Official engagements. Unofficial engagements. Semi-official engagements. OnlySimchas engagements. Family first engagements. Whatever. Just when you think you’ve got a handle on human social interactions, they go and throw something like this at you.
Skip Dor Yesharim
What you need is a sniff test. And a few other tests. Hat tip to O for this set of four indicators of marriage success. If you have can only take one pre-marital test, take this one.
Friday Repost: My Summers Chasing Boys
Remember learning about ma’aras ayin? I never understood it. I mean, who on earth would suspect a frum aidel girl of going into a Mickey-Ds for a burger? Obviously she’s either pregnant and needs the bathroom or is going for coffee. Anyone who suspects otherwise is the person with the problem (probably lack of life experience or imagination), not the visitor to the Golden Arches.
That’s what pops to mind when I reread this post about being seen with men in public, or chasing boys around for a summer. For details, click on over.
So Travel!
If you won the lottery, what would you do?
If you had a month of vacation and unlimited funds, what would you do?
When you retire, what do you plan to do?
Lots of people put something about traveling into their answers. Travel – something about it entices the human mind. We love to see new places, observe different people, experience alternate communities, and enjoy the diversity of everything available if you put a little distance between you and your stomping grounds.
So travel!
No, honestly.
I’ve traveled twice for dates. It’s expensive, no kidding there. And from the dating perspective, both were a complete waste of time. But I got to visit a town I’ve never been to, and another that I’ve not been to enough. I got to see long-lost friends and relatives. I got to do some touring. I smelled the air of a foreign city. I biked the streets of a different town. I watched the natives of a different culture (yeah, it was one of those cities). It really wasn’t bad.
Granted, my current locale is sorely lacking in high-end tourist attractions. But we’ve got plenty of local color. (Much of it rust. Er, umber.) And on average, we are 4 degrees and 2% humidity cooler than New York City.
Tempted yet?
Well, there are plenty of young ladies stranded in more exotic locations. Places you’d love to visit anyway, like Miami or LA. So don’t grumble and skip over them to the next Flatbush girl on your list. Take a vacation. Go travel.
Friday Repost: Not Me, Though
I was going through old posts when I found my link to a funny post by Bas~Melech. It’s worth a read. I miss her writing. She stopped blogging when she, ah, got engaged… Engaged! That scourge of creative effort. The blight of originality. The… well, you know how it is. A person has a fun, sparkling personality with lots of creative output, and then they go and get married and you’re lucky if they do anything more interesting than upside-down horseradish cake ever again.
Conversation of the Week: Somebody
“…Well, I have to meet someone later this afternoon.”
“Anyone I know?”
“No.”
“Who is it?”
“Somebody.”
“Yes, obviously. I mean, who?”
“Somebody, just somebody.”
“Oh! Somebody. Sorry. I’m a little slow today. Well, enjoy hanging out with Somebody.”
Friday Repost: Remember Being Passionate?
I guess I’m jaded. I no longer get indignant about indignities, semantics, and cognitive shortcuts that people take in shidduchim.
Too Much Attention
How involved should a shadchan be?
On the one hand, a few pointers on whether the girl expects you to hold opens doors or will be horrified by it can make a big difference to a date. On the other, telling a guy where to take his date would suggest that you’re not entirely confident in his abilities to navigate the grown-up world.
Then again, if the shadchan has asked some of my dates “Where do you plan to take her?” it might have prevented them from stepping off the train into residential Brooklyn and saying “So, where are we going?”
Then back again, you can’t expect the shadchan to guide a guy through every possible mine in the field, with questions like “Do you plan to speak to her on this date? Do you plan to speak to her about anything except your PhD thesis? When she starts talking about how cold she is, will you take her indoors?” After all, if you have that little confidence in the guy, you probably shouldn’t be setting him up.
And then, sometimes, the shadchan is the clueless one. Like the shadchan who called a guy on the day of the first date to inform him that the girl was sick, they’d have to postpone, but wouldn’t it be so nice of him to drop off flowers erev Shabbos for her? The mind boggles. I mean, they hadn’t even met yet.
So, how involved is too involved? Should the shadchan give the guy your phone number and bow out, or should (s)he be coaxing the parties through every step of the way? Which would you rather? Which would your dates rather?
Friday Repost: Plagued by Memory?
I wonder if there’s some way they can harness this phenomenon to help PTSD victims.
