Skullcaps

As you can notice I've been bloggin alot recently. This is because I have an assignment on international humanitarian law due (by that I mean its overdue already) and blogging is a surefire way to avoid being a responsible student while pretending to study b/c hey, atleast I'm on my laptop!

So I think we need to discuss kippot. I've recently returned to my kippa factory ways which has given me a lot of food for thought in terms of classifying whole and complex human beings based purely on what they wear on their heads. As such without further ado here is such a list.

1) Dead Animals - This could be anything from a spoddik to a shtreimel and it basically provides a strong warning for me to stay far far away. That is unless I feel like living in 18th century white Russia while singing german drinking tunes with my eyes closed.

2) Black velvet - Though obviously there are frum people who wear black velvet kippot, the majority of the time such head-wear is found accompanying tight white shirts and even tighter shiny dark pants. Not to mention ridiculously pointy shoes and intensely sleezy eyes. Ahhh shababnikim - you and your arsim ways!

3) Black Velvet With 'Yechei Adonani' Around The Rim - Idolators. No thanx.

4) Giant White Rebbe Nachman - Damn it, I'd totally rule these boys out for being nonsensical except that they make ridiculously good dance music (...errr...that I listen to ironically...).

5) Giant Kippa Sruga -Let me guess, you're 24, have three kids, live in a caravan and sleep with your gun. But if I told you that Rav Kook was my great (great?) uncle you'd have to be impressed.

6) Regular Kippa Sruga - so many patterns and colours and styles and locations on the head. I'm a bit of a fan of the right on the top of the head situation, like nati from srugim. The only issue here is that either you're already married or you won't be until you're 30 and have finished the 7 degrees you seem to need before getting a real job. Nevertheless my heart beats a little bit quicker every time you re-arrange that crocheted circle atop your talmud filled head.

7) The Tiny Sruga - Yeah we get it, you're lost. Your parents don't know what to do with you and all you want is to go to India, smoke pot and 'experiment.'

8) Plain Leather - From a frum fam and has gone to yeshiva but doesn't really care that much. You drink alot, mess around with girls, eat out occasionally and are forgetful of the laws of shabbat. But when you hit your late 20s all you'll want is a 19 year old virginal aidel maidel who makes wicked deli role and wouldn't dream of being anything other than a physio/occupational/music therapist.

9) Printed Leather - American Modox, comes with accompanying basketball shorts and too loud obnoxious accent.

10) The Girls Kippa - Ok I'll admit that I'm not so well versed in these but I'm going to assume that it comes with a matching floral tallit.

11) Shiny White - and I almost forgot the awkwardly perched free kippot worn by estranged cousins to weddings. It's so uncomfortable and adorable. Loves it!

12) Hats - Another soft spot of mine. Straw hats, old man hats, faux-communist military hats. It says - hey babe, wanna hear my haiku based on bava metzia that I remixed with dubstep? *melt*

As such I feel like I've successfully avoided any nuance or depth and managed to fit a large number of people into very rigid boxes based purely on their yarmulke with little concern for the complexities of human self-definition.

Good job Ms.B!

Sabradom!

To update you folks on my progress of israelification I have reached a new level of sabradom.

I now tell people off. People I don't know. In the middle of the street.

And. I. LOVE. It.

It all started on my first day here. I had to go to the bank. It was the middle of summer, I was jetlagged and there was only one cashier working. So I waited in line. And I waited and I waited. Then finally I was first in line. Suddenly another cashier opened! So I stepped forward to be served only to be overtaken by a haredi guy from the back of the line!

I was so hot and tired and grumpy that I laid straight into him! I told him that it was unfair what he was doing. That I was next in line. I've been waiting here patiently.That as a religious man he should know better. That immediately after tisha b'av he should behave better. That by doing this he's contributing to sinat chinam (baseless hatred). And that by contributing to sinat chinam he's perpetuating the destruction of the temple and delaying the coming of moshiach.

Damn straight I showed him.

But I still had to wait till he was done before I was served since he doesn't speak to women or listen to them when they yell at him in public places.

Since that first taste I've been hooked.

I yell at Arabs who whistle at me on the street. I tell them not to be like animals but to behave with self respect and treat themselves and other people with the respect they deserve.

I yell at teenage boys who ask me if I can get them cigarettes or beer telling them that its not good for them, that they should look after themselves and that it's illegal.

I even yelled at a boy on my bus who consistently wears sexually explicit and misogynistic t-shirts telling him that there are children on public transport and that those t-shirts are not appropriate for outside of the house.

In short I yell at anyone, any where, any time.

So if you need somebody to be chastised... you know who to call.

The Secret Life Of Men

It's been a while since we've had a post shabz post. So here's a return to tradition with something out of the ordinary.

On Friday night I was initiated to a secret society. The have a secret language. Secret handshakes. Secret privileges. Most people aren't allowed in. But I got a sneak peak.

OK you got me. It's not so secret. But I was at a dinner where I was the only girl and I feel like I got an intense insight into the male brain.

And to clarify, by male brain we mean early 20s yeshiva student brain. But still... it was interesting.

One of my first discoveries was that contrary to popular opinion boys can cope without meat. These young men chose to have a vegetarian shabbat meal, much to my pleasure. Additionally they cooked the meal themselves and it was no average meal. Mushroom soup, quiche, a million types of cheese and halva and a giant salad with fruit in it. FRUIT! Though the give away that it was a man-meal could be the abundant amounts of beer and whiskey consumed through the course of the evening. Though that was very nice too.

