Since I have become more lenient recently in my frumkeit, I felt it was high time to write a post on the circumstances that lead to my frying out.
As I have highlighted in previous posts ad nauseum, I grew up extremely modern. We kept everything, but I wore t-shirts and jeans, and attended Hebrew school several times a week in tandem to going through public school. We belonged to a Modern Orthodox shul, and whenever I went there (aka Shabbos and Yom Tovim), I felt the glory and splendour of Hashem in both the services and in the respect that people showed to being in shul (read: no kids running amok and total silence during davening). The net result was that while I felt free to be me, I also possessed a profoundly strong, warm, and emotional connection to Hashem.
I first went to a Litvish shteibel as a teenager. The experience was startling; everything struck me as severe and rather cold, from how people dressed to the matter-of-fact drone of the davening. It basically looked like people were simply going through the motions in order to do what was right, what was expected. Granted, when I went to the Rebbetzin during the week wearing pants, she never said a word. And when I helped her in the kitchen preparing the shteibel’s Kiddush every week, she would occasionally smile a broad smile that shocked me with its warmth. Yiddishkeit was suddenly a complex thing.
As a Yekki, I am never going to be the profoundly spiritual, hippie-dippie type. But that lack of *joy* that I felt when keeping Shabbos as per the Litivish shul created a lack, a void within me. In stark contrast to my personal connection to Hashem, which had hereto been a source of wonder and strength for me, the definition of what was proper as per the rebbeim left me cold and unfulfilled.
So by the time I got to university, you could describe my mindset as being that of "frumkeit is the right thing to do". I did not obtain greater fulfillment by attending the Modern Orthodox Machmir shul in my speck of Small Town Canada. Indeed, the general atmosphere at MOMS was of civil tolerance for deviance from their norm. I recall spending one seder where the hostess took me aside after the meal and gave me stockings (from Israel! It’s a mitzvah to support Eretz Yisroel!) so that I could wear a skirt next time. While well-intentioned and certainly understandable given my having worn dress pants to her house, let's be honest: frumkeit began to feel a bit oppressive. Too many negatives, not enough positives. All these machmir stuff was getting in the way of my love of Hashem.
And so, gradually, unexpectedly, I began to find my personal relationship with Hashem, in jeopardy. I consequently took the course of action that I felt would best preserve my relationship with Him- I ditched being frum. A most misguided decision it was.
Yet at least I remained consistent. When did I begin to return to frumkeit? After spending a good week or so truly doubting whether Hashem existed. That scared me straight, as they say, and I began actively seeking out ways to become more anchored community (I attended shul during my frydom, but sporadically). The rest is, of course, history.
So why am I sharing this with you now? Because of late, I have been feeling the same degree of discomfort against all the chumrahs and so forth that disillusioned me to the point of jumping overboard. So you will excuse me if, both now and in future posts, I dwell more on cultivating my relationship with Hashem in a way that is personally meaningful to me. Because I can guarantee you that saying Tehillim and all the other frummie frumstein avenues posited around these parts will fail to net the desired effect for yours truly.
And the alternative is not a road I wish to travel down a second time!
Showing posts with label Brooklyn Frumkeit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brooklyn Frumkeit. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Bring on the Ts!
Yesterday I had the pleasure of eating Shabbos lunch with a family whose acquaintance I made recently. They are a fave of mine already due to their refreshing take on Brooklyn frumkeit, i.e. we concur on the topic. :)
After lunch, the hostess and I retired to the couch in order to talk away the afternoon, as has become our custom. She then reminded me of a tznius point that I had long forgotten, due to my current surroundings.
Next year her daughter is entering a modern high school out-of-town. Her daughter is thrilled that she can now wear shirts to the elbow and show her collar bone. I then recalled how, when I was returning to frumkeit after my time off the derech, I had a conversation with a fellow shul-goer who was "notorious" in the community; she was an FFB, had been raised ultra-chassidish, and became modern as a result. She would, in fact, turn up at shul in short sleeves, and despite the shul being full of fry yiddin (who everyone knew wore shorts the rest of the week- men and women alike), people went tsk-tsk.
In short, yesterday's conversation triggered my recall that she once gave me a beautiful short-sleeve shirt and told me that there are different definitions of tznius. I had worn the short-sleeve shirt on a few occasions (it had a very conservative line and fell halfway to the elbow), but sensing the community's disapproval, I stopped wearing the offensive item. My biggest concern at that period in my life was the concept of tznius that one should blend in with the rest of the community, i.e. the point of tznius is to not stick out, whatever your surroundings. That is actually the same reason why, while I initially worn hats post-Marriage #1, I started wearing a sheitel when attending a Chabad shul.
Anyhow, my new friend reminded me that the minimum standards of tznius are as follows:
After lunch, the hostess and I retired to the couch in order to talk away the afternoon, as has become our custom. She then reminded me of a tznius point that I had long forgotten, due to my current surroundings.
Next year her daughter is entering a modern high school out-of-town. Her daughter is thrilled that she can now wear shirts to the elbow and show her collar bone. I then recalled how, when I was returning to frumkeit after my time off the derech, I had a conversation with a fellow shul-goer who was "notorious" in the community; she was an FFB, had been raised ultra-chassidish, and became modern as a result. She would, in fact, turn up at shul in short sleeves, and despite the shul being full of fry yiddin (who everyone knew wore shorts the rest of the week- men and women alike), people went tsk-tsk.
In short, yesterday's conversation triggered my recall that she once gave me a beautiful short-sleeve shirt and told me that there are different definitions of tznius. I had worn the short-sleeve shirt on a few occasions (it had a very conservative line and fell halfway to the elbow), but sensing the community's disapproval, I stopped wearing the offensive item. My biggest concern at that period in my life was the concept of tznius that one should blend in with the rest of the community, i.e. the point of tznius is to not stick out, whatever your surroundings. That is actually the same reason why, while I initially worn hats post-Marriage #1, I started wearing a sheitel when attending a Chabad shul.
Anyhow, my new friend reminded me that the minimum standards of tznius are as follows:
- Armpits must be fully covered at all times
- The top of knees must be covered when sitting down
- Closed shoes can be worn without stockings/socks
- Open toe shoes should be worn with at least an ankle sock, if not more.
I gave a very hearty mental cheer, let me tell you. Especially given the current heat wave.
To be fair, I was wearing stockings over Shabbos, because I had expected to visit an ultra-Yeshivish friend of mine, and I wanted to respect her standards. In short, I am not advocating rocking the boat and wearing something deliberately to rebel and make others uncomfortable. I would not, for example, go stocking-less to a Yeshivish school or Yeshivish host/hostess. That would be disrespectful and, in turn, completely inappropriate behaviour.
But having been reminded of a minimum that I can live with, I do not see why I need to hold to a more stringent standard when I go about my business. Shopping, visiting modern/open-minded friends, lounging at home, etc.- under such circumstances, I should be allowed to wear the minimum.
To put it differently, I will respect your standards when I am in your home. Therefore, please respect my standards when you encounter me on the street/in my realm.
Now, who wants to go with my to Conway to check out their collection of killer graphic Ts?
Monday, May 31, 2010
Hi Ho, Hi Ho...
I will admit it- I was quite resentful that I had to work Memorial Day. Granted, my mind told me that I was being unreasonable. If you factor in my getting all the chagim and Chol HaMoed off, then that more than compensates for my working all legal holidays.
Of course, understanding that I needed a mental adjustment didn't make it any easier to drag myself to work today; I was literally the only person I know who had to work the holiday. So there I sat, finding work to do and otherwise feeling sorry for myself as I got through a quiet phone day. I left promptly at 5:15, when the cleaning lady finally departed and I was able to lock up.
My attitude evaporated when I opened the door to my apartment post-6 PM. I would even go so far as to say that I practically fell on my knees in gratitude to Hashem for having sent me to work this morning. Turns out the Israeli family that lives behind my building was having a colossal birthday party. The noise level was, as is their custom,deafening.
