Frimet Goldberger - My Knight in Shining Sidecurls

 

So, I am a Hasidic woman from one of the most pious Hasidic Jewish communities in upstate New York. Growing up, all forms of secular influences were strictly verboten. TVs, movies, the internet, newspapers. We were expected to keep the highest standards of modesty. I wore shirts that covered my elbows, collarbone, skirts covering my knees, and thick-thick stockings from the age of three. This was the uniform of my childhood and my people. I knew of nothing else and I cared for nothing else. 

 

When I would catch a glimpse of someone in shorts and a tank top, I would think, “Eww, why would you want to expose your private parts?” [audience laughter] tznius or modesty was a concept so well ingrained in our minds and in our existence that we couldn't fathom why anyone would want to dress any differently. 

 

And I was a good girl, a wide eyed Hasidic Edel Madal, but I didn't always want to be and I had a few transgressions under my belt. Like, the time a friend and I went to Walmart and filled our bins with trashy romance novel. [audience laughter] I would hide them between my bed spring and mattress, and my friend and I would devour these titillating tales as if we were breaking the Yom Kippur fast. [audience laughter] 

 

Marriage was my ticket to freedom, away from the prying eyes of parents and matchmakers. I met my husband for the first time in my parents dining room. I was 17, and pining for a strapping man to fulfill my Nora Roberts inspired dreams. [audience laughter] He was 21 and just trying to clear the way for his two younger siblings waiting in line. They couldn't get married before he did as is the custom in the Hasidic community. 

 

My mother thought it unsuitable for her young good girl to marry an older boy. But I begged and cajoled and she finally relented and agreed to this shidduch, or arranged match. I had heard through the grapevine of yentas that he wasn't in yeshiva full time, that he smoked and he drove. I had also heard that he moonlighted as a theatergoer. And that to me was downright sexy. [audience laughter] 

 

So, for the ba’show or the half hour, 10-hour meeting between a prospective bride and groom, we were ushered into my childhood playroom. I broke the ice by asking him about his family, the number of children and grandchildren, even though I knew them quite well. His sister was my classmate, his other sister is married to my first cousin, my brother is married to his first cousin and two of my sisters are married to two of his other first cousins. [audience laughter] It's a doozy. [audience laughter] 

 

So, after a while my mother pokes her head in and she's like, “[unintelligible 00:35:11], did you make a decision?” Now there were trays of cakes lined up on the kitchen counter, cakes that I had baked that day for a potential engagement party, and no one wanted to see them go to waste. [audience laughter] There was no good reason for either one of us to say no, but I desperately wanted confirmation that he was indeed dabbling in secular matters. [audience laughter] So, when my mother left, I boldly asked him if he listened to the radio. And he blushed. Something about his blushing confirmed it for me. I knew then and there that he was my knight in shining side curls. [audience laughter] 

 

 

We were not supposed to speak during our engagement, but he further confirmed his renegade speech status when he sent his phone number, scribbled on a note through a mutual acquaintance. I would call him every Thursday evening, hiding behind the clothes in my closet, so my mother wouldn't overhear. [audience laughter] We were married on a cold December evening, the first snow of the season blanketing the streets. The next morning, my mother showed up to shave my head, all of it, down to a stubble, as is the custom in this very stringent Hasidic community. Everyone did it. All married women were required to shave their heads monthly for the duration of their marriage. 

 

We settled into married life, or as best as you can settle in as two strangers. After three days, I decided it was time my husband knew me better. So, I bedecked our little kitchen table in this dollhouse size apartment, and I whipped out a 2x2-inch DVD screen. The next day, he one upped me with a box of Yankees paraphernalia and a computer that he kept hidden in his parents’ home. [audience laughter] We were a match made in heaven, [audience laughter] except were practical strangers. We watched movies, and we went to the library every Friday afternoon, and we would have to look right and left and back before making a beeline for the blockbuster door or the library door, because no one could see us heretics. 