Some Things Never Die
Like SerandEz blog, and discussions about shallowness in the dating community.
I have absolutely no excuse for posting that link except that I haven’t had time to write a post in two weeks, for which I apologize.
And, if you start on that one and sigh, try this next one on for size. There is some debate over whether it is family friendly (PG-13, methinks, for language), so don’t click if you’re very aidel. But here’s the gist of it (and the very best pull-quote):
We have to quit defining ourselves solely in relation to [non-existent] dudes. Like, “I am not me—I am some imaginary man’s imaginary perfect 10, plus 50 extra pounds, minus a 20-inch waist, plus a threatening commitment to feminism, minus any desire to pretend to care about bike polo! That’s me!” No, that’s not you. That is a weird monster you made up to torture yourself.
…Fundamentally, men are attracted to the exact same thing in women as women are in men: Confidence. Self-assuredness. Agency. Knowing who you are.
The author is probably single, but her point – that normal, non-supermodels get married all the time – is tacitly true.
Friday Repost: Aaah! A Doctor!
When I wrote this post I wasn’t convinced of my thesis myself. I wrote it mostly to comfort NMF#7 who, last I heard, got married and didn’t become a doctor after all. It’s a bit of a trend in the wannbe-doctor field. Either you marry a politely tolerant guy and watch your medical dreams become impractical upon pregnancy, or you stay single and become a doctor and then…?
As one gentleman put it, “I married my wife after she did teshuva for the ‘averah’ of attending medical school by becoming a neurologist.”
“I Just Wish I Was Dating”
The bais Yaakov high-school graduate is suddenly handed a dizzying range of control over her life: what to wear Monday through Friday, how late to stay out at night, what ice cream to have for supper, what subjects to study in college.
Giddy on independence and control, the young single woman sees nothing but promise ahead—a life crafted to her desires, perfect by her own design. She has it planned out, step by step, from volunteer summer job this year to the influential career down the line. She knows exactly what it takes, and she knows that she’ll get there.
Except for one thing. The marriage factor. She’s not really sure where it fits in, though she’d be happy to adjust for it at any point. But neither does she know how to make it happen. And while she’s confident that she’ll achieve it, she really wishes she could see, just a little more clearly, how.
The phrase “career-path” is well-known. The phrase “marriage-path”—not so much. Even though we exercise reduced control over our employment, there are tried and true techniques for job hunting and ladder climbing. We know that if we keep at it, we’ll eventually meet with some success.
Not so with dating. Network at weddings, harass shadchanim—there’s no guarantee that you’ll ever get to sit across from a nervous young man and sip coke.
It’s disconcerting. Disheartening. Disgruntling. The most frustrating part of being orthodox, female, and single isn’t being single—it’s not being able to do anything about it. Men, at least, have their lists to occupy them, to maintain that façade of control. But women… well, how else to explain our inexplicable attachment to those SYAS accounts?
But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. With all the control we have over our lives, it’s easy to forget that we don’t make our own fate. Not to start quoting “kochi vi’otzem yadi” at you (or anyone—I’m talking about myself here… oh God I just sounded like a high school teacher twice in one sentence), but sometimes you need to ram into that wall to force you to stop, breath, and refocus. My dating status is out of my control, and so is everything else. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride, and stop backseat driving for God.
Friday Repost: Ay, There’s a Rub
Usually I don’t mind being single. I have lots of clever and fun friends, I self-entertain pretty easily, and I only worry about my cooking when I have guests. Eating out is easy to rig so that you wind up either at people you like or with people you like. And the only person leaving socks on the floor is me, which is somehow not very bothersome.
But there are some social situations where you just can’t rig it to be comfortable. Weddings can be awkward. Family reunions too. And that’s when it is suddenly glaringly obvious that you are Single, all alone in the world, on your own, a perpetual outsider…
My Pesach Fling
Long long ago I mused about how nice it would be if men vied for our attention the way bucks vie for that of a doe. Well, over Pesach it happened to me. Sort of. Not with men, and not with bucks.
I was strolling along a creek on a damp day last week when I heard a repetitive trilling coming from the other side. A bird I’d never seen before, black capped with two white neck rings, and a brown back, was trilling, then spreading his orange fantail, and then trilling again. I watched, fascinated, wondering if there was any audience for him out there.
