Panic Begets Panic

This article on Yeshiva World (reprinted from the Five Towns Jewish Times) blames shidduch panic for messy outcomes to marriages. That part seems a bit extreme (it’s hard to measure how many fewer divorces there would be if people didn’t feel pressured, as pressure and reason for divorce are somewhat ephemeral quantities). But the earlier parts, about how the crisis is a creation of some worried parents and how it makes nebachs of us all, and how we’d probably all be happier if it wasn’t requisite to be married by 23 seem on the nose to me.

No Place is Safe

People tell me that I’m too private. I have been accused of being “mysterious,” “secretive,” “furtive,” “sneaky,” and “cagey” because I failed to realize how important it is to give all details of everything to everyone. This is doubtless the source of one problem I have with the current shidduch system: that it’s terribly irreverent.

I have this strange idea in my head that marriage is something wonderfully sacred and special, and therefore getting to it should be a respectful, subdued, preferably private process. So I always find myself a bit affronted by the strange places I get asked “What are you looking for” and the pat answer I’m supposed to have ready, and the hordes of bystanders with telescoping ears that I’m supposed to disregard. I’ve been asked it in the bathroom, where my only thought is to get in and get out, and it’s way too quiet and you know everyone is listening under their stall doors. I’ve been asked on the Q train during rush hour, by a person across the width of the car and the two dozen people occupying the space, and while hanging on for dear life to a pole that is more than an arm’s length away. I’ve been asked while playing a board game with the neighbor’s kids, which not only has me in the wrong mindset, but is also astoundingly rude to the children. I have been asked while navigating Borough Park traffic, which is enough to make a slalom racer cry, and requires my full attention and a half. I have been asked while handing in a business project to my boss, which is just plain wrong. But worst of all, I’ve been asked while making my way through a huge piece of chocolate cake, which requires the utmost concentration and my undivided attention, and certainly should not be ruined with difficult questions.

“Someone dead,” I told the puzzled questioner, who didn’t recognize the story I was quoting. “Everyone is dead while I’m eating.”

Feeling Three part 2 of 2

Yes Shadchanim: these are the people who hear that you’re a rapidly aging spinster and agree that “Yes,” it’s about time you got married, and “Yes,” they can keep an eye out for you. “I have bochurim over every week,” the Yes Shadchan chirps cheerfully. “I’ll definitely let you know if I see anyone for you.” Or “My nephew brings over friends occasionally. I’ll ask him about anyone for you.” Sometimes they’ll go a drop further and ask you a few questions about yourself, but rarely. They’re like the babysitter who tells a kid, “If you behave and go to sleep on time, maybe I’ll leave you a prize.” Like right. It only takes a kid a few tearful experiences (“But she said!”) to learn to disregard anything these people say. There will never be a prize nor a date arriving via noncommittal babysitters or Yes Shadchanim.

Flakey Shadchan: this is the Yes Shadchan who goes a step further, and asks for your full dossier so when she sees that perfect match she’ll know it. As soon as your mother gets home she rushes to email or fax your entire criminal record to the FS because, poor woman, she thinks the Flakey Shadchan is actually going to do anything. Fact is, you know perfectly well that the printed information is going to sit in the Flakey kitchen until FS takes down a salad recipe on the back, and then your school record, married friend’s cell phone number, and college degree are going to be tucked into her cookbook between the coleslaw and that yummy strawberry and glazed almond-salad recipe. NEFs (newly engaged friends) are a common strain of FS.

FSs are like the older siblings who don’t actually promise a lollypop, but happens to be holding a bunch and asks you which is your favorite color. You agonize over whether to ask for purple or red, but when you finally choose, he says, “Oh, ok. Just wondering,” and walks away.

Idea Shadchan: this is the person who knows someone perfect for you. They come in two main strains. The first type is your parents’ friends who don’t actually know why the guy is perfect for you, but they can’t think of any reason why not. The second type is your own friends, who don’t either know why the guy is perfect for you, but they went out with him and he reminded them of you, so they think you should go out. There’s a smaller, third type of IS who can actually describe the guy of your dreams, but these are rarer.

Anyway, the thing that makes an IS an IS is that they start out all gung-ho, taking down your information and promising to relay it to the proper parties, and you’re convinced, from their sheer enthusiasm, that it’s really going to happen. But then you meet them in the grocery store three months later and they say either “Oh yeah, I have to remember to fax over your profile” or “Well I sent it over but never heard back.” This uncle is well-meaning enough, promising to bring you a lollypop next time he comes, but he always forgets, and you might as well do the same, because you’re never going to get it.

So people: if you’re not serious about being a shadchan, don’t get started. Being a shadchan requires determination, thoughtfulness, and nerves of steel. If you haven’t got what it takes, leave us alone. You’re not helping anyone, you’re wasting our time, and you’re making us feel like frustrated little kids again.

Sniffle sniffle. Just go away, OK? Go away and leave us alone.

 

Feeling Three part 1 of 2

Remember being teased when you were a kid? Like when someone holds out a lollypop,  you reach for it, and they pull it away. They offer it again just out of reach,  you lunge, and suddenly it’s over your head… until you burst into tears and someone calls “Oh just give it to him!” Some people clearly don’t remember how it feels, because they practice it themselves. I’m sure it gives them a huge power trip. If this were a blog on a different subject, I’d suggest putting together a crew of vigilantes who will slap any grownup they catch torturing children in this way. Schoolyard bullies pick on the defenseless; grownups should pick on someone their own size. But I’m confined to opining on the subject of shidduchim, so I’ll move on to say that sometimes a single person can get to feeling like the kid being offered the lollypop.

Question: How often do you hear “You know, I think I know of someone for you” or “I know the perfect guy for you!” or “Send me your information, my brother-in-law knows someone”? Answer: plenty often. Another question: how often do you ever hear about the match again? Answer: rarely. Because everyone is theoretically excited to marry you off, but few are actually ready to invest the time and effort necessary. The result is that single people are constantly spinning and grabbing at disappearing lollypops. Actually getting one requires serious determination, the willingness to kick people in the shins, or the ability to collapse in the corner and bawl until someone takes pity. OK, maybe just the first one, by way of lots of nagging.

Just like little kids have to contend with teasing from uncles, babysitters, and mean older siblings, a single has to contend with different types of would-be shadchanim.

(To be continued…)

Remember This?

A while ago I posted about a new literary magazine by and for the frum population. Well, for all of you who felt a bit lost without an URL for further information, here ya go:

http://www.thewriterscafemag.com

You can read samples and a few whole pieces to get an idea of what the contents are, and then, when you love what you read, you can check out the distribution tab for the nearest distributor for your purchasing convenience, or order by mail.