 

After a while, about two to three months, we decided it was time to take our rebellion on the road. My husband suggested Florida, and this place he had heard of called Wet ‘n Wild Water Park. [audience laughter] Now, I had never been to the beach, I had never been to a water park, never really traveled before and certainly never flown on a plane. So, you can imagine I was excited. In preparation for this trip, we went shopping. I owned a bathing suit. And this bathing suit was called a [unintelligible 00:38:18]. It's the kind of garment I imagine Mother Teresa would wear [audience laughter] when and if she allowed herself a dip in the water. This [unintelligible 00:38:30] had sleeves, and it had a skirt reaching down to my knees and I knew it was unsuitable for a water park. 

 

So, we went shopping. I can still feel my heart buckle when I think of the way we crisscrossed those bathing suit racks at Walmart and darted every time we saw a familiar Hasidic face. They all looked equally immodest to me. My husband picked up this backless one piece. And I am in this cramped woman's dressing room, imagining a thousand eyes peering in from under the door slit. I strip out of my clothes, and I pull on this bathing suit that simultaneously reminds me of hell and also of a delicious piece of babka. [audience laughter] I turn to the mirror, and I am seeing my bare arms and bare legs full length, possibly for the first time. This backless bathing suit has a sun rising from the nether regions, [audience laughter] which sounds like a metaphor for my life. [audience laughter] 

 

I look at myself in the mirror and I imagine that this is what it must feel like to be on the covers of one of the magazines I peruse. I am young, I am perky in all the right places and I know it. [audience laughter] We were giddy for days leading up to this trip. We told everyone about this trip and we told no one about this trip. My mother called a few days prior to wish us farewell and did we pack warm clothes, do we know that it's warm in Florida? And I laughed. She had no idea what we were up to. 

 

So, we land in Orlando and we visit Universal and Disney, and we missed all popular cultural references. [audience laughter] I marveled at this thing that was part spider, part human. [audience laughter] We were so sheltered. We felt like aliens walking around in those parks, except I can assure you, we did not know what aliens were back then. [audience laughter] 

 

 

Then came the big day, Wet ‘n Wild Water park. [audience laughter] I'm wearing a bathing suit for the first time. We are newlyweds, fair skinned who had never used sunscreen before. [audience laughter] Bodies covered from head-to-toe literally have no use from sunscreen. And on my head, I am wearing a chill length wig with a Yankee sun visor securing it. My husband was a fan, and of course, that meant I was too even though I'd never heard of baseball before a [unintelligible 00:41:22]. 

 

So, I'm wandering around on my husband's tail, ogling this bevy of bikini clad chicks in all their tan glory. [audience laughter] I keep my arms on my chest and alternating between that and my thighs, and knees and elbows until I realize I am practically in the nude and I just walk around in a self-conscious daze. My discomfort was so palpable, a constant reminder of the grave sin I was committing. I felt like everyone around me could see right through my shame. I might as well have been curtsying in front of the grand rabbi. It felt so wrong to expose all these parts of my body that I was taught to keep hidden. And yet, it felt so right and so darn liberating. 

 

So, we make our way through the park. And up the tallest ride in the park, down a winding tube into a shallow pool, and I am having the time of my life. As I get into the shallow pool and I bob my head out of the water, I feel a muggy breeze. I turn around to the guy manning the pool and he's holding up my wig, with a limping sun visor. And he's like, “Ma'am, ma’am, did you lose this?” I was mortified. But more than that, I was afraid. I feared that someone would recognize me and report me back home to the authorities. 

 

Before you know it, my mother knows and my neighbor's bubby knows. My mother's heart is broken, and my good girl facade is stripped from me and my future children won't be accepted into the only school in town. I risked losing a lot. So, I grab my wig and visor and I start heading out of the pool when I feel eyes on me. I turn around and they're pitiful eyes. They must have thought, poor woman. Poor, poor woman with cancer. I was relieved. [audience laughter] They didn't know me. Cancer sounded plausible. [audience laughter] I'd rather they believe I have cancer than know my shame. That way, at least, I can hide my shame behind their pity. 

 

So, I grab my wig and visor and I head out of the pool. I'm both mortified, but also owning my pity. My husband is completely traumatized and will leave the park soon after. And thankfully, no one back home did find out. We've been married for 16 years, nearly half of our lives. We just celebrated our 16th wedding anniversary last December.