In 2019, I was not dating, not interested, and I had no sex drive at all. I had one fling with a whining South African academic through Jdate, an Uber driver from Venezuela, and a withered music producer through Tinder.
Then along came Andre to snap me out of my relationship drought.
We met on Friday night, December 20-my, my mother's birthday, and the first night of Hanukkah, at Wilshire Blvd Temple.
I reached for my second piece of chocolate chip challah when I noticed a handsome man wearing a unique Yarmulke. It was larger than a regular yarmulke-it was a crown! Beige with gold and green embroidery. A plain, navy-blue Yarmulke from my nephew Noah's bar mitzvah would have been more authentic. However, any good-looking guy with a yarmulke on was enough for me on December 20, 2019.
"Hey," I said, "Where did you get your Yarmulke?"
He turned around and did a double-take when he saw me,
"Where did you get your shoes?" he replied.
He had had deep-set chocolate brown eyes, but he looked hollowed out & hungry. His lavender oxford hung loosely off his shoulders-it was one size too big. His Levi's were baggy, and he had on the uniform shoes of the east side of LA: converse low tops.
Andre was my ORIGINAL "type": dark eyes with a determined stare. He looked like Alan, or was it, Nick? or Saul? or Christian? Versions of him haunted my shrink's office—all of them hiding a secret compulsion or addiction.
We exchanged names, and he asked?
"Why do you have two names? Lisa and Beth?"
"My parents liked both names."
"Did they duke it out, trying to decide on which one?"
"Knowing my parents, probably."
The crowd at the Challah table engulfed us, people grabbing challah everywhere, and I lost him in the crowd.
I went downstairs for the Hannukah service in the Pines auditorium. He and his daughters walked over and sat down next to me.
After the service, he asked for my email.
My mind jumped ahead…I thought it was Bashert. I thought my mother had sent him to me on her birthday.
I flew home, giddy from the attention, and went right to my computer.
Behold my future:
-He worked for the Environmental Protection Agency; I worked in politics.
-He had a master's degree in International Affairs and another in Environmental Science! I had a master's degree in Public Policy and an MA in Journalism.
-He served in the Peace Corps in Ecuador, I applied to the Peace Corps, but they don't take people with bipolar disorder.
I imagined long talks about politics over red wine. Trips to foreign countries to see America's imperialism up close, to smugly document together with the world's wrongs. We would be Hillary & Bill. Amal & George Clooney. Andre, and Lisa-Beth.
On the following Monday, I got an email:
Dear Lisa-Beth, how are you? Andre
I was jumping out of my skin.
We spoke on the phone, and he invited me to dinner.
When I got to his apartment, ten minutes before the sun officially went down for Shabbat, his orders began:
"Kiss the Mezuza," he said breezily as I entered his apartment.
He invited me to a scene I had longed for in a play that had yet to be produced. Hanukkah decorations hung from the ceiling and draped the walls of his living room. A small pink box on the table had my name written on it, "For Lisa-Beth."
He handed me the matches to light the candles and beamed at me from his prayer book—a handsome man, asking me to light the sabbath candles.
He emailed the next day and asked me to have dinner on Sunday.
I thought I was in a Disney movie. He was the Tramp, and I was Lady… We walked to a strip mall to a noodle restaurant that he had chosen.
As I slurped my noodles, I pretended that I liked this vegan crap and the fluorescent lighting, like a CVS, highlighting the circles under my eyes.
"How much do you know about the Orthodox rules about sex?" he blurted out.
"Nothing.", I replied, "Why?"
"They have a system where, after having a lot of sex, you don't have sex two weeks of the month to build up desire."
"Do you want to be Orthodox?" I asked.
"I'm interested in it, but it is a little late for me. Have you ever read anything by Shmuley Boteach?" he asked.
"No, who is that?" I said.
"He has written a lot of books, Kosher Sex, Kosher Adultery, etc., etc."
"I don't need a system to regulate my sex life. I trust myself." I said.
Because I was tired of being alone, I ignored his mention of Orthodox Judaism.
Wilshire Blvd. Temple is a reform synagogue. So, I assumed he was a reform Jew. He was a member; I was a member. I assumed we were falling in love.
Shmuley Boteach is an orthodox Rabbi who has built a literary empire peddling Orthodox sex practices to the masses. He also sells sex toys with his books.
In Yiddish, my mom used to say to me, "Ze vi di getz," which means "Watch where you walk."
Eventually, after the bland, tough vegan noodles, we ended up in my bedroom.
When I began to move my hand to his pants during a passionate make-out session, he stopped me. He wanted to talk.
"I always slept with as many people as possible. But I've changed."
"I will let you know when it is time. I think you are going to grow on me. My marriage was based on sex. My kids already like you."
It was up to him when we had sex? Wasn't I in the room?
As he groped at my body, moments later, he said, "Lie here." Then he said, "Turn over."
Each time I was intimate with him,
"Lie down. Turn over."
Because I liked kissing him and he was good-looking, I ignored this sexual dictatorship and assumed we were falling in love.
He had more rules: He would only eat at vegan restaurants that we could walk to. He did not allow alcohol on our dates.
I said OK to it all, no problem.
He was good-looking, and I assumed we were falling in love.
I was only excited when he invited me to the Purim party the following week.
He picked me up at 6 pm on Tuesday, March 7. The Coronavirus was lurking. He got out of his Toyota corolla, reeking of pot.
Because the smell of the pot reminded me of a grateful dead show in my youth, I assumed we were falling in love.
I'm a grown woman, and I got in the pothead's car, with nothing on my mind but how great I looked in my Queen Esther costume as we drove in rush hour traffic across town.
At the party, we sat at round tables, drinking our Purim cocktails-
He did not say hello to the Rabbi or anyone.
He looked at me and said, "This is a good time to try the Mikvah."
"What?" I said.
The mikveh is a 2,000-year-old ritual bath used by Orthodox women to achieve ritual purity after menstruation and childbirth before having sex with their husbands.
"What?" I asked, wishing I had heard him wrong, but I knew what I heard.
"The Mikvah now is a good time to try it out. It prepares you for the next step. It is spiritual. It is Jewish."
My mother flashed into my mind. The word "Mikvah" had wafted up to her in Heaven. She was going to save me from the Orthodox, the Mikvah, the 17th century, from myself!
I heard her voice, hustling and making a deal with the set designer from Angels in America-the genius who made the Angel crash through the ceiling
In a flourish of smoke, she crashed through my ceiling on a gold Persian rug. She stood still, dressed in black velvet, wearing bright red lipstick. No hello, no how are you, just:
"I gave you dresses and parties and dance class, and singing lessons...private school, Westlake! Jewish sleepaway camps! I took you to the theater. I took you to New York! a Bat Mitzvah, Sweet Sixteen, Andover, College, & skiing, I bought you BOOKS and brought you to museums, not to mention a semester in Copenhagen, Israel, Europe….
I did all of this so you would have a BIG world, a BROAD mind….
I did all of this for you, and you bring me THIS? Orthodox?
The refrain from Gypsy, one of our favorite musicals, ran through my mind, "And Where would you be, if it wasn't for me, Ms. Gypsy Rose Lee!?"