Now let me tell you, it took a lot of energy to tolerate the vibrations/noise until things finally wound up at 10 PM. All I can say is, 4 hours of the experience was plenty; if I had been required to endure the tactile intrusion from the party's start (which I place at early-to mid- afternoon, given where they were in the BBQ when I arrived home), I would have probably resorted to filing a noise complaint. Because people, there is socialising/holding a party, and then there is having the noise from your get-together affect the ability of your neighbours to function.
So a hearty TODAH HASHEM for dispatching me to work this morning. You saved me, the Israelis and their guests, and Brooklyn's finest a whole lot of trouble! Say it with me, everyone: Gamze L'Tovah!
Of course, understanding that I needed a mental adjustment didn't make it any easier to drag myself to work today; I was literally the only person I know who had to work the holiday. So there I sat, finding work to do and otherwise feeling sorry for myself as I got through a quiet phone day. I left promptly at 5:15, when the cleaning lady finally departed and I was able to lock up.
My attitude evaporated when I opened the door to my apartment post-6 PM. I would even go so far as to say that I practically fell on my knees in gratitude to Hashem for having sent me to work this morning. Turns out the Israeli family that lives behind my building was having a colossal birthday party. The noise level was, as is their custom,deafening.
Now let me tell you, it took a lot of energy to tolerate the vibrations/noise until things finally wound up at 10 PM. All I can say is, 4 hours of the experience was plenty; if I had been required to endure the tactile intrusion from the party's start (which I place at early-to mid- afternoon, given where they were in the BBQ when I arrived home), I would have probably resorted to filing a noise complaint. Because people, there is socialising/holding a party, and then there is having the noise from your get-together affect the ability of your neighbours to function.
So a hearty TODAH HASHEM for dispatching me to work this morning. You saved me, the Israelis and their guests, and Brooklyn's finest a whole lot of trouble! Say it with me, everyone: Gamze L'Tovah!
Monday, April 26, 2010
Resumes and What Not
It would seem that more than on Rav at the yeshiva is involved with shidduchim. In fact, during his last stay in America, none other than the top poo-bah spent several hours of his (and my) time contacting one donor whose children are "in shidduchim".
One email that was involved in this mission included on those "resumes" that I had kept hearing about the last 4 years. A question that had always plagued me was, what type of resume could a 19 year-old have? What exactly were the contents of such a resume? Well folks, that there mystery was solved today.
It turns out that these all-important documents, which parents put together with much heartfelt anguish and concern, contains nothing more than:
But in the end, how much better do you really know the given person by having read this two-pager? So while I understand that the purpose of the document is supposedly to provide a summary of the "boy" or "girl" so that one can evaluate them for a potential match, I would have to weigh in by saying that unless more details of substance are added, one needn't lose too much sleep over their resume.
Because at the end of the day, they all read the same anyway. And isn't that the point? We wouldn't want our son or daughter to sound unique, after all! ;)
One email that was involved in this mission included on those "resumes" that I had kept hearing about the last 4 years. A question that had always plagued me was, what type of resume could a 19 year-old have? What exactly were the contents of such a resume? Well folks, that there mystery was solved today.
It turns out that these all-important documents, which parents put together with much heartfelt anguish and concern, contains nothing more than:
- a list that includes the names and ages of the shidduch's family members (mother, father, siblings),
- a description of the child's personality and core middot, and
- a few quotes from people who know the child describing him/her
But in the end, how much better do you really know the given person by having read this two-pager? So while I understand that the purpose of the document is supposedly to provide a summary of the "boy" or "girl" so that one can evaluate them for a potential match, I would have to weigh in by saying that unless more details of substance are added, one needn't lose too much sleep over their resume.
Because at the end of the day, they all read the same anyway. And isn't that the point? We wouldn't want our son or daughter to sound unique, after all! ;)
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Plugged In
Now that I'm working in a yeshivah, I feel like I'm plugged into the yeshivish community. More to the point, the community is suddenly incredibly accepting of me. Because whereas previously, when asked "What do you do?", people were befuddled by my response; they became perplexed because my unusual job prevented them from easily categorizing me.
Now, because people know the yeshivah and recognize my job title, they accept and remember me. Indeed, my first day back to work after Pesach, one of the Rebbeim mentioned that he had run into someone at mincha who had eaten a meal with me. Funny thing is, I don't remember eating with the person in question, but they remembered everything about me- name, workplace, place of origin. I guarantee you that such instant recognition was lacking in my pre-yeshivah employment period.
I understand that most people are only comfortable with what they know. Therefore, when faced with an unknown commodity, they try to find a connection to something familiar. That’s why, for example, people will ask you ultra-personal questions within seconds of meeting you (“Where are you from?”, “What do you do?”, “Where did you go to school?”, “Do you have kids?”, “Are you looking for a shidduch?”, etc.). I find these questions offensive, but I understand that they, having grown up within a very narrowly-delineated corridor, do not mean to be rude; rather, they are hoping to find a common meeting point, an opening into their world of experience.
Now, suddenly, I am perceived as run-of-the-mill. And the benefit to that is I am no longer asked impossibly rude questions.
It’s all good…
Now, because people know the yeshivah and recognize my job title, they accept and remember me. Indeed, my first day back to work after Pesach, one of the Rebbeim mentioned that he had run into someone at mincha who had eaten a meal with me. Funny thing is, I don't remember eating with the person in question, but they remembered everything about me- name, workplace, place of origin. I guarantee you that such instant recognition was lacking in my pre-yeshivah employment period.
I understand that most people are only comfortable with what they know. Therefore, when faced with an unknown commodity, they try to find a connection to something familiar. That’s why, for example, people will ask you ultra-personal questions within seconds of meeting you (“Where are you from?”, “What do you do?”, “Where did you go to school?”, “Do you have kids?”, “Are you looking for a shidduch?”, etc.). I find these questions offensive, but I understand that they, having grown up within a very narrowly-delineated corridor, do not mean to be rude; rather, they are hoping to find a common meeting point, an opening into their world of experience.
Now, suddenly, I am perceived as run-of-the-mill. And the benefit to that is I am no longer asked impossibly rude questions.
It’s all good…
Monday, April 19, 2010
No Slits! Bare Calves!
Since my recent move, I found myself making the acquaintance of several new families, B'H'. And while I certainly love ad infinitum my existing roster of friends, I have been feeling the need to be more sociable and expand my social network. You know- become known in my new neighbourhood.
So there I found myself the last days of Pesach at yet another new family and was being my usual chatterbox self. In attendance was a large family, all 3 generations of them. I was busy playing Jewish Geography with the grandmother ("Do you know so-and-so from X community?"), who was attired like a real Bubbe: calf-length skirt and matching grandmotherly blazer, tights, and orthopedic shoes. In the midst of our tossing names/places around, I mentioned that when I lived down south, the communities were very open/accepting. Case in point, one Young Israel had a yeshivish Rav, yet the women in his congregation could come with a sunhat and short-sleeves and nobody would blink or comment. I said that such openness wouldn’t fly in Brooklyn.
When the topic ventured into the territory of skirt slits, things got particularly interesting. I noted that I had never understood why, if I had sewn up the slit on a skirt so that the slit is far below the knee, i.e., a few inches from the ankle, the slit was still deemed unacceptable. The Bubbe then crinkled her face into that "I'll be nice and educate you, poor thing" expression. She proceeded to tell me that once, at a shiur, the Rebbetzin had explained that it was because of how the fabric moved (when the skirt features a slit). When she said "moved", the Bubbe gestured with her hands to drive home the point as she gave me a meaningful look.
Did I mention that the long skirt I was wearing had a slit in it? :p
I must admit that it took every ounce of effort in my being to keep from erupting in convulsions of laughter. And then, to add to the carnival, the hostess concurred by proclaiming for all to hear that nobody thinks slits are okay. I think I deserve an award for maintaining decorum under such circumstances. But as a Yekki, when you're a guest in someone's home, the only acceptable reaction to anything is respect and politeness. I am proud that I stayed true to my Yekkish upbringing.