My personal favs: “Yechiel the Baseball Player” (no idea why, it just really grabs me), “Sisters” (a touchy topic pretty well addressed), Tefillin (a cool new way to look at an old thing), and Sister of the Groom (it’s beautifully accurate).

Enjoy!

Essential Shidduch Statistics: Net Value

The term “the shidduch market” makes some people think of cattle markets. A more genteel connotation would be the stock market. OK, it’s just as noisy and crowded, but it’s less smelly and all the men are wearing suits and ties.

I never realized how similar it was, though, until I stumbled across the dating page in the Jewish Press again. It holds the same horrifying fascination as car accidents and medieval torture methods, so I read it even though I know I shouldn’t have.

One columnist was saying that we approach marriage in a mercenary fashion not unlike they did in, well, medieval times. Everyone assigns themselves a net value based on the combination of their pedigree, their net worth, their appearance, etc, and then tries to marry someone with a similar to higher net value. This makes splendid sense. After all, who wants to “marry down” (a phrase that shouldn’t really exist in an egalitarian democratic society)?

So I decided to tally up my net value. I figured the equation would look something like this (thanks Eli for the graphic version):

Where f(a) stands for the function representing appearance, f(m) the function representing monetary worth, and f(f) representing the importance of one’s family. Personality style (f(p))will be given as a subscript of the sum, because it isn’t a value so much as a description.

i represents a series that runs from most external to most internal. For example, the first i in the appearance series would be physical appearance, the second i how well they dress in public, the third how well they choose accessories, the fourth how they dress in private, and so on until you reach things like positive self-perception, optimistic attitude, and genuine warmth toward strangers, which add an attractive glow to even the ugliest hags.

The range for f(m) will likewise series through inherited/liquid wealth, invested assets, business value, current incoming salary, projected incoming salary, and life insurance policy (which is about as internal as you can get, I think).

The range for f(f) is from a person’s extended family, eg: are they second cousins to a senator or posek or the owner of Chap a Nosh?; to their immediate relatives, (the offspring of a gadol, a millionaire, or divorced parents); to themselves (ba’al teshuva, ger, different color yarmulke than parents, etc.).

f(p) will just be a number assigned based on a personality test. There are a few personality systems out there, from the FFPI to the Enneagram; our experts are working on which one will best suit the needs of the orthodox community.

When properly summed, a person should end up with a net value ranging from 0_x to 100_x, which will make it really easy to compare and contrast the value of potential matches. The individual values for Ʃf(a)_i and Ʃf(m)_i and Ʃf(f)_i should also be made available, in case someone is a gold-digger, bloodline snob, or trophy wife/husband seeker.

Along with one’s fat potential, I believe this will become a mainstay of the shidduch resume in the future.

If You Haven’t Read the Backlog

Here are my favorite posts. It hasn’t been updated in around a month or two, so if there’s any post you think worthy of being added, feel free to let me know.

http://badforshidduchim.wordpress.com/the-best-of-badforshidduchim/

We’re Out for an Extended Weekend

Sincerest apologies to our dedicated readers. We will be taking a break until Monday. I’m having a tough time finding a chance to breath (even when I do schedule it in) let alone write, so it’s a choice between pure drivel and nothing, and my amateur pride prefers nothing.

See you Monday!

‘Shidduch’ is an Aramaic Word…

With apologies to Rabbi Reisman

 

So you want to get married? Well first you’ll need to enroll in Marketing 101 and Self-Promotion 212. That’s the name of the game, honey. If people don’t know about you, they can’t set you up. And if they don’t think you’re worth the effort, they won’t bother. So from now on you’ve got make sure that people know you’re around and that you’re the best thing available, besides maybe a prime rib. That’s right: tell everyone that you’re looking to settle down. Let them know – they won’t set you up unless they think you want a date, so tell them you do! It’s all about exposure, girl. You need to get some, and it’s a 24-hour job. What’s with the stressed look? This is shidduchim – chill out! After all, you know, the word “shidduch” comes from an Aramaic word meaning ‘calm’ and ‘tranquility’. There’s nothing to get your blood pressure up about.

Yes, you definitely want a flawless medical record—and every other record as well. Part of being perfect is being, well, perfect. If you’ve got strange hobbies or siblings with weird lifestyles, hide the former and disinherit the latter. It’s not lying: you aren’t actually saying an untruth; you’re just leaving some stuff out. Look – it’s all in a good cause: marriage. What could be more elevated than that? The end justifies the means, and the means aren’t really wrong, so don’t look at me like that. You’re taking this way too seriously. You do know that “shidduch” comes from an Aramaic word that means ‘calm’ and ‘tranquility,’ right? So stay cool, and keep projecting that image.

By projecting I mean actively projecting—in your face kind of projecting. So from now on, you want to be turning heads. Please: this is not the time to remember the indoctrinations of high school. There’s no room for modesty in shidduchim, both in dress and in behavior. Yes – that skirt is too long. Hem it up an inch. You can’t look like a shlump when you’re of marriageable age.

You know what happens to unobtrusive people? They stay single. You want people to see you. Because seeing is thinking, and thinking is matching, and matching is dating. Seeing isn’t enough, of course. You need to follow up, call them monthly or even weekly and remind them that you’re single and looking. It takes time and effort and makes you feel like an obnoxious nudge, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Don’t worry about it, though. “Shidduch” means ‘calm’ and ‘tranquility’, you know. There’s nothing to get nervous about.

You’d better get started right away. You don’t want to become an old maid, do you? The more effort you put in, the younger you start, the faster you get hitched, and you want to get hitched ASAP, because it’s a rat race out there. If you hang around too long, all the good boys will be gone – taken by your friends – and you’ll be left with all the losers nobody else wanted. Your best friend’s had three dates already—what are you waiting around for? You don’t want to be left behind when all your friends are moving on, do you? It’s a terrible feeling to be the last one single while your friends are popping off babies. Hey, no reason to start crying! “Shidduch” comes from an Aramaic word that means ‘calm’ and ‘tranquility’. Don’t worry – be calm. You’re in shidduchim.

 

Buying a Date

 

A few weeks ago when I wasn’t home, the Hamodia ran an article suggesting that the shidduch crisis exists because shadchanim aren’t motivated enough. And why aren’t shadchanim motivated? Because they only get paid if they achieve a marriage. The chances of that are so unlikely that it simply isn’t worth their time. Rather, said the article (or anyway, this is what my family had got out of it by the time I got home), shadchanim should be paid for smaller milestones, like a first date. This would make them more gung-ho about matching people up, and would lead to more avid matchmaking in the greater community. My father thought it was a grand idea to offer small cash incentives for a first date.

Maybe I can accuse the Hamodia staff of sleeping through the second half of their economics class, but I know my father was awake. Still, a mostly-free-marketer like myself has serious misgivings about messing with the system.

