tuluum's Diaryland Diary
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
No Sex In The City (article)
Hmmm.... I need to research what the Modern Orthodox stance on Shomer Negiah is...
(08/03/2001)
No Sex In The City
As Modern Orthodox Gen-Xers on Upper West Side stay single longer,
keeping `shomer negiah' is test of will.
Sarah Bronson - Special To The Jewish Week
Before she converted to Judaism, Devorah had been sexually active for
10 years. Eventually, said the 29-year-old who works in computers,
she "got cheap feelings I was sick of having. I was burned, and taken
for granted. I said, `No man is going to have me unless he's my
husband.' "
Although somewhat surprised by the strict Jewish laws regarding
physical activity, the attractive redhead has not touched any man �
even to shake his hand � since her conversion.
Zahava, 28, who works in publishing, dresses modestly, and plans to
cover her hair when she marries in keeping with the practice of many
Orthodox women. She dates men who share her commitment to Jewish law.
But with two boyfriends she broke those laws so thoroughly that she
said "I may be a virgin, but I'm not virginal." She struggles with
the hypocrisy.
Ezra is a 27-year-old lawyer with an impish grin. He has not touched
any woman, not even his girlfriends, since he was 19, after a life-
changing year in Israel.
"According to our bodies, we should have had sex a long time ago," he
said. "Would I have sex with a robot if I could? Yes."
Devorah, Zahava, and Ezra, not their real
names (most names have been changed), all live on the Upper West Side
of Manhattan. They are just three of the small but determined group
of Modern Orthodox Generation-Xers there who are shomer negiah, who
observe the laws of touching, which prohibit single people not just
from sex, but from any physical displays of affection for non-related
members of the opposite gender.
In a world bombarded by sexual images, where HBO's "Sex in the City"
is a top-rated show, there is, in this liberal neighborhood, a
sizable pocket of older singles � late 20s and up � who will not so
much as tap each other on the shoulder.
The law is ancient, but increasingly difficult to follow as young
religious professionals stay single longer. Educated and integrated
in the modern world, these singles know exactly what they are
missing. But without a support system, such as parents or
matchmakers, to help them get married, they often remain single,
celibate, and without physical intimacy well into their late 20s and
30s, paying for their religious devotion with sexual tension.
One need not be shomer negiah to be celibate, or celibate to have
sexual morals. But in remaining "shomer" for many years, these single
Jews have turned self-control into an art. Most grew up shomer
negiah, or turned to it during a spiritual awakening in their teens.
All assumed they would marry in their early 20s, and now feel the
weight of time.
"It's admirable," said Jeff, a boyish Long Island native who, at 37,
has never gone past holding hands. "But after a point it's ridiculous
and abnormal."
"There is the fear of never getting married," added Yael, a petite
Stern College alumna who will be 30 this year. "If I knew it wouldn't
take too long, I could deal."
A West Side psychoanalyst who wished to remain anonymous to protect
her clients said "for the person who has never had [sex], it's
devastating, it's brutal. A 32-year-old who has never [been intimate]
is afraid he or she they never will. They want to know how it feels.
It's hard for someone who is not in this to fathom what that's like."
Yeshiva University's Rabbi Yosef Blau said that until recently, the
law was generally irrelevant.
"Historically, people got married much younger," he said, "so the
whole notion of being physically mature and holding back expressing
it was not really applicable. The level of control expected is
greater than ever because society functions so differently." Negiah
is an issue now, he said, because people get married later and are
simultaneously exposed to more secular values.
"It's a bad dynamic," Zahava admitted. "The Jewish view of sex is
that it's a great thing, we should enjoy it, within marriage. The way
the system was set up, it's not supposed to be that I'm 28 and not
married."
"For a long time," Rabbi Blau said, "the Orthodox community was not
focused on this problem. The shuls had dances. That was the need of
the time � giving people a chance to meet, marry each other and stay
within [Orthodoxy]." But now, he said, the strength of the Orthodox
community has allowed members to turn their attention to these laws.
Professor Sylvia Barack Fishman, who teaches Sociology of American
Jews at Brandeis University, said that the emphasis on negiah emerged
during the late `60s and `70s, when American standards of sexual
behavior suddenly loosened. "Orthodox Jews had to contend with the
fact that they were no longer receiving support from the wider
society," Fishman said. "More attention is being paid to negiah now
because it's a religious issue, not a societal norm."
None of the 10 shomer negiah singles interviewed for this story had
philosophical problems with the law, other than the frustration of
keeping it for so long. "[This law] is right," Ezra insisted. "The
rules [don't] guarantee that everything in your life will be great
and you'll be happy. It's unfortunate that so many people aren't
married ... but it's not the fault of the rules."
Why the Modern Orthodox, like other Americans, are delaying marriage
is a complex issue. One theory is that the longer one remains single,
the more difficult it becomes to trade a familiar lifestyle for the
unknown of marriage.
Social worker Shaya Ostrov, author of the Orthodox dating guide "The
Inner Circle," said of older singles that "their friends, their
professions, their schedules help them maintain their sanity, their
integrity. It's unreasonable to ask anyone to change a lifestyle that
has been put together so carefully, unless [the potential marriage
partner] is the best friend they've ever had." The challenge, he
said, is for people to develop "best friend relationships" with their
dates.