On an ending note, a second tale from the last days. I went to my long-time friend's house, and she was livid. Turns out she had spent the morning running around trying to hear 1. Yizkor, 2. Bircat HaKohanim. During her shul hopping, she wound up at one place where there is a small hallway when you enter the women's entrance with two doors; each door leads to a different shul. The one shul is ultra yeshivish, while the second is modern. Guess which shul she wound up in? Meanwhile, she was steaming mad because when she made it to the yeshivish shul after going to the modern one, the Rav was busy talking about tznius. Her point? That he should lecture to the ladies in the shul across the hall; my friend found it, quote, disgusting that women could go to shul without their legs covered. I was pleased that her daughter reminded her that "that is the type of shul it is", i.e. modern. If you don't like it, don't go there!
And that basically sums up my view of both stories. There are numerous flavours of frumkeit, some more lenient than others. Hold where you want to hold, but do not slam others for holding differently. If you disgree, then think for a moment about how the Beit HaMigdash includes 13 doors? We're a rainbow, y'all, not a shoebox. Let's all act accordingly with achdus and acceptance, and maybe we'll merit to see Moshiach. Today.
So there I found myself the last days of Pesach at yet another new family and was being my usual chatterbox self. In attendance was a large family, all 3 generations of them. I was busy playing Jewish Geography with the grandmother ("Do you know so-and-so from X community?"), who was attired like a real Bubbe: calf-length skirt and matching grandmotherly blazer, tights, and orthopedic shoes. In the midst of our tossing names/places around, I mentioned that when I lived down south, the communities were very open/accepting. Case in point, one Young Israel had a yeshivish Rav, yet the women in his congregation could come with a sunhat and short-sleeves and nobody would blink or comment. I said that such openness wouldn’t fly in Brooklyn.
When the topic ventured into the territory of skirt slits, things got particularly interesting. I noted that I had never understood why, if I had sewn up the slit on a skirt so that the slit is far below the knee, i.e., a few inches from the ankle, the slit was still deemed unacceptable. The Bubbe then crinkled her face into that "I'll be nice and educate you, poor thing" expression. She proceeded to tell me that once, at a shiur, the Rebbetzin had explained that it was because of how the fabric moved (when the skirt features a slit). When she said "moved", the Bubbe gestured with her hands to drive home the point as she gave me a meaningful look.
Did I mention that the long skirt I was wearing had a slit in it? :p
I must admit that it took every ounce of effort in my being to keep from erupting in convulsions of laughter. And then, to add to the carnival, the hostess concurred by proclaiming for all to hear that nobody thinks slits are okay. I think I deserve an award for maintaining decorum under such circumstances. But as a Yekki, when you're a guest in someone's home, the only acceptable reaction to anything is respect and politeness. I am proud that I stayed true to my Yekkish upbringing.
On an ending note, a second tale from the last days. I went to my long-time friend's house, and she was livid. Turns out she had spent the morning running around trying to hear 1. Yizkor, 2. Bircat HaKohanim. During her shul hopping, she wound up at one place where there is a small hallway when you enter the women's entrance with two doors; each door leads to a different shul. The one shul is ultra yeshivish, while the second is modern. Guess which shul she wound up in? Meanwhile, she was steaming mad because when she made it to the yeshivish shul after going to the modern one, the Rav was busy talking about tznius. Her point? That he should lecture to the ladies in the shul across the hall; my friend found it, quote, disgusting that women could go to shul without their legs covered. I was pleased that her daughter reminded her that "that is the type of shul it is", i.e. modern. If you don't like it, don't go there!
And that basically sums up my view of both stories. There are numerous flavours of frumkeit, some more lenient than others. Hold where you want to hold, but do not slam others for holding differently. If you disgree, then think for a moment about how the Beit HaMigdash includes 13 doors? We're a rainbow, y'all, not a shoebox. Let's all act accordingly with achdus and acceptance, and maybe we'll merit to see Moshiach. Today.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Ankle Socks (And Less)
Growing up, as I've mentioned previously, I was modern: I went to public school, wore pants, and spoke to guys. Not that I wasn't frum, mind you. I just wasn't *extremely* frum.
Over Pesach I was at a friend's house when a mutual friend showed up with her kids for some playtime. The said mutual friend was sporting sneakers, ankle socks, and zeh hu. Did that even remotely register with me? Only for me to think that I appreciated her dress code.
I'll save two other tznius stories from Pesach for a separate post, but suffice it to say that I loathe the Brooklyn attitude that if you aren't frum within the narrow confines of what is Yeshivish Brooklyn frumkeit, you're doing something *wrong*. That's a tad sanctimonious, no? Why must everyone fall within a tiny little box? And why is ultra-Yeshivish the only form of yiddishkeit deemed acceptable?
In fact, since I saw Ms. Ankle Socks sporting her bare legs, I must admit the temptation to follow suit. If everyone finds my dress code questionable (COLOUR? ANTI-SACK-OF-POTATOES? HORROR!!!), despite my wardrobe being 100% kosher al pi halacha, I do have a hankering to push the envelope. I'm not going to dress Bais Yaacov-y ever, so everyone else can just start looking the other way, as far as I'm concerned. Ban the "bump", I say. Heck, ban the snood outside the house, while you're at it...
So I'm requesting comments from you all about what you feel the minimum standard of tznius is. How much of the knee must be covered sitting/standing? How much to/past the elbow must the sleeve go? How much hair must be covered after marriage? And, perhaps my personal favourite, where do you hold on the stocking/tights issue? In short, what could a woman be wearing before you start tsk-tsking (not that you should, of course)?
Fire away, people!
Over Pesach I was at a friend's house when a mutual friend showed up with her kids for some playtime. The said mutual friend was sporting sneakers, ankle socks, and zeh hu. Did that even remotely register with me? Only for me to think that I appreciated her dress code.
I'll save two other tznius stories from Pesach for a separate post, but suffice it to say that I loathe the Brooklyn attitude that if you aren't frum within the narrow confines of what is Yeshivish Brooklyn frumkeit, you're doing something *wrong*. That's a tad sanctimonious, no? Why must everyone fall within a tiny little box? And why is ultra-Yeshivish the only form of yiddishkeit deemed acceptable?
In fact, since I saw Ms. Ankle Socks sporting her bare legs, I must admit the temptation to follow suit. If everyone finds my dress code questionable (COLOUR? ANTI-SACK-OF-POTATOES? HORROR!!!), despite my wardrobe being 100% kosher al pi halacha, I do have a hankering to push the envelope. I'm not going to dress Bais Yaacov-y ever, so everyone else can just start looking the other way, as far as I'm concerned. Ban the "bump", I say. Heck, ban the snood outside the house, while you're at it...
So I'm requesting comments from you all about what you feel the minimum standard of tznius is. How much of the knee must be covered sitting/standing? How much to/past the elbow must the sleeve go? How much hair must be covered after marriage? And, perhaps my personal favourite, where do you hold on the stocking/tights issue? In short, what could a woman be wearing before you start tsk-tsking (not that you should, of course)?
Fire away, people!
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Crossroads?
The past several weeks, I've been chomping at the bit to leave New York. Let's be blunt: I'm just plain not cut out for New York, and not in the way I would've expected. The brief version of the story is that my move to New York hasn't been particularly fruitful to date. Sure, I found work and got remarried. We all know how those endeavours worked out. And as I ponder the dating pool (i.e. quantity over quality, with most over-40 men wanting the "Brooklyn experience), my lack of work, and my overall personality, I couldn't see any benefit to staying in New York. And I mean not one.
But then last night I went to a birthday party. It wasn't anything special, just me and about a minyan of other ladies coming together for dinner to celebrate our mutual friend's birthday. And I had a blast. Every last one of those ladies has a story (or several) and is so chilled about their frumkeit that I finally felt like I was in sympathetic company. Now that's not to say that my friends to date haven't been fabulous. They definitely have. The difference lay in the face that save 2 ladies who are from Brooklyn, all of us were from out-of-town and either divorced or on the path to it. So I had people who could really identify with my "out-of-town" mindset, as well as where I happen to be in my life right now. It was quite liberating.
