Monsey Underworld

I lay next to Heshy on the couch, comforted by the warmth of his body. As usual, the bachelor pad that Mendy and Heshy shared was filled with assorted members of the Monsey underworld. Most were ex-Chasidic, whether or not they had abandoned the traditional garb, and others were like me – half frum, ex-Yeshivish, disillusioned but happy to have found a group that accepted us unquestioningly. There was plenty of beer, pot, and cigarettes, but I didn’t need any of it. This was the one place where I could let down my guard.

Mendy and Heshy’s apartment was more than just a “hang out”. It was a reprieve from the real world, where everything was a painful reminder of the fact that I lived in limbo, on the fence of religiosity. When I dropped out of Bais Yaakov, most of my friendships evaporated. Phone conversations that used to last forever were reduced to awkward niceties, mostly just a quick “Hi, how are you,” a shameless attempt at digging for the latest salacious details of my life, and a dash of pity thrown in for good measure.

It was understandable, really. In a place where the slightest deviation from conformity was a gaping deformity, inviting hushed whispers or outright ridicule, a normal girl who dropped out of high school was nothing less than a community scandal. I had not yet made my decision to leave religion, and yet I was shunned. But the secular world was still unfamiliar territory. I had no shared experiences with secular teens, no common ground. The best thing about the Monsey underworld was that everyone understood that and much more without a word of explanation.

Several of the guys watched the flat screen television without much interest as they talked to each other in a mixture of English and Yiddish that I only partially understood. Two girls in the kitchen did their best to make a batch of nachos, which turned out surprisingly well considering that they were drunk or high and very possibly both. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Mendy leading a girl he had just brought home across the living room to his bedroom, a very self-satisfied “cat that ate the canary” look on his face.

Mendy was a bit of a mystery. He didn’t look it, but he was only seventeen despite a driver’s license that said he was twenty two, and he always had plenty of money to throw around. The official story was that his parents threw him out of their home years ago and that he managed to gain success in business deals through sheer charisma, but I strongly suspected he was involved in something illegal. I never did find out. We talked sometimes, but there was an unspoken boundary. I belonged to Heshy – despite the fact that we didn’t actually date – and I was thus a girl Mendy could not have.

Heshy absent mindedly stroked my hair. We were content to be silent, our couch an island in the sea of activity. It was an odd relationship; casual and blessedly simple. I had broken up with a boyfriend a few months before and desperately needed a way to stop pining for him. That was compounded by the fact that it was summer, which somehow made sex an even more ever-present preoccupation. Heshy was happy to kiss me, caress me and spend hours in bed in our own little world. It was intensely freeing and even healing – for both of us.

There were no mind games. I demanded nothing, and I think that Heshy was a little confused by that. When I called, I had no interest in blathering endlessly. I asked if I could come over, and he always said I could. After sex we would lie together, naked, luxuriating in the chaos of the twisted sheets. We would stare at the ceiling in the afterglow and talk – more as friends than lovers.

Every so often I was abruptly reminded of the vastly different worlds Heshy and I came from. Despite the heavy accent, it was easy to forget. Payess and Chasidic garb had long been traded for jeans, t-shirts and stylish haircuts, but attitudes were indelible. Heshy and the other ex-Chasidic guys were raised on morals grounded in religious belief, but that’s all they knew. Now there were no more rules. Civil law was viewed as a mere inconvenience, easily evaded. I once told Heshy that eventually it would catch up with him, but I didn’t want to nag and decided to just keep quiet.

“Leeba?”

I had almost fallen asleep next to Heshy, but one of the newer guys called my name. Yoely was thin, with dark hair, still wearing the full levush. He blushed slightly. I looked at him quizzically.

“Can I have sex with you?”

Speechless, I turned to Heshy. Heshy yawned and said: “Whatever, if you want to it’s cool with me.”

“No – definitely not,” I said, fuming.

“Why not?” Yoely asked, confusion written all over his face.

It dawned on me that neither Heshy nor Yoely really had a handle on the way the sexes interact outside the Chasidic community. I wasn’t well versed in the subtleties of male-female interaction, but I felt disrespected. Being asked for sex outright was offensive, and I knew I was right to feel that way. But once I realized it was a genuine mistake, I was more forgiving.

“Because. Just because.” I told Yoely. I turned away, and the conversation was over.

I didn’t want to hurt Yoely. Everyone in the Monsey underworld was adrift in his or her own way. I was just lucky enough to be farther along my journey than Yoely, despite the hurdles looming ahead. I snuggled closer to Heshy and closed my eyes. Things at the apartment were beginning to quiet down. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. For the moment, I felt safe. I was among family.

Tags: conforming, ex-Chasidim, Monsey, off the derech, parties, relationships, sex