by Emily Comisar

This year I went to Yom Kippur services for the first time since I was in college. The experience overall was surprisingly moving, but there was one moment in particular that has given me much to think about in terms of the way that I relate to my partner.

For the part of the service that we beat our chests and recited our communal and individual sins, the congregation I attended added some flaws — in English — that were meant to speak to our modern lives. Along with over 1,000 other Jews I recited “for condemning in our children the faults we tolerate in ourselves; for condemning in our parents the faults we tolerate in ourselves.”

As a more eloquent way of stating the golden rule, this sin should have been obvious but I was blown back off my seat. Not only is the admission of condemnation applicable to parents and children, but all of the other people in my life as well. It is especially true of my relationship with my significant other who, upon being asked, said he didn’t think that I had ever expected things of him that I didn’t expect of myself, but how many people would say that out loud anyway?

Compromise is a part of every relationship, but when each of you comes from very different backgrounds, the road requires much more thoughtful navigation. Although I often balk at the mere insinuation that intermarriage is going to be the end of the Jewish people, I find myself continually asserting (perhaps over-asserting) my own culture, history, and set of rituals in our shared home. We prepare a Rosh Hashanah dinner and break-fast celebration for the new year. We light the Hanukkah candles all eight nights (and he has even learned the first words of the blessing). We host a second night Passover Seder. We do all of those things, on top of talking about Judaism, Jewish people, and what it means to be Jewish.

I am so proud of being Jewish that on our fifth date, I gushed for maybe twenty minutes about how much I love the concept of Shabbat. But, all this reflection makes me wonder if I’ve actually made room in my life for the things that make my partner who he is as well. I don’t have to give up who I am to fully embrace who someone else is too. Being someone who makes New Year’s resolutions at Rosh Hashana and on January first I find myself beholden to try something new. 5772 isn’t just about being who I am – it’s about experiencing someone else’s traditions too.

Photo by CarbonNYC, licensed under Creative Commons.

by Erika Ettin

I’d like a large pie with extra cheese, mushrooms, sausage, and broccoli. But make sure the cheese is covering the whole pizza because I don’t like baldness, and actually, why don’t you hold the sausage? I’d like someone who keeps kosher. And while you’re there, make sure those mushrooms are well-educated, like maybe with a master’s or PhD. And as for the broccoli, can you make sure it’s a certain height because I only want it if it’s tall. Could I get that to go? Thanks.

Someone recently told me that online dating was like ordering a pizza. At first I laughed at that analogy, then I cringed, and then I realized that he was right. We are all looking for that on-paper perfect mate. And since online dating sites give so much choice in the matter, we think it’s our right to have everything we’re looking for. Now, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with wanting certain things – I did, and that’s how I found my boyfriend, Jeremy, after about 120 JDates. (Yes – you read that correctly.)

It’s first important to pinpoint your non-negotiables. I had two things at the top of the list – Judaism and intelligence. Meeting someone Jewish was very important to me. I’m not the most religious person in terms of upholding every ritual (I can’t lie – I enjoy a club sandwich with bacon now and then), but the cultural aspect was important to me. I wanted someone who understood why I ate kugel and brisket and knew that holidays start at night, not in the morning. I wanted someone who, like me, felt that a shared religious background was important. And intelligence – I guess that one’s self-explanatory. But online, there’s so much to choose from beyond these non-negotiables.

My first piece of advice is to stick with your non-negotiable list, as long there are less than five things on the list. If there are more, it’s time to re-evaluate to see what might be a “nice-to-have” instead. With online dating, you can easily stick to your guns on that. How did I do it? I joined JDate and not another site, like Match.com or OKCupid. Why? Everyone is Jewish. Non-negotiable #1 – check. And as for intelligence, I got around that one by searching only for men with graduate degrees. Sure, there are plenty of very intelligent people with a bachelor’s or no degree at all (and plenty of less-than-intelligent people with grad degrees), but this was an easier way for me to check off that box. Non-negotiable #2 – check. What about the rest of the things on my list, though? A sense of humor, brown, curly hair (yes – I have a type), nice teeth, a good family, etc. These are things that we may want, but in reality, if someone has other qualities that are different and just as appealing, it won’t matter in the least.

