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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I remember my first crush clearly: I was in davening (prayer service) in sixth grade, and I saw a boy a year older than I was donning his tefillin before the service officially started. I remember thinking to myself how gorgeous he was—it was, quite literally, a “tefillin turn on” (a phrase for when someone finds another person doing something Jewish to be attractive). In that moment, I was overcome with a debilitating fear that would stay with me until long after I came out five years later: I became afraid of my own sexuality, and I had no one to whom I could turn and share my fears. Growing up in the Orthodox community and attending Orthodox elementary and middle schools, no one ever talked about sex or sexuality, let along feelings of same-sex attraction.

The only time sexuality was ever brought up to the male students was when my seventh grade Bible teacher spent an entire class ranting about how Massachusetts’ legalization of marriage equality was wrong. Other than that, sexuality was never discussed. The assumption was that we nice Jewish boys would grow up to date and ultimately marry nice Jewish girls, and that our female counterparts would date and marry nice Jewish boys.

Two weeks ago, Josh Orlian, a 12-year-old Jewish boy from White Plains, New York, auditioned for America’s Got Talent as a stand-up comedian, where he told several very off-color sexual jokes. It raised eyebrows—as well it should have. There stood a boy in a kippah, not yet bar mitzvah, making jokes about fellatio to Howie Mandell and Howard Stern.

But at the same time, this shouldn’t be jarring: sex is something that most twelve-year-olds think about on a very regular basis. And, yes, the blowjob joke he made was fed to him by his father, and, yes, perhaps it might have been irresponsible of his parents to allow him to stand up in front of a live audience and make those jokes—but that doesn’t change the fact that twelve-year-olds are on the verge of puberty and are thinking about sex. Orlian’s Modern Orthodox day school has the right to be unamused, but that doesn’t change the fact that middle school students will always make crass jokes amongst themselves.

Funny or not, Orlian’s performance—and the controversy that resulted—forces us to confront the Modern Orthodoxy community’s squeamish attitude towards sex education. Just because we don’t talk about sex with our adolescents doesn’t mean that they aren’t thinking about it, in the same way that teenagers will have premarital sex whether or not we choose to talk to them about safe sex practices. Despite the fact that no one I knew ever really talked about homosexuality or sexuality in general, I still turned out queer, and came out of the closet before I had a chance to have any major discussions about sexuality and Judaism. Not talking to our kids about homosexuality won’t stop them from coming out: they’ll just live in fear—like I did—that their communities won’t accept them.

We should be fostering our youth’s sexual education and knowledge, not fretting over the fact that the public now knows that, yes, Orthodox boys and girls think and talk about sex. We can’t sweep these conversations under the rug until just before college, because sex and sexuality are all around us as we enter puberty. Instead, we need to give young, frum Jews the language and tools they need to make informed decisions when it comes to sexuality. For guidance, we can turn to our own rabbinic texts, which deal frankly with matters of sexuality—for example, the rabbis in the Talmud went to great lengths to understand when a woman becomes an adult, how to classify a person who does not fit into the binary of male and female, and to share wisdom about sexual pleasure. Our current repressive attitude towards sex actually runs counter to Jewish tradition.

Even Modern Orthodox day schools which do have more progressive sex education programs often wait until too late—ninth or tenth grade—to discuss sexual health and gender identity. This education needs to begin earlier, in middle school. It is time to stop being afraid of sex and sexuality, because when we are, we fail to give our adolescents the tools they need to lead sexually healthy and responsible lives. Arming teenagers with the tools and the language they need to lead sexually healthy lives must become a part of our Modern Orthodox value system—even if the endeavor sometimes makes us uncomfortable.

Ultimately, Josh is just like every other adolescent. The only difference between him and other twelve-year-old boys is that he wears a kippah while he thinks and talks about sex and sexuality. This only reflects poorly on the Orthodox community if we keep pretending that the way that we talk about sexuality and gender—and by this, I mean not talking about it until the very last minute—is just fine. We need to remove the taboo surrounding sex in Orthodox Judaism to give our kids the education they need, lest we continue to put them at risk.

Amram Altzman is a rising sophomore in a joint program with the Jewish Theological Seminary and Columbia University. He is also a blogger for New Voices Magazine, a website for Jewish college students. You can follow him on Twitter @thesubwaypoet.

