First Person
First Blush of Sin
Photo: Gwenaël Piaser
“We will pick you up at nine,” the text reads.
Shake it off, shake it off, I tell myself
What was supposed to be just a friend and me going out for fries has turned into a meeting of five fellow rebels. I am a bundle of nerves, not sure if I am ready for this.
“Once you start, there is no turning back,” they had said to me. We’d met online, behind the veil of computer screens, but now this is turning real.
Shower. Makeup. What should I do with my hair? It is still growing back since I stopped shaving. Should I wear a hat? A band? Maybe keep my wig on?
I tell myself to stop over-thinking. I dry my hair and get my clothes out: Brand new jeans and a T-shirt. Skirt to cover jeans, sweater to cover T-shirt. Gotta keep the costume on until I am out of Borough Park.
“Going out with friends,” I call to my husband, who sits at our dining room table absorbed in a sefer.
“No problem,” he says absent-mindedly. My phone chimes in my hand. “Have fun,” he calls, like an afterthought. He is used to me going out with friends to places he would never go.
I glance at my phone. “We are at the corner,” the text reads.
At the the hallway mirror, I tuck away a rebellious curl peeking out from under my wig. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
A red sedan idles at the corner. I approach, unsure. The driver, a Chasidic man wearing an argyle sweater vest, payess tucked neatly behind his ears, cracks the window open and crooks his finger. “Come in,” he mouths silently.
My online friend, a chemistry student with wet curly hair, my primary connection to this group, sits in the front passenger seat and puts her finger to her lips. “Shh.” She points to the driver. He is on speaker with his son.
Shh, how appropriate for tonight. Its theme, you might say.
“So great to finally meet you,” I text my friend in the seat in front of me. She turns around and smiles.
Soon we are over the bridge and into the the city. I slip off my skirt and wig and place them on the back seat.
Our evening’s destination is a bar with a wandering gypsy vibe.
Two more friends join us outside the bar. An angry man with a hammer and sickle symbol on his hat stands in front of the door. “Ten dollar cover,” he says.
“Do capitalists have to pay?” Sweater-vest guy asks. He feels clever.
Three dollar mandatory coat check.
“This is great,” I say to my friends. “I now have pockets for my card and ID.” I tap the sides of my jeans and grin. Our driver takes one last puff of his cigarette and we enter.
We walk through a dark hallway and feel the vibrations of the music.
The band is leading into a song and the soulful rhythm feels oddly familiar. We try to place it as we take our seats on the second level, overlooking the band.
“Hey, aren’t they singing in Yiddish?” one of us realizes.
Apparently they are. The female vocalist sings in a warm and velvety soprano: “Sheyn vi di levone, likhtik vi di shtern….”
I am amused by the thought of this being part of a story I will tell one day. On the verge of stepping toward a life of wickedness and sin, the sound of a Yiddish song in a Manhattan nightclub brought me back. Perhaps someone might write a song about it.
“Would you like to order?” a cute waitress with short blond hair asks.
I had already picked my choice off the menu: “Chicken and feta skewers,” I say brightly. Yes, tonight is the night I mix the proverbial goat in his mother’s milk. No, tonight is not the night on which I see the error of my ways.
The band starts playing the song I danced to at my mitzva tanz. How wonderfully strange.
The fifth friend, an accountant who has driven cross-country on a motorcycle, joins us half an hour later. We discuss familiar topics, the ones that brought us initially together, all revolving around our attempts to live the most authentic version of ourselves while living within our restrictive communities.
I sip on a cosmo as I observe the people around me. They laugh easily, as if they do this all the time. Soon the food arrives. Salad, burgers, chicken skewers, and to ensure sinning le’mehadrin min ha’mehadrin, a cheese platter.
My first official bite of treif. Time for a photo-op:
I pile the feta on top of the chicken, then place a chunk of burger on top. All bases covered. Smile, and bite!
