It's nice for people
to be important,
but it's even more important
to be nice to people.
Wednesday, 12 August 2015
Why I Don’t Touch Men
Why I Don’t Touch Men
Because touch is sacred and my body is sacred. And sacred things should be saved for sacred moments.
by Rochel Spangenthal
My love language has always been touch. Always.
The warmth of my mother’s arms as she shielded me from the evils of the world. The safety of my father’s hand as he guided me across busy streets.
Touch meant more than just affection.
It meant safety. It meant belonging. It meant that I was home.
It still does.
The brush of fingers against skin could be such a small thing; it could mean Nothing. It could be professional, helpful, or platonic.
The brush of fingers against skin could be such a huge thing; it could mean Everything. It could be comforting, therapeutic, or sensual.
And for most women, it’s instinctual. When a male sticks out his hand to shake yours, you look him in the eyes and extend your own. After all, that’s how well-mannered children are raised. Handshakes are not only the polite thing to do, they’re the foundation upon which all relationships are built.
Handshakes are normally proffered without deliberation. They’re accepted without a second thought. But for me, there’s that slight hesitation:
Because I don’t touch men.
So, for a split second, I stand there awkwardly. Do I just stick out my hand and get it over with? Do I tell him that I’m allergic to those of the opposite gender? Or do I grab my skirt, dip into a half curtsy and reply with an, “it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you but, for religious reasons, I don’t touch guys”?
Yes, I’m even conscious of something as small as a handshake.
If I have the time and the confidence, I explain that I’m shomer negiah (lit. observant of touch). And that touch between the sexes is limited to family members or professional purposes. If I have the time and the confidence, I explain that physical contact is something that I have built an incredible sensitivity towards.
That, yes, I’m even conscious of something as small as a handshake.
But sometimes, I don’t have the time. And sometimes, I don’t have the confidence.
And honestly? Sometimes I just want to indulge in that feeling of safety and belonging.
In that feeling of home.
Because being shomer is just one of those things that just gets harder with age. It’s a part of being human. We live in a physical world where touch is a huge component of both communication and connection. We live in a physical world where touch is a huge component of affection.
Whether with coworkers, romantic interests, or friendships – touch (or the absence thereof) has an impact on all relationships.
And back in the day (when I was young and sprightly) it used to be easy.
When I first decided to be shomer, I was in the 10th grade. Like many high school girls, I used to have trouble with boys. But in my case, the issue was with the lack thereof. Because in my all-girls Yeshiva, there were none to be found.
I lived my life in blissful ignorance of what it meant to try to impress members of the opposite sex. I went to school with messy ponytails. With stained white shirts. With horrendous knee socks that fell down time after time. And I didn’t care.
I sang at the top of my lungs. I danced like a freak in the halls. And I was happy. Because there was absolutely no one I was trying to impress or seduce.
But the lack of boys and regulations regarding fraternisation bothered me.
A lot.
Because, let’s be honest – I was an adolescent girl.
But I kept the rules. I didn’t touch boys. I didn’t sneak out at night to hang out with them. Because I wanted to do what those I respected were doing.
But I wanted to do it all because I believed in it. To do it because it was beautiful to me. To do it because I loved it.
Because Judaism is not only the Judaism of my Forefathers, it is Mine.
So I did what I did best; I asked questions.
I went from Rabbi to Rebbetzin, Teacher to Mentor and asked the same questions time and time again, “Why should I be shomer? What in the world is so bad about boys and girls touching?”
And one day, one of my Rabbi’s emitted a rabbinical sigh and responded,
“The reason for shomer is not because touch is so bad. The reason for shomer is because touch is so good.
“Because touch is sacred.”
And that was it. I took on shomer.
I took on shomer because touch is magic. Because with every skin to skin contact, a flood of oxytocin cascades through the brain to cause a drug-like induced sense of trust and devotion.
And I wanted to feel that. I wanted to sensitize myself to that. I wanted my brain to release those hormones with the slightest flutter of air caused by proximity.
I didn’t want to have to hug to have that feel good feeling. I wanted to save that.
I took on shomer because with shomer, you don’t even need to touch to feel sparks. Because there’s something delicious about holding back when you want to be closer than ‘close’.
I took on shomer because I’m a romantic. Because I love Jane Austen, Edmond Dantes, and The Little Prince. Romances filled with curiosity and boundaries and bowing and witty remarks and slow escalation.