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So, the 50th annual Celebrate Israel parade is happening in New York City on June 1—mazal tov, guys!—and while I am not one for big crowds on a Sunday morning, I am very much one for Dr. Ruth Westheimer, who appears here in this promo video expressing her support for Israel, and urging people to come to the parade. Her reasons are fairly compelling:

1. She promises all attendees “good sex” with their “significant other.”

2. She reminds us that she was a sharpshooter in the Haganah and that she still knows how to hit a target: “Whoever is not going to give us support, watch out for me!”

Image: Andy Kropa/Getty Images for Communications Strategies

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“Who wants to have sex with Paul Rudd? He has more money than Jason Segal!”

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There’s a reason that US News and World Report named the Hebrew Home at Riverdale one of the best nursing homes in the country. While the rankings are said to be based on “quality indicators, staffing ratios and annual survey inspections,” it’s clear those barometers are just fancy, bureaucratic talk. Let’s be real—it’s about the sex.

The Hebrew Home, which opened its sexually liberated doors in 1917, has a policy to encourage intimacy among its residents, Bloomberg reports:

In 1995, the home adopted a four-page policy — considered the first of its kind — stating that residents “have the right to seek out and engage in sexual expression,” including “words, gestures, movements or activities which appear motivated by the desire for sexual gratification.”

Pop culture promotes an image in which our sexual desires expire just as our hands begin to wrinkle. Luckily, this is not the case. While the frequency of sexual intercourse may decrease with age, the craving certainly does not. And the Hebrew Home works to ensure that its residents’ desires aren’t stifled because of a lack of privacy or the concerns of family members. They do, however, monitor each relationship in order to prevent a situation where the intimacy is unhealthy or unrequited.

For instance, disruptions in eating, sleeping or bathroom patterns could prompt a nurse to ask a resident whether she or he is unhappy in a relationship. Where a relationship seems unwanted, the home can take steps to help end it, from counseling an overly aggressive resident to moving one to a different floor.

Evelyn Tenenbaum, a professor at Albany Law School who’s written about sex at nursing homes, thinks that other nursing homes should follow the Hebrew Home’s lead.

She wrote in the Indiana Law Review that elderly care facilities could provide “do not disturb” signs; set policies to discourage the spread of sexually transmitted diseases; make condoms, vaginal lubricants and Viagra readily available; and provide beauty salons and other cosmetic services to help residents feel physically and sexually attractive.

Like Springsteen said, put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty, and meet me tonight at the Hebrew Home at Riverdale.

The post Liberal Sex Policy Makes Jewish Retirement Home Really, Really Popular appeared first on Jewcy.

It’s certainly been an exciting week for Jewish genitalia. First, we saw nightmares come to life when an Israeli man, sitting on the toilet at his parents’ house, had his penis unexpectedly bitten by a snake. Now, the first-ever kosher lubricant was approved by the Rabbinical Council of California, and you know you’ve always wanted those guys involved in your sexual choices.

All thanks go to Trigg Laboratories, I suppose. The company’s line of Wet products was “created to meet the highest industry standards,”—but apparently they wanted to answer to an even higher standard, too.

“The ‘K’ imprint on our packages says that we maintain the highest standards of purity and answer to a higher authority,” spokesman Dean Draznin said.

It might not be such terrible idea, either. The Atlantic points out that given Israel’s high fertility rate, and Tel Aviv’s 2011 status as “World’s Best Gay City,” this could actually be a very profitable move for the company:

And Wet happens to be a popular product in the gay community, having been ranked by various publications as some of the best, safest and most popular among gay men. Kosher certification could be a plus for gay Jewish men and perhaps foster brand loyalty among those who already use it.

Kosher lube, however, might not be necessary in the eyes of Jewish law—or Jewish consumers—according to JTA. Menachem Lubinsky, president of a company conveniently named Lubicom, hasn’t seen a demand for kosher sex products at its annual Kosherfest trade show.

“I’m not aware of any large demand for this. I’m more aware of people looking for kosher-for-Passover dog food. Having said that, there’s been a trend in recent years to make more over-the-counter drugs and cosmetics with certification for people that don’t want to bring anything into the house that isn’t kosher certified.”