The chicken is good, but it’s still just chicken. This is a familiar feeling. Over the past few months, as I have been piling up the transgressions, this feeling of ordinariness is there with each forbidden step. That bite of chocolate cake on Yom Kippur. Turning on the bathroom light on Shabbos. I am often reminded of a quote from Henry David Thoreau: “After the first blush of sin, comes indifference.” That feels very true now.
Still, my thoughts go to a lifetime of warnings. Eating treif = 40 lashes. And right back to the ordinary: Is this green thing bay leaves or basil? Maybe cilantro?
“This feels so strange,” I say to no one in particular.
“Why, how does it feel?” someone asks, and the others look on amused.
I struggle for the words. “It feels like–nothing. It feels like nothing at all. Is something wrong with me? Is this usual?” I ask. I look around for reassurance, and they shrug. They’ve all had the same experience. It appears that prior notions of forbiddenness do not change the fact that chicken is still just chicken. Chicken with some cumin, garlic, and what I’m almost sure is bay leaf. Good chicken, not great chicken.
The band takes a break, and we decide to say hi to the singer, show off our mama-lushen. Her name, it turns out, is Eleanor Reissa, an accomplished performer, and she is amazed to encounter a group of native Yiddish speakers in a bar.
“Mentchen vus redden yiddish, men treft nisht uft azantz.” She joins us outside for a smoke, as she peppers us with questions. She is fascinated with us and our double identities.
I light my first cigarette. It’s filtered. Does that mean I am less likely to die of lung cancer? I wonder but I don’t ask.
I take a puff and notice the other smokers in front of the bars along the street. I marvel at how well I seem to fit in. I look just like one of them. More importantly, I look just like me–the mental image I have of myself. I check my reflection in a pane of storefront glass. Yes, that is me, as I am meant to be.
My cigarette seems to disappear faster than my friends’, and I wonder: Was I smoking it wrong?
Smoking made me thirsty. Back inside, I need to remind the waitress several times before she refills my water glass. She seems less cute now.
“Let’s dance,” my friend, the only other female in our group, suggests. I have been out to bars before, but I’ve never danced. I feel uncoordinated, my limbs flailing like a baby giraffe taking its first steps.
But my friend is insistent and I am a bit buzzed. She is a wonderful dancer and I try to mimic her moves.
We have admirers, it turns out, and I try to be polite. No, I do not want to “shake my hips more,” I tell a guy in an Ed-Hardy T-shirt who was getting a bit handsy. But I am having a good time.
Soon the band winds down. “Ven Moshiach vet kummen…” The singer’s blond curls bounce as she sings her last song. Almost like home, where every event ends with a song of our utopian future.
“If Moshiach does come sometime soon,” I say, “we are royally fucked.”
“Nah,” one of the guys says. “You can always sneak back in.”
“Well,” I remind him. “Remember? Once you start, there is no turning back.”
He nods and says nothing, and I think to myself: Really, why would I ever want to?
Printable Version
Why was there in fact a Yiddish band playing there?
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Pretty soon you’ll be in the עבר ושנה category. There’s no turning back indeed.
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Miriam,
I appreciate this article and the details it has. It does raise some questions in my head though, which I would be honored if you would address:
How much (at that point) was your husband aware of your predilections towards secular culture? You mentioned you had stopped shaving your head, and I imagine it may have been difficult to keep the fact that you owned jeans and (presumably) other “regular” clothing a complete secret from him.
One more comment: The piece as a whole seems to paint the entire situation in a bit of a black-and-white/ us-and-them kind of way. That there is the oppressive, backward world pitted against the alluring world of socializing and line-toeing. I guess what I’m trying to say is that the binary feels simplified here.
Also: I would love to hear more about your experience with science and philosophy, as noted in your bio, as that was not the topic at hand in this piece.
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@ Elana. I appreciate the time you took to formulate a response.
The level of my husbands awareness/unawareness is irrelevant, in my opinion.
Yes, The piece does paint a very black and white picture. Usually I do enjoy the grey areas, it is where I reside these days. But for the purpose of this article, I need to provide that juxtaposition, that contrast for the reader to fully feel the emotions that I felt. Each of these thoughts were heightened by the opposing construct within my community.
