baby and give a few infatuated sighs over it. But that’s not my style. Instead I just wondered why they hadn’t grown out of this type of thing already.

In contrast, the religious Muslim girls are quite sweet. There used to be three, but the one in my year seems to have dropped out; maybe she got married. Anyway, the other two aren’t in any of my classes, and they tend to surround themselves with others of their culture, even when they’re “off the derech” (maybe they want to do kiruv?). Both are exceptionally nice to me when we meet-up (just because I’m Jewish? Very likely), but that isn’t frequently. And that, FrumPunk, is why this Frumgirl can’t brag of having any Muslim friends.

I feel truly deprived.

Frumgirl 1: Vocabulary, The Playground Version

“I’m going to be teaching you how to do a tumblesauce!”

“A what?”

“A tumblesauce.”

“Like applesauce?”

“Like a roll!”

“Ohhhhhh, a somersault”

…

“Go on up the sliding-pon”

“The what?”

“The sliding-pon!”

“The slide?”

“Yeah, the sliding-pon!”

Frumgirl 4: Am I Really Listening to This?

We’re in the lounge counting money from a recent fund raiser.
Joane: Oh I probably shouldn’t be counting the money on the table.
Everyone else: Oh yeah, well…
Me: What?
Joe: I don’t think I heard of that one.
Me: What one?
Joane: It’s a christian thing, I think. You’re not supposed to count your money on the table.
Me: Where else would you count it?
Jane: …I thought it was just keys?
Me: No keys on the table? (whips out keys and drops them on the table) What happens now? Seven years of bad luck?
All: (horrified stares) How could you?
Me: What? (looks around table and counts: 2 irreligious Jews, 1 half-Jew agnostic, 1 atheist, 1 christian, 5 college-educated students, 5 horrified expressions)
Joe: I heard of it with food. You don’t throw or waste food because -
Joane: Because you’re Jewish.
Joe: No, because then you don’t deserve to have it. And don’t give me that “cheap Jew” business.
Joane: Well you said -
Joe: – Because I’m the least cheap person I know, Jewish or not.
Joane: Ok, ok, calm down. You’re right. And really. I like Jews. I’m half Jewish. Some of my best friends are Jews.
Joe: Yeah, well I don’t like being called a cheap Jew.
Joane: You’re not. OK?
(Calm resumes. After which I cheaply and uniquely request repayment for funds I laid out. Sorry Joe, but I’m a cheap Jew and proud of it. I prefer not to spend my money, so I have more of it to give away. And let the others think what they will.)

I suppose I should have interjected something about respecting and being grateful to those that support you, but I was rather shocked and the argument was fierce and fast. Or maybe I’m just chicken? Sometimes I wonder to what extent I should be playing Defender of the Faith to non-Jews and kiruv rebbetzin to Jews.

Frumgirl 1: Listen to Your Wife

Posting Divrei Torah on a blog is not really my thing. I don’t profess to be any great authority on matters Judaic (high school lemudei kodesh grades can attest to that,) and I find all but the most well-written or mind-twisting little essays on the parsha to be deathly boring.

I will make an exception, however, for one of my favorite statements from G-d. It’s in this week’s parsha. I won’t turn it into a D’var Torah, though (really,) so just bear with me for a paragraph.

Sarah (imeinu, I’m not on a first name basis with her,) tells Avraham (avenu, not on a first name basis with him, either,) to throw out the wife she told him to marry in the first place. He balks. And G-d, in all His G-dly big-and-important splendor, gets involved in the domestic. Summarily tells Avraham to listen to his wife; no ifs, ands, or buts, listen to your wife, mister. He could have just said, in active form, to keep the other wife and kid. He didn’t. He put in that little note of admonishment: you gotta listen to your wife!

It is understandable why this is one of my favorite bits of Book, me with my feminist leanings. I like all the little expressions of value for women that litter our conglomerate of beliefs. I like how they affect our modern culture and unique attitudes towards the feminine. There are also very few so explicitly stated admonishments to men in their attitude to women in the Orginal Five, so I carry around this likable bit of Book in an accessible piece of my mind in case I ever need it. And somehow my textual favoritism came to light in the presence of some classmates.

“Oh, that part of the story isn’t in the Koran,” said the Muslim dude I’ve talked about before, by way of argument.

And I was shocked for a moment. But then I realized how telling the omission is in the Muslim attitude towards women, and began wondering who took it out, when, and for what reason.

Frumgirl 1: Jewish Women

(Frumgirl 1 lowers her binoculars)

The Jewish Woman (Mulier  Jewess) can be easily spotted in the Brooklyn area at all times of the year. She is both indigenous and aggressive so sightings are frequent and binoculars are rarely necessary. She is most distinguishable from afar by her coat of black and distinctive vocal pattern. Her behavior is unique, as well. Two common characteristics of the Jewish Woman are the ability to accomplish more in a given time than is deemed possible by general human standards and the propensity she has to spend her life feeding everyone she meets.