More to the point, I saw how all of these women were walking the line between being frum and living their lives. Unlike many people that I've met in Brooklyn, all of these women were trying to negotiate a life in Yeshivish Brooklyn when they are, in fact, more modern. Quite modern. And I appreciate that as well.
When I returned from the party lat night, I felt better than I had in ages. More to the point, I slept better than I had in months. So when I woke up this morning, I realised a few things.
First, that while I'm so over the prospective dating pool in New York (been there, done that- twice), there is a silver lining to the situation, namely that I can meet a lot of divorced/single women such as myself. Kindred spirits, if you will. Second, that what has been lacking from my life since I moved to New York, for various reasons, is having fun. Forget trying to cram myself into the Yeshivish box. That just not me. I need to go, live my life, have fun, and remain frum while doing so. That's it. Because after all, the only thing my being modern affects at this point is shidduchim, and even there, it's a good thing; I don't want to go get married to another Yeshivish person. That doesn't interest me in the slightest. So, since I don't have children, why limit myself to an existence in a tiny, constrained box for no reason? I mean, I was sitting next to a woman who's shirt keep falling down, and nobody felt the need to point out that we could see her bra. Because we were all fine with it. Say what you will, but my life definitely needs an infusion of that attitude.
I guess what I'm saying is, I may stick around New York for a while and give living my life like I did pre-New York a try. Live my life like I've always lived my life but here in New York. In any event, in the next while, I'm going to have make my decision. And as you all know already, while I'm not necessarily the quickest decision-maker (I like to devote adequate time to weighing all the pros and cons), once I do make a decision, I tend to stick with it. Within reason. :)
Yup, things are finally about to get interesting around here in a good way. Boo-yaaaaaaaaa! ;)
But then last night I went to a birthday party. It wasn't anything special, just me and about a minyan of other ladies coming together for dinner to celebrate our mutual friend's birthday. And I had a blast. Every last one of those ladies has a story (or several) and is so chilled about their frumkeit that I finally felt like I was in sympathetic company. Now that's not to say that my friends to date haven't been fabulous. They definitely have. The difference lay in the face that save 2 ladies who are from Brooklyn, all of us were from out-of-town and either divorced or on the path to it. So I had people who could really identify with my "out-of-town" mindset, as well as where I happen to be in my life right now. It was quite liberating.
More to the point, I saw how all of these women were walking the line between being frum and living their lives. Unlike many people that I've met in Brooklyn, all of these women were trying to negotiate a life in Yeshivish Brooklyn when they are, in fact, more modern. Quite modern. And I appreciate that as well.
When I returned from the party lat night, I felt better than I had in ages. More to the point, I slept better than I had in months. So when I woke up this morning, I realised a few things.
First, that while I'm so over the prospective dating pool in New York (been there, done that- twice), there is a silver lining to the situation, namely that I can meet a lot of divorced/single women such as myself. Kindred spirits, if you will. Second, that what has been lacking from my life since I moved to New York, for various reasons, is having fun. Forget trying to cram myself into the Yeshivish box. That just not me. I need to go, live my life, have fun, and remain frum while doing so. That's it. Because after all, the only thing my being modern affects at this point is shidduchim, and even there, it's a good thing; I don't want to go get married to another Yeshivish person. That doesn't interest me in the slightest. So, since I don't have children, why limit myself to an existence in a tiny, constrained box for no reason? I mean, I was sitting next to a woman who's shirt keep falling down, and nobody felt the need to point out that we could see her bra. Because we were all fine with it. Say what you will, but my life definitely needs an infusion of that attitude.
I guess what I'm saying is, I may stick around New York for a while and give living my life like I did pre-New York a try. Live my life like I've always lived my life but here in New York. In any event, in the next while, I'm going to have make my decision. And as you all know already, while I'm not necessarily the quickest decision-maker (I like to devote adequate time to weighing all the pros and cons), once I do make a decision, I tend to stick with it. Within reason. :)
Yup, things are finally about to get interesting around here in a good way. Boo-yaaaaaaaaa! ;)
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Fled the Country
Last Thursday morning, I heard a knock on my door. It was someone looking for my landlord. Since I didn't know who it was, and I don't like making problems for people, I told the gentleman that my landlord didn't live in the building anymore. When he asked how long ago my landlord left, I decided that being vague was the best route to take. After all, how am I to know who this guy was? So I told him that my landlord had left in the summer and left it at that.
Then this layl Shabbos, I come home to find a 20 page Summons addressed to my landlord et al taped to the wall. The Summons was against not only my landlord, but all his known business associates. I suppose that solved the mystery of why my landlord basically moved in the middle of the night to Israel. More to the point, it explains why he decided not to provide a forwarding address to the Post Office. He continues to have all his mail sent to his old mailbox downstairs, with his father coming by every few weeks to collect it.
As I was coming home motzei Shabbos, my downstairs neighbour was exiting the building carrying the Summons. She said that she wanted to see what the papers said, because (surprise) both she and Basement Lady have been paying rent by depositing money directly into the landlord's bank account. She wanted to see what she might be implicated in. By the next morning, the Summons was taped back on the wall for all to see.
Just when I thought things were "quieting" down around here (she types as Downstairs Boy continues to give a full-blown concert from his bedroom.). If ever there was Big Sigh moment, this could well be it...
Then this layl Shabbos, I come home to find a 20 page Summons addressed to my landlord et al taped to the wall. The Summons was against not only my landlord, but all his known business associates. I suppose that solved the mystery of why my landlord basically moved in the middle of the night to Israel. More to the point, it explains why he decided not to provide a forwarding address to the Post Office. He continues to have all his mail sent to his old mailbox downstairs, with his father coming by every few weeks to collect it.
As I was coming home motzei Shabbos, my downstairs neighbour was exiting the building carrying the Summons. She said that she wanted to see what the papers said, because (surprise) both she and Basement Lady have been paying rent by depositing money directly into the landlord's bank account. She wanted to see what she might be implicated in. By the next morning, the Summons was taped back on the wall for all to see.
Just when I thought things were "quieting" down around here (she types as Downstairs Boy continues to give a full-blown concert from his bedroom.). If ever there was Big Sigh moment, this could well be it...
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Neighbour, Neighbour
I was vacuuming my floors yesterday afternoon when there was knock on my door. It was my downstairs neighbour.
She started off by the conversation by saying "That's why I would never knock (referring to my pre-Rosh Hashanah policy of tapping on the floor when her son was making a racket). This is making a lot of noise; my ceiling is shaking". Interestingly enough, she seemed a bit taken aback by the fact that the noise was caused by a vacuum. So I decided it was an opportune time to educate her about the nature of the building.
I told her also that I tried very hard to be quiet. My point was that I try to be considerate of the fact that what I do may affect them, i.e. I try to be a decent neighbour. But I think she didn't catch that, since she responded that I needn't refrain from doing anything because they're loud.
I think she did take away though how 1. her son's bedroom is below mine, and 2. the floors/walls are paper thin. In short, we live on top of each other, with no privacy. What I found interesting about the "exchange" was that the offense that I committed, in her opinion, was that my knocking was causing her son to feel like he couldn't do whatever he wanted. While I chalked it up to cultural differences, I couldn't help but think "But he can't do whatever he wants. He's a young boy. And he needs structure in his life!".
Anyhow, the incident weighted upon me, as it seemed to me that obviously, despite my lack of knocking since Rosh Hashana, there was lingering resentment on their part. So I figured that the right response was for me to go downstairs and try to clear the air one more time. My first attempt to speak to them en route to shul was unsuccessful - the wife was sleeping. I decided that I would leave shul early to try to speak with her again before heading over to friends for lunch. After all, peace takes precedence over everything, right? B'H', my second attempt was successful: as I came down the stairs, the husband was collecting the mail, and informed me that his wife was up. So ran over to their door and knocked. His wife opened the door, and was thrilled that I had come by. She said that she didn't have anything negative in her heart when she had come by the morning before, and while I wasn't 100% convinced of that had been true at the time, I did think that my coming by rendered that true retroactively.