But even more than that, for this particular set of circumstances. The bar scene, the dance floor, all the new experiences, these are in actuality completely different than what we see in the Chassidic world. So the simplified binary might be the accurate way to represent it.
You can also follow my blog, where I tend to talk about my science and philosophical thoughts. The link is within my bio.
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Miriam, excellent writing. Seems like a blast from the past. The story, like the chicken, is familiar, but it’s the way it is presented that makes the difference. You should write more!
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Yeah, Yeah.. Yet another chasidic woman who is living a “double life.” Feels like we hear stories like this every day.. Can we just dismantle this whole chasidic system and let everyone live the life they want to live???
DOWN WITH THE CHASIDIC SYSTEM! DOWN WITH THE CHASIDIC SYSTEM!!
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Thank you for sharing, and for your candor. I have heard this spectral times, that after an orgasmic experience with say Shabbat desecration, for instance, nothing else lives up to that first experience. I’m not saying it is this way across the board but it is fascinating how we have been conditioned to such an extent that flicking a light switch can be so evocative.
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Oh, Mehanata. (If that’s the bar in question, as I’m assuming based on the man in the cap out front and the exorbitant cover charge.) Always a good setting for debauchery, no matter the denomination.
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Yes, another double life story. It reads so much like a high school rebellion experience. What, were you sixteen? I’m glad to hear you have discovered life beyond the bar scene. There are countless depressing stories from the other-side of people who wallow in the emptiness of their lives, drown themselves in alcohol, sex, or drugs. Jeans get tiring after a while, too. What is missing is personal choice, education, diversity, intellectual freedom. Don’t get so wrapped up in Big Macs and Levis.
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@Abby: You do have a fair point, that so much of these double lives seem like a rebellion story.
What you are reading is just one day, doing one action that involves going against years of indoctrination. What you aren’t reading is the years and months of personal growth and transformation necessary to go through before taking such action.
To get to the place in my life where eating treif felt like no big deal, I went through all of what you said: Personal dilemmas, education, diversity and especially intellectual freedom.
In a way taking a step like this is a bio-product of all that. It is just a step in my journey of self-discovery- it is definitely not the main act. I think that you would find that many writing about similar experiences will say the same.
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i have trouble, yes i”m married, was out there in the underworld bar, love dancing. my problem is i do love very much my chassidish husband, therefore i dont seek other men, i have people putting their hands on my waist or hips while dancing, i always push them away with a smile and with a nice pat (once i guy would`nt let go only let go off me after a nice pat on his behind, once i was so out of it this gut rubbed his groin on my pelvic area.
my question is should i allow this to happen only in the bar while dancing even though i”m married or should i cut them off like i always do or is there a middle way?
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Very well written, and i am very supportive with your choice.
Nothing is better and worse, just a question of moderation.
What’s wrong with the outsiders?
I am one of them hanging out with Hasidic men and women. Such a pleasure I have!
Enjoying their company, good manners, dirty words and their sense of humor with the religion
Miriam, don’t let people judge you, live your life!
If you want to hang out with me, I will be very happy!
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Miriam. I loved every part of your story & it means a lot to me. I’m just like you but in the male version. I so want to be free & dare to explore. What’s ironic is that in buisness I’m very successful & I have no fear to jump into new projects & deals, yet here I’m a scared kitten. My wife is Chasideshe & Erliche so I know I can’t bring her along to the real world & I’m afraid to loose what I have with my kids. My wife is not bad to me but we have nothing in common or share any interest. I feel like this rich guy who is in prison.
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Michael, in your comment i feel like you described my life in a nutshell.
Looks like we have alot in common. Unfortunately living in this gold cage is a reality for me as well. Unsure what to do next. Knowing im just wasting away my young years with no real joy. yes i have money but what is money without happiness. Im so deep in that even if i decided to leave i wouldn’t even know how. So im just leading this sad double life trying to forget about the pain by making some more money even there is not much i can do with it,
And to the story above its very well written. Thank you for sharing your experience.