I have drafted this entry for an Audobon-esque guide to humans. Photographic quality prints are in progress. Given such commonly known information about Jewish Women, such exchanges should be fairly common:

Classmate: What’s in that bag you’re holding?

Me: More cake. An immediate family member of mine has gotten married, so I have a seven parties’ worth of leftover food to distribute.

Classmate, unimpressed: Is it good cake?

Me: I believe so, but I expect you to eat it even if it isn’t.

Classmate: You are so Jewish.

The cake was good, in case anyone was wondering. It was decimated (in the literal sense) in less than a second.

Frumgirl 1: Why All Our Two Year Olds Are Girls

Scenario the first:

“Oh, is that a picture of you with your sister?” asked the the girl a deeply scoop-necked sweater next to me. The picture in question features my seven or eight year old self posing, entirely unselfconscious, with a toddler brother sporting waist long blond bottle curls. I had killer maternal instincts as a kid, and they show through in that photo.

“That’s actually my brother,” I returned to my seat neighbor. I can’t remember why that old picture was in my notebook. Detritus of life, I suppose. It all ends up in my notebook eventually. “We don’t cut our boys’ hair until their third birthday,” I offered by way of explanation.

“You don’t mind that all your little boys look like girls?”

“Not really.”

And I am graced with the standard ‘you are a bunch weirdos’ look. You get used to that after a little while.

Scenario the second:

“You made a huge party for your three-year-old?” exclaimed a rude middle eastern guy the size of an ox. This was beyond rude, when you consider who he was talking to. The Chassidish dude was nice enough to bring large bowls of salad and pasta and fancy baked goods leftover from his son’s Upsherin. Ox-guy could have shown a little gratitude, but I suppose that was beyond him.

“It’s a big thing by us,” the Chassidish dude explains, “the third birthday is when we cut their hair for the first time and…”

“Yeah, whatever,” Ox-guy interrupted, and proceeded to dig in, stopping to flash the above-mentioned ‘you are a weirdo’ look.

To be fair, the Upsherin is a concept that strikes non-frummies strange when they first hear about it. And when they ask you to explain why you do it, the explanation is not a simple, easy textual one you can rattle off, either.

One area for which weirdo looks are inevitable.

Frumgirl 4: Some Things You Just Can’t Explain

It’s the second day of chol hamoed and I get to class early. There’s just me an one Caribbean girl there.

“I was in Target yesterday and it was just full of religious Jews. Was it some kind of shopping holiday?”

The honest answer would be, “Um, no, actually, the opposite,” but I didn’t want to have to explain that the Jewish woman will do many things because the rabbis recommend it – fast half-a-dozen times a year; glug down four cups of wine on Pesach; and even swing a chicken over their heads – but it takes God himself in all his textual glory to keep them from shopping for a week straight. So I explained that it was a sort of half-holiday and they were off from work and taking the opportunity to shop.

“And there was this one girl there in a skirt that was crazy long! Most of the women were like you – long like ankle length skirts or knee-length ones with stockings [Frumgirl4's note: jeepers! they notice everything!] but this girl’s skirt was so long it was dragging on the floor for inches. It almost got caught in the escalator!”

My first thought was a little girl in hand-me-downs. But what mother would venture forth on chol hamoed with a poorly dressed child?

“How old was she?”

“About 13, maybe 14.”

Ah, mystery solved. “She thinks she looks cool.”

Blank look from my partner.

“Really. She thinks she looks cool like that. Just trust me.”

“Oooo-kaaay.”

Frumgirl 1: How do YOU React?

Now that Succos is over, school is back in full force, with a full force of situations that just make you blink several times and wonder what, exactly, just happened.

“Hey, take a look at this,” I told an amicable Muslim classmate. He and I are on pretty good terms these days. Once you get past a few glaring differences, he’s actually more alike us than non-religious folk.

I was referring to that new article in the New York magazine. This one, to be exact. The one where it oh-so-flatteringly accepts for granted that New York Jews control the economy. The one where we are urged to happily return to our corner Delis, neighborhood bagel shops, and impecunious origins since our power has been Vanquished. I wanted his opinion on it. I wanted to see if he picked up on the same subtle threads reminiscent of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion. Turns out he does. Homes in on it like a heat-seeking missile.

“The glass towers of midtown Manhattan are filled with Jewish magicians who manipulate abstract symbols that shape the contents of people’s characters and opinions as well as the contents of their wallets and can seemingly be transformed at will into other markers of value in a dizzying progression that destroys the certainties of blood and soil on which life is founded for ordinary villagers…” he reads aloud, pausing in the middle so it doesn’t sound quite so much like an endless run-on, until he stops and laughs, “this is so true!”