So, what if someone out there looks good but doesn’t necessarily fit every little thing we want after those non-negotiables? I’d venture to say – try ‘em out anyway. When we walk into a bar (or Birthright alumni event?) and see someone we like, that guy or girl doesn’t have a chart attached to his or her forehead full of credentials, stats, and dislikes. (Wouldn’t that be a pretty funny sight?!) We trust our instincts; we go with chemistry. But online, we have so much information that it’s almost too easy to discard someone simply because he is only 5’6 or she has a fondness for US Weekly rather than the latest issue of The Economist. (I’m not saying I know anyone like that.)

I was chatting with someone recently who met her boyfriend at a climbing wall. They had known each other for a while, and ironically enough, when they eventually started dating, he came up as one of her matches on OkCupid that week. She looked at his profile and said, “I would have never gone out with him after reading this.” I guess she thought she was in the mood for a Hawaiian pizza, but in reality, what she wanted was much simpler – plain cheese.

So, go ahead, order whatever you want for dinner tonight, but when it comes to dating, there’s no check-box order to place. Stay true to your list of “can’t live withouts,” but beyond that, give people the benefit of the doubt because in the end after meeting in person, chemistry may trump all to give you the slice of your life.

Erika Ettin is the Founder of A Little Nudge, helping people find success in online dating and getting them excited about its possibilities. “Like” A Little Nudge on Facebook, or follow on Twitter.

Photo by barbtrek, licensed under Creative Commons.

By Yocheved Sidof

What comes first, the chicken or the egg? What about love or sex? In my life, Love came first; or so I thought…

I grew up in a tightly knit Chassidic community in the Midwest, the first-born child of Iranian immigrants. I was raised with a lot of rules. Some were religiously influenced and others were cultural, but one of the big rules – NO Boys – fell equally into both categories: big-time religious and cultural no-no’s. According to the laws of Tzniut (modesty), boys and girls are separated from a very young age. There is very little socializing, and absolutely no touching, between opposite genders in strict Orthodox communities. (These laws are meant to sensitize us to the power of attraction and the sanctity of sexuality). That aside, there was no way my parents would let their Persian Princess be swept off her feet too easily; it just wouldn’t fly.

I came to New York City at the vulnerable age of seventeen to attend Stern College for Women. It was my first independent foray into this crazy “concrete jungle where dreams are made of” (Sorry, I couldn’t resist). Suddenly, I was surrounded by tons of women who were hanging out with guys, dating, looking for The One. My friends covered the whole spectrum: some dated without touching their partners at all, while others slept with their boyfriends. I fell somewhere in the middle. (Don’t tell my parents.) As I searched for my soulmate, I had one big rule – I would only have sex with my husband.

The issues of touch and sexuality were never so clear-cut for me. My convictions were totally in-line with my upbringing, but it was hard to hold stead-fast when there were so many pressures to deal with. Then, after years of tumultuous relationships and broken hearts, I met my man. We shared common interests, common values, and common goals, but we never shared a bed; we wanted our intimate life to begin as a committed, married couple.

We both believed in the sanctity of sex, and wanted to express that union of body and soul only within the context of a committed marriage. Sure it’s a risk (we all know the ‘test-drive a car’ analogy), but it was a risk we felt was worth taking.

I’m directing a documentary called Can’t Touch This, about the laws surrounding premarital intimacy in Judaism, i.e. Shomer Negiah. We have on-camera interviews with Rabbis, sex therapists, psychologists, and educators, and most importantly, hours of honest conversation with people who grapple with this question almost everyday: What is the interplay between religion and sex? How, if at all, does a person’s belief in G-d inform his or her sexual choices?

