Orthodox jew dating

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I already had mixed feelings about kissing her, because I grew up , not touching the opposite sex. I didn’t know how to use them or where to get them.

I remembered the “It’s not you it’s me” routine from me.

And while the Torah (Part I of the Bible for all you goyem) does make certain prescriptions for how and when you get to know each other biblically, certain cultural customs vary between -- and often within -- sects.

No matter where they may (or may not) stand on Christ, fans of the the Old Testament and New join ranks with just about every religious sect by disapproving of premarital sex.

And it’s not just women who are expected to cover up.

But how and to what you degree you cover up is largely cultural and not so much a matter of scripture. While the tradition of covering one’s hair is vaguely alluded to in scripture, how this rule is interpreted and practiced is very much cultural.

Would I hurt her feelings by ending the embrace mid-moment? She then invited me to a café near her place in Astoria for a folk-music singalong. Growing up, I sang the traditional Hebrew and Yiddish songs every Shabbat, but also folks songs and tunes by Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, and Phil Ochs, a merging of the secular world and the religious one. For three hours, we didn’t say much, just listened to the music, enjoyed being with each other.

Was I throwing this all away after more than two decades of good behavior? The cafe was near her house, and I was anxious that she’d invite me over afterward. As we walked in, I felt a warm feeling of nostalgia coming from the old people singing the Woody Guthrie song “Pretty Boy Floyd.” We whispered to each other, and her face was lit up by the candle on the table.

She was someone my Orthodox Jewish parents in Brooklyn wouldn’t approve of, which was still the first thing I worried about when it came to dating. As we waited in the station for our trains to take us to different boroughs, hers to Queens and mine deeper into Brooklyn, we chatted until there was an awkward moment, the first of the evening. The next day was mine, so I had the book with me to prepare.

She was a camp counselor at a vegan, LGBT-friendly overnight camp. She’d learned it in college, which to me was way cooler than the kind my Hasidic neighbors spoke at home. According to the TV and movies I watched as a kid, this was progress. And then I tasted the faint taste of cheese crackers. As I wiped off the remnants of our romance from my lips, feelings of intimacy were replaced with regret. How could I get myself involved with someone I could not end up with? Each day, one of us prepared a lecture to give to the group.

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