I took on shomer because I wanted my first time holding hands, my first kiss, to be with someone worthy.
I took on shomer because touch is sacred. Because my body is sacred. And sacred things should be saved for sacred moments.
Because sacred things should be safeguarded.
I’ve sensitized myself to the point where I apologise if my arm brushes against someone. Where, if I reach for a water bottle at the same time as another human being, I’m cognisant of the warmth of his hand.
I do this because I believe in it. I do this because it’s beautiful to me.
And you know what? It used to be easy. But as I go through life, it gets harder. It gets a little more awkward. Professionally. Emotionally. Socially.
I hesitate a little more when someone sticks out his hand.
Because let’s be honest – I’m a nearly-25 year old girl.
But, I remind myself, I do this because I believe in it. I do this because it’s beautiful to me.
And no matter what one’s current comfort level with touch is, a bit of restraint and appreciation can only enhance one’s relationships.
Your touch should be valued.
Because your touch? It’s sacred.
This article is an modified version of an article originally appearing on Hevria.com.
Published: August 8, 2015
Tuesday, 11 August 2015
English. Crazy Language
English! Crazy Language. No?😀
We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes; but the plural of ox became oxen not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese, yet the plural of moose would never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice; yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.
If the plural of man is always called men, why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?
If I spoke of my foot and have two feet, and I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth, why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?
We speak of a brother and also of brethren, but though we say mother, we never say methren.
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him, but imagine the feminine, she, shis and shim.
You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which an alarm clock goes off by going on.
There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple.
English muffins weren't invented in England or French fries in France.
Quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?
If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth?
One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One index, 2 indices?
If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?
If teachers taught, why didn't a preacher praught?
If you wrote a letter, perhaps you bote your tongue?
In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital?
Ship by truck and send cargo by ship?
Have noses that run and feet that smell?
How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and wise guy are opposites?
How can overlook and oversee be opposites, while quite a lot and quite a few are alike?
Have you ever run into someone who was, gruntled, ruly or peccable?
That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible.
And why, when I wind up my watch, I start it, but when I wind up a story I end it.
Let's face it, English is a crazy language...
The bandage was wound around the wound.
The farm was used to produce produce.
The dump was so full it had to refuse more refuse.
He could lead if he would get the lead out.
The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
Since there was no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.
When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
I did not object to the object.
The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
They were too close to the door to close it.
The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
After a number of injections my jaw got number.
Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
Then You Had Children
You used to have a clean house, clean
clothes and clean hair.
Then you had children.
Your standards gradually slipped lower and
lower and before you know it you are eating the remains of a rice cake off the
floor to avoid having to walk to the bin. Not because you are lazy; but
because some days, you are just too tired to care.
Here are a few dirty secrets that only a
tired parent will understand:
1. When I am vacuuming, I will stamp on an
old biscuit to make it fit up the hoover pipe instead of picking it up.
2. I have thrown away dirty saucepans
because I can’t face scrubbing them.
3. I have told my kids the DVD player is
broken so I don’t have to put one on for them. If it is not on the Sky planner,
they are not watching it.
4. I have put the same wash on six times
because I am too tired to hang it out.
5. I have thrown out baby clothes after a
nappy leak rather than clean them.
8. I have taken alternate bites of bread
and cheese because making a sandwich is too much effort.
9. I have put dirty plates in the
dishwasher with some clean stuff because I can’t be bothered to unload it.
12. I will tell my partner I am popping
out for milk then sit in the car park outside the supermarket for half an hour
enjoying the peace.
13. I rarely hang up clean clothes. My
washing basket is my wardrobe.
14. I will spend half an hour rearranging
the dishwasher so I don’t have to wash up the one cup that won’t fit.
15. I never answer the phone because
conversations are way too much effort.
16. I have had a dirty children’s sock on
my kitchen sideboard for three weeks.
17. Batteries never get replaced.
Especially, if you need a screwdriver to open the battery compartment.
18. We often just sit in the dark rather
than replace light bulbs.
19. I will use any suitable substitute I
can find when I run out of toilet roll to avoid a trip to the shop. Kitchen
roll, baby wipes, the cardboard inner
tube, cotton wool !!
20. I once covered a plate with foil so I
could use it again rather than wash it up.
21. I only properly clean the house when I
have people coming to visit.
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