For one of my favorite shoots we traipsed to Times Square, camera in tow, to get some man-on-the-street interviews. Under the tantalizing billboards of scantily-clad men and women, we asked our fellow New Yorkers questions about sexuality, such as: How often do you think about sex? How did you learn about sex? What is meaningful touch? If in a relationship, how long would you wait to have sex? One honest man offered this take on building sexual compatibility: “If you have the mental chemistry, and you’re hitting it off, I believe the sex can be just as exciting. It just has to be… nurtured. And I just have not been lucky enough to find someone with that kind of patience. We live in a fast food society, fast sex, everything is fast. I don’t have time to practice with you. We’ve got to get it right the first or second time, or I’ve got to move on.”

I didn’t decide to marry my husband based on our sexual compatibility, how great he is in bed, or how quickly we each learned the other’s desires… I didn’t have any idea how we’d vibe together as a sexual couple. We formed our shared sexual identity as a married couple, and that created a beautiful, yet very vulnerable, sense of intimacy. Love and sex were woven together in a cycle, allowing each to nurture the other. It definitely wasn’t seamless, but I knew that even if our intimate life wasn’t perfect, I wasn’t at risk of losing him–he truly loves me for me, and not for how adept I may be in bed. We would work through the rough patches, and commit ourselves to gratifying each other–not for sex’s sake, but for love’s.

And you know what? That man-on-the-street is right. We do have unrealistic expectations about sexual gratification. Popular media totally misleads us about how sexual compatibility is formed. It’s not instantaneous. Nobody has ‘great sex’ right away. It takes time, practice, sensitivity, commitment … and a whole lot of love.

…

This post originally appeared on Alef October 22, 2010.
Yocheved Sidof is a photographer, filmmaker, and teacher who lives in Brooklyn, NY.  She and her husband Yossi are the proud parents of Reuven Uriyah, 4 years old, Ma’ayan Chaya, 2 and a half, and Tzofia Malka, 3 months.

Photo provided by the author.

Read more posts from Issue #22: Couples.

Today is August 15th. In Jewish calendar terms, it’s also Tu B’Av, the 15th of the month of Av; a happy coincidence this year. This Jewish holiday was once a celebration of the grape harvest but is now lovingly referred to as the Jewish Valentine’s Day. The jury is no doubt split on the issue of whether or not the world really needs a second V-Day, but there it is, smack dab in the middle of the hottest month of the year. It’s a popular day for weddings, but if you’re like most of the Alef staff and not quite ready to take that leap then really it’s just a good excuse for eating chocolate, making out in public, or being extra nice to mom.

To celebrate the occasion, we have decided to try something at the mid-point on the commitment spectrum. What you’re reading is the first in a weekly series of columns on love. We’re going to have a constantly rotating cast of writers so don’t fret, we won’t make you read week after week’s worth of our own pontificating (we’ll spare you as much as we can). To be in our cast of bloggers for the Love Column, email us at alef@birthrightisraelnext.org with “Love Column” in the subject line.

Happy Tu B’Av!

Photo by Dev Null, licensed under Creative Commons.

By Rella K.

I have a love-hate relationship with food.

I don’t think most of my friends know there is a “hate” side to my relationship with food. I’m an avid food blogger. I’m always trying new dishes, new foods, new ingredients. I’ll frequently spend an entire Sunday just cooking and baking, and then a host 5-course dinner party.

I grew up in a community that put an incredible amount of stress on being thin. Everyone I knew was on a diet; some were pretty ordinary like limiting fat intake and eating lots of fruits and vegetables. Some were pretty ridiculous like eating nothing other than rice cakes for an entire 8-hour day of school. And then there were the dangerous eating habits—the severe limitations on food intake, and the throwing up in the bathroom after lunch. [And by the way, this all started in middle school].

When I was in the tenth grade one of my classmates spent a summer in a clinic being treated for an eating disorder. I think she was lucky—at least her parents were willing to admit to her problem. For so many other girls I knew, disordered eating patterns were just par for the course. Because really, if you weren’t a size 2 nobody would want to marry you (or at least that’s the message we got).

I’m not going to lie; I thought about following in the footsteps of those around me. I was overweight throughout most of high school, perhaps unconsciously trying to counteract what I was seeing around me with all the restrictions people put on their own appetites. Objectively I knew (and know) that skipping meals or throwing up is bad, and I never did it, but it didn’t stop me from thinking that maybe that had it right. Luckily college was a breath of fresh air, and I think the reduced stress contributed to my dropping a significant number of pounds I had been unable to shed for years before.