And then he looks at me with camaraderie, with an I’d-nudge-you-with-my-elbow-here-if-I-could look he was so quick to develop to accommodate me, like he expects me agree with him.

I don’t. “Shush!” I tell him, for lack of anything better surfacing in the gobble-de-gook soup that used to be a functioning mind. “Jews do not control the economy. Think logically!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Except it was obvious that he didn’t, and was just trying to placate me.

And by the time I figured out what I could say to him on the topic, it was time to go back to class.

So how do you react to flippant, friendly antisemitism?

Frumgirl 1: Tactile Hardwiring

Some people are just hardwired to be touchy-feely. Some people, no matter how long you’ve been around them and how many times you’ve expounded upon how you are a voluntary untouchable, these people will touch you, anyway.

Not through any malicious intent, of course. They apologize profusely afterward and firmly interlock their hands behind their backs to prevent recurrences. It never helps.

They are just touchy-feely people. They relate through touch. Nothing wrong with that, per se, it just makes relating with them in person without looking like you have ants in your pants a decidedly Herculean feat.

“How are you doing today?”  they say, as they touch your shoulder in concern.

You edge backward, replying, “I’m a little under the weather,”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” they enthuse sympathetically, while attempting to pat your back. You take another step backward, and they finally catch on. They dig their hand into their pockets or hook them onto their belt and look sorry. They produce that little half-smile that you know is a sincere recognition of their regret.

And yet you know, with perfect certainty, that come next interaction they will simply do it again. Lather, rinse, and repeat.

So you can decide to avoid them, prematurely pruning a potentially advantageous association.  Or you can  decide to maintain the minimum portable x-ray exposure distance at all times (six feet). You might even decide to continuously to admonish them for every individual frummie-relations faux pas.

Doesn’t matter which you prefer; you always lose.

Frumgirl 1: Manners

When I got married, right after my semester in grad school, I didn’t bother inviting my non-Orthodox classmates. We weren’t really friends, they didn’t seem to mind, and it my father objected. Strongly.

Recently, a frumguy in my class got married, but he did invite everyone who wished to come. Only one non-Orthodox girl showed, and she’s had experience with Orthodox functions and blended seamlessly in with the frummies. And I mean seamlessly. She knew exactly what to wear, how to act, what to say. Impeccably.

The last time she attended an Orthodox similarly deported, she told me, someone had asked what she was looking for. A hook-up, she called it, in the Orthodox style.

I find it rather amusing that the non-Jew navigates the being-seen-at-a-wedding shidduch must better than I ever did.

My father should not have worried.

Frumgirl 1: Going With the Flow

“Hey Frumgirl1!” calls the long island girl in her halter top and yoga pants, “come take a look at this!” On her Mac, she points to a fairly sedate dress available at a well-known retailer’s website. “What do you think of this for Yom Kippur?” she asks.

“It’s nice,” I tell her.

What I don’t tell her is monumental. I don’t tell that even though she considers herself Jewish and does more traditionally Jewish things than your standard non-Orthodox Jew, according to Orthodoxy she isn’t Jewish at all. Yes, her father is. Means less than the stacker and scraper shidduch inquiries, since her mother isn’t.

But I’d never tell her that. I keep mum and it bothers me. I suppose that if she wants to be considered Jewish by the resident frummie contingent, I’m happy to oblige.

She’s so proud of her identity as a Jew.

Frumgirl 4: Lonely Lot

We’re a lonely lot, us Jews.

Call America multicultural and let everyone trump the importance of diversity, but ethnicities still divide along party lines. Many groups are interracial, most clubs are, and you’ll catch a mixed bag socializing at any corner of the cafeteria, but the Indian guy walks off with the Indian girl; those of Chinese extraction – no matter how many generations assimilated – belong to a fraternity that only accepts Chinese; the smiling Muslim girls walk all but arm-in-arm and operate like a pack, the Caribbeans slip into Patwa and leave everyone else out.

But not us Jews.

It almost makes me feel lonely when I arrive in class the first day and find, to my excitement, that there are two other Jews there – but I can’t speak to them. Or when I walk down the hall, catch a Jew’s eye, and then we both look away. Or the awkwardness of it when we exchange a few words.

It’s weird how it works. Right or wrong, I have few qualms about getting into a lengthy mathematical discussion with the Hispanic to my left or the Bosnian to my right, but plunk a guy in black and white next door and it’s like we don’t exist to each other.

It isn’t just me – I know plenty of college girls find it easier to talk to non-Jewish guys than Jewish ones. “It’s because the yeshiva guys are not supposed to be talking to me,” was the way one friend explained it. Kind of weird when you think about it. Maybe backwards, and possibly misguided. But that’s how it is.

I’ve been trying to figure out why. Is it just habit to avoid socializing with penguins, or is it because we’re more likely to get too friendly since we have more in common than with, say, a Guyanese?