It was a nice ending to the saga. And, now that we're formally introduced and the air has cleared, I'm hoping that for the duration of our time as neighbours, we'll be able to remain neighbourly and keep the peace, bli ayin hara. :)
She started off by the conversation by saying "That's why I would never knock (referring to my pre-Rosh Hashanah policy of tapping on the floor when her son was making a racket). This is making a lot of noise; my ceiling is shaking". Interestingly enough, she seemed a bit taken aback by the fact that the noise was caused by a vacuum. So I decided it was an opportune time to educate her about the nature of the building.
I told her also that I tried very hard to be quiet. My point was that I try to be considerate of the fact that what I do may affect them, i.e. I try to be a decent neighbour. But I think she didn't catch that, since she responded that I needn't refrain from doing anything because they're loud.
I think she did take away though how 1. her son's bedroom is below mine, and 2. the floors/walls are paper thin. In short, we live on top of each other, with no privacy. What I found interesting about the "exchange" was that the offense that I committed, in her opinion, was that my knocking was causing her son to feel like he couldn't do whatever he wanted. While I chalked it up to cultural differences, I couldn't help but think "But he can't do whatever he wants. He's a young boy. And he needs structure in his life!".
Anyhow, the incident weighted upon me, as it seemed to me that obviously, despite my lack of knocking since Rosh Hashana, there was lingering resentment on their part. So I figured that the right response was for me to go downstairs and try to clear the air one more time. My first attempt to speak to them en route to shul was unsuccessful - the wife was sleeping. I decided that I would leave shul early to try to speak with her again before heading over to friends for lunch. After all, peace takes precedence over everything, right? B'H', my second attempt was successful: as I came down the stairs, the husband was collecting the mail, and informed me that his wife was up. So ran over to their door and knocked. His wife opened the door, and was thrilled that I had come by. She said that she didn't have anything negative in her heart when she had come by the morning before, and while I wasn't 100% convinced of that had been true at the time, I did think that my coming by rendered that true retroactively.
It was a nice ending to the saga. And, now that we're formally introduced and the air has cleared, I'm hoping that for the duration of our time as neighbours, we'll be able to remain neighbourly and keep the peace, bli ayin hara. :)
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty...
This afternoon, surprised that it was the allotted hour and the playgroup/pre-school wasn't yet outside (ok, I'll admit it- I was hopeful), I took a look-sey out the window.
You'll recall that the invasion of the playgroup in June caused the resident outdoor cats to set up shop elsewhere. Imagine my amusement when I peered out just now and saw a Big Cat sitting smack dab in the middle of the foam mat. Perhaps the cooler weather has been causing the cat to seek shelter in the playgroup's slide/cars; kitty cat looked pretty at home.
I didn't have long to wait. I was clear in the kitchen, which is basically the farthest room from the backyard save the lavatory, when the petrified shrieks met my ears. Boy, do I wish I could've videoed that encounter. I wonder how Mr. Big Cat responded?
Anyhow, what with the change in weather, I'm thinking more of these episodes may be forthcoming. I wonder who will give in first? My money's on Big Cat for now. :)
You'll recall that the invasion of the playgroup in June caused the resident outdoor cats to set up shop elsewhere. Imagine my amusement when I peered out just now and saw a Big Cat sitting smack dab in the middle of the foam mat. Perhaps the cooler weather has been causing the cat to seek shelter in the playgroup's slide/cars; kitty cat looked pretty at home.
Then it occurred to me what was about to ensue: how would the kinder, Flatbush natives all and most probably scared of animals as a result, react to Big Cat when they exited the house for their play hour?
I didn't have long to wait. I was clear in the kitchen, which is basically the farthest room from the backyard save the lavatory, when the petrified shrieks met my ears. Boy, do I wish I could've videoed that encounter. I wonder how Mr. Big Cat responded?
Anyhow, what with the change in weather, I'm thinking more of these episodes may be forthcoming. I wonder who will give in first? My money's on Big Cat for now. :)
Monday, October 12, 2009
The Beat Goes On...
Over Yom Tov, while I was kept up way late by Downstairs Boy (i.e., 1:30 AM and 3 AM, respectively), Front Neighbour and her crew seemed to have vacated the premises for the last days. Phew.
Then, as I was walking down the block Shabbos, I saw Block Yenta. She informed me that our landlord had told FN that either she shapes up or ships out. BY seemed to be of the impression that the current vacancy was permanent. However, as I tend to suspend belief where gossip is concerned, I didn't really give the situation too much thought. Sure, the thought of being spared at least one set of crazy, loud neighbours (who smoke excessively to boot) was pleasant. I just didn't believe that my mazel was on the upswing. :)
Sure enough, tonight around 9:30 post-chag, I hear the oh-so familiar sound of the front door opening, followed by thundering footsteps up the stairs and the next apartment door opening then slamming shut. From the voice that I overheard, I could tell that it was Front Door Israeli Guy, aka He Who Told Me To Keep The Front Door Open last Shabbos. Within seconds, they turned on their water full blast- an event announced by a screeching noise that reaches my ears from the very farthest point in the house. As for what the immediate running water was for, that's any one's guess and none of my business. :) What was my business, however, was my hand washing that was waiting for me in the tub. After the allotted hour soaking time was up, I went to rinse out my things.
That hour happened to elapse about 10 minutes after the said screeching noise commenced.
Now, perhaps I need to pause here and mention that in Canada, we're taught to conserve water. Specifically, we're taught to turn off the water at intervals. For example, when soaping up your dishes, don't leave the water running; turn off the water and then turn it back on when ready to rinse. I practise this conservationist etiquette pretty much exclusively. So I went to rinse out my hand washing, and did my usual routine of running the cold water for 10 seconds, turning it off for a minute or so, then turning the water back on.
It's also worth mentioning that one of the nice features of my building (perhaps the only one at this point, lol), is that when you run the water in your unit, it does not affect the water pressure or temperature in other units. Indeed, I have often been in the shower when FN et al turns on the water full-blast, and I have B'H' suffered no ill effects.
Imagine my horror when FDIG starts banging on my bathroom wall so hard that my shower head (which is an old-school pipe running into the wall) starts to shake. He repeats the pounding, even after I have turned off the water and am simply swishing around my stuff in the basin. I resisted the urge to turn the hot water on full-blast though. It would've served him right.
In short, I was appalled by his behaviour, and given that such is the normal state of things, am planning to have a conversation with my landlord once he is back next week. After all, if this dude isn't a paying tenant... Hopefully the said conversation will remind him that as a guest in the building, some common courtesy is in order. And if he can't manage to be civil (as demonstrated by his behaviour to date), then perhaps he should simply not be allowed on the premises.
At least, here's hoping so! Until I move, natch.
Then, as I was walking down the block Shabbos, I saw Block Yenta. She informed me that our landlord had told FN that either she shapes up or ships out. BY seemed to be of the impression that the current vacancy was permanent. However, as I tend to suspend belief where gossip is concerned, I didn't really give the situation too much thought. Sure, the thought of being spared at least one set of crazy, loud neighbours (who smoke excessively to boot) was pleasant. I just didn't believe that my mazel was on the upswing. :)
Sure enough, tonight around 9:30 post-chag, I hear the oh-so familiar sound of the front door opening, followed by thundering footsteps up the stairs and the next apartment door opening then slamming shut. From the voice that I overheard, I could tell that it was Front Door Israeli Guy, aka He Who Told Me To Keep The Front Door Open last Shabbos. Within seconds, they turned on their water full blast- an event announced by a screeching noise that reaches my ears from the very farthest point in the house. As for what the immediate running water was for, that's any one's guess and none of my business. :) What was my business, however, was my hand washing that was waiting for me in the tub. After the allotted hour soaking time was up, I went to rinse out my things.
