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Do You Have The Touch?


By Rita Polevoy

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.

RingsPhysical 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.”

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What Comes First?


By Yocheved Sidof

ourweddingpicWhat 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.


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, and Ma’ayan Chaya, 22 months.

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