First of all, you get what you pay for. Pay for first dates and you’ll get first dates. Heaven knows too many people sound great on paper but turn out to be 100% wrong by about 10 minutes into the first date. Why should you pay for that?

Additionally, paying for a first date will encourage shadchanim to hide hindering information so that at least they can collect for the first date, and it’s hard enough to get accurate information as it is. It’ll also encourage them to be pushier. Considering how difficult people find it to say “no” even three times (see Milgram’s obedience experiments), this could lead to a lot of time wasting. (Then again, maybe people will find it easier to say “no” when there’s money on the line. This may require clinical research. Anyone volunteering to be a subject?)

Plus, with money on the line, pre-date research will get crazier than ever, as parents try to avoid squandering cash on pointless first dates. If you’re going to offer money, make it for the second date at least. Though this is likely to increase the number of dating streaks that end well before they can rightfully be called a streak. Then again, if we make the cutoff the fourth date, we may be artificially advancing the critical decision-making point. Hey, look at the ripple effect when the Fed raises interest rates half a point. This is what happens when you fiddle with economics. People are weird about money; they’d rather spend it on themselves than give it away to other people.

As things now stand, the people trying to make shidduchim are the ones who think they can make a marriage result from it, which I think is quite a good way to do things. Dabblers may have luck, but first-date speculators are really not a breed we want to encourage.

Volunteers Wanted

A commenter on one of the segula posts said she gave some money to Kupat Ha’ir so her sister should get engaged within three months, and she did.

Now we’ve all heard such stories advanced as proof of efficacy, but being raised in the skeptical and scientific western society, we raise an eyebrow and point out that anecdotal evidence isn’t.

So I’m thinking – why don’t we make a sort of scientific test? Let’s get a test pool of ten singles. Five will volunteer to send a check to Kupat Ha’ir on behalf of five others, who I will choose randomly from a hat. The check (of a specific amount) will be a zechus for the random chosen ones to get engaged within three months (is that too fast for anyone?). The other five won’t have anything sent on their behalf. Nobody except the person sending the actual check (and me) will know that the person is having a check sent for them. And I will arrange it so that nobody sends a check for someone they know.

Explanation of experimental design: We can’t have people knowing that they’ve got a segula working on their behalf, because they might act differently and effect the outcome. The people sending the check might or might not have a check being sent for them, so overall, mostly nobody knows who’s got a check sent for who. It’s not quite a gold-standard double-blind experiment, but it’s as close as I can come up with. I would say that even the people sending the check shouldn’t know who they’re sending it for, but we don’t want to mess with kavanah. (If you can think of something better, let me know.)

So, interested in volunteering? We need:

- 10 singles (and their full x ben/bas x name; can be done via email) all currently dating or otherwise trying to get married.

- of whom 5 will promise to send a check for a specified amount within a specified range of time, while having specified intentions (ma’aser money should be OK).

- If any of the 10 subjects get engaged within the three months from start, they agree to post it on the experimental page, which I’ll link to from the sidebar.

- At the end of three months we’ll compare the engagement rates from both groups, do a statistical analysis, and come to a conclusion.

Whattaya think?

Post below if you or anyone you know is interested in participating, or if you think it’s a crazy idea, or if you want to call me an apikores, or whatever.

EDIT: I’ve just been thinking – having singles giving tzedaka on each other’s behalves might be an uncontrolled variable. Maybe we need instead five married people to agree to send the money on the behalf of the singles. Then we need 15 participants – 10 singles and 5 married people.

What’s Your Label and Why?

 

For shidduch convenience, people use many labels, ranging from “traditional” to “ultra orthodox” with shades of meaning differentiating between, say, Modern Orthodox, Modern Orthodox, and Modern Orthodox. (Not to mention modern ultra orthodox, with-it ultra orthodox, yeshivish modern orthodox… etc.)

FrumSatire wrote (somewhere – if anyone has a link I’d appreciate it) a fuzzily accurate description of the superficial characteristics of each grouping, but now I’m curious about getting it from a more grassroots venue. So, what label do you assign yourself, and why? What’s your perception of the meaning of your label? What labels are close, but not quite? What’s your perception of the meaning of other people’s labels? Do we all agree on them, or do we have different definitions depending on where we stand on the spectrum? Please participate.

Shidduch Ahoy!

One parting analysis, and that’ll be it for the subject.

Not many moons ago, Frumgirl1 and I went to the Mythical Creatures exhibit at the Museum of Natural History. It was fascinating, often just as much in the absence of creatures as their inclusion. You hardly realized how many mythical creatures mankind has created (as if there’s a dearth of peculiar non-mythical creatures around!) until you find yourself saying, “Hey, they left out the chimera!” or “If they put in Bigfoot, why’d they leave out the Roswell aliens?” But there were limitations on space. One family of mythical creatures that would have needed its own exhibit to explore fully was the seagoing ones. Sailors could describe in anatomical detail more non-existent creatures than all the landlubbers of a continent together. (In fact, they had a leather-bound field guide of them on display.) Very briefly, the exhibit tried to address why that might be.

There were two given suggestions. The first was that sailors may have often seen things at strange distances and at weird angles and in strange lighting that could lead them to misconstrue the phenomenon. The exhibit attempted to demonstrate that a pod of leaping dolphins could, at a distance and in poor light, be mistaken for an undulating serpent.

The second reason was that sailors were simply a superstitious lot, and more open to believing in the existence of supernatural phenomenon than most other people. Why were sailors so superstitious? (We’re slipping interdisciplinarily into psychology here…) Simply: they lacked control over their lives.

People have a natural need to control their environment and see cause and effect in their actions. When they don’t have any control, they attempt to construct a system out of the chaos—a system that can give them an illusion of control over their lives. Thus, people believe in luck, mysticism, spirits, and superstition. And thus, people have always tried to use this metaphysical system to turns the odds in their favor, be it by bribing the brownie or rubbing a rabbit’s foot.

These days we know how many things work, and we have the technology to control or at least predict a good deal of it. But there is still one system touching our lives that we cannot make any sense out of, and that is the shidduch system.

First of all, the way things work doesn’t actually make sense. There is no logical pattern to getting engaged; some meet their bashert on the street corner without effort while others search for years before succeeding. Some need to cross continents, some need to cross cultural divides, and some marry their theological and geographical neighbors. Some people need to have the right chandelier and some the right relatives, while others just need a cute smile. If ever a person needed an excuse to feel at sea, shidduchim is it.

Additionally, too much of it is out of our control. So many variables beyond your power are factored in to your desirability quotient: place of birth, parents’ affiliation, health of extended family, siblings’ school preferences, hair color, etc. Like a medieval sailor, you’re buffeted about by elements you can’t control.

