The Sex Therapist
Ami Rokach - A man of sensibilities
I found his name in a book—how women’s fantasies around characters tend to begin. A non-fiction novel by the United States Surgeon General, Vivek Murthy, where his observations were noted in a section called “Befriending Ourselves.” He wasn’t a prince nor a genie but a sex therapist.
This personage, Ami Rokach, replied to my emails and agreed to Zoom calls where I dug into his knowledge of loneliness, and he inquired about my personal life.
“Do I need to marry someone Jewish?” I once asked him.
“Listen, life is complicated. But I remember my first wife and I would talk to my son about this and she would tell him to look for someone Jewish and rich. I would say the most important thing is that the person should be a mensch. Someone can be Jewish and not a mensch and someone can be a mensch and not Jewish,” he explained.
“The money is irrelevant. Never look at that,” he added.
In October 2024, nearly two years after our first correspondence, and because Ami lives abroad most of the time, we met in person at a café. “I’m about to do something immoral,” he says as we wait for our coffees. “I’m going to steal a few packs of sugar.”
Ami, now in his mid-70s, spent 28 years of his clinical career as a psychologist at a correctional facility outside of Toronto. A jail for minor crimes, he explains to me.
“Are a lot of your friends from there?” I ask.
“The criminals, no,” he replies.
He recounts how over 30 years ago, one of his colleagues, a student at a local college doing an internship, fell in love and married a convict. “It shows that beyond the crimes, they are human beings and that some women need a lot of action. I doubt they lasted,” Ami says.
“Why?” I question.
“Because if he needs action then he’s sensation seeking, we all get satiated at a specific level. Some commit crimes because they need the money, others are angry, and some simply need action. I’ve spoken to criminals who stole so the police cars could chase them. If her husband needs to break the law, he’ll do it again.”
In his own words, Ami’s work kept him out of trouble. He ran a private practice and over the last ten years teaching and writing have taken up the majority of his time. Next week, his wife Natalie goes on retirement.
“How long have you been with your wife?” I ask.
“16 years. It’s the second round for both of us and the only second round,” says Ami.
“And your first wife, you met her in high school?”
“Yes, when did I say that?” he says with a big smile.
“When we spoke earlier.”
Ami and Natalie were introduced through his mother during one of his trips to Israel. He had recently ended a relationship of 14 years. “My mother didn’t like my first wife or my girlfriend. She thought, ‘This guy doesn’t know what he’s doing, I’ll do it for him,’” Ami says.
For the first date, his mother and cousin arranged for Ami and Natalie to meet for coffee.
“All four of you?” I ask.
“Yes, our first three dates were all four of us actually. My cousin then asked Natalie, ‘How is he?’ and she said, ‘He’s okay.’ Both of us were afraid to begin a relationship because when you let your guard down, you fall in love but can also get hurt.”
A few weeks later, Ami’s mother threw a birthday party and Natalie was also in attendance. The two talked for hours and didn’t notice that many guests had left. “My cousin said, ‘I looked at the two of you and you had no clue I was there.’ That really jumpstarted it. I stayed for two more months and then moved back to Israel,” says Ami.
It was a huge decision given that he retired from his role at the jail and was running a practice in Toronto. “I had to burn some bridges but it was worth it,” he says.
“What do you think is keeping you from meeting someone?” Ami asks.
“I can be very cognitive. For a while, I was set on being with a Russian Jew. Now, I’m quite open,” I say.
“Good.”
“I look back at my past relationships and a part of me picked them because they were ethnically similar but they didn’t have what I was looking for. I thought it was a shortcut to shared values,” I say.
“If you picked friends cognitively and if you pick a guy cognitively then how do you expect them to be there for you emotionally?” he says.
I knew, logically, that I could find someone with my checklist of qualities and he could eventually betray me. We could fall in love and I could lose him to an accident. Or one day, we could realize there was no longer love between us. And what would I do? Go back into the world with my list?
