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So I’m just coming out of Shoshanna’s kitchen with a platter of roasted chicken, when all of a sudden—like out of nowhere—Yitzhak appears. I notice that his beard is quivering a bit and that his face is flushed, like he’s been standing in the hot kitchen with me. But he hasn’t been there—because I’ve been there alone, loading up the chicken to serve from Shoshanna’s new automatic Shabbos-timed oven. And then Yitzhak just appears like magic.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I like Yitzhak. He’s Shoshanna’s brother, studying at the local yeshiva. In training to be some sort of rabbi or maybe a Hebrew teacher. And he’s great with her kids—plays games with them, runs around the backyard with them. So whenever he’s around—which is often on holidays—he gives me lots of breaks from the day-to-day nannying.
But he is coming at me in a way that gives me the creeps. He is leaning in, like he’s going to kiss me or something, like the guys used to do at the bars. Which would have been okay if I hadn’t given up men six months ago. And if I weren’t a Christian (or a goy, as the Orthodox Jews call it). And if touching a woman, let alone kissing a woman, wasn’t forbidden of Orthodox men unless they are married to the woman and it isn’t her time of the month. I know about all this forbidden stuff because Shoshanna has taught me a lot since I first came to work for...
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