Hence, my love-hate relationship with food. Truth be told, the love wins out most of the time (luckily). I receive immense pleasure from writing and photographing for my food blog; I love when my friends call me their “recipe guru;” and I find that after a stressful day at work, whipping up a batch of sumptuous chocolate chip banana nut muffins is relaxing, even cathartic.

Still, I sometimes get an inkling in the back of my mind after I have a meal I know is high in calories and fat. Don’t get me wrong, I eat in a very healthy manner, and I cook for myself a lot so I know exactly what goes into things. But I eat out at restaurants, and I have meals at friend’s houses, and as much as I hate it, I think about every bite I put in my mouth.

Do I wish I didn’t obsess about food so much? Maybe. But I wonder if my obsession ultimately led me to discover how passionate I am about food, cooking, and blogging about it. Sure, I’d prefer I hadn’t grown up in such a toxic environment, but I’m a firm believer that our experiences shape who we are. And I’m happy with who I am today.

…

Image provided by Dan4th, licensed under Creative Commons.

Click here to read more from our “Why I Eat What I Eat” series.

…

No question about it, dating and marriage are hot button issues for the Jewish people. Between conversations about where the community stands on homosexual couples, to debates about where it stands on interfaith couples, there is an awful lot of chatter. Not to mention that hemming and hawing coming from your mother, insisting that you marry a nice Jewish boy or girl and settle down to give her some grandchildren. Not to also mention the ominous and ever-present JDate angel and devil sitting on your shoulders. To join or not to join? That is the question.

The questions are endless, and where are the role models sent to tell us what to do? Of all the high-profile Jews in Hollywood – Sarah Silverman, Adam Sandler, Natalie Portman, to name a few – none of them have high profile relationships that we can scrutinize and compare to our own. In fact, this year’s highest-profile Jewish relationship belongs to not-so-Jewish Chelsea Clinton (now Mezvinsky).

When the Love and Sex Issues of Alef came out last February, we had no idea what a ruckus they would cause. Now, after eight more months of reflection, we bring you the Couples Issue, jam-packed with tales of Jewish relationships and how they got to be the way they are. Our writers might not be celebrities of Hollywood, but you should feel free to scrutinize the relationships they share with you anyway and as always, we’d love to hear what you have to say.

- Alef

Photo by Lachlan Hardy, licensed under Creative Commons.

Couples Posts:
Type A Dating
What Comes First?
He Said/She Said
Soy Vey
Big Q’s, small r’s
Deconstructing Amy
This Little Light of Mine

By Josh Furman

Israel has become known as a gay travel hot spot in the last few years, but it has been a personal gay destination for me since I was 15 years old. Although tourism companies have only recently started offering “gay themed” tours of Israel, there has been something very gay about the holy land for me for quite some time now.

I first went to Israel with a youth group. At this point in my life, I was pretty clueless when it came to sex. I never went to Jewish summer camp, and didn’t have years of experience of Jewish hook-ups like many of my peers did.

It was in Israel that I got my first crush, and while it wasn’t on another man, it was probably the gayest crush I have ever had. I was infatuated with the madricha (guide) on another bus, and I finally built up the courage to show her I was interested. Thinking that the best way to impress her would be to match my clothes to her red hair, I chose just the right outfit – an orange hat, orange shirt, and shorts with orange accents.

It gets worse. During the next stage of the courting I gave her a stuffed hippo. Looking back, this might have been the first sign that I would never be a ladies’ man, because you just don’t give a girl an animal known for being overweight.

This won’t be a shock to anyone, but she wasn’t my bashert. She wasn’t impressed by my orange ensemble or strange gifts, and our relationship quickly fizzled. I’d like to think that she saved the hippo and looked at it fondly, but I would be surprised if it made it past a trip to Goodwill. We saw each other a couple other times on the trip, but I quickly became shy and avoided actual communication. It was awkward. Although my ability to garner paper plates and construction paper into elaborate Shabbat decorations might have impressed some, I quickly took the hint that she wasn’t the type to look for such skills in a mate.

