Or Yes, I Wrestle. And Yes, I Went To Bruriah.
WWF wrestler Chyna, reveals her true story growing up as a frum maidel and breaking into the wrestling world.

a special report from  wrestling correspondent, arye dworken.

While I have recently written a tell-all memoir, I hang my head down in bushah knowing that none of it was true. You see, my agent fabricated the whole thing and I have decided for the sake of my well being – I must sleep at night again in my twin bed, that I must reveal the emes – to come out with the truth on BangItOut.com. My logic being that the “website's” audience is so small (like you, with too much time on your hands) and Jewish (there is no way that Jews followed wrestling – it is too “goyish” (see Jewish/Goyish list on the Daily Bang archive)). It was this or Nachum Segal's JM in the AM, but I know how much people hate all the talk interrupting the MBD marathon. But perhaps my true fans would discover this site and read the truth. No, they
couldn't. There is no way an Upper West Side Jew would communicate with an average wrestling fan, a Midwestern Goy that sleeps with his sister. So I am safe here. This is where the truth belongs.

My real name is Malka Reichstein. When I was a freshman in Bruriah High School, the only wrestling I did was with my Navi finals. Wrestling was not proper for a Bas Torah (even though Bas Torah did have a wrestling team, I think) and those polyester outfits were certainly not tsnius, especially with sponsor names' written across my chest. So as far as I was concerned,
wrestling was schmootz to me. I wanted to find a nice guy from J.E.C. and date him all through high school. Hanging out in Dunkin' Donuts (the kosher one, of course!) and eventually get married where he would work at Deloitte and I would be a physical therapist. Life certainly does through us for a loop. Ha ha. It certainly does.

I remember when I first realized that the WWF may be a career for me. I was coming home from a NCSY shabbaton and things were getting a bit wild on the bus. Yonaton said that Yizti's shtick on Shabbos lunch sucked. And in truth, it had. The shtick sucked, while Noam's, the week before was infinitely better. Eventually Yoni and Yizti came to blows and all the poor defenseless
Bruriah and Central girls sat on the sidelines praying for Hashem to bring a finale to these fist-a-cuffs. Although, thinking back, I think one may have been praying for a shidduch. But, in any event, I could not watch anymore. With my huge size, I stepped in to stop the fight. Now, I had always been shomer negiah and to this day it still haunts me. How can I touch, or choke hold, Bill Goldberg (who my parents want me to date because he's such a fine Jewish boy. OK, so
he's just Jewish) when I may be a niddah? To this day, I search the reshonim for solutions and heterim for this unresolved conflict. Nevertheless, I jumped in and subdued Yoni first, leaving him in row 27A slightly unconscious. I realized Yitzti would put up a bigger fight. After all, Yitzi
had been to second base with a girl before. Touching me was not a concern for him. But after climbing up to the luggage rack and performing my first atomic drop, Yitzi was off to evening seder learning Tractate Shluffin in the Marp.