To each his own.

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If I could choose my job title, I would be a Professional Conversation Starter. I want to start awkward conversations with Jews who are looking for an outlet to speak. I want to discuss the scary and judgment-filled topics that drive individuals in Jewish communities to silence. I want to talk … I want to talk about shomer negiah.

Shomer negiah literally means “guarding one’s touch.” It refers to the practice of refraining from physical contact with members of the opposite sex outside of marriage. It’s a choice reflecting the decision to reserve the intimacy of physical touch solely to be experienced with one’s spouse. The practice manifests itself in an incredible variety of ways for different people. Some individuals who define themselves as shomer negiah struggle with whether to shake the hand of an opposite-gendered professor or whether to give a friendly hug to an acquaintance at a party; others struggle with drawing the line between kissing and more intimate acts.

I have watched my fellow Jews navigate the delicate field of negiah observance throughout my life, but my interest in this institution and Jewish sexuality in general really started in college. I grew up attending Orthodox day schools, where the extent of my sex education was a single class in sixth grade during which a teacher told me that getting my period was my body’s way of practicing for childbirth. As a senior in high school, we girls were pulled aside for a week of classes about the laws of nidah while the boys had study hall. I entered Brandeis University a prototypical clueless, sheltered Jewish girl.

I applied to join an organization that provided counseling and educational programming about sexual health and sexuality. I was accepted and received a 70-hour crash course each fall on every aspect of sexuality, from birth control options to sex toys. The field quickly became my passion.

I taught educational programs to campus groups and first-year halls and held one-on-one counseling sessions in the office. My sophomore year, members of the Orthodox community began discussing relationships and sexuality with me when they learned that I’d grown up in an Orthodox community. I began holding workshops specifically geared toward Orthodox girls and answering their questions. These conversations and my workshops led me to realize that Orthodox girls wanted a venue where they could discuss negiah and how it impacts relationships, intimacy, and sexuality. Like me, they did not grow up with an outlet to discuss these topics in a safe, non-judgmental setting and clearly it was something they wanted to discuss.

Shomer negiah poses challenges for both women and men. Individuals interpret its exact boundaries differently, which can lead to judgment between friends about the legitimacy of others’ practices and choices. A friend once explained to me that she and her friend both wanted to discuss a change in how they practiced being shomer negiah, but neither one brought it up for fear that the other would judge them.

Inevitably, people’s shomer negiah statuses—the particular way they choose to practice, including how strict they are and from whom they permit touch—become known within their community. This means that, in addition to thinking about the personal implications of the practice, individuals must be prepared to respond to others’ assumptions about their level of general observance based on their shomer negiah status. A person can find his or herself judged for being “too” shomer, not shomer enough, or for making exceptions that are not to the judging party’s taste. Furthermore, members of an Orthodox community frequently keep tabs on one another’s shomer status as an important factor in choosing whom to date. Dating somebody who feels differently about the observance of negiah within a relationship can create questions and complications for otherwise-compatible couples.

All of these phenomena are evident just from sitting on the kosher side of Brandeis University’s dining hall. Upperclassmen scrutinize freshmen to ascertain their shomer negiah status. Opposite-sex friends give each other “shomer hugs” (a hugging motion that stops just short of contact). A table discusses whether the couple two tables over is “shomer” behind closed doors—the Orthodox equivalent, in some ways, of questioning whether a new couple is having sex, except that the judgment that accompanies it impacts a person’s social and religious status in the community.

The combination of my experiences as a student and a sex educator made me want to learn more. I floated the idea to friends of starting to collect people’s stories. I asked people who were shomer negiah if they thought it was a good idea, if they thought people would contribute, and if they thought it would be a helpful outlet to discuss these sensitive issues. The answer was a resounding yes.

So, I started The Shomer Chronicles. People either email stories to theshomerchronicles@gmail.com or submit them through an anonymous form on theshomerchronicles.com. I then post the stories on the website’s blog. I want to give people an outlet to speak to an audience that understands them. A contributing storyteller (who gave me permission to use her information), Jessica Kasmer-Jacobs, a master’s student in English Literature at NYU, explained the premise best when she said, “There has never before been an outlet where the readership understands the issues without having to preface the piece with, ‘Well, in Judaism we do this weird thing where we don’t touch each other until we’re married.’”