Upper West Side Orthodoxy has unique kinetics. It is a world in
which, on Friday night, hundreds of mingling singles block traffic in
front of Congregation Ohab Zedek. They host elaborate Shabbat meals
for friends, hoping to achieve an appropriate male-female ratio. It
is a world in which one is defined by the synagogue one attends on
Saturday morning and by the roommates with whom one shares the
exorbitant rents. And it is a world in which few are shomer negiah.
Determining the number of "shomer" singles is difficult. The
population here has diverse histories and religious attitudes. Some
who consider themselves "shomer" will greet a friend with a peck on
the cheek but refrain from heavy petting. Others avoid contact
entirely. Individuals change over time and from relationship to
relationship. And many believe in the law, but admit to succumbing to
temptation to varying degrees.
There have been no formal studies. The consensus among the Orthodox
West Siders interviewed, from various religious and sexual
backgrounds, is that shomer negiah singles here are relatively rare.
They observe that more people have sex than refrain from touch. The
largest group, they said, is of those who are celibate but
not "shomer."
Here, like attracts like. Several Orthodox residents said they don't
know any shomer negiah neighbors, while most shomer negiah people
said they don't know anyone to be sexually active.
Still, the pressure to cave to temptation is high.
"The persistent feeling that everyone around you [practices]
something far differently from the way you do makes it tough," said
Abe Katzman, a lawyer in his 30s who went on record with his real
name. "A lot of people second-guess themselves." Some singles are
embarrassed to admit they are inexperienced, and simultaneously
shocked to discover who is not.
David, a securities analyst known for his sense of humor who
has "never done anything that wouldn't make it onto pre-1980s prime
time network TV," said "plenty of people keep the rules, in spite of
the world around them. There are people here who are very tough and
disciplined."
The singles cited different benefits of being "shomer." First was
that it prevents a fall down "the slippery slope" to sex. Several
also noted the increased clarity and focus infused into a
relationship when a couple spends their dates talking over dinner or
enjoying concerts, walks, or picnics, rather than "messing around."
Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis, founder of Hineini, said that "physical
contact awakens feelings that may lead you to believe you are in love
when [you are] not," she said. "You have a conflict, someone puts
their arms around you, and that seems to make it up, but you haven't
resolved the conflict."
Devorah, who is in her first shomer negiah relationship, said "[my
boyfriend] definitely respects me more. If a guy can refrain from
touching a woman, he's getting to know who she is. She's not a toy or
a game."
Fishman theorized that young people are attracted to the laws of
negiah because they have "a revulsion against what is perceived as
the emptiness of society. Traditional Judaism is counter-cultural at
this time. [It] gives Jews a way to live in dissonance with the
values of society that they find objectionable." Being shomer negiah,
she said, is "a statement of rejection against the casualness with
which sexuality is treated in America."
Others said that being "shomer" is a way of preserving the special
bonding powers of touch for marriage. "The rules of negiah are very
romantic," said Amy, an attorney in her late 20s. "If I had my way, I
would be the first woman my husband touched in a loving way. There's
something beautiful about that."
But as the payoff is delayed, most religious singles said that what
compels them is simply the law.
"I want to lead a halachic life," said Rachel, a Jewish studies
teacher. "Otherwise, I don't think I'd be so [strict]." In this
sense, Rachel and her peers do not feel they have a choice, any more
than they have a choice to eat pork or drive on Shabbat.
Others said that they believe in the ideals behind the law, but that
it is impossible or unreasonable to observe it for so many years.
Jonathan, 33, a public school teacher, said, "shomer negiah is a
concept that doesn't work for singles in their 30s. For me to spend
my entire life afraid to touch a girl, from a psychological
standpoint, is repressive."
Few in the Modern Orthodox community accept this law to begin with,
and of those who accept it, few continue to be perfectly shomer
negiah when they are in serious relationships. "Just because you are
frum doesn't mean you aren't human. There are things you can express
with touch that you just can't with words," Zahava said. "But I could
never fully enjoy what I was doing, because I felt like a hypocrite.
I had the exterior of this really frum girl, and considered myself a
really frum girl. I felt really conflicted and confused."
"This is not me," she continued. "I want to be with someone who
believes in [the law], who believes in the sanctity of it, and who
will help me � because I am not strong."
Typically, the shomer singles hope to find partners with similar
leanings. They mostly date people from outside the neighborhood: from
Brooklyn, Queens, Passaic, Washington Heights. "At Ohab Zedek, I see
a large group of people who are largely irrelevant to me," Ezra said.
Rachel remarked, "I hear stories about guys who [have had sex]. It
makes me wonder whether my dates are as pure and Torah-dik as I
assume they are."
Still, "the West Side gets a bad rep," Zahava said, expressing the
view of many religious residents. "They're fooling around all over
the place. But because the West Side is such an open place, and
anything goes, you know what people are doing."
Ultimately, the singles interviewed, no matter their religious
observance, identified their biggest problem not as sexual
frustration, but loneliness. Their prime reason for wanting marriage
is not sex, but companionship.
"Today," Zahava said, "I was thinking, `There are very few people who
see me as I know I am. When will somebody get it?' That has nothing
to do with negiah. It's a certain loneliness and sadness. I feel all
dressed up with nowhere to go."
www.thejewishweek.com
*************************************************************************
*************************************************************************
12:42 p.m. - Monday, Jan. 12, 2004
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------