It became apparent that there was—me. Very shortly the young sir was on my side of the creek, strutting not two feet from my shoes. He strutted, trilled, and fanned out his orange tail for me. Like his intended bride, I was fascinated. By the tail, and by the fact that I’d never had a bird so close to my shoes before (aggressive NYC pigeons do not count as birds—they’re some kind of mutant).
Things got even more intimate. After showing off for me for a few minutes, he got impatient, and hurled himself at my shoe.
“Whoa!” I said. “Don’t rush things!” Hurt at being so repelled, he bounced back a few feet to preen his feathers. “Look, don’t take it personally,” I tried to explain. “I just don’t think I’m really your type. We’re not meant to be.”
He was clearly smitten, because he ignored me completely, and began the marching again.
“I’m sorry,” I said, stepping around him. “It’s not you—it’s me.”
There was a devastated silence behind me. I walked a few feet and then turned around.
The little bird was watching. Tri-i-i-ill? he asked hopefully.
“No, really no,” I said. And walked away.
He got over it. A few minutes later I heard him at it again, singing into the empty field.
Friday Repost: On Being Special
Luke: You yelled at my teacher for calling me special.
Claire: Honey, that wasn’t a compliment.
I always thought being “special” meant leaving during math class to get extra help from a tutor. But, oddly, that usage didn’t even come up in this post about “special” girls and “best” bochurim. Either way, I’m not special. You win some you lose some, I guess.
Friday Repost: Pitchers Have Ears
These two posts are full of cute and true stories about what happens when small people with large imaginations get wind of fragments of dating information.
Pesach Special
Credit for this Pesach special goes to O and her sources. The puns are mine if unattributed.
The Pesach seder is a wonderful thing. The emphasis on text is strong, and the text doesn’t afford many opportunities to dwell on your marital status to the tune that, say, Ma Yedidus does, with its infamous “Uleshadech Habanos” line. So you might have thought you’d be freed from having to hear about it.
Well, tis not so. Even Pesach has its segulos for getting married. The Washington Post reports:
Syrian Jews, however, see that wine very differently. The seder leader reciting the plagues empties the wine from a ceremonial cup into a vessel held by the oldest single woman at the seder table, in hopes of bringing her good luck in finding a husband, Sarina Roffe explained. …
She remembers the last time she was that young woman. “I was 18,” said Roffe, of Brooklyn, N.Y. By the time Passover rolled around the next year, she was engaged.
See? It works!
But just in case, here’s an afikomen present you may want to request, courtesy of Macys:
And, to quote O: “It brings new meaning to wearing your heart on your sleeve.”
One heart, lightly used, please claim.
Open Letter
Dear Girlfriends,
You put up with a lot of criticism when dating. Even if you staunchly stand against nose jobs, it can’t help but get to you: all that disapprobation of how you dress, how you look, how you do your hair and carry yourself. What you say on a first date and what you shouldn’t have said. Some say you’re not modest enough. Some say you’re too modest—you’re not in high school anymore. Some say be yourself; some say don’t lay it on too thick at first. Whatever you do is somehow wrong, and that’s the reason you’re still single.
Well, I think you’re great. I love how your funny texts make me stifle a laugh at work. I love how those thought-provoking articles you send me lead to month-long email conversations. I love how we can spend Shabbos afternoon flopped on the couch discussing everything from the social effects of microfinance to the use of taupe in eyeshadow. I love how you’re up for everything, from winter camping and art museums to sledding and Nerf skirmishes and splashing through puddles in thunderstorms. And I love how you bustle in to look after me (or our other friends) when we need a little tender loving care.
You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re kind and considerate. You’re adventurous, thoughtful, and completely unique. (Your grandmother agrees with me about this, by the way.) I’m proud to count you as my friends.
Don’t let those other people get to you. They don’t know you well enough, and they’re too shallow themselves to delve beyond your surface. Those guys who complained about your hair, your makeup? Too busy keeping artificial scores to experience real life. The one who ditched you because he worried you weren’t pretty enough to show his friends? He’s the one who should be self-conscious, not you. (Your grandmother agrees with this too.)
All of that is not why you’re single. Ignore it like the static it is. One day, a guy won’t ditch you after a second date. One day, a guy will take the time to get to know you like I know you, and appreciate you like I appreciate you. Then you’ll realize how wrong all those other people were. And you’ll giggle at his texts, send him your favorite articles, and shoot him with your Nerf gun when he comes home at night. (For the eyeshadow debate you can’t replace us.)
