Besides, he wasn’t Jewish. 

But it was so hard to find a parking space at this particular Starbucks, and I’d scored a spot right out front. I’m also a self-professed iced tea addict; I needed my morning fix. As I jockeyed around figuring out a way to extract myself from this Bumble blunder of false advertising in the online dating world, said sex worker offered me something no man had of late: a caffeinated beverage before 10 a.m. I figured, hey, I’d at least take advantage of a free iced tea. Plus, I’m a journalist, with a genuine interest in what drives people toward whatever particular passion is theirs in life. And Bumble Sex Worker was chatty. While the barista sorted our order, he talked about music, politics, what it was like living a life tethered to virtually nothing. Bumble Sex Worker had quit his full-time career in the financial sector, sold all of his belongings and made bringing women—and men—to orgasm his primary raison d’etre. “I have a gift,” he told me, presenting a menu of priced options from which prospective clients could select, including the $600-an-hour Boyfriend Experience. 

At the end of it all he delivered his go-to pitch: “I always prioritize paid sex over recreational sex every time.” 

He then suggested I write a magazine article promoting his services. Bumble Sex Worker needed advice on expanding his clientele. 

I’m not sure at what exact moment it occurred to me that, at least where I was concerned, post-divorce dating had morphed into a de facto LinkedIn for men requesting favors within the publishing industry. But this was the moment at which point it finally sunk in that I should probably not include the fact that I was a staff writer at a prominent magazine on a dating app. Or maybe even in real life. It’s not that I was worried about men using me—it’s that I am an incorrigible people pleaser. By my own admission, I am a complete idiot when it comes to erecting boundaries, something I’ve been working on but a skill at which I remain hopelessly inept. Show me a bird with a broken wing, and I’m there to rescue it. Show me a sex worker with whom I matched online and I’m there with a proverbial Rolodex of editorial contacts at various health and wellness magazines. It’s pikuach nefesh with a self-destructive twist. 

It’s not their problem—it’s mine. 

Since my divorce, I’ve connected with men who’ve asked me to read their screenplays (promising lunches in return that never materialized), sent me their TV series ideas in development, and asked me to connect them with literary agents. I had a coffee date with a guy who said that while he wasn’t yet ready for a relationship, he’d love to send me the teaser for the animated short film he was producing. 

With Shai, the Israeli contractor I dated for eight months, it was primarily about translating English language forms into Hebrew. But, again, we were dating. The favors weren’t transactional. They just happened, organically, as they do in romantic relationships. I’d translate the required building permits for the backyard guest house Shai was building to rent out—“Like little kibbutz right here in Los Angeles,” he said—and, in turn, he’d watch my dog. I’d help complete his COVID-19 unemployment forms, he’d send me home with a Tupperware container of cornish hens garnished with seasoned vegetables. I’d translate an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, Shai would gift me colanders and a set of ramekins he’d found on sale at Big Lots. I’d take him to a play, he’d mop my kitchen floor. 

After we broke up, Shai’s requests continued. Could I snag free tickets to a concert he’d like to attend with his current girlfriend? Could I get Al Pacino to videotape a birthday message for his father in Haifa? Could I pen a response to a bad review a customer posted on Yelp? 

“Have your new girlfriend do it,” I told him. 

“She can’t,” he replied. “She’s Israeli, too. Your English is better.” 

I blocked his number; I unblocked his number. We’d fall into periods of detente during which I’d text “Shana Tova!” and he’d text photos of chicken legs swimming in a homemade honey-balsamic marinade. “Stop eating pasta,” he’d write. “Take off 20 pounds. You will get all the best men in Los Angeles and not fucked up men like me.” 

Two—three?—girlfriends later, Shai solicited another favor. “Tell me if it’s written well in English,” he texted. What followed was a paragraph of broken English peppered with spelling mistakes and punctuation errors, run-on sentences and a string of emojis: “I’m Israeli live over 18+ in ca. I know how to cook very good…and injoy doing it. Love to travel, hiking. And just be at home, enjoy eat friends for BBQ.”

“It’s for dating sites,” he explained. “You are a good writer.” 

“What the fuck is this?” I said. “I don’t work for you as a secretary.” 

“Come on,” said Shai. “Please correct spelling and grammar errors. You are a very good editor.”  

Shai is correct. I am a very good editor. I am compulsive when it comes to grammatical errors, and I do not suffer gladly a misplaced comma. But editing—writing—is a job. It is a career. It is a skill for which those of us who are writers expect and deserve to get paid. Contrary to widespread misconception, writing is not a hobby. Writing is not fun. Editing is a chore. 

“I always prioritize paid editing over recreational editing every time,” I texted Shai. 

Like Bumble Sex worker, I’m going to start charging.

Peak Jewish Divorcee is a bi-weekly column charting the (mis)adventures of a Jewish, newly single working mom in Los Angeles. 

The post Edit Him Out appeared first on Jewcy.

The Jewish people have a long history of unconventional relationships. Early on in the Torah we find Sarah, the wife of Abraham, unable to bear children. In order to provide him with the children they both desire, Sarah convinces Abraham to take a second wife, her handmaiden Hagar. Is it possible this was the first documented case of compersion? Later in the Tanakh we encounter Delilah repeatedly tying up her lover Samson in her chambers in an effort to subdue his strength. You have to wonder what else was happening that he let her do it three times?

While these Biblical stories had less-than-happy resolutions, perhaps they connect in some way to sexual minority Jews today, where the likes of bondage and non-monogamy are increasingly cause for celebration.  Who knows? Maybe open discussion can lead to happier endings.

