10 Things I hate about being frum

Now that Deborah Feldman has the limelight, I know a post like this may get overlooked, so I can finally come out of the closet and talk about my own issues with being frum and why I have contemplated going off the derech so many times. Going off the derech seems to easy to me, 3 day weekends, the all you can eat salad and bread sticks at the Olive Garden and the 21 course tasting menu at Alinea are good enough reasons. As you will read below it’s not so simple, I could have made the list longer, but I didn’t want you all to lose faith in me. I remember when I admitted to breakiung negiah once, how crazy my fans and readers went because they thought of me as the spokesperson for frumkeit.

10 things I hate being frum:

Tzitzis tickling my legs: There is no worse feeling in the world than having those tzitzis tickling your legs in shul.

Getting Tziztis stuck in your fly: It’s kind of reminiscent of that Frank and Beans scene from There’s Something About Marry.

Missing Rosh Chodesh: If not for my trusty future wife and her tehilim pool, I would have had no idea it was rosh chodesh this coming week. This is because the only way to tell it’s Rosh Chodesh is if you make it to shul on time and every time I miss Rosh Chodesh I feel like it’s not worth going on. I feel like a terrible Jew.

Milchigs at shabbos lunch the day of a big kiddush: One of the worst feelings as a frum Jew is having to gamble on lunch being better than the kiddush. Will that milchigs lunch outweigh this amazing meat filled cholent? If only I weren’t frum….

Missing Ya’ale Vayavo in shemona esrei: If I wasn’t so frum I could just say it once and pretend like I said it, but being frum means I have this incredibly strong yetzer tov and I just can’t ignore the task at hand, which is to suck it up and repeat shemona esrei.

Not being able to engage in bestiality: Let’s face it, if not for the biblical commandment against it we would all be busy with our pets.

Yeshivish Lecha Dodi tunes: Not only are poorly chosen lecha dodi tunes a great way to kill my entire shabbos, but when they decide to do it yeshivish style and stop between every verese I want to tell them about the thousands of people they are sending off the derech every shabbos.

Not being able to smack my parents: If I wasn’t frum, I could raise a hand to my folks, but this darned kivud av thing keeps getting in the way of my violence.

Being honest on my tax returns: If I wasn’t frum, there’s no way I’d be honest with my tax returns.

Being judged by the yarmulke I wear: Right now, post haircut I’m on black velvet. In about a week I switch to suede and after that I usually go to hat or knitted yarmulke. If I wasn’t frum they would be happy I was wearing a yarmulke at all.

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