Years later, I was back in Israel, this time with a solid awareness that I was gay. Fortunately for Jewish continuity, I have always been attracted to dark curly hair and brown eyes – stereotypically Jewish looking guys. Israel became a candy shop, and I’ll admit that I had my fair share of olive-skinned encounters, and if it wasn’t for the whole fact that I was gay, I would definitely have helped to increase the population of Israel. Outside of my first crush on the madricha, Israel has been a place where I have experienced the multiple facets and challenges of being a gay man. In the U.S. I am limited in the number of eligible gay Jews who I encounter, but in Israel I have been able to tackle my opinions on love and what I value in a relationship.

Objectively speaking, Israel is one of the world’s most progressive countries in terms of legal rights granted towards the GLBT community. But by no means is Israel a perfect society, and I will be the first to admit that parts of Israeli society are run according to Jewish laws that sometimes come into conflict with homosexuality. But Israel has also been a place that has helped me embrace both my Judaism and my homosexuality. My experiences with Judaism and homosexuality in Israel have been diverse: I volunteered with the GLBT community at Jerusalem Open House and dressed in drag (my first and only experience doing so) while acting out the Book of Ruth at Pardes in Jerusalem.

I hope Israel will continue to be a formative place in shaping my identity, because when I’m there, I’m both proudly gay and proudly Jewish. It’s fitting that God used the rainbow as a symbol of a covenant with the Jewish people in the Torah, and that the rainbow is also used as a symbol for the GLBT community. In some ways, going to Israel is my own personal version of the rainbow covenant.

Photo by victoriapeckham, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more posts from the Gay Pride issue.

A few weeks ago, I went on a date with someone who was Shomer Negiah, meaning, someone who doesn’t engage in physical contact with members of the opposite sex. The expectation of no touching was there from the start of the date, but the thought of not being able to even hug him was a turn-off for me. The only positive aspect was at the ever-awkward date goodbye – I didn’t have to worry about whether he would go for a hug, a kiss, or more.

Physical boundaries can be useful at times. Hugging someone you haven’t seen in a long time is gratifying at first, but the sensation does not last forever. It makes me question the reasoning behind Shomer Negiah. Is the idea that touching a person of the opposite sex makes you want to have them sexually? Or does an observant man not want to shake my hand in fear that I am menstruating and am considered “dirty”? Is he afraid of what his wife would say if she saw us shaking hands? I have a hard time understanding the problem with basic physical contact. Some argue that a single touch from another human being can spark desire, emotion, and provocative thoughts, but even looking at another person can have these same effects. It would be ridiculous to suggest that we stop looking at each other too.

Orthodox rabbis and other observant folks who argue in favor of Shomer Negiah claim that it heightens the sexual experience once you finally engage in sexual activity with someone you love. They say that in the end, it isn’t all about sex anyways – it’s about love and closeness between two people. They also mention that divorce rates are much lower among those that follow the practice. I’m not trying to degrade the Orthodox community, I just want to point out that throughout the life of an average human being, most people have multiple sexual partners (A study conducted by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in 2007 showed that men average seven partners throughout their lifetime).

Many children are taught to hold off on any sort of sexual activity until marriage.  However, I was taught that sexual desire, and eventually in later years, sexual activity, was acceptable. My parents still warned me about consequences of having too many partners and always encouraged me to use protection. Because of their understanding view, I found it easy to talk to them about “the birds and the bees,” and this led me to make thoughtful choices about who I slept with, and about how far along into a relationship I wanted to be before making such a personal commitment. Why did my parents raise me this way? They always said that good sexual chemistry is an important factor in a healthy relationship and that it’s dangerous and potentially disappointing to walk blindly into a commitment when you haven’t experienced the physical side of that person. Sex cannot make a relationship, but it can certainly help strengthen its bonds.

