Read Online All Who Go Do Not Return by Shulem Deen - Free Book Online

doodled in the margins of his Bible reader. Eli Green rested his chin lazily on his forearm. Next to me, one boy yawned followed by another. It was late on a Sunday afternoon, and class would end in an hour.
    Reb Meshulam read from Rashi’s commentary: “The men and women entered the ark separately. And so we know that tashmish hamitah was forbidden in the ark.”
    Suddenly, my mind was alert. There was that term again. Tashmish hamitah. Service of the bed. This was a passage of Rashi I hadn’t noticed before—as if it had been newly placed inside our texts. So startled was I by its newness, that I blurted a question aloud: “Tashmish hamitah was forbidden in the ark? Why?”
    Reb Meshulam fell silent. Shloimy Rubin stopped doodling in the margins of his Bible, and Eli Green raised his head from resting on his forearm.
    Reb Meshulam looked away. “The world was in sorrow,” he said after a long pause. “It would have been inappropriate.”
    Reb Meshulam continued his lesson. Shloimy returned to his doodling. Eli rested his chin back on his arm.
    “You know what tashmish hamitah means?” Shloimy and Eli came running after me, when school was over. I was heading down Forty-Third Street, past a schoolyard in which a group of non-Hasidic kids were playing softball.
    “We heard you ask your question,” Eli said, catching his breath. “We figured you must know.”
    “I do know,” I said.
    They waited for me to elaborate.
    “I can’t really say. It’s not proper to talk about it.”
    “We think we know,” Shloimy said, looking at me intently. “Eli saw a picture in a magazine.”
    Eli nodded along.
    “Tell me what you know,” I said, “and I’ll tell you if it’s correct.”
    Shloimy looked at Eli, who smiled sheepishly. Then, as Eli could not bring himself to mouth the words, Shloimy offered it instead, speaking the words almost in a whisper: “The man puts his front into the woman’s behind.”
    It was now five years later, with my wedding nearing, and Shloimy’s words niggled in my mind. Could that have been what my father meant? It was hard to believe, and yet, what if Shloimy was right? Anxious to have it either confirmed or denied, I proceeded to the next level of groom instruction, a series of lessons with Reb Noach.
    At Reb Noach’s dining-room table, sitting on a sweaty, plastic-upholstered chair for two hours each afternoon, I listened to instruction on a whole new set of laws: To a woman impure from menstruation, thou shalt not approach , Reb Noach read from the Hebrew Bible in front of us. A man who lies with a menstruating woman, both will be cut off from their people.
    A woman emits a bloody discharge each month, Reb Noach explained; during that period, it is forbidden to approach her. It is forbidden to share utensils, to pass her any object directly, to touch her or even her garments, to gaze at her body parts that are generally concealed—upper arms, thighs, shoulders, even her hair. It is forbidden to sit on her bed, to pour her a glass of wine, or to exchange words of affection. Detailed records must be kept to allow us to be vigilant during days that her period was likely to arrive.
    It was all just another elaborate set of laws, not unlike the requirement to fast on Yom Kippur, cut a newborn male infant’s genitals, or tie your left shoe before your right. Many volumes had been written on the subject. And still, the great mystery of the touching was not revealed.
    My wedding day arrived a month before my nineteenth birthday. At three o’clock in the afternoon, I was to meet with the last of all groom instructors, Reb Shraga Feivish.
    I awoke early that morning to recite the entire Book of Psalms. I would be fasting; the wedding day was a personal Yom Kippur for the bride and groom, a sacred day of atonement and repentance. After morning prayers, I had a brief audience with the rebbe, who sat wrapped in his prayer shawl as he read my kvittel , and then extended his hand. “May