Singlehood is Not the End of the World

When I was a kid, I was a sucker for romance. I just wanted everyone (characters in books, tv shows, movies) to pair off and ride into the sunset. 

But I've become a romance grinch—or, more accurately, a romance critic. I've become particular about my happily ever afters. 

I recently read a book (I shan't give the name, since I'm pretty much going to give everything away) and I was actually happy with the atypical ending. 

Our heroine, all of 22, has a boyfriend—who she cannot believe actually wants her. She's middle-class and bore the ire of high school bullies; he's a WASP who "summers." She finds out he cheated on her, and breaks up with him. She takes up with another man, albeit a lovely one, as a rebound. The boyfriend, however, wants her back, and even proposes. She struggles a bit with what to do, but declines his offer knowing that she can never trust him again. The rebound breaks up with her too, as a new development in his life requires it. 

Our heroine walks off into the sunset, alone. 

I was delighted. 

As the book drew towards the end, I was puzzled. Chick lit usually has neat, coupled endings, so I was wondering where this one was going. 

The character's mother repeatedly tells her that she's young, she doesn't have to settle down yet. She doesn't have to choose now just because someone wants her, and she thinks no one else will. 

For our heroine, I wanted her to be with the right guy for the right reasons. The rebound, while a nice chap, wasn't 

As Fay says in Jewish Matchmaking (I'm paraphrasing), "When I was 24, I thought it would be the end of the world to be single at 28. Now that I'm 28, I see . . . it's not the end of the world." 

From personal experience, I can say that it's worth it to wait for the right relationship, when you're in it for all the right reasons. 

Younger is Not Better

"We will do our part for the shidduch crisis!" Han announces dramatically. "We spoke to our son! He is ready to start dating!" Han then plucks a babbling Anakin up from the floor, holding him aloft as Rafiki brandished Simba in the opening scene of The Lion King. 

Yeah, we're both kinda snarky about this so-called solution to the so-called "shidduch crisis" (snort). Sure, let's have a bunch of immature boys date for the express purpose of putting some rando girl "out of her misery." That'll end well. 

Hello? We aren't living in the shtetl anymore, when parents would arrange shidduchim with complete strangers and that would be that. No one is marrying blind, unless it involves a mail-order bride. 

L'havdil, take Indian Matchmaking! Sima Aunty (matchmaker extraordinaire) just cannot get with the times. Granted, this season made a point to make her appear more human, even helpful, at times, but her disapproval at her clients' expectations can get tiresome. "Kids today! They don't listen to their elders!" Well . . . um . . . I'm not going to marry someone based on a random shadchan's "perfect on paper" suggestion . . . 

If something isn't working, the go-to solution is usually "Well, back in my day . . ." Yes. That's how it worked then. Maybe. Generations aren't static.

OK, I married when I was a doddering decrepit, which I am not advocating. But looking back I see that I was not ready for marriage at 19. Definitely not. 

Divorce is no longer the taboo it used to be. An older woman, who divorced after her children married, said she knew it was a mistake during the week of sheva brachos. "But I couldn't hurt my parents," she explained, and stayed miserably wed for decades. 

There are too many stories I'm hearing of young couples who are either divorcing or choosing to stay married despite the difficulties. That's too much on young people. 

I'm not saying that if they waited until they were older they wouldn't necessarily have ended up divorcing. Yet youngsters shouldn't be making one of their biggest life decisions based on "I just don't want to be the last person in my class to get married." Let them see more, experience more, and perhaps develop a little radar for red flags.   

Again, a person can marry at 25+ and get divorced. But at least they weren't unexposed children when they made their choice.

Like Aleeza says (and I'm paraphrasing) "My job is not just to get you married. It's to get you stay married." 

Jewish Matchmaking: A Review

Jewish Matchmaking! Hella yeah, did I binge it. Then as the credits rolled, I exhaled: Thank. God. 

Why? Because we look good for flipping once! 

There has been some snark online, quibbling about details, but I don't care! 'Cause we look good!

Aleeza Ben Shalom was an excellent choice as a shadchan. She's not remotely like the stereotypes that I usually dealt with, who were more like Sima Aunty from Indian Matchmaking. 

What was refreshing about Aleeza was that she did not shame her clients for having criteria—even if that criteria was seemingly ridiculous. While I did once believe that standards have to "make sense," I've realized that the world is a big place, and shallow morons (both male and female) also manage to get married.  

The clientele are primarily reform, traditional, or "flexidox" (as Aleeza calls it) which I thought was refreshing. Being Jewish and marrying Jewish is important to people even if they aren't 100% practicing. And even those singles mentioned God, unlike the other examples I cited in my previous post. 

It's reality television, so of course that means there is definitely a scripted element. Let's be honest here: finding someone to go on the show, then finding someone who's willing to date the first someone on that show, is a big ask. As I watched these dates happen, all I kept thinking about was that these people are being followed by cameras along with a boom floating above. It's not remotely real life.

The one frum candidate, Fay, says on her IG account that she went on the show for the purposes of showing the Netflix world how we operate, not to actually meet someone.

