Kveller has always had a strict policy against running anonymous and pseudonymous posts, but when someone sends you a piece called “That Time I Accidentally Sexted My Rabbi’s Wife” but can only run it under her Hebrew name, well, you break your own rules. Can you really blame us? Enjoy!
Let me begin by saying I hardly ever sext my husband. I have been known to cuss or swear but this, my friends, was on a whole other level. This was not a poetic, “I love how you love me” sext. It wasn’t an, “I can’t wait to get home and put the kids to bed” sext. It wasn’t even a, “Tonight I’m gonna wear the red thing I only wear on your birthday and do that thing you like that I never do” sext.
This was a graphic, “I want blank blank my blank blankity blank blank and I wanna blank” sext. I mean, this was a legit SEXT. This was the kind you hear about and go, “Yikes, is that, wow, um, OK.” The kind of things you think but never ever say unless you are Jenna Jameson.
And I sent it to the wife of my rabbi—a woman who cooks for the community, teaches in the school, and who people go to for advice.
Insert massive gasp here. My stomach fell to the floor and my face lost all its color. I immediately sent follow-up texts like, “Oh shit that was totally meant for my husband I am so sorry and embarrassed please excuse me.”
Then I texted my husband, who laughed at me. I asked if he wasn’t embarrassed. He said of course he was, but it’s just too funny to be upset about. Next came the texts to my closest friends, and they all thought it was hilarious, too. Finally, I realized the humor and began to shamefully LMAO.
Like I said, I’m not a regular sext offender. I occasionally send my husband cute little quips, let him know I’m thinking of him, and the occasional picture of my behind. We both work full-time, are busy with our synagogue and volunteer efforts, we have two kids, ages 3 and 1, and we’ve just begun talking about and trying for number 3.
Unfortunately, because we live in the year 2016, that means there isn’t a lot of time for poetic expressions, cat and mouse games, or even foreplay some days. Most nights we are lucky to fall into bed around 11 with snoring drooling boys between us, having (maybe) brushed our teeth. Finding “close time” can be really hard. We have to do what we can to keep it fresh. Oh, who am I kidding—fresh?! We do what we can to make it possible. Period.
I was sexting my husband this particular day because we had (shockingly) after almost a month, found a half hour to actually get down the night before. Like any liberated, modern Conservadox child of feminists, I wanted more. I wanted to let him know the carnal feeling he gives me, to express how much I enjoy his blankity blank. Instead—I told Faigey.
I kept waiting for her response, checking my phone every five seconds and carrying it with me all throughout my day just in case she wrote back. I hoped so hard that she would be like, “Guurrrrrl, I have seven kids. I know what it’s like.”
I waited and waited and waited and waited. After about two hours, my phone finally dinged. It was her. I braved myself to open the messages app, took a deep breath, and looked…
She’d skipped it. She went right into the conversation we were having before my giant blankity blank blank had shifted my stomach to my feet. After a few back and forth messages, I realized she wasn’t going to address it.
The Talmud teaches that it is better to allow oneself to be tossed into the furnace than to embarrass another person. It even goes so far as to say that if you publicly shame another, “causing the blood to drain from his face,” it’s equitable to murder. I don’t think I need to tell you that the blood had definitely drained from my face when I saw to whom that text had been sent, and while I could laugh at my terrible horrible very no good faux pas, she was probably embarrassed receiving and reading it, and talking about it would be hella uncomfortable for both of us.
She saved us both the super awkward moment. I was totally relieved. I mean, especially in the Modern Orthodox community, this was definitely not a public conversation.
Am I super embarrassed that I accidentally sexted a very sweet, very well respected woman in the community and could totally die of mortification? Yes. Was it a funny “oh well” kind of situation? Yes. Am I glad she skipped over it without calling attention to my mistake? Yes.
Now to the task of actually looking her in the face this week…maybe I should just text her.
Read More:
When the Rabbi Finds Your Vibrator
Reading Your Mother’s Sex Scenes