The stories have come from both girls and guys with ages ranging from 18 to 30. My biggest fear is that people will interpret my posting stories about people’s struggles as an effort to unilaterally discourage or bash the institution of shomer negiah. A friend, for example, asked me whether the site would be just a bunch of angry girls posting about how terrible shomer negiah is. That is not my goal. My goal is to give people an outlet to discuss their emotions openly and without judgment. I will not downplay people’s experiences or censor their stories to preserve a certain image of shomer negiah, or go out of my way to highlight negativity.

The stories illustrate the vulnerability and questions that come with being shomer negiah. One storyteller discussed the difficulty of explaining her decision to become shomer negiah, to her friends. “Almost instantly,” she wrote, “I noticed a change in our friendship—I was perceived as the naïve and innocent one. It was spread around, naturally, and while I was usually comfortable discussing it, I noticed that people began trying to talk me out of celibacy.”

Another wrote about the struggle to reconcile her beliefs with her desire for intimacy. She writes, “I lace my fingers through [your hair] until I reach the yarmulke at the top of your head and feel its threaded, circular edges. You wear it, like the others do, as a reminder of your duty to God. … Sinners, they call us? What kind of covenant am I breaking in loving a man of God?”

Related: Feeling Out My Post-Shomer Negiah World

(Image via Shutterstock)

The post The Shomer Chronicles: Talking Honestly About Shomer Negiah appeared first on Jewcy.

We love Dr. Ruth Westheimer, the 84-year-old sex therapist (and former Haganah sniper) who dishes out daily tips from her sassy Twitter account, @AskDrRuth. We figured she’d be the best person to ask for some Jewcy advice for Valentine’s Day, and we were right.

Here are Dr. Ruth’s five tips for a steamy Valentine’s Day:

1. If you think you need Kate Middleton’s nose to find a date for Valentine’s Day then you’ll probably be disappointed. Not in your new nose, maybe, but in that empty slot next to February 14 in your calendar. Yes, appearance matters, but not as much as you think—and the more you think it matters the less likely you are to be the type of person that the opposite sex will find attractive.

2. Valentine’s Day is really short for St. Valentine’s Day, so Jews don’t have to pay as much attention—but if you meet the right partner at the deli counter, go for it. Just remember while 30 percent of couples got engaged on Valentine’s Day, 40 percent had their biggest fight!

3. Here’s one reason why I don’t believe in Friends with Benefits: how do such friends celebrate Valentine’s Day?

4. Restaurants are crowded on Valentine’s Day. If you really want a romantic meal, order in, put some candles around your place, and play some soft music.

5. Guys should know that gifts brought on Valentine’s evening don’t have the same force as those sent earlier. It takes longer for women to become aroused so flowers sent in the morning will have more time to work their magic. Of course a pair of silky red undies offered that morning might just never get put on!

The post Dr. Ruth’s Valentine’s Day Advice appeared first on Jewcy.

My name is Stacy, and I’m a nice Jewish girl from Philadelphia who sells luxury sex toys online.

Why would an observant Jewish woman get into the sex toy business? A better question is why wouldn’t she? After all, you’re about as likely to run into a Jew in the adult industry as you are at Bloomingdale’s.

Jews believe that sex is not shameful or obscene. Although sexual desire comes from yetzer hara, the evil inclination or desire, as long as it’s satisfied respectfully between partners everything is kosher. Sex between a husband and wife is even considered a mitzvah, and that’s where my story starts.

One summer Saturday evening almost two years ago, my husband and I took a post-Shabbat walk through Greenwich Village—and stopped in front of a sex shop. Though we’re not exactly kinky, we are each other’s beshert and try to keep our marriage exciting. Curious, we walked inside.

What we saw left us embarrassed and feeling dirty—and not in a good way. Later that night, I went online and searched for a website that offered what we were looking for: an exciting romantic experience. Finding nothing, I decided to create it myself, and a year later My Secret Luxury went live.

We aim to offer a sophisticated and discreet experience for discerning customers who, like me that summer evening, want to spice things up but didn’t necessarily know how. It’s a safe, welcoming place free from judgement—and one that I think falls right in line with Jewish values.