There are many different viewpoints on whether it is okay to share your body with a person who you are not bound to by a legal contract. Either way, we all have sex eventually. Here’s where some religiously-observant people argue that having sex before marriage defiles the true purpose of sex. However, sex is not written on paper and confined to the boundaries of a Ketubah. A signature will not bring the guarantee of sexual understanding, satisfaction, or if ever needed, escape from marital rape and sexual abuse. Having listened to arguments about what sex before marriage is or is not, it seems like some people have formed a preconception about what it is supposed to be. We are all, regardless of our level of religious observance, prone to extra-marital affairs or even some pre-marital experiences. Between two consenting adults, there is no person of authority present to say “no.” Sex is holy and great and wonderful and, pun intended, absolutely orgasmic.

Many secular people understand just as well as observant people that sex is something special.The magic of sex is that even after the first time it leaves one craving for more. There’s no doubt that the sanctity of sex can be compromised by multiple one-night-stands, random hookups, porn, rape, or abuse, but to reduce sex to a physical act performed by two people in a “holy way” is not fair to the act of sex or to the people performing it. I won’t deny that sex is probably really amazing when you and your partner are virgins and you’re touching and caressing each other for the first time – this is exciting, of course, but it is foul to say that people who have more than one partner throughout their lifetime (say two or three) find sex less exciting or thrilling. In fact, pre-marital sex can be a blessing, not only by bringing a person who is experienced in what they are doing (like being able to identify what their partner likes and needs) but it takes away the discomfort of feeling insecure about what one looks like naked and the excruciatingly painful moment of being penetrated for the first time and being confused about what is going on and how it is all supposed to work.

There is nothing in secular society that says that you absolutely must “test drive the car before you buy it;” people in this realm are treated the same as in observant realms – as individuals that are able to make their own decisions. I am of course in full support of anyone who chooses to abstain from sex or even from physical contact before marriage, but I am also in support of those who have experienced what it means to have sex with a person you love and respect and who feels the same about you.

Photo by stephend9, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more articles from Issue 08: “The Sex Issue.”

This past summer, as the latest circumcision debate brought forth discussion, controversy, and judgment from all sides, I remained silent. Until a few years ago, circumcision was an everyday part of Jewish life that I had always taken for granted. Why on earth would I need to ever sit and ponder the pros and cons (health-wise or sexually) of foreskin? I suppose I was a little naive, but I always assumed that this act, with its roots steeped in biblical Jewish tradition, was so commonplace that running into an uncircumcised penis was about as likely as getting hit by lightning — certainly not unheard-of, but not something that happens every day. Perhaps it was this sort of naivete that contributed to my status as a late-bloomer.

It was the stuff of good chick flicks that my first real boyfriend, the person to whom I lost my virginity, was (and still is as far as I know) uncircumcised. Having had very few sexual experiences prior to my official “first time,” I didn’t have a whole lot to compare it to. Now that I have slept with other men, the distinction is pretty evident. My current preference for one or the other has absolutely nothing to do with the actual size and shape of the organ itself. I care much more about the background and upbringing of the man attached to it. What I came to learn through my first experience is that the foreskin (or lack thereof) may tell you more about the background and upbringing of the man attached to it than it will about how good he is in bed.

See, this first boyfriend, my first sexual partner, was a gentile (gasp!). He came from a part of the world where circumcision is strictly a Jewish tradition; if you are not Jewish, you are not circumcised. His foreskin was a sign of what he culturally was and was not, and he was not shy about telling me that none of his sons would ever be circumcised either. Period. Sure, we were 22 years old, and not anywhere near thinking about marriage or children, but I was shocked by his blatant disregard of my culture in favor of his own. What struck me was that we weren’t just having sex, we were in love too, and this was not the kind of quick judgment that I expected from someone who loved me.

As it turned out, our sex life did affect the rest of our relationship in ways that I never could have predicted. Was it his refusal to circumcise any of our potential male offspring that broke us? Certainly not — I like to consider myself nontraditional and open-minded. The foreskin issue was more of a symptom than a cause; what did eventually lead to our break-up were the negative associations he made with Judaism as a result of his upbringing.

What have I learned from all of this? When it comes to choosing sexual partners and boyfriends, what a guy brings to bed with him is not as important as why he brings it.

Photo by James Bowe, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more articles from Issue 08: “The Sex Issue.”

