“Hey can I help you with something?” A rather young looking yeshiva guy asked me as I was trying to differentiate between the sea of black velvet Yarmulke’s. “Yeh I cant seem to find any size 5 yamy’s”. After handing me what I wanted he just plain up asks me the same questions a shadchun would ask me. So nu where ya from, what do you do and who are you working for in the mountains?
Why does some 16 year old yeshiva boy in a sfarim store need to know my life story? Furthermore why have do all Frum Jews fail to introduce themselves and ask for your name rather then all your personal details?
I know why of course. According to me, frum Jews generally have no interests and all they do is shop and eat when on vacation so they need that fix of Jewish geography to lighten up their day. Without Jewish geography what would they do, simply eat at Dougies and shop at the expansive Wal Mart in Monticello. Would they actually have to find a hobby or an interest that they could call their own. Maybe these people dont want to feel like outcasts in the frum community because they are different.
This is kind of like the people who make non-brown shabbos foods. Yes you know who I’m talking about. Those houses that you walk in and everything is normal frummy affair- the massive bookshelf full of sfarim adorning the wall, the paintings of dancing chassidim, the case full of silver plates, bisamin holders and bechers, the baby strollers scattered about like a demolition derby and then BAM- they start serving “real” salads full of color, not the traditional browned, power washed, star-k, dole lettuce. Then the interesting array of kugels comes out featuring exotic specialties that make potato and brocoli kugel look like baby spit up. Suddenly the table is anything but brown. Indeed life has been brought back into frummydom.
Indeed these people may be put in cherem for going against all authority and embracing individuality, but I applaud them. I would also applaud frummies if they stopped being rude and nosy- but I think I’ll just keep trippin’.