No matter how religious someone may be, they deserve to experience romance, passion, and pleasure. If a scented candle helps heighten the mood, great. If being dominated makes your toes tingle, good for you. If a discreet vibrator makes it easier to reach orgasm, I say baruch hashem. Pleasure is a birthright and everyone deserves to achieve it.

My mother loves to tell her friends about my business (she’s the most popular person in her retirement community) and she’s proud of my entrepreneurial adventure. I’m a mother myself, and I plan to teach my sons the values my husband learned at yeshiva. They’re too young now, but when they’re ready I’ll also tell them about what I do—and use my business as a platform to start an open and mature conversation about sex. I will teach them that sex is reserved for consenting adults, and must be engaged in safely and smartly. But my business will teach them that sex is not some dirty activity; it can be a mitzvah enjoyed by both partners.

I never expected to sell sex toys—I fell into this industry on a Saturday night in Greenwich Village. But I’m not ashamed or embarrassed to be here. I believe there is something noble about inspiring romance, facilitating love, and increasing pleasure.

My job is to make sure people have the tools they need to experience pleasure. Their orgasms should thank me!

(image via MySecretLuxury)

A version of this post originally appeared on Jewrotica.

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Actress Elizabeth Banks, most recently seen in The Hunger Games and Pitch Perfect (which she produced with her husband), sat down with Marc Maron this week for his WTF Podcast, and their conversation was pretty interesting. Banks is sharp and funny and calls the Olsen twins elves. She also opens up about her working-class Catholic upbringing in Pittsfield, MA, and eventual conversion to Judaism.

“So you met a Jew at Penn,” Maron offers a little after the 30 minute (!) mark.

“Yeah, it’s real hard,” she quips. “It’s like, throw a dart.”

There were a few Jewish kids at her high school, she explains, but most of them lived on the other side of town and went to a different middle school, so she didn’t meet them until they got to high school—which meant no bar mitzvahs for her, sadly.

“So how’d you make the ship from Jesus to Jew?” Maron asks at minute 35.

The story is sweet. Banks met Max Handelman, her future husband, her first day at college. They kept running into each other, and one night she ended up at one of his AEPi frat parties. (She says the ZBT guys were douches from Long Island who all work on Wall Street now. Also I love her.) They went on a date to a jazz club in Philly—it was one of her first rides in a taxi—where they drank bourbon and didn’t get carded. She made the first move, “and then it just went from there.”

“Now was there pressure on you to be a Jew?” Maron asks, before calling Banks a “shiksa goddess Jew.” (“People love that when the shiksas come over,” she fires back.)

“No religion meant as much to me as Judaism meant to my husband,” Banks explains. There were also the in-laws. “We got married after 10 and a half years, and for the first five years I’m positive that his father did not learn my last name,” she says. “I’m positive that his dad was like, ‘This is Portnoy’s Complaint…my son will marry a Jewish girl.” (Of course, what they really cared about was the grandkids. “My kids are Jewish, so they’re happy,” she explains.)

She went through the conversion process, studying with different rabbis. “I did not have my mikveh, so technically I’m not converted,” she admits, but it’s only because she was never in L.A. long enough at one time to have done what she calls the 11-week “You’re a Jew now class.” And she’s been practicing Judaism for so long at this point, she explains, that finalizing the institutional process seems more like a needless formality than anything else.

“I’ve been essentially a Jew for like 15 years,” she says. “I haven’t had a Christmas tree in 15 years.”

“But are you like, officially a Jew?” Maron prods.

“I’m not officially stamped, but by all accounts yes,” she explains. “My kids go to Jewish pre-school, we only celebrate Jewish holidays, I love seder.”

“Frankly, because I’m already doing everything, I feel like I’m as Jewish as I’m ever going to be.”

It’s a very Jewish way of thinking, actually. Consider yourself at home, Banks.

Here are some other gems from the interview, which is really, really long, but totally worth it:

• She took Latin for six years: “I was a real nerdball,” she explains.

• She’s a TriDelt.

• She graduated Penn magna cum laude.

• She played Pontius Pilate in a high school performance of Jesus Christ Superstar.

• Her dream rom-com co-star? Channing Tatum: “I would work that.”

Listen to the full podcast here.

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