I once heard this story about Trump at one of Epstein’s parties—real Eyes Wide Shut with canapés energy—where he started hitting on a sheila and Epstein had to lean in and whisper, “No. No. She’s not here for you.”
Oof. You know how awkward you have to be to get cockblocked by Jeffrey Epstein?
That’s not just rejection—that’s divine judgment. That’s like being denied entrance to Sodom by the doorman from Gomorrah.
But I get it. I’ve lived this. I, too, was once a minor celebrity—famous adjacent. Women would orbit me, or at least loiter near me, and I thought, “Behold! My fans have brought me a woman. An offering! I must accept her or risk being rude to the community.”
It felt like a sacred duty. Like being the High Priest of Awkward Sex. I was just trying to honor the ritual. I didn’t know if she was there for me or just needed Wi-Fi.
I once tried to flirt with a woman at a Torah study, and the rebbetzin, it might have been Rabbi Weiss's first wife, she gently waved her finger at me and said: “No. No. She’s not here for you.”
She said it like she was protecting me from myself. Or protecting her from 40 minutes of Ernest Becker quotes and unresolved mother issues.
It’s devastating. Like, spiritually, you’re at the club thinking you're Leonardo DiCaprio (we both courted Kendra Jade in 1998!) in a tallis, and someone reminds you: You're actually the valet.
Another time, I feel like I'm making real progress with this mixed-race woman immigrant from a low status latino country, she's a tad shvartze, and I'm thinking I could get her a green card and a conversion to Judaism and raise her status and lifestyle and then the rabbi comes over and says to me, “No. No. She’s not here for you.”
Even in my livestream days, I get these comments like, “You’re brave,” “You’re raw,” “You’re such a thinker.” And I think, She wants me. Then I look closer—it’s a guy in Saskatchewan named Shlomo with a frog avatar.
No. No. She’s not here for you.
That’s become the theme of my life. Women. Opportunities. Grants. Yeshiva admissions. They all walk into the room, and I reach out—and someone appears like an angel of the Lord and says: “No. No. She’s not here for you.”
But I remain hopeful. Because one day, I will hear a voice say: “Yes. Yes. She’s here for you.”
And that voice will come from someone’s aunt. Recently widowed. Spiritually curious. Gluten-free. And finally—emotionally reckless enough to say yes to Luke Ford.
Amen.
