Nothing beats getting raped by a Hasidic jew. Trust me. I know. His sidecurls brushed against my face every time he thrusted in. The experience taught me to not walk alone in Brooklyn at night and not to carry too many business cards. Some fell out of my bag and were left on the dirty floor of the room he dragged me in. I thought I remembered this when wading back into the memory the next day. It was confirmed when I got an anonymously numbered phone call from a thick-accented man demanding to know if I were Jewish. I began to weep and said “no.” He asked me again and again I responded “no”. I guess it’s not a sin to rape a gentile. Lucky him. Lucky me.
I have only told my therapist and my business partner that it was a Hasid. I think it’s because I’m mortified that I could not fight off such a man. They always look so pitiful in those oversized suits. It’s almost funny.