Jewish individuals in the San Francisco Bay Area who identify as polyamorous, non-monogamous, kinky or who engage in BDSM, tantra, sacred sexuality, sex work, and more are joining together in a newly organized group: Jews United In Celebrating the Erotic, or JUICE. The founders of JUICE, Noam Birnbaum and Jill Nagle, have discovered a surprisingly large, relatively untapped network of overlapping identities. Two months ago they created a secret Facebook group to coordinate discussions and events. While you can only get into JUICE by invitation from a current member or through a screening process at Meetup.com, they have already amassed over 500 members. They have hosted two happy hours that have drawn over 50 people each, as well as a first night Passover Seder that incorporated traditional Passover ritual elements, along with some whimsical sex-positive Jewish humor.

JUICE’s mission statement says, in part, that the group provides “a safe and welcoming sex-positive space for Jews and our allies,” which Birnbaum and Nagle say is needed because of the historical marginalization of Jews who enjoy non-traditional sexual identities and practices. This marginalization was underscored when the group’s inaugural press release was rejected by the local Jewish newspaper, The J Weekly.

Birnbaum further explained, “JUICE seeks to create venues where sex-positive Jews can be completely honest about who they are, and be accepted and celebrated by others of like kind. Oh, and it would be fun if we get a couple good shidduchs out of it!”

A voluntary new member survey produced interesting results of identities and practices including that: 86 percent are into BDSM, kink, and fetish practices; 76 percent are in some way non-monogamous; 23 percent are involved with or curious about sex work; and 67 percent are into or curious about tantra and sacred sexuality. It reads a bit like the oft-cited Pew Study from 2013; in JUICE the Jewish identities are as ranging as the sexual identities: 84 percent of survey participants are self-identified as Jewish, 6 percent are not Jewish, and 10 percent say “it’s complicated,” which is the pretty much the most Jewish answer possible.

While some members of JUICE have expressed a desire to find romantic matches, and others combine their Judaism in practicing sacred sexuality and tantra, most are just excited to have found a network of like-minded Jews.

Take Catherine Rose, who is an alternative relationship counselor, has a polyamorous family, and an interest in kink. She has found her desire to connect with the Jewish community reignited by JUICE. Her Jewish background growing up largely consisted of family holidays and attending Jewish summer camp, but she mostly disengaged as an adult. When she discovered JUICE she thought, “Wow! These are my people, I have to go meet them! I didn’t even realize I would be excited by the prospect of this, it actually took me by surprise.”

One kinkster who was raised in a Conservative household in the midwest and who continues to be active in the Bay Area Jewish community (and who didn’t want to be named for this article) describes himself as living a double life to some extent. He said, “my connection with the kink community and kink play is something I’ve pursued on an individual basis, but everybody want to be understood. If you can find a way to connect with people of a similar background, it makes it that much easier to understand each other. JUICE is the icing on the cake for me.”

Several older members of JUICE, including a 30-year practitioner of polyamory, kink, and tantra who also wished to remain anonymous, have expressed anecdotal evidence that the number of Jews active in alternative sexual communities in the Bay Area is higher than expected given the size of the Jewish population here. There is much speculation as to the reasons why, but Rabbi Jeremy Sher, who is familiar with JUICE and its mission, told me:

“I think Judaism is a sex-positive religion. Judaism is pro-sex, not anti-sex. From a modern perspective we ought to make room to celebrate and encourage people’s fulfillment, and moving beyond the idea that sex can only occur within marriage. I think consensual sex between adults is a wonderful part of life and ought to be celebrated. That’s just an authentically Jewish idea, so I’m happy to see Jews who agree with that.”  

Despite the successful events, JUICE is a young group experiencing some growing pains. With a relatively small Jewish community and the rapid expansion in membership, confidentiality and how to approach it quickly became a topic of energetic debate. Unlike other online communities specific to sexual identities that allow for anonymity, utilizing Facebook to coordinate (even as a secret group) ensured that everyone would be identifiable by their real names and photos. There have been instant revelations of fellow synagogue congregants, co-workers, and neighbors, not to mention romantic entanglements. While these occasions haven’t led to crisis, they understandably make members nervous.

While some members see JUICE as a step towards being more open with their identities in Jewish communities, others are still fiercely protective of their privacy. After seeking input from members Birnbaum and Nagle settled on a simple statement of “Think of this group as a kind of Sexy Jews ANONYMOUS. Keep people’s membership in the group, attendance at events, and attribution of things you’ve heard said in the group, STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL unless you have explicit permission to do otherwise. If in doubt, err on the side of confidentiality!”

The fact that Jews active in sex-positive communities are engaging in these conversations could be a sign of a growing movement toward greater acceptance in the Jewish community.

Rabbi Sher believes, “We are pretty far [from being ready as a community]. That said, people are less bigoted when they have information and I wish that everyone could have a rabbi they could call up and say ‘talk to my mom about poly[amory].’”

As our bubbies would say – from his mouth to God’s ears.

JUICE’s next event is a happy hour in San Francisco on Monday June 6th. If you are interested in joining JUICE or attending the happy hour, you can request to join through the Meetup group.

Amiee Kushner is an active leader in the San Francisco Jewish community, COO and contributing writer at BrokeAssStuart.com, and the founder of the super-not-kosher Jewish food blog JewishHeathens.com.

Image Credit: Amiee Kushner

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