When I jog through the Orthodox Jewish community, I wonder what the men are like without all those black clothes. Some of them are tall and handsome — swarthy. The black clothes make them look mysterious. Nothing inspires more curiosity than a man belonging to a tight knit community established in ritual — centuries old.
I make eye contact with a few as I jog, sweaty — breathing hard. A couple have stared at me and smiled, some nod. Don’t believe it? I’m delusional? Maybe they’re just “community oriented”? I think they want me. Yeah. I fancy having a go at one or two of them. I like beards too.
It was that article in the New York Times, the one about the community of Orthodox Jews you don’t know, the ones who smoke – the ones who do things you don’t associate with such a community — subterranean things. Oy! The dichotomy! What lies in that contradiction between the supposed existence and the actual existence?
What? You’re forbidden by scripture? Are you racist? Why does that matter — we’re all racists. That shouldn’t get in the way of exercising ones right to explore the boundaries of primal gratification, outside the confines of expectation. Right?
. רק כל עוד אנחנו לא עושים את זה עם חור בסדין