Frumgirl 4: It’s Good to be of Use…

Class hasn’t yet begun, so everyone is sitting around saying hello, making fun of each other, and generally socializing. In the midst of it all, a black guy in the row behind me give me a scrutinizing look, leans forward and asks, voice dropped very low, “Are you Jewish?”

“What?” I asked, startled.

“Are you – ” his voice drops another few decibels, “Jewish?”

“Oh, yeah,” I smile to put him at ease, since he seems to feel like he’s just done something terrible. “Why?”

“Do you know if that woman, whats-her-face, won the primaries?”

Momentary confusion: Hilary Clinton very definitely lost. Then I realized he must mean the Israeli primaries. Whats-her-face being Livni. “Yeah, she did.”

“Yes!” He gave a little victory punch. Conversation terminated. I’m sure there’s some significance to this that I’m missing (not follwoing Israeli politics as much as this guy does), but I don’t know what.

Frumgirl 1: Unconscious Innuendo

I don’t like posting about things that frummies do in non-orthodox environments to make themselves look incredibly silly and perpetuate stereotypes. Regardless of how much they may make me wish we were not affiliated with each other, I generally don’t make a big deal about it. This particular issue, however, I feel is worth writing about.

Frummies are sheltered. I get that. Frummies have different standards of normalcy. Non-frummies get that. There are, however, limits to what can be considered venial offenses. Some things just go too far.

Now, I publicly call myself a frummie, but one that grew up with movies, (sometimes a TV,) and a voracious appetite for all types of books. Despite my film-like “exposure,” to public media, I have yet to develop into what’s called a guttermind. That’s the word I use for people who think about intimate matters with such regularity so as search through completely innocent comments for hints of innuendo. Despite the darkroom effect of grad school, I have gone no further towards becoming one. Either I mysteriously upgraded from analog to digital image capturing somewhere along the line or Bais Yaakov highly eggagerated matters on yet another aspect of the “outside world.”

Bais Yaakovs would have their girls think that all males, and especially non-orthodox males, are gutterminds of the worst sort. This, folks, is not true. Yes, I am sure. Some guys are, I’m not denying that, but some are definitely not. And guttermindedness is not restricted to the males half of the specie, some females are even worse.

Growing up sheltered and being placed into the company of gutterminds for the first time might excuse the occaisional mildly gutterable comment. It is NOT a condonation to use unwittingly blatant innuendo, or for what actually goes on.

Which happens. It happens so often and to such a degree that I am forced to wonder if some of it might not be intentional. No, I guess it can’t be. People really are that clueless.

It is best demonstrated by example. I am cringing and turning red merely typing this, but if I don’t is impossible to understand what I mean. And the severity and prevalence of its occurrence.

A frum classmate of mine has a sore throat. She changed her facebook status to read that she wishes for something hot in her throat. Except she used more adjectives, and worded it slightly differently. It was not pretty.

She was wishing for a tea, or chicken soup if she could get it. I know she meant it completely innocently. Her phrasing was…unfortunate. There was, in fact, no way to avoid the innuendo. No guttermindedness needed.

It gets worse.

I see and hear an appalling amount of…dare I say it? Not entirely straight intimations.

Every single day.

Completely innocent, and yet so, so…

Here’s an example: “slept with” is a standard Americans euphemism for “had relations with.” Frummie girls do usually know this (thankfully,) and are carefull not to use it in reference to separate-room-literal-sleep with males. Still, I hear that particular combination of words all the time in reference to literal comatose shuteye in the vicinity of other females.

Combine it with the Frummie girl tendency to stand too close to one another and have more physical contact than the usual straight American friendly population. And then they say things like “I slept with her for a year, but we fought a lot so I moved out,” about seminary roommates while resting on another frummie girl’s lap.

Yes, it gets even worse.

I don’t care how sheltered you might be. Some things just don’t fly in public.

If Bais Yaakov girls are going out into the world so socially clueless, I hope the Frum educational administration knows it. I hope they know that there are non-gutterminded people out there who assume all frumgirls are lesbian because of it.

It bothers me exceedingly.

Frumgirl 1: Half-Holiday

One of the more difficult topics to dance around in a non-Jewish setting is Chol Hamoed.

It’s an eight day holiday, you tell them, so they ask how you’re going to manage missing eight days of school.

Oh, we’re only missing four, you reply, merely the first two and last two.

But they thought all Jewish holidays needed school-missing?

No, you explain, the eight day holidays like Passover and Succos have a break in the middle where you can do things, but it’s still a holiday.

And they look at you like you, personally, decided to instigate religious holidays deliberately to annoy them.

I’m not so happy about going to school on Chol Hamoed, in general, but I can’t miss a week’s worth of lecture, either. So I’ll avoid writing and feel guilty