Then there’s learned helplessness. Unlike in a physical system, you don’t get out what you put in (or almost what you put in, to be physically accurate). You put in your best effort for shidduchim: you look presentable, smile at strangers, write and distribute a glowing profile of yourself, and act charming on dates. Yet there’s no guarantee that your efforts will result in anything. There seems to be an unlimited supply of natural and unnatural disasters in the wings ready to bear down on your ship and shred the sails.

No wonder people turn to powers that be. Anything that reassures them of a result, anything that gives the illusion of control, anything that makes them feel like they’re able to cause an effect… Pass the horseshoe, the red string, the four-leaf clover, the shard of plate, please and oops I’m in a corner – knock on wood.

PS: If you think I’m crazy for rolling my eyes at an ancient and revered institution, please visit www.segulahring.com to pick up your super segula ring. Good for anything from lawsuits to paper cuts, these rings are endorsed by the Chida himself… and that subterranean noise was just him getting more comfortable in his grave for when the fan mail comes pouring in.

So Different and Yet the Same: Post Valentine’s Day Musing

My brother has girls coming out of his ears. It seems like every female is desperate to meet him. My aunt is acting as his agent, culling through her volume of applicants to find the most likely candidates, and performing thorough background checks to narrow down the subject pool further. Meanwhile my parents are trying to figure out how to get in touch with a guy who doesn’t want to be gotten in touch with regarding me. (I say forget it, but luckily nobody is asking me.) If we stripped the shidduch scene of the middlemen, it would look like a Hollywood free-for-all. Guys surrounded by girls desperate for any recognition; girls chasing guys like it’s a new professional sport. Throw in the “crisis” and behind-the-back gossip and we’re one commercial break short of a soap opera, though more than well enough equipped for a dozen teen dramas. Three cheers for the middlemen and women. Because of them, instead of throwing ourselves at guys, like teens with raging hormones, we can throw ourselves at the shadchanim, like rapidly aging spinsters. We retain a bit of dignity, the men get a bit of extra breathing space, and the shadchanim get so much experience as professional buffer zones that they can retire to enjoy relaxing twilight years in the Shomron.

Loving Mr. Not-Perfect

Interesting post here about marrying perfect people. It’s interesting because I think most people will admit, at least cognitively, that a perfect mate doesn’t exist. Getting married is really a matter of deciding how short of perfection you’re willing to stop. And in the shidduch system, the more right you go, the larger that gap gets. At the same time, there shouldn’t be a feeling of “settling” because you’re not – nobody could possibly be perfect. It’s just a matter of when you find out about all those faults. In fact, the more you know of a person’s faults before marriage, the less let down you’re likely to feel, the happier you’ll ultimately be. Theoretically, anyway. (I don’t have much experience.)

That said, it’s interesting to hear how people decided that their spouse was right for them. As one friend put it, “No I wasn’t ‘in love’ or anything, at least not until after we got engaged. I just decided that we were very compatible, but I was crazy nervous for weeks.”

And another, “At first I kept wondering, ‘Can’t I do better than this?’ And the answer was, ‘Probably.’ But after around the fifth date I realized that I didn’t want to do better.”

And one more, “Things were just going so well. I mean I was enjoying our dates. And I just thought, ‘This is good – let’s keep this going as long as possible.’ And then he proposed, and well, I said ‘Yes’.”

Correction

Note to self: always double check your sources, when there are any.

It wasn’t at Krias Yam Suf that Moshe gave that answer (segula #2 in third segula post), it was in Rifidim.

Thanks, Nephtuli.

How to be Engaged

It seems a perennial complaint of engaged people that no sooner are they engaged that all their friends start treating them differently. The friends claim it’s because the engagee is acting differently. In my experience, most engaged people act at least a bit engaged (they can’t help it – it would be like not acting female), and most single people have tons of fun goading them on.

Because while it’s fun to make fun of married people, it’s just as much fun to tease engaged people. It’s even more fun, because they have such a hard time taking it. Every engaged person is absolutely convinced that she isn’t “acting engaged” and will protest vehemently any insinuation to the contrary.

“Stop it! I am not acting engaged! I have not started any sentences with ‘my chosson says.’ I do not drown you in details about my wedding. I do not space out at odd moments while smiling at nothing. So stop acting like I’m acting differently.”

“Tsk. You’re right. It’s terrible how we’re treating you. What would your chosson say?”

Well, I have a message for all the engaged people out there: we don’t care. You don’t have to act differently; you just are. You are officially out of the shidduch system, gone over to the other side, no longer one of us, and therefore, you aren’t accorded the same rights. You are engaged, and we will treat you accordingly.

Apparently, some formerly engaged people forget how irritating it was to be teased, and get in on the fun with the single people. I was screaming in conversation with a married friend at a wedding when an engaged friend passed by.

Married Friend: Hey, where you going?

Engaged Friend: To make a phone call.

Married Friend: (raises eyebrow) Making a phone call? To anyone special? (Draws out “spe-cial” in a significant way.)

Engaged Friend: Er… no. Nobody special.

Married Friend: (Smirking) Yes I’m sure: “Nobody” with a capital “N”. (wink wink nudge nudge)

Engaged Friend: (squeaky protest) No way! I mean I can’t – this is a borrowed phone and I don’t know his number by heart.

Married Friend: (mock shock) You don’t know his number yet?!

Engaged Friend: Why should I know it? It’s in my phone! (thoughtful) Though I really should call. We haven’t spoken yet today.

Married Friend: Haven’t spoken yet today?

Engaged Friend: Yeah – whenever he calls I’m busy -

Married Friend: You’re too busy to talk to your chosson? (feigned horror)

Engaged Friend: Well I’m either at work, or shopping—

Married Friend: Oh shopping! So, you’ve been doing a lot of shopping lately?

At this point, if I’d been Engaged Friend, I would have put Married Friend in a full Nelson and refused to let go until she promised to take a ta’anis dibur for 48 hours. The funnest part of the whole exchange was that Married Friend would have inverted the nose of anyone who’d tried anything like that on her when she was engaged. (Honestly, some people!) Kudos to Engaged Friend for taking it like a pro – hey, by now she probably is one.

And the best part of it all – she’s getting great practice for shana rishona. By the time she walks down the aisle she’ll be so good at grinning and bearing it she’ll be able to handle anything her husband can throw at her – be it a taste for fresh spinach or dirty socks.

We-ell… maybe almost anything.

It’s a Segula for Getting Married, part 3

Give to Kupat Ha’ir. Talk about a marketing ploy. There’s no overhead for producing miracles, and if it never happens you either never hear about it or you blame the victim. But seriously, this charity (which really needs to make the ‘ in their name larger), which looks after the poor of Bnei Brak, has the backing of all the gedolim who live there (a considerable number), and they all extend their blessings to contributors. So if you need a miraculous matchmaking trick, they may be able to help. Of course, if you want blessings, why not just go right to the source?

