My Ex's Jewish Fetish


My Ex's Jewish Fetish
One woman realizes her ex had a thing for Jews.

Trying to be heard over street music jazz, Hendrik said to me, "Um, Rachel… sweetheart… would you mind singing a little Hebrew prayer for me? Please? Like the 'Barak ata' one? It gets me off. I'm being serious." He laughed at this, appreciating his own sexual weirdness. I sighed and whispered, "baruch atah adonei eloheinu meleh ha'olam" into his ear in my slinkiest phone sex operator voice. He fondled my nose again and I giggled. How To Woo Him With Your Phone Voice

I imagined Hendrik dreaming up various Jew-girl-on-Nazi descendant storylines before he went to bed at night. Fantasy #1: The Jew girl, with her inky black eyes and teeth slanted shyly inwards (think Anne Frank) kisses goose-stepping boy atop Noah's ark. They are the only two humans left after the flood, the fate of humanity rests upon them to procreate (cue urgent music). Their limbs tangle about, her arms become legs, his legs become arms, they tangle about some more, the rhythm of the Mediterranean Sea eggs them on and then, suddenly—voila! The bible's first ever half Christian/half Jewish baby is conceived!


While my feelings toward Hendrik never grew into love, I, in utter anti-feminist fashion, wanted him to love me. But I wondered: could a guy nursing a fetish ever truly fall in love with his the girl of his fixation?

I doubt it. It seemed I could never be the object of Hendrik's cosmic, chemicals gone haywire love because I was the object of Hendrik's typecasting. Hendrik was casting for his real-life Noah's Ark Jewess and I was the one who best fit the bill. Why Orthodox Jews May Have The Hottest Sex Lives

A few weeks after I began dating Hendrik, I went through a serious Dolly Parton phase, perhaps in rebellion to all the pretentious snot clogging up my college campus. I wrote country songs and performed them before my full-length mirror and my roommate, who promised not to judge. I wore cowboy boots and peroxided my hair so blonde it washed out all the Jewish character on my face.

I e-mailed Hendrik a digital picture of the new me labeled, "Just as Hitler ordered" and I expected at least some kind of half-pleasure to come out from under him; maybe he would call me his "sexy little Barbara Streisand" or he would tell me gently that I looked very hot but that he wanted his Jew back. I assumed that all guys, even the most Jew-chasing among them, were turned on by blonde. I thought it an evolutionary thing.

For a good few hours, I stared, autistic-like, at my computer until an instant message from bodyofgod937 popped up on the screen: "Call me when you have better judgment" is all it said. My better judgment told me that I should delete Hendrik's from my cell phone and that I should have listened to my mother and only dated nice Jewish boys. Jewish boys, after all, would never pass up a good shiksa.

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