That hour happened to elapse about 10 minutes after the said screeching noise commenced.
Now, perhaps I need to pause here and mention that in Canada, we're taught to conserve water. Specifically, we're taught to turn off the water at intervals. For example, when soaping up your dishes, don't leave the water running; turn off the water and then turn it back on when ready to rinse. I practise this conservationist etiquette pretty much exclusively. So I went to rinse out my hand washing, and did my usual routine of running the cold water for 10 seconds, turning it off for a minute or so, then turning the water back on.
It's also worth mentioning that one of the nice features of my building (perhaps the only one at this point, lol), is that when you run the water in your unit, it does not affect the water pressure or temperature in other units. Indeed, I have often been in the shower when FN et al turns on the water full-blast, and I have B'H' suffered no ill effects.
Imagine my horror when FDIG starts banging on my bathroom wall so hard that my shower head (which is an old-school pipe running into the wall) starts to shake. He repeats the pounding, even after I have turned off the water and am simply swishing around my stuff in the basin. I resisted the urge to turn the hot water on full-blast though. It would've served him right.
In short, I was appalled by his behaviour, and given that such is the normal state of things, am planning to have a conversation with my landlord once he is back next week. After all, if this dude isn't a paying tenant... Hopefully the said conversation will remind him that as a guest in the building, some common courtesy is in order. And if he can't manage to be civil (as demonstrated by his behaviour to date), then perhaps he should simply not be allowed on the premises.
At least, here's hoping so! Until I move, natch.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Just a Thursday in Brooklyn
Today was an interesting day, Brooklyn-wise.
In the morning, my davening was tested by a motorist who decided he would lean on his horn- for full 2 minutes. Like, HELLO, this is a mixed-zone neighbourhood. Some of us actually live here, and are trying to conduct our lives in peace. As for the rest of the yahoos who conducted the routine honking, I've said enough on them for a lifetime, so I'll leave well enough alone.
This afternoon I ventured off making deliveries: cookies and candy to those I'm visiting on Shabbos, my remaining stash of ginger almond cookies to my friend S (who loves ginger cookies), and my cheque to the Rav as per the gabbai's plea on R'H'. When I made my deliveries, none of the recipients were home. Yet as I made my way about the neighbourhood, I happened to see my host for Fri night, my friend S picking up her kids at the school bus drop-off, and the Rav's wife doing some shopping. I even ran into a friend of my coming home from Avenue J. It really was the first time ever that I felt like I was part of the neighbourhood. I have to admit: it was a nice feeling.
The evening was slightly less warm and fuzzy. I made the moronic decision to scoot into Moisha's to procure some Starlight Mints (since I had just given away my Organic Lollies in my care packages). The entrance aisle was barred by a woman who was reviewing the babka so carefully that she oblivious to the fact that her cart was preventing more than 10 patrons from moving.
This woman was the definition of chutzpah, and not the Brooklyn kind (I'll refrain from identifying her nationality). Figuring that everyone had carts except me, I crammed myself between her cart and the next patrons to get her attention, and asked her if she could please move so that the patron coming from the opposite direction could pass, thereby clearing the aisle for the remaining patrons who were waiting. Her response was sadly predictable. She told me that I could wait a minute. I politely pointed out that several people were waiting to pass, and that's when she unleashed the litany.
Are the Yom Tovim over yet? Because brother, the law of the land here is sure wearing me out!
In the morning, my davening was tested by a motorist who decided he would lean on his horn- for full 2 minutes. Like, HELLO, this is a mixed-zone neighbourhood. Some of us actually live here, and are trying to conduct our lives in peace. As for the rest of the yahoos who conducted the routine honking, I've said enough on them for a lifetime, so I'll leave well enough alone.
This afternoon I ventured off making deliveries: cookies and candy to those I'm visiting on Shabbos, my remaining stash of ginger almond cookies to my friend S (who loves ginger cookies), and my cheque to the Rav as per the gabbai's plea on R'H'. When I made my deliveries, none of the recipients were home. Yet as I made my way about the neighbourhood, I happened to see my host for Fri night, my friend S picking up her kids at the school bus drop-off, and the Rav's wife doing some shopping. I even ran into a friend of my coming home from Avenue J. It really was the first time ever that I felt like I was part of the neighbourhood. I have to admit: it was a nice feeling.
The evening was slightly less warm and fuzzy. I made the moronic decision to scoot into Moisha's to procure some Starlight Mints (since I had just given away my Organic Lollies in my care packages). The entrance aisle was barred by a woman who was reviewing the babka so carefully that she oblivious to the fact that her cart was preventing more than 10 patrons from moving.
This woman was the definition of chutzpah, and not the Brooklyn kind (I'll refrain from identifying her nationality). Figuring that everyone had carts except me, I crammed myself between her cart and the next patrons to get her attention, and asked her if she could please move so that the patron coming from the opposite direction could pass, thereby clearing the aisle for the remaining patrons who were waiting. Her response was sadly predictable. She told me that I could wait a minute. I politely pointed out that several people were waiting to pass, and that's when she unleashed the litany.
Are the Yom Tovim over yet? Because brother, the law of the land here is sure wearing me out!
Thursday, September 10, 2009
A Tree Falls in Brooklyn
Since the playgroup has morphed into a school as of Tuesday, I decided yesterday to have a conversation with Basement Lady. Basically, I asked her to provide me a time frame for when the children would be outside; I figure this way we all have a schedule and can amicably work around each other. She told me a one-hour slot, and although the time was probably the worst hour of the entire workday for me, I decided that for the time being, it would have to do. After all, if it wound up being a problem, we would just have to converse a bit further, right?
However today, the hour wound up being an hour and a half. And while I understand that with children you can't be exact, it was too much already. To come out 15 minutes before the agreed-upon time? Fine. To extend past the allotted cut off point? Not cool. So I had no recourse but to take the loathed route, and call down to get her attention.
In typical Flatbush fashion, the assistant made out like I was from Mars by responding with the anticipated "But they're children". To which I mentioned that we're all trying to make some parnassah here- at which point Basement Lady conveniently became available and took over the conversation. Yet she also seems to speak Brooklynese also, because our conversation consisted of her repeating that she had given me a time, and me trying to point out (without actually saying the words in an effort to remain civil) that the time frame had been over for a nice while already. Much to my relief, she wound up taking the children in shortly thereafter, and I was able to proceed with job hunting calls I had been waiting to make.
While I know that the whole situation is pointless and I really need to just move already, I still felt lousy about the "incident", because who wants to be on bad terms with another yid, especially in Elul? Sure, I'm fed up with being accommodating, especially when she seems to unwittingly take advantage of it. I just wish I didn't have to come across as the Nasty Upstairs Lady.
I suppose I'll have to simply suck it up for the time being, and hope that I can find work outside the house. Until I can eventually move, of course.
However today, the hour wound up being an hour and a half. And while I understand that with children you can't be exact, it was too much already. To come out 15 minutes before the agreed-upon time? Fine. To extend past the allotted cut off point? Not cool. So I had no recourse but to take the loathed route, and call down to get her attention.
In typical Flatbush fashion, the assistant made out like I was from Mars by responding with the anticipated "But they're children". To which I mentioned that we're all trying to make some parnassah here- at which point Basement Lady conveniently became available and took over the conversation. Yet she also seems to speak Brooklynese also, because our conversation consisted of her repeating that she had given me a time, and me trying to point out (without actually saying the words in an effort to remain civil) that the time frame had been over for a nice while already. Much to my relief, she wound up taking the children in shortly thereafter, and I was able to proceed with job hunting calls I had been waiting to make.
While I know that the whole situation is pointless and I really need to just move already, I still felt lousy about the "incident", because who wants to be on bad terms with another yid, especially in Elul? Sure, I'm fed up with being accommodating, especially when she seems to unwittingly take advantage of it. I just wish I didn't have to come across as the Nasty Upstairs Lady.