Because, though often repeated, it’s also true: you aren’t married because you just haven’t found the right guy yet. Somewhere, out there, is a guy as smart, funny, thoughtful, and deep as you are. And you’ll find him, eventually, because you deserve to.
I know this is true. Even your grandmother says so.
With love, your friend,
Bad4
Oh Why Not: More Nose Job Links
I am posting these links because I think they have started an intriguing conversation on how much pretty is enough? How much is too much? When do we blame the girls for being ugly? When do we blame the guys for being shallow? When do we blame the system that produced both cases? When do we turn the tables and let girls start demanding rich men or best bochurim? What is an okay cosmetic surgery to have? What isn’t?
Let me know if I’m missing anything good.
- There’s this JewishPress.com cartoon about how people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.
I like this one because the guys making the demands are usually not candidates for the leading role in a blockbuster. I have heard guys complaining about a girl’s hairstyle (“I don’t like those pouf thingies,” or “It wasn’t done nicely enough”), clothing (“Tell her not to wear all black”), and makeup (“She wasn’t wearing enough”) when they themselves were bald, wearing the same boring suit to each date, and had impressive equators. Hey, women may not be as visual as men, but we’re not blind.
- Gila Manolson says it’s one thing to take a stab at ugliness, but that women should not feel compelled to look like models to get married. She sounds very sensible, and describes what we wish our society could be. Her glasses are definitely rosier than any other respondent.
- Rabbi Fink says our young people are too insulated to know how to look pretty or to look for anything else in a spouse, and says he nose how to fix things: a little inter-gender mingling. There’s something to be said for this. Shidduch dates are artificial and rarely give anyone a chance to shine. IRL, it’s often surprising who you get along with and to what degree. This would explain otherwise implausible non-Jewish marriages. We never get a shot at it.
- Rabbi Farber points out that forcing guys to describe their ideal girl beforehand, we force men to create ridiculous checklists that in turn lead to the sort of situation described in the article. I think he’s agreeing with Rabbi Fink.
- Rabbi Abromowitz of the OU writes a lengthy drosha that I only skimmed because there were too many parenthetic citations, but this caught my eye:
But how would it fly if she were advised that her son could attract far more beautiful girls if he gave up his studies and focused all his efforts on making as much money as possible?
Yay! Permission for girls to be shallow! The pretty ones, anyway. Oh wait, was that not his point?
Rabbi Boteach suggests that instead of making prettier women, we should make men more mature. I think it’s telling that the indignant male respondents tend to be over the age of 35. So, maybe we should let them become old men before agreeing to date them? I was however, a little disturbed by his description of femininity:
They’re supposed to be influenced by its values and judge a woman’s beauty not just by her hourglass shape but by her incisive opinions, graciousness of character, and spiritual glow. It’s the feminine which draws the masculine, and the feminine is something subtle, noble and refined. It is vulgarized when it becomes entirely about the physical form and rapidly loses its appeal.
Wait, wait. Now I have to be subtle, noble, and refined? I have a better chance with the nose job. How do I get in touch with that Floridian doctor dude?
- This Aish.com article that says what everyone means, but short, sweet, and to the point.
- There’s also an old Tablet article about a woman who supposedly regrets her nose job and another about what it says about you if you get one.
Thursday Link: Rabbi Shmuley Boteach on Nose Jobs
I don’t want to fan flames that don’t need help, but I really liked parts of this response article by Rabbi Boteach (HT to the Kansas Rabbi again):
…perhaps the young women felt relieved that they were actually going to meet creatures with greater depth than some shallow guy. In attending a shidduch event where they would meet Moms, rather than immature men, perhaps they felt relieved that they could actually be themselves. Maybe, just this once, they would be looked on as a man’s equal, someone who is judged by how much she has developed her intelligence and emotions, rather than bust size, cheek bones, and leg length.Alas, it was not to be. Even the women, even the mothers, have had their ideals corrupted. And if these are the values with which orthodox Jewish mothers are today raising their sons, then it’s no surprise why their sons are so shallow, immature, and lost.
Friday Repost: Analysis of the Dressing Habits of the Orthodox Jewish Female of Marriageable Age
Abstract: A statistical analysis was done of the dressing habits of the orthodox Jewish female of marriageable age. Scores were assigned to various levels of dress and plotted against the nuptial stage of the woman. A significant drop in dress score was found to follow engagement, followed by a brief but short-lived rise after marriage.