Get brachos. A long time ago there were two types of Jews: the Chassidim who went to the rebbe for everything, and the misnagdim who didn’t. Misnagdim didn’t ask for brochos and their rabbis wouldn’t give them if they did. In our modern melting pot, believing in the power of brochos is an important aspect of frumkeit, so most people, litvaks and Chassidim alike, do some gadol-chasing at some point in their lives. And no time is riper for it than between the ages of 17 and 25, when marriage is the hot-button issue, and most people feel so helpless they want all the intervention they can get. So common is it for young singles to beg for a shidduch-related brocha, that most gedolim offer it up before the young visitor can even get a (possibly different) request out of his or her (mostly her) mouth. (This is one reason I abandoned brocha harvesting in seminary, the other being that not a single person ever got my name right, and hence, all the well-wishings were going to some other lucky girl out there.)

The basis for this practice is the belief that the prayers of a gadol are more powerful than those of an ordinary person, because he (or she) has so many more zechusim. This little theory loses sight of the reason why we have things to pray about in the first place: so that we’ll pray. Case in point: The Egyptians are closing in on the Jews who are fenced in along the Red Sea. They run to Moshe saying, “Do something! Talk to Hashem for us!” And what does Moshe reply? “What do you want me to do about it? Go talk to Hashem yourself!” The purpose of nisyonos isn’t for us to find the most efficient way to get rid of them; it’s to force us to forge a stronger connection to Hashem (nope, not the rabbi). So that brings us right up to the last segula, which isn’t really a segula at all:

Daven. The thing about prayer is that it really doesn’t do any harm. It can be done anywhere without special equipment, it is approved across all sects and subgroups of Judaism, it doesn’t cost money, and there is nothing about it that is the faintest bit religiously iffy. Good stuff, prayer. The purpose of prayer, like conversation, is to forge a bond with another party, but with a rather more limited dialogue. So unlike many other segulos, if it isn’t effective, you aren’t in the hole for money or dignity. Instead, you come out ahead of the game, with a closer relationship to God. And hey – it never hurts to know people in high places.

As an addendum, praying for someone else to get engaged is supposed to work, source drawn from Rashi regarding Sarah’s giving birth to Yitzchok after davening for Avimelech. The theory is that if you care enough about someone else then Hashem will care extra about you, so I’m not sure if this is a “trick” you can employ if all you really care about is getting yourself engaged, and you’re just pretending to care about someone else for your selfish interest.

Carrying the Donkey

Overheard: my mother to shadchan.

Situation: Being asked, “If she’s so smart, why’d she go to Touro?”

Response: “Because she anticipated that at some point in the future a mother was going to ask, ‘If she’s so frum, why’d she go to Brooklyn College?’”

Love you, Ma!

It’s only partially true, but the point was well made. Besides, I happen to know many brilliant young women who attend Touro. Attendance there is more of a  community affiliation or frumkeit than an IQ revelation.  And there is no shortage of morons who attend secular college, if I can trust my friends.  So stop stereotyping, guys and moms.

It’s a Segula for Getting Married, part 2

Buy a sheitel and/or tallis: A friend told me her sister invested in this rather expensive “segula” (source unknown). “Did it work?” I asked. “Well she got engaged six months later,” she shrugged. That reminds me of… well, the way a lot of segulos work. I don’t really understand the rationale behind this one. Murphy’s Law would state that buying a sheitel or tallis would immediately disqualify someone from getting married at least until the sheitel goes out of style or the tallis becomes yellow; apparently there are other forces interacting with Murphy’s Law in the governing of daily dynamics. Perhaps the point is to prove that you are completely ready to get married, now would God please just send the guy already? Then again, surely there must be better ways to demonstrate your readiness—maybe by going an entire week without getting snappish, for example, or by losing arguments graciously.

Give money to hachnasas kallah: charity is always good for a quick and easy zechus, and hachnasas kallah is up there in the list of things you get rewarded for in this world too, so if anything sounds promising, this would be it.

Holding the bride’s jewelery during the chupah: I’m not exactly sure that this is really a segula for that. Meaning, some say holding the jewelery is a segula, but they don’t specify what for. Other people say of course it’s a segula for getting married, but most of them are assuming, and have no source. Again (as usual) I don’t know the source for this one, but one incredibly fun result of it is that every bride attends her wedding laden with jewelery so she can distribute it to all her single friends before the chupah.

Standing under the chupah/holding the pole: according to this segula, no photographer should stay single for long, since they tend to take the central position under the chupah and let everyone else slot themselves in around them. The bochurim honored with singing under the chupah should come in next. I would be interested in a study correlating this phenomenon. Considering that people are usually spilling out around the edges as it is, I wouldn’t recommend trying this segula unless you’re practically family or unless you don’t care about getting nasty looks. Hey, if you’re desperate…

Say Shir HaShirim for 40 days straight. Alternative: have 40 people say Shir Hashirim Friday night after candle lighting. (Or is it to say Shir Hashirim 40 times, but people get around it with groups? Or does it not matter, as long as it combines Shir Hashirim and 40?) I presume there’s a source for this one, because I can’t imagine what else would induce anyone to consider a casual reading of Shir HaShirim a recommended pastime. But maybe it’s like Eshes Chayil in that way: you know how young married men like to sing Eshes Chayil to their wives, who just lap it up? Do any of them actually listen to the words? I cringe at the thought of being compared to that yardstick. I’m convinced that at some point my husband is going to wake up and say, “Waitasec: Bad4 doesn’t do that for me! I’ve been gypped!”

Anyway, back to Shir HaShirim, this little segula is not to be disdained, for it has positively contributed to the Orthodox economy, what with pre-divided booklets and mini pocket versions so you need never be caught without your Shir HaShirim. And does it work? Well, as one friend told me, “Sure it does! I got engaged on my fourth round of 40 days.” That’s a marginally better rate than six months for a sheitel and tallis (if you’re counting days. If you’re counting repetitions of the segula, it’s not better at all), and you get to learn some Kesuvim for the same price. Sounds good to me.

Collect broken plates from the engagement and marriage. I found this one on hashkafa.com, along with the following comment: “[T]he segulah is to collect a plate piece – any size – from different tnoyim plates. It worked for me… I got engaged pretty soon after my 7th plate I think.” ‘Nuff said, I think.

It seems people attribute a magical power – er, segula – to almost anything to do with the wedding. Drinking from the cup under the chupah is also cited as a segula, though there are plenty of single walking around that can disprove it.

Even more forthcoming.

