Alef: The NEXT Conversation

No Excuses

By Shoshanna Howard

I recall taking a Jewish-American Literature class in college where I had to write my final paper on any sort of Jewish literature my heart desired. What did I choose? Naturally, sex. Not the “S-E-X” sex, but the erotic, persuasive, literary intrigue of S-E-X. I mean, come on, this was a college course we’re talking about. When I told the intimate class of 15 that this was to be my topic, a few people scoffed and snickered. My professor, however, was rather impressed that I had already found literature to base my thesis on: The Oy of Sex: Jewish Women Write Erotica and Neurotica: Jewish Writers. You may be surprised to know that Jewish erotic literature exists. But why would a nice Jewish girl like me want to read and write about sex? Well, sorry grandma, but I am quite confident that we all think about sex regularly. And what better way to make that fact less taboo than by writing about sex with words that create images that evoke and empower the sexual psyche that resides deep inside all of us.

This was my first real encounter with sex and Judaism. Before this, I knew it was a mitzvah to make love-a-dove-dove on Shabbat, and that a husband is required to be particularly in tune with his wife’s innermost desires and needs, and that, most obviously, to have sex means more Jewish babies, thus ensuring continuity of the Jewish people. But that was the extent of my knowledge of Jews and sex.

Boy, was I wrong in thinking that was it. Further investigation led me to stories that varied with their range of characters, plots, needs, love, sex, desires, and more sex. But one common factor present in almost every single story was struggle; some sort of internal or external conflict. From an orthodox couple’s dilemma with oral sex, to a gay couple’s deep anxiety in religion with their sexual needs, to a story that seems to be so common in a Jewish woman’s world (and one I’m highly familiar with) – the “you don’t look like a Jew” quandary.

This last theme resonates with me the most because those exact words have been spoken by several men I’ve dated. At first, this didn’t bother me, as I never really thought that all Jews looked a certain way. But after reading a story about a woman’s relationship with a goy who couldn’t accept her identity as a Jewish woman and led her to forsake all the “un-kosher” members in the world, my spectrum began to shift.

I haven’t reached this pivotal point of forbidding myself of other, uhh, “fruits,” but I did start to see myself reacting differently to men’s comment about me not “looking Jewish.” This comment alludes to the idea that Jewish women are perceived to be unattractive in the eye of the beholder (in this case, non-Jews). It was almost as if by saying this, the man passes on the fact that I am Jewish, making me feel like I had to be more desirable. I am what I am, but I don’t look like it, so that makes me hot, right?

Well, this is what I thought, I hid behind a facade of blue eyes and light hair, only admitting my Jewishness to the men if they asked about the origin of my name, which happened rarely. This was my internal conflict: I found myself involved in some strange form of role-playing, like a puppeteer leading these men to think they knew who I was, but keeping a total, dirty little secret from them. What a joke. How cliché of me to allow a silly discord such as this to impact my decisions about love, and mostly, about sex.

From my readings of Jewish-erotic stories, I was able to discover something new about myself: that I am a damn sexy Jewess and I should never let the judgment of others make me think any differently. With that, to you my friend, I ask you to take a moment and read one of these titillating pieces of literature. You just might learn something new about yourself, plus it just is really good entertainment.

Photo by Brani’s fashion dolls, licensed under Creative Commons.

1 Comment »