Furthermore the conversation topics were delightful. They discussed what type of weddings they'd like (traditional, naturist, small...etc) and then they discussed torah for abit (obviously from an academic perspective) and then there was a discussion of women as communal leaders (shlichei tzibbur or rabbis). They consistently had adorably open-minded and well considered opinions. When the topic of rape was brought up, one of the gentlemen found the topic so offensive he asked that we discuss something else. What a mentch!

All in all these man-boys liked women b/c they liked humanity and they liked torah b/c they liked learning and truth.

This dinner gave me hope that even though the majority of jewboys are really just bigoted mummies boys there are those who are a beacon of hope in flowing tzitzit for us all.

Amen brother.

Why I Hate Karaoke

It's time for an oldie but a goodie.

When I was in primary school I was in the school choir. I was in the school musicals. I sang at speech night. But I was consistently disappointed that my best friend got the solos.

Bless my parents for giving me such high self-esteem. It took a very long time for me to understand why I was always at the back of the choir far far away from a microphone.

Indeed not until I was 19 and walking home from shule did it all become apparent. I avoided my father's shule like a plague of very old boring men and as such I has a long lonesome walk home on shabbat mornings. With no ipod to entertain myself, I would sing. Mainly shabbat songs but occasionally some Oasis or John Mayer (don't judge me, it was my pre-hipster days). In my street there are a number of old age homes. In front of one of them is a bench. And on that fateful shabbat morning on that bench was parked the tuchus of a certain old man.

Being fully absorbed in my musical extravaganza I didn't even register his presence until I heard a "excuse me young lady would you mind not doing that?"

I stop. Turn to face him and considering how I lived in the ghetto I assumed he was referring to kol isha.

I politely replied saying "sorry, I didn't mean to be inappropriate or to disturb."

The old man smiled and pointed to his kippa saying "Oh, it's not because of this."

He then rolls up his sleeve and says "It's just that I'VE SUFFERED ENOUGH IN MY LIFE" and with that he points to the tattoo he has on his inner arm.

And so I realised that my singing is pretty bad. Quite terrible actually. Bad enough to disturb partially deaf old men.

To disturb old holocaust survivors.

My singing is like a GENOCIDE.

From that day on, I swore, never again.

As a side issue, note the feline themed pictures, I'm preparing for my life as a cat-lady.

Abandoning The Sisterhood?

So to be honest, I’m a bad feminist.

First, I’ll tell you the external reasons that would make Mary Wollstonecraft turn in her grave and then I’ll tell you the internal ones that would make Tamar Ross shudder.

Firstly, as you know, I'm domestic. Cooking, cleaning, crocheting, the whole deal. I’d prefer to do any of those tasks rather than play contact sports or go hunting. I wear make-up and am pretty scrupulous with grooming.

Additionally from a religious perspective I’m a bad feminist. I wear skirts. Even when exercising. Necklines and sleeves to the letter. I’ve never layned, never been a shaliach tzibbur and I don’t always do a women’s zimun. Yes, I’m going to be a lawyer but a family lawyer for goodness sake. I’ll spend all my time arguing over who gets the kids and then getting paid like a teacher (who am I kidding I could probably work as a garbage collector and get paid more than a teacher here, and get more respect).

It doesn’t get much better when we take a look inside my head. Sometimes staying at home appeals to me. Making quilts, knitting jumpers, baking my own bread. Not having to compete for grades. Not having to write essays or finish readings. Not having the pressure of having to be financially independent. I could just get somebody with a Y chromosome to pay for all my stuff. All the decisions could be made by him. I wouldn't have to pick how much of my income to invest and where. I wouldn't have to work out tax stuff (tax...ewww).

I suppose that sometimes I can't be bothered fighting for equality. Is it really worth all my effort everyday trying to be taken seriously? Can I really be bothered telling another person off on the bus? I could work 60 hour weeks but I still won't get paid the same amount as a guy working half that. I could know shas off by heart and hilchot shabbat from the tur to ovadia yosef but I still won't be a Rabbi. Sometimes it just too hard.

Sometimes I just want to take the easy way out. To just be a nice maidel. To give in to patriarchy.

The truth is though, that you can never go home. A woman once educated can't forget what she's learnt. A person once liberated can't go back to slavery. Once you've been to the knesset you can't go back to the kitchen.

Sorry Ms. De Beauvoir. I'll try harder.

Maybe I'll start by changing my blog to the marital-status-neutral littleMSbogan?

Nothing but trouble

Ok I get it.

Secular girls love religious boys. Despite my many many many blog posts complaining about how they r mummies boys, they are closed minded and judgmental dem secular girls just can't resist.

All they want is they want is a boy who is essentially already their father.

Responsible. Reliable.

Concerned about the future. Couldn't possibly cheat on you. Bullied and fussed about by a middle aged woman.

I get that it's nice to see a boy who cares about things. He prays. He has self control. He obviously wants a family and won't be pressuring you into sex any time soon. Heck, he blushes just thinking of holding your hand.

I get it secular girls. But you are wrong.

Dem religious boys are nothing but trouble.

Trouble in a polo shirt, kippa and double knotted laces.

But for those of you who enjoy swooning please see http://gabydunn.com/post/2083903661/jewz

(obvz my fave in ginger jew)

And for an oldie but a goodie feel free to return to http://breakthedrought.wordpress.com/2010/05/09/religious-boys/