 

It’s a Segula for Getting Married Part 1 of 3

Did I never post about shidduch-segulos? I guess I always assumed I had because it’s such an obvious subject. I collected a whole bunch for The Shidduch Game (hey, why bother with anonymity at this point?), so here goes a little controversy to start the week:

Daven at Amuka: Once upon a time, R’ Yonosan ben Uziel promised to move heaven and earth to help the person who came to daven at his grave. This might have had something to do with the fact that his grave is in an astoundingly inaccessible location (one wonders how they got him there in the first place), and once upon a time you had to move heaven and earth just to get there. Now, with buses leaving a minimum of four times a day, Amuka has all the bustle of the Ashdod Central Bus Station, but is slightly more commercial. Instead of electronics, jeans, and “I love Israel” gewgaws, the merchants do a brisk trade in the paraphernalia of superstition and kabala (these days it’s hard to tell them apart). After all, if you’re having shidduch trouble, it might be because of an ayin hara, and in that case, nothing will remedy your situation like a ceramic eyeball on a chain, or perhaps a hamsa on your door.

Pour water for people: I think this one was made up by a very lazy high school girl who wanted to capitalize on the shidduch panic that begins as early as high school, what with teachers assuring their students that they better start praying now, because it takes an awful lot of prayer to earn a marriage. Students start saying the Tefilla LiBen Zivug as early as 9^th grade, so surely it can’t hurt to pour some water, or even orange juice or soda, on the off chance that it might work? There is a mild correlation to water drawing and marriage, if you want to count Rivka, Rochel, and Tziporah meeting their spouses at the well, and Rivka pouring water to earn her husband, but how that translates into emptying the pitcher on behalf of everyone at the Shobbos table I’m not entirely sure.

Don’t sit at corners: I never heard of this one until I started looking for segulos, but everyone I mentioned it to in my infinite astonishment said, “Oh yeah, that’s an old one.” Presumably it’s so old and well-known that nobody needs to talk about it anymore, so nobody in the younger generation will hear about it, and then someone will find out about it, start an awareness initiative, and so it will cycle on. Anyway, this one states that young, unmatched women (and men?) should not sit at the corner of the table, or they might stay single forever. I have no idea what the source for this is, and unless someone can come up with one, it qualifies as pure superstition, and is therefore 100% assur to have the slightest bit of faith in. Segulos is one of those places where we get so frum that we get frai: people are so worried about displaying lack of (non-mandatory) faith in the deep specialness of the something-or-another that they teeter on the brink of the bona fide issur of believing in superstition, mentioned in the same passuk as magic and idol worship.

More tomorrow.

Conversation Discussion Part 3 of 3

I HATE MIND GAMES!!! There is one really big reason dating conversation is so unnatural: because you’re wondering how the other person is going to take it. You know they’re going to go home and analyze your statements while they brush their teeth, picking apart your statements and maybe even applying Freudian analysis. Did you lean against the door in the car because of some physical repulsion? The fact that you confessed to doodling mice in the margin of your notebooks – does it mean you have self esteem issues, do you perhaps feel hunted or hemmed in, or are you just going to be the next Walt Disney? Is your fondness for kickball a displacement defense mechanism for inner aggression? And when you accidentally said “brother” instead of “mother,” is it because your childhood nurturing figure was your older sibling and you don’t have a normal family background (or whatever)? You hesitate to tell the story about the time you make a kumzitz around an alcohol fire in seminary, because what if he thinks you’re a proud rule-breaker on principle, or even a rebel, or that you have a creepy attraction to combustion? You choke back a reference to a line from John Donne, even though it makes your point so well, because you know he’s never heard of Donne, you’re afraid you might have to describe the context, and it’s from a love poem. The offhand mention of a Hollywood celeb dies in childbirth, lest he think that you actually follow their lives with any amount of interest.

It’s like being a politician. You can be nailed for the slightest slip, so you need to make sure you don’t make one.

And I confess, I do the same thing to my partner. I once dated a guy who got praised by his references for his involvement in a certain cause. Yet on the date, though I approached the subject from three different directions, I couldn’t get him to breathe a word about it. Naturally, it made me wonder. Was he not really so involved in it? Was he embarrassed of it? Was he just being modest? What’s a girl to think? If it was a friend, I would probably come out point blank and ask, but if this was a friend, I wouldn’t know about stuff through references. And a friend would feel more comfortable saying “none of your business” whereas a date would just feel put on the spot, assuming he really doesn’t want to talk about it. Possibly, he just doesn’t know how to, and the point-blank question would be welcome – so maybe I really should have asked…

The mind games can totally paralyze communication. 

Then, while popping out your lenses, you go over your own bloopers and wonder how they’ve been interpreted. When you hesitated to discuss your job, did he interpret it as lack of satisfaction instead of repressed enthusiasm? When you joked about ordering some fancy drink off the menu, did he think you really wanted some alcohol? Were you too ambiguous about your future plans – will he think you have none? It becomes a “he thinks that I think that he thinks that I think” situation. Then you make a note that you should clarify it on the next date, and you hope that he doesn’t think that you’re clarifying it on purpose to clean up a slip, and and and it can go on until you want to bash your head against the wall to end “the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes.” (Well part of Hamlet’s issues were shidduch-related, you know.)

There’s something to be said for meeting people in a natural setting, like a street corner. With the exception of undercover journalists, they’re usually non-judgmental when you utter unedited and uncensored scripts. Hurrah for candidness. 

Conversation Discussion Part 2 of 3

With a stranger, you can part when it gets slow. But with a date, you’re stuck, so you get anxious about making the experience flow. And the more you worry about making it work, the stiffer you get and the less it works. Keeping a conversation going is easier when you’re relaxed, because your brain isn’t freezing up with “Ohmigosh we’re accelerating into a dead end!” whenever it slows. 

It’s also a bit about how much you care about coming across well, and how much you perceive the other person as caring about how you come across. You assume strangers and friends give you leeway for idiosyncrasies. It’s no big deal: most people have friends they would never marry. You know how it works: it’s an idiosyncrasy when you don’t have to live with it, an annoying habit when you do. And suddenly on a date, watching your partner’s reaction to something you’ve said or done, you uneasily begin to wonder if your friends aren’t more tolerant than you realize.

Then suddenly you’re terribly self conscious. You wonder which parts of your personality are the more easily digested, and if maybe you’re laying it on a bit thick too early. For example, I often deadpan lines that are intended to be humorous. It’s a technique more in use across the pond than in the USA, hence the British belief that Americans are functionally unable to recognize sarcasm.  My friends are apparently broken in, but on dates I sometimes find myself lamely explaining, “Um, sorry – I didn’t mean that seriously.”