I suppose I'll have to simply suck it up for the time being, and hope that I can find work outside the house. Until I can eventually move, of course.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Random Thoughts
A few thoughts that have been rolling around in the old noggin this week, courtesy of the influx of people returning after the summer.
- Honking: Why, if they see that the roadway is completely blocked so that no cars can negotiate moving, do drivers insist on leaning on the horn? How about a smidgen of patience people? Since last Thursday, the symphony of honking has been a non-stop, all-day/night affair. Give it a rest already!
- Staring: What's with the open-mouthed stare anyway? I was wearing white this past Sunday, and two teenagers gave me the Brooklyn double-take, complete with the over-the-shoulder look. Since when is white assur? I decided to let the Satan win for the moment, and catching their eye over-the-shoulder as well, gave a loud "RUDE!". Seriously...
- Schooling: What's with the half-day on the first day of school? Is the only reason because the teachers need the afternoon to try to garner their outstanding pay from last year? And by the way, school is now officially what the playgroup downstairs is being called. Because yes folks, it is now a year-long affair!
I think it's time I have another peanut butter brownie, eh? Maybe with a little swig of something stronger than tea to take the edge of my nerves. :p For everyone's sake.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Can't I Just Be Frum?
I heard recently that one of the latest questions that shadchanim ask a girl is whether she sleeps in a nightgown or pyjamas. Supposedly nowadays, as opposed to when I was growing up, the thought is that pyjamas are actually more tznius- despite consisting of pants. Perhaps they mean does the girl wear pyjama bottoms under the nightgown? All I know is my Mom had me sleeping in a nightgown at a pretty young age. And duh I wore something in addition to the nightgown, albeit not pyjama bottoms. So does that make me less tznius?
Which brings me to the point of this post. There I was yesterday, enjoying a little impromptu shopping in NWL, trying to decide whether I am now supposed to be buying PJs instead of nightgowns or in addition to nightgowns. And that's when I reached my limit. Why on earth should I be wasting mental energy trying to decide if nightgowns are now assur? WHO CARES?
It would appear though that Brooklyn cares. A lot. So here comes my question of the hour:
Why can't I just have a relationship with Hashem, without it becoming the business of everyone else in this and every other frummie neighbourhood? Why should anyone feel comfortable enough asking me what I wear to bed at night? How I stack my dishes on Shabbos and/or if I do? If I wear colour or only black and white? As long as I'm shomer mitzvos, show ahavah to my fellow yid, and try to continue to foster my relationship with The Creator, why must I be subjected to the questions/comments/looks?
Can't I just be frum and have that be good enough already?
Which brings me to the point of this post. There I was yesterday, enjoying a little impromptu shopping in NWL, trying to decide whether I am now supposed to be buying PJs instead of nightgowns or in addition to nightgowns. And that's when I reached my limit. Why on earth should I be wasting mental energy trying to decide if nightgowns are now assur? WHO CARES?
It would appear though that Brooklyn cares. A lot. So here comes my question of the hour:
Why can't I just have a relationship with Hashem, without it becoming the business of everyone else in this and every other frummie neighbourhood? Why should anyone feel comfortable enough asking me what I wear to bed at night? How I stack my dishes on Shabbos and/or if I do? If I wear colour or only black and white? As long as I'm shomer mitzvos, show ahavah to my fellow yid, and try to continue to foster my relationship with The Creator, why must I be subjected to the questions/comments/looks?
Can't I just be frum and have that be good enough already?
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Duped Again
I got referred to a family for Shabbos lunch, and it turned out to be yet another "singles" affair, complete with two dozen or so older singles. GRRR.
To be fair, the hostess was a wonderful, warm lady, as evidenced by the fact that when I first arrived and went to the kitchen to introduce myself, the other ladies were all in there too. I find that such grouping tends to only occur when the hostess has truly opened her home and heart to her guests.
In any event, the food was delicious, but the problem was that there was no talking during the meal (save when the women cleared and congregated in the kitchen between courses). Instead, the talking during the meal consisted of the host giving over divrei Torah, complete with the constant, "subtle" focus of reminding us singles that it is our shortcomings that have prevented us from getting married. Of course, if we just apply the advice from his divrei Torah, he'll have the joy of attending all of our vorts and chuppahs!
But it didn't stop there. It seems that the host also has a minhag of going around the table, and giving each guest an individualized beracha. Very nice, except he again throws in a bit of mussar. He even told the woman to my left that she should learn to be flexible and listen more- in front of everyone. I cringed internally,, wondering how he could justify embarrassing someone in public like that. When it got to me, I told him before he started that I didn't need a beracha for a shidduch. He managed to alter his beracha formula for me in time. When I was taking my leave after the meal however, he felt the need to raise the question: Why had I asked him to refrain from a beracha for a shidduch? I found the question inappropriate, but since that was evidently the law of the land in that house, I decided that honesty was the best policy. So I explained my situation to him, and he remarked "Smart woman". I managed to refrain from the almost automatic eye-roll, cordially thanked him, and managed to escape without giving any confirmation concerning a repeat visit.
Now, I can certainly appreciate a host who opens his door wide for singles, and sincerely wants to help his guests find their bashert. However, it's about time that some Rav puts a stop to this condescending down talk. Just because some one is married does not mean that they are qualified to speak on shidduchim or that they themselves are perfect spouses. So let's refrain in future from this New York-wide phenomenon of marrieds feeling justified in passing mussar on to their single guests. It is simply offensive. Obviously, if one knows a guest well, is on good terms, and the guest initiates the topic during private conversation, a host may (I repeat, may) have an opening to gently point out certain behaviour that is preventing the guest from finding their bashert. But most of the time,the delicate topic of shidduchim should be left to the given man or woman, their Rav, and their shadchan.
Because in the end, humiliating one's guests in front of each other, even with the best of intentions, is simply unacceptable.
To be fair, the hostess was a wonderful, warm lady, as evidenced by the fact that when I first arrived and went to the kitchen to introduce myself, the other ladies were all in there too. I find that such grouping tends to only occur when the hostess has truly opened her home and heart to her guests.
In any event, the food was delicious, but the problem was that there was no talking during the meal (save when the women cleared and congregated in the kitchen between courses). Instead, the talking during the meal consisted of the host giving over divrei Torah, complete with the constant, "subtle" focus of reminding us singles that it is our shortcomings that have prevented us from getting married. Of course, if we just apply the advice from his divrei Torah, he'll have the joy of attending all of our vorts and chuppahs!
But it didn't stop there. It seems that the host also has a minhag of going around the table, and giving each guest an individualized beracha. Very nice, except he again throws in a bit of mussar. He even told the woman to my left that she should learn to be flexible and listen more- in front of everyone. I cringed internally,, wondering how he could justify embarrassing someone in public like that. When it got to me, I told him before he started that I didn't need a beracha for a shidduch. He managed to alter his beracha formula for me in time. When I was taking my leave after the meal however, he felt the need to raise the question: Why had I asked him to refrain from a beracha for a shidduch? I found the question inappropriate, but since that was evidently the law of the land in that house, I decided that honesty was the best policy. So I explained my situation to him, and he remarked "Smart woman". I managed to refrain from the almost automatic eye-roll, cordially thanked him, and managed to escape without giving any confirmation concerning a repeat visit.
Now, I can certainly appreciate a host who opens his door wide for singles, and sincerely wants to help his guests find their bashert. However, it's about time that some Rav puts a stop to this condescending down talk. Just because some one is married does not mean that they are qualified to speak on shidduchim or that they themselves are perfect spouses. So let's refrain in future from this New York-wide phenomenon of marrieds feeling justified in passing mussar on to their single guests. It is simply offensive. Obviously, if one knows a guest well, is on good terms, and the guest initiates the topic during private conversation, a host may (I repeat, may) have an opening to gently point out certain behaviour that is preventing the guest from finding their bashert. But most of the time,the delicate topic of shidduchim should be left to the given man or woman, their Rav, and their shadchan.
