Growing up in the Wheat Fields of Canada, the word ‘wasp’ only meant to me the annoying Bee like bugs that along with Mosquitos and Flies disrupted and aggravated my already short Canadian summers. As it turned out, not only was our farm plagued with wasps, but I was, unbeknownst to me, living in a W.A.S.P. – White Anglo Saxon Protestant- community; unbeknownst to me. As a child, Christmas was my favorite holiday, and my only classmates that did not celebrate this festive time of the year were the handful of Jehovah Witnesses who seemed to miss every fun thing – at least according to my kid mentality – with the exception being that they luckily didn’t have to belt out ‘God Save the Queen’, ‘Oh Canada’ and the ‘Lord’s Prayer’ each and every morning when the bell struck nine.
Graduating University, getting married, moving across the country to a Northern Alberta city called Edmonton, and a year later getting divorced suddenly made me a single girl in a new city, one whose population at 500,000 was much more diverse than the 30,000 peeps in my home town. And that is where my Shiksa story began….
I met him in the gym…Six foot five, 50 pounds overweight and hogging the one and only treadmill in the place. When I sheepishly pointed out to this giant of a man, as politely as all Canadians are, that my name was on the wait list for the treadmill and it looked like he was programming his third go on this machine and that, ummm, I was waiting and could I……before I could ask he belted back in a big booming New York accent “Look at me and look at you, who looks like they need this more?”….I sprinted out of his way, sure I had met my first Italian mobster.
Long story short (save that for my life story – the one that I will never write because who cares), I ended up in a three year relationship with this man. You can imagine my surprise two months into this relationship when I found out that my Italian Mobster boyfriend was really a New York Russian Jew? I learned a lot about the Jewish faith during this time, had a man who adored, loved and spoiled me rotten, all which resulted in me getting a green card, moving to Los Angeles, and here I be, here I be and here I be…still single…..
Since my move to LA, I have had a few long term boyfriends all of which have been Jewish except one, and 90% of the men I have dated more casually have been Jewish. I have reasoned over the past decade that, well, I love Jewish men, or at least I appear to as that seems to be the pool from which I date. But then, it dawned on me…I am the girl, right? I mean, it’s not like I am picking the guys, the guys are picking me…so the question then becomes do I love Jewish men or is it that Jewish men love me?
Well the answer is a bit fuzzy….they love me, me – the blonde haired, blue eyed me…they love me but their love for me doesn’t end in a fairytale-magic way, it just ends. Why does it end? It ends because I am a ‘Shiksa’, a Yiddish word that basically means a non- Jewish girl. And as it turns out Jewish men love to date the Shiksa, but marriage, that is saved for their Jewish American Princess they eventually marry so that they can have Jewish heirs to their thrones (Jewish law states the mother must be Jewish) and the Shiksa becomes a distant memory (albeit a good one – probably a recurring fantasy I will add) in their minds.
To be fair, I have had one long term relationship with a Jewish man who wanted me to convert, but I also dated one for almost a year – who when we broke up – told me that he was breaking up with me because I wasn’t Jewish (dude, I wasn’t Jewish when I met you – seriously what the fuck?)
So if you are in love with a Jewish male, how do you know, how does the Shiksa know if she should run or stay? Learn from my mistakes:
- If you are dating and after your first overnight, he pulls out a bag and you notice straps of long leather you fear might be heading your way in a “Fifty Shades of Grey” kind of way, until he starts to wrap the leather around his wrist and in Hebrew murmurs…shema Israel…..he is davening – praying in Hebrew…Which means this dude is really religious….and obviously severely confused if he is dating you…run, run, run for the hills.
- If he takes you home for Thanksgiving and his sister points out that you are a Canadian and reminds you that you celebrate Thanksgiving at a different time of year, and you notice that his sister and her husband eat off of separate plates from the rest of the family… Realize that even though your guy might eat bacon, some of his family is Kosher, you will most likely never make the cut here….run, run, run for the hills and grab a bacon-cheeseburger on the way!
- If he has male friends who won’t shake your hand when they meet you, because as your love gently points out, they are Orthodox Jews and it is against their religious beliefs….his friends are mostly likely never going to accept you….run, run, run but not before torturing one of his friends by planting a big old Shiksa kiss on their cheek!
- If he is a non-religious type, and when you try to impress him with your Yiddish knowledge– ‘that guy sure has a lot of gelt’, or ‘what a putz’, or ‘you want me to schlep everything to you again tonight, oy vey’…..and you feel reassured in this relationship because you had to explain to him what a ‘Mensch’ was……. Regardless, if his friends who happen to like you and think you are cool let little things slip like, ‘he’s a good guy, but he will never marry you’…don’t fall for his charms, confront him and ask him before it is too late, and if he can’t give you the answer you need….run, run, run and maybe date one of his cool friends who has the right answer, why not?
My Shiksa story began in Canada and has followed me to Los Angeles, and at the end of the day, for whatever reason – me Shiksa he Jew Man – most of the men I date have last names that end in stein, berg, feld, well…you get the picture. I guess if I meet my soul mate and he happens to be of the Jewish faith I am open to converting as long as a Christmas tree is still in the picture…..Oy vey….