That, of course, kills things quite quickly, because another thing both partners try to do during a date is react properly to everything. Hence, laughing indulgently at perceived jokes and nodding sympathetically when you’d tell a real friend “You moron, you deserved it.”  When a statement is ambiguous, it can really stall the conversation, while the other party grapples with the meaning. “That didn’t really make sense – maybe it was supposed to be funny? But it isn’t – or at least, I don’t get it. Help! What do I answer?” Instead of “Um, was that supposed to be a joke? Because I so don’t get it.”

Conversation Discussion Part 1 of 3

 

A few weeks ago I met a very old friend at the library checkout. By “very old” I mean we went to elementary school together, and I’d maybe seen her physically once in the last seven years, and communicated less frequently. We were both delighted to bump into each other again, and chattered so much that the guard ordered us into the vestibule to continue our conversation. Ten minutes later he reappeared to kick us out into the rain. We agreed to get in touch via Facebook and meet up for pizza some time in the future, and parted ways.

 

Two weeks ago I sat down in biology class, not knowing a single soul there. The professor was the sort who enjoys shocking his audience with strange but true facts, and while grinning appreciatively at a particularly entertaining fact, I caught the eye of another woman. This happened a few times, and after class we introduced ourselves and chattered all the way to the library and back, hashing over everything from personal histories to mass transit strategies. We ended up lab partners, and started swapping copious emails.

A few weeks ago I met Bas~Melech and Scraps for ice cream. One I’d met once before, the other never. Yet we had no trouble filling two solid hours in loquacious companionship, and could have kept going, but time was a-passing.

 

Compare the above to what I observed this past motzai Shobbos, watching the daters in the Marriott. They sat attentively and politely, taking turns talking, swapping stories or ideas in hushed tones with little laughter. Compare the above to some of my own dates: searching for something to say, deciding if it ought to be said, and then formulating how to say it. Cracked jokes that land awkwardly and die uncomprehended; questions greeted warily, considered carefully, and answered cautiously; or stories received with a restrained similitude of the natural reaction. I have no trouble striking up lengthy conversations with strangers on street corners; why is it so hard to talk on a date?

(My own answer(s) forthcoming, but feel free to steal my thunder – it’s been done before.)

Not That Desperate

I went on a date motzai Shobbos. In the Brooklyn Marriott. I’ve never actually been taken on a date to the Marriott because, as I explained to one guy, nobody goes to the Marriott anymore because it’s too crowded. He didn’t recognize the Yogi-quote and after a bemused pause said, ‘I’ve been there.’

I went with a Friend. So if you were dating in the Marriott that night and wondered who those two girls were, I was the pretty one. (OK, OK Friend – I take it back!) It takes effort to KIT with friends these days, and the ice cream meet-up was getting old. so I suggested we go for some h20 at the Marriott. Friend got excited. ‘Date-watching!’ she squealed, like it was a new sport. “Yep, bring binoculars and a field guide,” I deadpanned. Friend took me literally, and showed up with two pairs of high-power binocs.

She also wanted to print out questionnaires and pass them around to all the couples. I have no idea what sort of questions she wanted to ask (though I’m curious now); all I knew was that interrupting dates to pose a survey is, well, not done.

“But they’re always looking so bored! Wouldn’t you want someone to give you something to talk about?” asked Friend, who has been on a grand total of zero lounge dates in her life. Still, she had a point. Lounge dates have got to be the most boring dates imaginable, and filling out a poll would be an awesome conversation piece. I just couldn’t imagine me being the one providing the service.

I mentioned it jokingly to my parents, as a sort of reassurance that there are crazier people than me, and in fact, I have more sense than they give me credit for. My father grabbed his head with both hands and said our generation had a truly bizarre idea of what constitutes entertainment. My mother, though, rather startled me. “Don’t put it down,” she said. “Two of my friends once went on bad dates in the same lounge. Afterwards, the guy from one party got the phone number of the other girl, and they’ve been happily married for 30 years now.”

So now handing out surveys is not weird or BfS, but actually good for shidduchim!

“So you’re saying I should be using questionnaires as a ploy to get dates?!”

“You can never tell.”

“Yeah, but unlike in your story, these guys will have zero way of finding out who I am.”

At this point my father leaps back in, enthusiastically. “They can advertise in the newspaper.”

“Crazy girl from the Marriott lounge… I’m interested?” I asked.

“They’d get too many responses,” my mother frowned.

“No way – how many girls are going to respond to an ad that runs “crazy girl from the Marriott lounge”? I think it’s pretty safe,” my father argued.

It’s at times like these that I know I’m the product of my upbringing. Honestly – I ask you! I should have threatened to do it and seen what happened.

Well, it wasn’t a bad date. We didn’t get lost, though we did take the train. We found the lounge easily enough without ever running out of conversation; we disagreed over whether the tromp l’oil ceiling was tacky or cool, for example. Friends was going to treat me, but I insisted on going Dutch, something I don’t do on regular dates, and now I know why: a bottle of water is expensive in those places! I think next time we’ll do a sit-in. It has distinct advantages.

Remember to Vote

Here’s a reminder to participate in a pretty important civil activity, particularly now, when it’s so tight a race.

So Help Me…

Somewhere, out there, someone is enjoying 2GB of flash storage, a literature term paper, a saved web page about hypermiling, 12 BadforShidduchim blog posts, my resume and cover letter, my shidduch profile, my college schedule, last week’s pre-lab report, a description of how to do the moonwalk, an excel file full of corporate addresses and phone numbers, and a myriad other exciting files. Someone out there has my USB drive, and isn’t returning it. I can’t say I blame them. If I had it, I wouldn’t give it up either.

However, I have lost a few posts, and am a drop limited in my ability to transfer new ones from my non-networked laptop to the internet, so help me out for today: what’s your worst every dating/background check/shadchan/being seen story?

How Important Are the In-Laws?

 

How important are the in-laws? I mean who are you marrying, anyway?

Remember the straight-laced lady who asked awfully difficult questions to everyone but me because “it isn’t done” to ask me?

I recently asked my mother whatever happened to her. My mother sniffed disdainfully. “I wouldn’t let you go out with her son even if she wanted you to.”

“Um, why?”

“You don’t want a mother-in-law like that.”

“Someone who asks searching questions?”

“No – someone so rigid. You know, she told the shadchan that the girl’s parents are supposed to support the couple for five years, but since her son wants to learn for longer, she’ll agree to bend the rules and go 50-50 for the term.”

I considered all my friends with learning husbands and tried to imagine which of them might be supported solely by their parents. Where do people get these idiotic “rules” from anyway?

“Meaning, she cares a bit too much about ‘how things are done’?”

“Exactly. How are you going to survive?”

“Do you think she’d be scandalized if I said I’d rather live in a cardboard box than leech off any of our parents?”

“I really don’t think you’ll get along.”

“Her son might be different, you know. And he’s the one I’d marry.”

“Doesn’t matter. You still have to get along with your mother-in-law.”