People were whining online, "Oh, why didn't Fay keep dating Shaya? They were so great together!" Like, please.  It was all manufactured. You saw like 10 minutes, tops, of their interactions. Shaya is engaged now in real life, so there you go.

No one still seems to be together from the show, but I didn't expect them to be (although I was rooting for Stuart and Pamela). A matchmaker is not an all-knowing, all-powerful deity who can deliver your someone on a silver platter. She's an avenue of possibility, no more, no less, than others.    

Identity, Practice, and Belief

My brain can't handle most literature nowadays unless it's of the "fluffy" variety. Enter chick-lit! Even though I tend to be aggravated by formulaic premises, I don't have to concentrate so much when shrieking offspring launches themselves at my head. 

I was reading Mr. Perfect on Paper and I was sucked in by the overload of Jewish references. I can't figure out which denomination the heroine, Dara, belongs to—she drinks non-kosher wine at a restaurant, but she has impressive knowledge of obscure halacha (turns out the author was a rabbinical student). 

But despite the heavy Jewish details, there was something missing. 

Simultaneously, Han and I started watching Rough Diamonds. I was put off by the first episode, so didn't watch further, while Han got in too deep and was forced to hate-watch it. 

The chassidim depicted make it seem that they were simply born into this lifestyle, and that's the only reason why they live it. Their behavior becomes horribly despicable in their attempts to salvage the family business—despite the fact that chassidim don't usually keep their identity in their livelihoods (all they had to do was dabble elsewhere). They fashmear people, they steal, all without qualm. Um . . . 

Then I realized what's going on here. Judaism is presented as an identity. Nothing more. There's no spirituality. There's no mention of God. Bupkis.

Dara follows the rules, or rather which rules she wants to follow. But there's no feeling behind this practice except for "well, this is what my grandparents did." Not one mention of the Lord. It's just "We've survived for thousands of years so I guess this is what I gotta do." 

It made me think, in contrast, of Shtisel. There was a scene when Akiva, after falling out with his father, is offered to stay in the guest-house of a fellow artist, a rather nice frum girl. He's painting and painting, and then realizes what time it is. He's horrified to find out it's the afternoon—and he hadn't put on tefillin that day. He's so upset he gathers up his things and bolts. 

Akiva isn't home. No one is telling him what to do. He can do whatever he wants. But his religion is his priority. He hurries back to the milieu that will encourage him to observe it properly. 

It's not just an identity or practice. It's a belief. 

And They Don't Stop Coming

A few weeks ago, during Post-Pesach Recovery, I took Anakin out for a walk while Ben was (finally) back in school. The forecast had said sun and 66 degrees; it was already midday, but it was still cloudy, damp, and chilly. 

I had already put Anakin in thermals that morning, which I then topped with a fleece jacket. I then tucked around him his plush microfiber blanket. 

I debated whether to find his booties, but figured the blanket would be enough. He happily propped one foot on the stroller bar, his toes wiggling in the fresh air. He sighed contentedly. 

Of course, after emerging from a frantic supermarket, we were accosted by an unknown woman, perhaps 70 or so. 

"Look!" she cried dramatically. "He's lost his socks!" 

I invented passive-aggressive, lady. Two can play that game. 

"Why, so he did," I mildly replied.

She looked up sharply into my face, and laughed. Got me, it acknowledged. She continued on her way, but not without a parting shot over her shoulder, "I'm cold just looking at him!"  

In order to prevent anymore commentary, I tucked the blanket again around Anakin, who then kicked it off in annoyance. He wanted his feet free. 

I fretted a little on the way home, double-checking my logic to keep his toes exposed. Not 10 minutes later the sun suddenly exploded into view, sweltering us all. 

It's comments like these (she is not the first biddy to make a passive-aggressive comment about my children's lack of footwear) that invariably makes me recall my single days. 

Comments are diabolical. 

There I would be, dating. I was trying. I was analyzing. I was coming to conclusions on a regular basis on what I needed. And I would be satisfied with my decisions. (While being a nervous wreck who lost 5 lbs from anxiety alone—side perk!)

Then a complete stranger would mosey into my midst, and not knowing anything about me, nothing at all, would dismiss me for being "picky." Then it wouldn't be enough to simply deride me mentally, they also had to make some sort of verbal dig (can we go back to just judging people behind their backs? Please?). 

Those comments would send me into a free fall. 

Maybe I am being unreasonable? Maybe it is my fault? Maybe, maybe, maybe? 

There is a pattern to these "concerned citizens," in that their comments, they believe, are "for the greater good." But are they, really? There is also a distinct streak of glee in their voices when they told/tell me off, that joy of finding someone to belittle.

Logically, I knew that Anakin was perfectly fine in 55 degrees beneath his thermals, fleece, and microfiber (while wondering why hands are "allowed" to be exposed to the elements, while feet are not), but a comment from a rando still had me questioning if I was fussing sufficiently over my offspring.

Since comments are here to stay, perhaps it's time for me to grow a thicker skin. 

Easier said than done.