Because in the end, humiliating one's guests in front of each other, even with the best of intentions, is simply unacceptable.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Notes from the Block
Everywhere I have lived "out of town", I have been able to at least visually identify my neighbours, if not also know their names and other pertinent details.
Not so on my block. Save the:
So it came as not such a surprise this last layl Shabbos when I meet a young lady (Canadian no less!) who lives across the street and only 5 doors down from me. I had NEVER seen her before. That's almost as hilarious as how much she reminded me of myself at that age, down to the style of her skirt. A CANADIAN on my block and I was unaware. What a disgrace!
On a separate but related note, to all my male goyishe neighbours, young and old, the following is for you:
Please, please, please stop exiting your houses without your shirts. That behaviour is just gross. Same goes for shorts. I don't care how fabulous you feel you look (and I suppose, in turn, consider such displays to be a gift to the female population), I'm here to burst your bubble and inform you that the sight thereof is downright gag-worthy. In short, just put a shirt on already, and if you could throw on trousers as well, so much the better! Thought I would get that in before the heat wave this week.
Not so on my block. Save the:
- neighbours one door down
- Chinese family three doors down
- elderly Russian lady four doors down (who inexplicably started speaking to me last week after refraining from interacting these past 3.5+ years. [we now wave to each other])
- young thug who walks his dog while chain smoking
- two Chassidishe boys who gawk as they ride by on their bikes
- block yenta
So it came as not such a surprise this last layl Shabbos when I meet a young lady (Canadian no less!) who lives across the street and only 5 doors down from me. I had NEVER seen her before. That's almost as hilarious as how much she reminded me of myself at that age, down to the style of her skirt. A CANADIAN on my block and I was unaware. What a disgrace!
On a separate but related note, to all my male goyishe neighbours, young and old, the following is for you:
Please, please, please stop exiting your houses without your shirts. That behaviour is just gross. Same goes for shorts. I don't care how fabulous you feel you look (and I suppose, in turn, consider such displays to be a gift to the female population), I'm here to burst your bubble and inform you that the sight thereof is downright gag-worthy. In short, just put a shirt on already, and if you could throw on trousers as well, so much the better! Thought I would get that in before the heat wave this week.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
What to do?
It couldn't last, of course.
Tonight I come home to find a young guy in beanie and white shirt parking his minivan outside the building. No biggie. As I'm going up the stairs schlepping my books, etc., the guy asks "Are you __?". To my chagrin, he uses my English name, which immediately frames him a bad light. So I turn around and ask him why.
He says he's my landlord's cousin, and he wants to buy the building. Can he come take a look? I told him I didn't understand his question- was he actually asking to see my apartment? He said yes. I then replied in the negative, and turned to continue back up the stairs. He asked if I wanted to speak to the landlord. I told him no, I didn't.
I'm upstairs putting my stuff away, just waiting for it. Sure enough, first the front apartment bell rings, then mine. I say "Yes", and he tells me he has the code for the basement, can I open the downstairs door for him? Since the stated door is for entrance to the upstairs apartments, not the basement, and since the stated code grants him access to the basement without my assistance, I told him no, why should I, who is he, and leave me alone.
The really infuriating part of the saga is that a part of me has been suspecting for months that the landlord was planning to sell. And given that this guy shows up, who I don't know from Adam, and asks for entrance to my apartment- that really got my goat. Why the heck do I care if he sees the building or not? In the end, the only place it'll get me is a rent increase.
So now I don't know how to proceed. What are my rights? How can I be preemptive about documenting the lack of maintenance in the building without creating a situation that gives them grounds for an increase? Any advice/hot line numbers would be most appreciated.
Tonight I come home to find a young guy in beanie and white shirt parking his minivan outside the building. No biggie. As I'm going up the stairs schlepping my books, etc., the guy asks "Are you __?". To my chagrin, he uses my English name, which immediately frames him a bad light. So I turn around and ask him why.
He says he's my landlord's cousin, and he wants to buy the building. Can he come take a look? I told him I didn't understand his question- was he actually asking to see my apartment? He said yes. I then replied in the negative, and turned to continue back up the stairs. He asked if I wanted to speak to the landlord. I told him no, I didn't.
I'm upstairs putting my stuff away, just waiting for it. Sure enough, first the front apartment bell rings, then mine. I say "Yes", and he tells me he has the code for the basement, can I open the downstairs door for him? Since the stated door is for entrance to the upstairs apartments, not the basement, and since the stated code grants him access to the basement without my assistance, I told him no, why should I, who is he, and leave me alone.
The really infuriating part of the saga is that a part of me has been suspecting for months that the landlord was planning to sell. And given that this guy shows up, who I don't know from Adam, and asks for entrance to my apartment- that really got my goat. Why the heck do I care if he sees the building or not? In the end, the only place it'll get me is a rent increase.
So now I don't know how to proceed. What are my rights? How can I be preemptive about documenting the lack of maintenance in the building without creating a situation that gives them grounds for an increase? Any advice/hot line numbers would be most appreciated.
Chalav Conundrum
If you think about it, frumkeit in NYC is an anomaly. By that I mean that the experience of being frum here is unlike anywhere else in the world. Where else do they have comparable resources available? Not even Israel, from what I hear. Case in point: when I was dating the last time, one NY guy, when I asked where he was holding, decided to list all his dietary chumrahs. I refrained to pointing out that I hoped he planned to remain in NY for the rest of his life, because no way could he perpetuate that list outside of the Greater NYC area.
Which leads me to the point of this post. Until I lived in NY, I didn't bother with chalav Yisroel. To be honest, it was for the most part unavailable, and when it was, it was easily double, if not triple, the price of regular milk. Since I had never kept that chumrah growing up, I didn't feel the need to deviate from my stance. As one of my rebbetzins pointed out, all milk in North America is kosher!
And then I moved to NYC, where to keep chalav stam is scorned. True, given the ease with which one can procure chalav Yisroel and generally tolerable pricing thereof, why wouldn't you buy it? To be fair, I never took the chumrah upon myself- I just love Hershey's Special Dark too much. But I have refrained from buying a litre of chalav stam.
Yet last night I was in ShopRite, and given that I had been unable to find the brand of chalav Yisroel I like in the local shops, decided to peruse the dairy aisle for once. And I made two discoveries. First, while chalav Yisroel comes in skim, 1% or whole milk, chalav stam offers 2% as well. And my taste preference has always been 2%. Secondly, the chalav stam was a full 30% or more cheaper than the chalav Yisroel.
So I'm faced with a conundrum. Do I cave and get the 2% going forward. Or do I suck it up and keep paying more for my less fave yet supposedly "holier" 1% chalav Yisroel? Comments, please!
Which leads me to the point of this post. Until I lived in NY, I didn't bother with chalav Yisroel. To be honest, it was for the most part unavailable, and when it was, it was easily double, if not triple, the price of regular milk. Since I had never kept that chumrah growing up, I didn't feel the need to deviate from my stance. As one of my rebbetzins pointed out, all milk in North America is kosher!
And then I moved to NYC, where to keep chalav stam is scorned. True, given the ease with which one can procure chalav Yisroel and generally tolerable pricing thereof, why wouldn't you buy it? To be fair, I never took the chumrah upon myself- I just love Hershey's Special Dark too much. But I have refrained from buying a litre of chalav stam.
Yet last night I was in ShopRite, and given that I had been unable to find the brand of chalav Yisroel I like in the local shops, decided to peruse the dairy aisle for once. And I made two discoveries. First, while chalav Yisroel comes in skim, 1% or whole milk, chalav stam offers 2% as well. And my taste preference has always been 2%. Secondly, the chalav stam was a full 30% or more cheaper than the chalav Yisroel.
So I'm faced with a conundrum. Do I cave and get the 2% going forward. Or do I suck it up and keep paying more for my less fave yet supposedly "holier" 1% chalav Yisroel? Comments, please!
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