 

Another conversation:

“Would you consider someone with divorced parents?”

“Why not?”

“Well because… well what if they were both remarried?”

“You mean two sets of guilty parents to buy us wedding gifts? Four sets of grandparents to buy our kids stuffed animals? Sounds great to me.”

 

And one lovely visit to a shadchan:

“Would you consider someone with irreligious parents?” she asks me.

I consider the ramifications carefully, from English transliterated bentchers at the wedding to family reunion handshakes.

“Yes, I think I would,” I say finally.

“No, you don’t want that,” she contradicts.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s very hard – you won’t be able to eat by your in-laws – “

“ – They can order in and we’ll eat on plastic – “

“ – And they’ll want different things for your children – “

“ – If they want to see their grandchildren, which most people do, and if they’re reasonable, which most people are – “

“ – and your kids will get mixed chinuch – “

“ – they’ll ask questions and get answers. They’ll be religious because it makes sense and not because they don’t know an alternative. They’ll force us to examine our own beliefs, preventing us from becoming complacent Jews. If we can’t handle irreligious relatives than we have serious religious issues.”

“No, you really don’t want irreligious in-laws.”

“Grghmph!”

OK – I didn’t actually get a chance to say the italicized lines—I was too flattened by her roughshod treatment of my answer. Why are you asking me if you aren’t accepting my answer? Just go ahead without asking me.

 

Anyway, in all three conversations, the point was that I shouldn’t want to marry unpleasant in-law situations.

But who are you marrying – the guy or his family? Why not just date the entire family, already? You don’t have to spend your life with them. Worst case scenario, you organize a Lakewood kollel for Cambodia and take off for inaccessible parts.

I was grousing over these thoughts one Shobbos when the young married woman across the room burst out, in an unrelated conversation, “They say you don’t marry the family, but you do. And if you want my in-laws, you can totally have them.”

 

Sigh. OK – so add “perfect in-laws” to my list of “what I’m looking for.”

 

Story Time at the Shadchan

OK, so I don’t think people should ask “is she sunny or serious.” But how else do you get a snippet of personality?

This is the same problem as “what do you write in the ‘description of self’ part of a shidduch profile,” which came up a few weeks ago. If you don’t like “nice, kind, intelligent, put-together” as a description, and “sunny but serious” doesn’t make the cut, how do you describe someone?

We’re back at the job interviews, I think. Only this time we’re not asking you what animal you are. So maybe we should call it Novel Writing 101. Hey, the shidduch system can take a lesson from many places.

The point is, when you want to make a point about your own character in a job interview, or when you want to make a point about a character’s characteristics in a story, you don’t tell about it – you show it. You tell a story.

Let’s say you want to impress a hopefully future boss with your initiative and leadership skills. You don’t say, “Oh, I’m a born leader” because he’s going to say, “Mmhm. I’ve heard that six times already today, and expect to hear it six more.” Rather, you say, “I realized that my college had a very inefficient printing system in the computer lab. So I designed one that would save paper, ink, time, and temper; drew it up using graphs and numbers; and presented it to the lab techs and key members of the administration. It has been in use for 8 months now, and the students still bless me whenever they print their term papers.”

And your future boss leans back in his studded leather swivel chair and says, “That’s pretty impressive! We need somebody like you around here.”

Or let’s say you want to present a character as meticulous. Do you say, “Bob is a very exact dude. He has everything down to a science.” No way. Not if you want anyone to remember it. Instead you’d describe Bob during his morning routine.

“At 6:09 am, after pressing snooze on his alarm clock exactly once, Bob splashes his face with cold water five times, and then dries his face on the front of his towel, starting with his chin and rubbing it upward toward his forehead. He dries his hands on the bottom back of the towel. (The back middle is where he dries his hands after brushing his teeth, and the  back top is where he dries them right before he leaves the bathroom.) At 6:11 am, Bob squeezes a pea-sized sphere of toothpaste onto his toothbrush…”

What I’m suggesting will expand the typical shidduch resume by about 1/2 a page, but I think it’ll make a qualitative difference. Every eligible spinster (bachelorette?), with the help of friends or family, should choose an incident or three that summarize her character. It doesn’t have to be laudatory – neutral is probably better. It just has to describe what she’s all about. The tales should be encapsulated in brief paragraphs and should be standard fare on any shidduch profile – maybe one for disposition, one for hobbies/recreation, and one for character/ethics.

In addition to giving a better picture of what the person is all about, it will provide excellent fodder for first date conversation.

Whattaya think?

Seriously Funny (or Funnily Serious?)

A friend was asked the following question about me regarding a shidduch:

“So, what’s she like?”

Friend was a bit… well let’s just say she wasn’t sure how to answer that open-ended question. It’s the sort of silly question you can only answer if you don’t know someone very well. Then you can give a summary impression of them: “she’s funny,” or “he’s smart” or “very put-together” or “definitely a leader.” But if you know someone, what do you answer? “She has a good sense of humor” doesn’t adequately describe a good friend. Neither does “she’s considerate” or “she’s a go-getter” or insert-your-phrase between quotes. Each is a single facet of a person, and you don’t want to sum them up the wrong way.

So Friend did the same thing all Friends do when faced with this question: she said, “Um, can you be more specific?”

“Well, is she sunny or serious?” the mother started.

Friend considered, but ran into the same wall. “She’s sunny, but has a serious side.”

“You said I was sunny?” was my startled reaction. But if “sunny” has become the antonym du jour for “serious,” then I suppose I might be, on occasion.

I have no idea where the conversation turned next, but I tried to imagine it:

“I hope you told her that I tend to be gravely in good humor. That I feel obligated to be free spirited. That I’m a meticulously sloppy dresser. That I procrastinate on schedule, and can be idiotically intellectual.”

(Some of the above are even true.)

 

It reminded me of an exercise we did in a psych class once. The professor gave us a list of people ranging from President Bush and Martha Stewart to our best friends and parents. Then we were given a series of questions like “is this person impatient?” or “does this person dress well?” We had to choose “yes”, “no,” or “it depends” for each person.

Naturally, the people we didn’t know, like Martha Stewart, got the most “yes” or “no” answers, while people we did know got many more “it depends” answers. The more three-dimensional a person is to you, the harder it is to box them in.

Maybe that’s why we use third-party shadchanim for this stuff. You show up on time and dressed nicely and she puts you down as “prompt” and “put together.” End of story. And maybe, instead of putting down friends as references, we should put down acquaintances, who are better equipped to “yes” or “no” us. Nobody would ever again have to gurgle at the end of the phone line, hoping the mother doesn’t interpret the silence negatively, while they desperately search for a few vague descriptive phrases.

Or maybe people need to stop asking questions like “is she sunny or serious?”