Last night a DJ saved my life

New York doesn't seem to have the same sparkle shine it once did. Last night was the first Saturday in a while that I did the NYC thing. I went with a friend to a tiny club I had heard of but never had been to. Her friend had suggested it and, well, what did we have to lose, so we had an impromptu night out that started off with a fun train ride in to the city (which was probably the best part of the night).

Exiting Penn Station at 8th ave. so we could walk down to 28th St. and over to 10th Ave., I got my first taste of male pattern rudeness as a pack of guys walked in our direction and one in particular decided he fancied me so much (as I was practically covered from head to toe in clothing) that he just had to touch me. Even though it was "only on my hand" and his hand "only graced my waist" it was enough to make me wish that we were in another part of the city and he was without his friends so that grrrl inside me could get all riled up and demand to know what made him think that he ever had the right to touch a complete stranger? Huh, you ugly clueless unintelligent insensitive senseless asshole?!?!?!?

But I ignored his advances and made him feel like I didn't notice that I had been touched by a stranger.

We finally got to our club on a strip of many. I wonder when this one will too change owners and get a new name. Waiting in line, ID please, I always look away even though yes it is me in the picture and I have been above the legal drinking age for years.

The hallway looked decent. No cover for two girls who come in alone. We walked into the dark abyss like animals freshly born and blind. I thought that there was a height requirement or that it was Amazon night because almost everyone was over 5'10" for girls and 6'0" for boys. There was no noticeable dance floor as the room was packed with tables and couches - "VIP" bottle areas where the women danced on anything they liked.

Needless to say there was more unwanted touching, but thank G-d no groping. Obviously there was drink-spilling, toe-stepping, and when I couldn't stand the claustrophobia anymore I knew it was time to give in and buy myself a drink. A $12 drink. The most expensive drink I've had since $13 Apple Martinis at Guastavinos on Saturday nights some 4 or 5 years ago when they still had their Saturday night after dinner hours party and apple martinis still weren't too sweet for my taste.

I haven't had much to drink lately, what with the three weeks and all, so it was no surprise that after 4 sips of my Stoli and soda I definitely had a buzz going on. After my drink was finished I was satisfied in knowing that it was my first, last, and only of the evening. I think I'd like to remain a one drink queer for a while.

While I had my buzz going so that it made me dance, I stopped for a few minutes and had a good look around. A couple to my left was doing their own version of dancing, which was really his leg in her crotch and moving from side to side sloppily. Scantily clad girls were everywhere and men were trying to catch them. In those brief moments that's when I wondered, is this what's really important in life? Is this what brings fulfillment? These nights of dancing and drinking when everything blurs into one and becomes one, where his touch of your flesh is still all your flesh and in the morning everything has become a question mark. Maybe it was at 22 but 25 seems to demand a bit more, like the opportunity for conversation even if it isn't taken advantage of. Dinner with someone you love. The ability to make a connection with someone that doesn't require making out with a stranger.

A year ago today

A year ago today I sat on the floor with Eicha in my hand, a candle by my side and my journal in my lap. I wrote about how I spent the years prior on Tisha B'av in similar settings. The first time I truly felt like his family, sharing candles and a copy of Eicha with his mom, her eyes following my finger running along the Hebrew letters. Time certainly does fly but memories stay as long as you let them.

"Zion spread out her hands; there was none to comfort her."

Boxes

Ever since I knew what it was - ever since I first saw the aftermath -
temporary lines on his arms showing his commitment to G-d -
ever since I saw him put it on
in his own little world
That's when I knew something was special and I...loved...tefillin...

Yes, those brown boxes with the leather straps traditionally deemed only for men as a daily reminder - you have a covenant with G-d
Something so special, how lucky you are (yeah right lucky, you try waking up every morning and doing this daily)
Something which led to my M.O. - "Tefillin is sexy" - and it is

Ask any Jewish man who has ever known me
Ask any religious girl and she will tell you
The lines on your arm are hot
And the mark in your hair makes us hot
And yes, this seems blasphemous, I know
And no, this is not some sick little fetish I adopted some years ago
But this is simply what my neshama - my soul - gets excited for

For whatever reason it has been my unknown duty to let it be known to men who are dawdling on the line, thinking, "Do I or don't I?"
That allowing yourself to submit to the Rabbi doing kiruv on the street
And making a bracha, wrapping the straps around your arm, positioning it in place on your head in the mirror, taking the care to make sure it is just right,
Showing Hashem that you care enough to take advantage of your mitzvah and all those things combined
It is all worth the rosiness that creeps into my cheeks when I say in front of said Rabbi that tefillin is sexy, and I want you to know it, especially if it will help you to stop thinking and just cross the line
So that some nice little Jewish girl with a "dark" side can see your lines on your arm
And flash you a smile

Watching Victoria Beckham on TV makes me miss the Brits in Tel Aviv

And the North Americans I associate with them. I know it's terrible of me to stereotype and group my friends together, but I can't help it. Tonight I watched a re-run of Posh's show on the telly and all the while I saw bits and pieces of my friends in her and also the bits and pieces of my friends that she is lacking. It made me wish I was back in Tel Aviv sharing a glass of wine and a fag along with some story about a boy. Or dancing on a bar till the wee hours of the morning...or at least trying to control my drinking so that I can make it that long.