For the full-text document.
Flogging a Black Horse
The three of us lounged in chairs outside, soaking up the sun on the absurdly warm Shabbos afternoon.
“You know,” I commented, “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone walk past in anything but black.”
My companions sigh and shake their heads. “It’s terrible. In the frum stores they don’t sell anything but black.”
“My friend’s cleaning lady asked at what age do girls have to start wearing black.”
“Someone in the supermarket asked me if we have to wear black.”
“It’s really terrible how it looks.”
“I don’t know why everyone wears it.”
“Well, it’s slimming. And easy to match.”
“But still.”
Agreement all around. This black business was out of hand.
I shifted in my chair, sweating lightly. The sun was getting unbearably hot, even for me in my spring beige. For my companions, dressed all in black, it must have been searing.
The Cringing Shadchan and the Indignant Single
“I have an idea for you. If you’re not interested I understand, but I thought it was worth a try. Let me know if he’s not your type. It wasn’t actually my idea—it was someone else’s—but they weren’t sure how you’d take it—you don’t mind, do you?”
Does anyone else face the cringing shadchan on a regular basis? I find myself soothing middle-aged women, assuring them that no, I’m not offended that they thought of me, I’m not upset that they’re redting me a guy, and I won’t hate them forever if he turns out to be a dud.
Why so hesitant? I and my single friends are waiting for their calls. Yes, we want to hear about the single guys they know. Frequently, we wonder why they haven’t called.
“My cousin has boys over every Shabbos. How can she not have found anyone for me?” is a typical grouse from a friend. Or, “Not even a suggestion in six months. What is it about me that’s so hard to envision with any man?” Then there’s, “Her husband is the biggest macher in yeshiva.” Or “She’s a shadchan! She knows boys! Just never any for me!”
Trust me—there’s no need to apologize. We’re dying to hear from you. Just to know that you’re thinking about us.
And so I find myself soothing middle-aged women in black, reassuring them that I’d love to hear about this guy and look into him and no, honestly, I’m not offended—should I be?
Ay, there’s the rub.
While I rarely turn a guy down, and never trash a shadchan, these high standards of behavior are not universally upheld across the singles community.
“Can you believe it? My own cousin tried to set me up with a 60-year-old divorced Chabakuk father of 12 from the Shomron. What was she thinking?”
“Why do I subscribe to SYAS? So I can get set up with another Australian telephone repairman who has a criminal record? Should I really be that desperate at 26?”
“If I get set up with one more off-again/on-again (the derech) chossid, I will scream.”
“I have a PhD in physics. How dare he try to set me up with a florist. A florist!”
Oh the horrors. Oh the offense of it. To be set up with someone so below one’s social standing, one’s intellectual bracket, one’s religious identification. It would be better not to be set up at all. But why must we choose between these horrifying extremes? Is it too much to ask to be set up with someone normal—that is, of our social standing, intellectual bracket, and religious identification? Aren’t there any of those around? Do we not merit to hear of them in our hoary years? Thus complains the unhappy single.
As for me, you can still call me with criminal Aussie telephone repairmen. I’ve never met one before, and I imagine it’ll be an intriguing experience. For my friends—well, do as you see fit. But don’t bother being apologetic about it. Your apology won’t show up in the retelling of the tale later that week, so don’t waste your dignity on it.
Two-in-One Package
If my defense of the Jewish nose did not impress you, and you have decided to trim your tooter, you can now get it done over vacation for merely the price of a plane ticket.
A Floridian plastic surgeon is offering his rhinoplasty services pro-bono to eligible singles who would really benefit from a rebuilt rhinos. Take a week off for some fun in the sun, come back with a new nose. What could be a better deal?
Even better, you can see his work showcased in the topical music video by the Groggers – the lead singer has his nose done in exchange for the song. The credits in the video roll between a before and after profile.
HT to the Not-in-Kansas-Anymore Rabbi
I Like This Dating
HT to O. Can we set this up with an Ave J shoe vendor? Although, I can just see the potential mother-in-laws explaining the deeper meaning of shoes to their ignorant sons.
“Flats are either aidel or tall. The three-inch platforms are very stylish these days. If she’s still wearing pointy toes, she’s a little bit behind. Kitten heels? Professional, maybe. Who wears those?”
