A date

As is traditional, I went to the movies last night. As is not so traditional for me, I was on a date. As is even less traditional, the gentleman with whom I went on the date put his arm upon the back of my seat, though not actually around me. I felt then, a mixture of want and hope that I hadn't felt in ages, the kind that makes my skin tingle with a pleasant thrill of anticipation and nervousness. I knew that he wouldn't go further, and I was confronted by a sense of relief and sorrow. Though the conversation was very nice, I would hardly have minded a physical connection as well, cementing a sense of genuine affection.

On my first date ever, when I was not Jewish, and was just 15 and was sexually curious, I went to a movie. It was clear already that he liked me, and I liked him; however, since we had not explicitly acknowledged this to each other we were both nervous. During the course of the movie, he managed to hold my hand. I was delighted beyond words. Holding hands, hugs, kisses, these were all the things that were supposed to happen when someone liked me and I him. I didn't pause to consider whether the action was commensurate with some level of psychological rapport, I was simply thrilled to have our hands intertwined. It "proved" that he really did like me after all and that I liked him, saving us both the awkward verbal exchange.

I miss the unspoken magic of that first moment when one holds hands. That magic doesn't exist in the Orthodox Jewish world, but at the very least I was lucky enough to experience it before I converted. It's sad that teens are condemned by (something resembling) halakha for wanting, which I imagine wrecks the magic.