The Chosen

I'm slowly working my way through the final season of "Dead to Me." I'll try not to give any spoilers. I also don't remember the dialogue perfectly, so I'm taking license.

So there's the sweet, "what is the universe trying to teach me," patchouli oil Judy (in contrast to the tough, sarcastic, very un-zen Jen). Judy really wanted to have children, but none of her pregnancies took (in contrast to Jen, who has two boys). 

Judy is talking to an older woman, who's talking about her own kids. There are those that are good, but one who was sent on earth, she jokes, to make her life hell. "You don't choose your kids," she says. "They choose you." 

She asks Judy if she has any children, and she sadly replies no, that "She wasn't chosen." 

"Well," Florence shrugs, "maybe you were chosen for something else." 

That exchange got the pondering juices going. 

In the Jewish world, we may think that there is only one way to have meaning and purpose in our lives. Which is the accepted model of marriage and children. But what if someone marries late, or never marries, from no fault of their own? What if someone has children late, or never has children, from no fault of their own? 

Does that mean they have no purpose? They have no meaning? 

Of course not. 

It's at times like this that I think of that Shakespeare quote, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." There is so much we don't understand. We are so bound by our small human minds, thinking that there is only one way to do things, only one way to live, only one way to be of worth—but we are so much more than that. 

Sometimes I see advertisements for a dinner or something and they say about the honoree: "He/she is a devoted son/daughter, husband/wife, and father/mother." 

That's always annoyed me, because aren't we more than our relationships? We have value on our own two feet, with something to offer, especially when circumstances doesn't place us with family? 

Maybe, we are chosen for something else.  

All Are Welcome

This article by Channah Cohen is on point. 

When I was single, I didn't fit. 

There was no place for me. I was a third wheel. My parents were invited out a lot for Shabbos meals, and we hosted in return, but my parents' contemporaries were in their 60s. I had a great time socializing with them—I've always gotten along better with the older cohort—but I wasn't supposed to be there, right? I was supposed to be in my newly-married apartment or starter house with two kids. 

We do say that in Judaism, the center is the home. A mommy, a totty, and children. That is also how we see others, as one half of a couple.

We are not quite sure what to do with the lone individual, who has no spouse, no children, who may or may not be tagging along with her mother or father. They are not in the same place as tuition, carpools, and frozen chicken nuggets. 

In my singlehood my accomplishments didn't matter, all that mattered was that I was single. Full stop. Nothing to see here. 

Mind you, once you do join the realm of nighttime feedings, it's not like anyone hands you a trophy. A mob of mothers don't rush you when you go to the park. You are just another someone, but a someone that can be categorized, as opposed to an indeterminate hmmm. 

But is our world any different than the world at large? Not really. Secular books and movies all have a similar theme, how being single is a shameful aberration, how a wedding invitation can strike such fear in singles' hearts that they pay an actor or escort to be their plus one. 

Society, in general, likes paired couples. They like people neatly matched up. They like rugrats running around and destroying store displays. (No, wait, they don't, then everyone tells you what a bad parent you are.)

So when the single woman in the article says she'll leave the community because she doesn't have a home, does she believe a home awaits her on the other side? What is this home? Is it that erroneous assumption that since the dating pool in the secular world is larger, she'll be able to score a man—and the accompanying home—with ease? Han has the most stunning co-worker who is single, and she's trying very very hard to find a man. It's not like the gentile world boasts a better rate for marriage and happiness than ours does. 

But our community has to do better. Yet when people say "things have to change"—well, easier said than done. Some behaviors are so ingrained that it's hard to undo them. To my horror, I found myself glancing at the stomach of a woman who had been married for a bit. I could have kicked myself for that automatic eye flick. 

I remember the time I was in a different area for yuntif, and attended shul. I was politely ignored by the other shul goers, no matter how I smiled and tried. But the girl ahead of me, an obvious BT in training (her clothing was way to casual for yuntif and she wasn't familiar with a siddur) was mobbed following davening, meal invitations being warmly offered from all sides. 

How come we can we warm and welcoming to BTs, but the FFB singles get short shrift? 

So we can be welcoming. We just have to widen our scope a little.