I came home on a warm summer night last August beaming from head to toe. I set my head down on a pillow and couldn’t get Chris’s face out of my mind. We just ended a pretty intense night together where we got really close physically (although no, we did not have sex). His mother, who I had met the previous weekend and bonded with immediately, had a minor stroke the night before. She was doing fine, and already recovering well in a hospital in southern New Jersey. Sadly, this was not the first time she had a stroke, due to her complications with diabetes. Chris’ parents told him to stay in New York City that night because his mother was doing just fine, and that he need not worry. Still, he was visibly upset when I saw him, heartbroken by her reoccurring health problems. All I wanted to do was be there for him.

We had been dating for only a few short weeks – but had been friends for several months since meeting on the tennis courts in Central Park that summer. We had undeniable chemistry and mutual attraction. There was just one little problem that I had been trying to overlook all summer – Chris was a born again Christian and I am Jewish. The more he opened up to me, the more it was evident that for Chris, serving Christ was his life’s mission. That little voice inside of me kept nudging me, telling me our relationship would never work out, that we had no real future together.

I’m totally open to other religions – I believe religions are, for the most part, a vehicle for people to be connected to the universe in a deeper, more spiritual way – but becoming a born again Christian had zero appeal for me. Then again, who was I to judge Chris in his spiritual journey? He confided in me that before he found Christ, he was doing a lot of drugs in college and was incredibly depressed. If being a born again Christian brought him joy, made him feel like his life had a purpose, and got him off drugs, then I was all for it. Still, I wondered if he was just jumping from one extreme to another – if the void that was left by his drug use was now filled with serving Christ. Chris displayed his desire for me typically in small ways – hugging, kissing, holding my hand. Still, I could see he was conflicted – he seemed very hesitant and guilty every time he kissed me. And yet despite all of this, I was not ready to let Chris go.

The morning following our intense date, I awoke to a two-page ranting email from Chris. As I absorbed his words, it finally dawned on me that Chris was proselytizing to me.

His email read:

“I know this is probably really hard for you to understand, but as I have tried to share with you before, my heart has been changed and transformed by the power of Jesus. I know this sounds alien to you. I have so longed to be a shining light of love in your life! I have wanted in every way to be a blessing, to please you and love you. But I am conflicted and know in my heart for sure that there is only one who can truly do this, and his name is Jesus! I really don’t have an agenda but to love you as Christ does. Unfortunately I have fallen quite short of that calling and need to recognize that the best thing right now is for us to be friends. I hope that in the midst of this trial you and I will come to trust more in the One who is absolutely sovereign and who ordains all things according to His wise purposes. There are no accidents here. You know this, Nikki!”

Chris’ critical words on what he thought of our “transgressions” burned in my head. “We had NOT even had SEX,” I yelled at my laptop. I guess a part of me believed that once Chris fell in love with me, he would give up his zealous Christian ways. In Judaism, sex is regarded as a “divine gift” from God, not solely for the purpose of procreation, but for the purpose of companionship and pleasure. Judaism does not believe that sexuality is evil, but rather a strong and chronic urge similar to hunger or thirst, that is apparent in healthy human beings. In traditional Judaism, sex is permissible only within the context of a marriage. But I’m not the most traditional girl, and neither are most of my Jewish friends.

I heard on NPR that a majority of evangelical or born-again Christians believe that sexual activity outside of marriage is likely to have harmful psychological and physical effects. Moreover, many evangelical Christians have a conflicted relationship with sex even once they are married, believing that it’s a sinful act unless used to propagate. Hear me out: I was NOT with Chris only to have sex. However, I am not a virgin and when I am in a committed relationship with a guy, I want to enjoy a sex life with him.

Besides, I take being Jewish seriously. I love the Jewish holidays with all the great food and familiar traditions. I loved my Bat Mitzvah. I love celebrating Shabbat whenever I can. I love hearing Hebrew at delis in New York City and deconstructing it. Ultimately, as much as I was falling for Chris, I knew I had to stay true to myself. And so, as painful as it was, I wrote an email back and said goodbye.

Photo by kyz, licensed under Creative Commons.