At 19, I went on an organized trip for young Jewish people and I caught the eye of a guy who I typically wouldn’t be interested in. I ignored most of his advances and for my 20th birthday, he brought me a heart necklace from his travels. “My mom reminds me of this, I was dismissive because my friends wouldn’t have liked him and I’m not even friends with those people anymore,” I say.
“It probably reflects that you doubt your own opinion. Rather than saying, I’m open. I’m attracted to him and we’ll see what happens. You’re unsure of yourself,” Ami says.
“Everyone ends up doing what’s best for them,” I say. I tell him of a couple I know who recently got engaged. “She’s Jewish and he’s Egyptian.”
“He could be an Egyptian and she could be a Jew but if they love each other they can work through their issues,” says Ami. “It’s important to listen to the heart instead of doing all kinds of calculations.”
“I can also be quite guarded,” I add.
“Why guarded?”
“I’m scared of getting hurt probably but at the same time I’m young, I would rather get hurt.”
“Sometimes we say, ‘What’s the worst thing that can happen?’ You’ll be sad and then you’ll recover. Sometimes getting hurt gives us the courage to get hurt again.”
Last summer, while out for a walk, Ami suffered a cardiac arrest. By some divine intervention, a passerby noticed him holding onto a wall and called 911. Another pedestrian, a paramedic off duty, took all the necessary steps to help Ami until the paramedics arrived.
Natalie called his phone and panicked when a hospital worker answered. Running to Ami’s side who awoke days later.
“I’m very lucky, most people who experience what I did don’t make it out alive. The paramedics came to visit me at my apartment after because they were all amazed I made it. I’m happy that I’m not more fucked up than I was,” he says.
“Why did you decide all those years ago to concentrate on loneliness?” I ask Ami.
“My colleagues at the jail, when they heard I was going to study loneliness, they said, ‘You probably have some deep-rooted problems.’ The truth is, I was at a conference in Ottawa, I had taken a flight that left on Thursday and returned to Toronto on Sunday. I had a wonderful time but everyone left on Saturday afternoon. I remember standing in my 17th-floor room, looking through a double glass window, seeing the cars and the people but feeling very isolated. I thought, ‘This is what loneliness feels like, you see but you’re not part of it.’ Before that I don’t remember recognizing loneliness,” says Ami.
Ami finished his PhD in 1978 and in 1981 he was looking for a niche to study. “I tried to find research and books about loneliness and couldn’t find anything. I decided if I can’t find it, I’ll create it. A bit like you with 52 Friends,” he says. “Now it’s the hottest topic. When I started no one talked about loneliness.”
I look back on my earlier 20s and I don’t think I was lonely during the pandemic. I was lonely when I stared out my window in Miami and knew I had no one to spend time with. “During COVID, I would justify not dating by the fact that there was a pandemic and so I had nothing to miss out on,” I say.
“Be careful not to let your brain dictate your life. Especially not romantically,” Ami reminds me again.
Months ago, I found myself speaking to an acquaintance at a Jewish event, enjoying our conversation, and believing that he showed some interest in me. “But then I stopped myself from getting to know him further because he was a bit short, and fat also,” I say.
“When you say ‘also’ you mean like me?” says Ami.
“No, no, no. I mean he was short and fat but I liked speaking to him. Maybe he would be an amazing partner.”
“Maybe he would go on a diet,” says Ami.
“Maybe it wouldn’t matter because he would be so loving.”
“If you continue to let your brain dictate, you won’t find a guy. You are trying to protect yourself. But it will do its job well. It will protect you so well that eventually you’ll have to settle on someone and you may pick a bad guy. If you see a guy you want put the brain on shut and go for it,” he says.
Our two-hour mid-day coffee is coming to an end. Ami reminds me that what I’ve accomplished with 52 Friends is admirable. “Out of your personal pain, you created something. It takes a lot of courage and creativity and motivation to do it,” he says.
“I didn’t realize how controversial it would be to write about loneliness,” I say.
“As if it’s your invention.”
I receive a text from Ami once I’m home.
“Please don’t let the brain stop you from finding a man who makes your heart sing.”
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