The common law marriage between an Israeli woman and a Sudanese asylum seeker tests the values of the Jewish state.
Special To The Jewish Week
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Ori Caspi’s life is falling apart.
Ever since her husband was taken away this past spring, she can’t fall asleep at night. Unable to face their empty home, she stays on friends’ sofas, laptop in hand, scouring the Internet for solutions until dawn. She’s missing work shifts, hasn’t paid rent since last month, and is preparing for the possibility that soon she’ll be truly homeless. But these aren’t her real problems, she says.
There was an age difference of 20 years. When Anat Keinan met Assaf Torati, she was 48, and he was 28. That was in Ra'anana, Israel in 2001. He went for a haircut and met Anat, who was the manager of the salon. “The first time he came in, we started talking,” recalls Anat. “He kept coming and we kept talking. I thought he was coming to flirt with my daughter, who was co-manager.” But Assaf thought differently.
Adi Kain, a hip 29 year-old, was not going to wait for a proposal. She was with the right guy and ready for the relationship to move on.
They met at a fashion event in Tel Aviv. Adi went up to the bar for a drink, and a cute guy started to chat her up. Gilad Carmi worked in high tech and Adi was a project manager for a property development group.
That same evening, Adi received a text message from Gilad. Within days, they had their first date. “It was great,” recalls Adi. “We both love the beach and enjoy good wine. And we talked for hours.”
Because I got to yoga a little early, the religious guys were still there.
You see, the class before mine is exclusively for “fervently orthodox men.” They’re American, and baalei teshuva and embody this weird combination of a modern, American sensibility with this newfound holiness.
Not that I’m saying they are holy men, only that they are always looking at the world through the lens of Torah, and by that I mean of G-dliness.