I miss the face time because that's what we had. And no matter what technology has to offer, I can be phased out if not for that face time. I don't want to be forgotten. In fact I want to draw myself in photos where I am not. I may sound ridiculous, I may sound lonely, but really I'm just a girl in the best city in the world who wishes she was back in Tel Aviv.

I need a vacation

From people, places and things. From NY. From the feeling of being stifled and suffocated at once. I am so tired of having my freedom lost at my own expense. I am so tired of feeling like every piece of my life is being monitored - I am told by people when I have lost weight, how I do my makeup all the time, that my shoes are wrong, that my walk in my shoes are wrong, whether I really will return to Israel or not. Opinions are best when asked for and I rarely ask because as a person who only likes to receive criticism on her own terms, I am particularly offended by peoples' too-often too-easily given honesty.

I am starting to feel the way I did in Israel before that trip up North which was a breath of fresh air. I am starting to itch for privacy and hands to be unclasped from around my neck and the phone to stop ringing for once because honestly - if I may be honest without your request - I don't care to give advice on every little inquiry every 5 minutes. How happy I am that not everyone reads this.

I miss my sunshine and the ability to walk to the beach when I want and be anonymous when I want and have coffee for one at a table for one and the ability to change that at times. I miss freedom. I miss Israel. I miss my bf. I need a vacation for one or maybe two.

We spoke about him last night and then he came to me in a dream

Ghosts of my past continue to haunt me. When will they cease to matter?

At night he comes to me in a dream but what does it mean these days? His eyes rimmed red with tears and I awake confused again like when I was in a foreign land and dreamed of men who were chasing me or yelling across a crowded table or black cats climbing through my window and stepping over me. Dare I run away again with the risk of being followed by ghosts.

On Rothschild outside Independence Hall she sits and waits

My heart bleeds for my country and my youth. For memories that are so sought after it stings. It seems like ages ago when I was a kid at barely 21 in Israel for the first and second time and even then my soul remembered. I can almost touch everything I had forgotten that now my photos remind me. How I wish I could dive into each one and tap into my 6 senses - smell, touch, listen - truly FEEL textures, streets, I was on Rothschild before I knew what it was, will I ever taste falafel as that which I had in Tsfat - still best ever to this day but was it because these were made on Holy ground?

Tel Aviv of my youth, how different you would have been had I not been so committed, so strict to another's convictions. I don't even recognize myself, my hair the longest it had ever been, curly, wild, stomach flat, 10 - no 15 - pounds lighter, and that spark in my eyes...

All of us were so different back then, how we've changed and yet how some things never will.

I gaze at these photos, memories frozen in time and re-live them with the knowledge of how it truly feels to be in Nachalat Binyamin on a Friday afternoon and eating falafel on Allenby, what it's like to feel like Tsfat belongs to you and only you for one day, how every new site is worthy of a bracha...in these photos I look the part of Israeli beauty, Malkat HaYofi I never knew I was. How I wish I knew what others knew then that I am only realizing today - a little bit older, one hair grayer, 15 lbs. curvier. And I know how it feels when you've realized you've just had a full conversation in Hebrew, or even better - your first dream.

The photos continue. Something's missing now. It's him. And it doesn't feel okay but I know deep down it does. More Israel. I remember the corner where I photographed "K'mo b'America?" spray painted on the concrete - the beginning of my fascination with Tel Aviv street art. And was it really like America? It wasn't then and isn't now, but even then sparked questions of identity. Israel - who are you trying to be if not yourself?

Old streets, old memories, the photos stop and I am back in New York, a girl at 22, a girl at 25 - 3 years have passed and yet some things still never change.

Tick-tock tick-tock

That's the sound of my biological clock. Tick-tock tick-tock - I'm only 25 but that's the sound it makes when the second hand pokes me saying "Don't you want a baby? Don't you want to be a mommy?" And I do but c'mon, there's a time and a place for everything! Who knew that I'd be placing my feelings for babies onto little puppies. Maybe one little furry thing is the same as another. HA! Take that clock! I won't let you pressure me into pre-marital sex (haha) and other such WRONG things! I will go to shiurim that teach me how to dress and how to date and how to be Holy and I will show up with my darling little doggie and all the ladies in the class (including the Rebbetzin) will say "awwwwwww!" and they will silence you! And I will never be broody again.

Fading Fast

Israel already seems worlds away. Almost like a memory in the far recesses of my mind. An old acquaintance sent a video clip of what looked like a concert at HaYarkon. Maybe it was the slow chords of the song that tugged at my heartstrings, or simply the reality that I have in fact decided to stay in New York, but for some reason today - tonight - I miss warm sea breezes from the Mediterranean, friends to share a bottle of wine and a life story, fresh food on demand - hell, kosher food on demand! Israel, I miss you with the longing and urgency of an old lover. I want to smell your hair and hold you in my arms.