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Marrano, then we need to set up a good system to assist those like us who want to have a good time every now & then. We need to create a better way of hooking up. Have a place where you can plan a vacation with someone whose in the same boat. So we can live that fantasy life from time to time. I’ll be happy if I can achieve that.
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Well Michael, I wish there was something like that. However we are all so scared of anyone finding out about our double life is what keeps us from hooking up with each other. But it would be nice if we can form small groups so we can explore the unknown together,
If you have anything in mind please let me know!
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Excellent article Marie …
But very sad . I grew up in Long Island went to very posh public schools . The kind with swim pools and golf courses .
Then an Ivy League college.
I was mesmerized by Willy, then later New Square and Tosh for 20 years. Finally came to the realization it’s just garbage . A sick Charedi version of Disney land.
So I went to learn in Brisk and then Lakewood. The articles on this site are really fascinating . But you all sound like such pathetic losers .
It’s truely tragic in the Classical Greek tradition .
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Steve you don’t sound like you went to any kind of “posh public school” let alone have an Ivy League education, rather you sound like a pathetic loser “truely”.
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Steven, why are you so judgmental on lives of people you don’t even know.
Talk with them, hang out with them… Help them… instead of posting your resume…
We are all human beings and they are.
Let them live their life… chosen or not.
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Steve: Not exactly sure what the purpose of your comment was. I can guess that you mean to say that in your eyes the chassidic system is messed up ( I whole-heartily agree) but the Lakewood/brisk system isn’t? If that was what you meant to say- then kudos- you found something that works for you.
But, dude- that is really pathetic of you to assign “loser-status” to people you don’t know, just because they write about experiences you don’t agree with. Perhaps you would like to explain to us how one does sound like “a pathetic loser” and how you, in contrast, do come across as an “impressive winner”. I for one didn’t get that vibe.
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Ok… Miriam. Fair enough . I’ll agree I was a bit harsh initially. This was my second visit to this site and many of the stories are overwhelming.
Can you explain the need to trash your community, culture and heritage publicly.
Most of the stories here are so sanguine and melodramatic .
You felt trapped, repressed, imprisoned and broke out. I get that.
It’s a big world out there. If you wanted to move to Wyoming and completely extinguish any trace of your former identity I would totally comprehend that.
My father grew up in a very claustrophobic , suffocating existence in the Lower East Side.as soon as he could he ran to suburbia and embraced life to the fullest. He didn’t waste his time writing stories and pontificating to whoever would listen how miserable he was in the East Side.
Likewise, obviously all was not rosy and utopian in my upbringing , or I wouldn’t of abandoned my family and childhood friends to forge the trail I have taken,
But I am not cursing out everything I left behind.
Most baffling is the undertone of revelry in many of the articles here, particularly when violating Shsbbat, kasrus , or sexual matters.
Wouldn’t a vini vidi vinchi approach be apropo.
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Steve, it is unlikely that your father was raised with zero education and zero opportunity and was then threatened with losing his job, his apartment, his wife, contact with his children — all for wanting to “embrace life to the fullest.”
What is “apropo” for you and your father isn’t necessarily “apropo” for anyone else.
Instead of being defensive about people who “trash the community,” maybe stop being such a dick (and reflecting badly on your own community with your shitty attitude) and try empathy for a change. You might finally get it — if your humanity hasn’t been completely corrupted by frummies, that is.
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>vini vidi vinchi
Yeah, Ivy League. Fer sure.
As for your father’s suck it up, keep it inside and explode quietly approach – to what end and what purpose? People’s experiences are fascinating, the good and the bad. What’s wrong with people expressing them? What a poor world we would live in if people were supposed to suppress what they feel all the time. I find the feelings and stories quite interesting. Too bad that you would deprive me of that because you don’t. Also too bad that you minimize the therapeutic qualities of discussing what one has been through. I assume you don’t do any of that in your own life, taking after the old man. So keep on bottling it up inside and enjoy.
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>apropo
Yeah, Ivy League. Fo sho.
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