The New Rom-Com

I have made it quite clear enough times: I am not a sentimental, Hallmark romantic. I'm such a Grinch that my nose curls in distaste when I am subjected to proposal props, like large hearts formed from rose petals. I may even heave a little. 

 

I'm a practical, everyday romantic (she insists, despite being called "picky" again over the weekend). While television is usually out to endanger my kind, there must be enough like me out there that new shows are reflecting my paradigm ("Love" and "Togetherness" reviewed by James Poniewozik). 

In comedy, they say timing is everything. That goes double for romantic comedy. The genre is built on the tension between fate and circumstance: Two people are meant to be together, but the plot keeps them out of sync until divine order is restored.But what if fate is just a concept we impose on accidents of timing? What if love is never “meant to be,” so much as it’s the product of will and coincidence and hard work?

I heard it said recently from Rabbi Ephraim Stauber that there is no mitzvah to marry one's bashert. Rebbe's wife ate up his kishkes. Was she his bashert? Definitely. But who wants to live like that? 

After all, didn't the original Leah boo-hoo her way from being Esav's intended to Yaakov's soulmate? (My awesome high school morah explained that Yaakov was Rochel's bashert, while Yisroel was Leah's. But that's another post.) Maybe this bashert thing is a little overrated. 

The season (I’ve seen all of it) brings Mickey and Gus together and apart, together and apart, until they confront the possibility that they really hooked up to satisfy a conception of themselves: he dating the erratic Mickey so he can feel more dangerous, she seeing a “nice guy” so she can feel she’s getting her life together. . .

Sometimes, “Love” suggests, romance doesn’t need candlelight to grow so much as an honest fluorescent glare.

What if people came together not because they relied on hiding their flaws and quirks, but presented them as being part of the whole package? 

 

Couples form for the oddest of reasons. What would be so terrible if they were a little less . . . delusional about why they appeal to each other? 

Love, “Togetherness” suggests, is not about being constantly together. It’s about having bonds that stretch as you inevitably drift apart, and faith that they might eventually snap back.

I have heard so many (so so many) a couple protest that they are always together. Spending every single Shabbos together for the entirety of the marriage is not a testament to a union's health. Relationships aren't static. From what I hear, stuff happens. But as long as the bond is there, and remains the priority, all can be well.

"The Chatzos Lady"

Rabbi Frand, We Are All In This Together:

I once spoke about Shabbos in Highland Park, NJ, and I read an essay, not realizing that the writer of that essay, a woman by the name of Mrs. Azriella Jaffe, was in the audience. 

She wrote how she makes a point of being ready for Shabbos every single week before chatzos (midday) on Friday. When I started speaking about this to women, their general reaction is to either laugh or look at me like I'm insane. But after I spoke in Highland Park, Mrs. Jaffe wrote to me to explain how this came about. 

She wrote that on Friday, her daughter remarked, "Oy, tonight is Shabbos. I wish it wasn't Shabbos." 

Do you know why she made that comment? Because Friday meant chores. Friday meant chaos. Friday meant a tense mother. 

So Mrs. Jaffe accepted upon herself that by chatzos Friday, everything would be ready. EVERYTHING!

This meant, in her words, "The food is prepared, the table is set, the candleabra is ready, and when my kids comes off the bus from school, instead of coming home to Shabbos chores and to a tense mother trying to cook and clean and make the deadline, they come home to a happy mother, a clean house, the smells of Shabbos in the air, and a free afternoon to relax.

"When my husband comes home from a long day at work, he comes home to serenity, not chaos.  

"Friday Night Candle Lighting" by Robert Tanenbaum

"But to do chatzos right," she adds, "you can't start at midnight on Thursday night. You need to prepare for Shabbos every day of the week. My children now think that it's normal to make a new batch of challos on Motza'ei Shabbos. Or to plan a Shabbos menu on Sunday. They're accustomed to asking me if the chicken cooking in the oven 7 a.m. on Friday is for Shabbos." 

Listen to the icing on the cake: 

"Shabbos is on our minds all week long. When Friday comes around, our house is one of beauty and serenity, and anticipation of Shabbos, rather than that former feeling of, 'Oh no, when is candle lighting?'" 

Mrs. Jaffe started a support group with three women, but she now has women all over the world—in England, Eretz Yisrael, and Australia—in her support group. 

Once again, this is not an all-or-none deal. Whether a woman wants to be ready at chatzos, or maybe just an hour early, or even just to be ready on time rather than late, it's worth planning ahead. 

A woman from New York wrote that she set a goal of being ready five minutes before the zman, accepting upon herself to be ready 23 minutes before the shekiah rather than the standard 18 minutes. 

This already sends the message to Hashem: Shabbos is something I want, something I look forward to. 

When You're Smiling

I'm Princess Lea, right? Even so, I did not initially "get" the video with Chewbacca Mom. She's just laughing. Prefaced, yes, by a cute although not knee-slapping soliloquy about the joys of toy-ownership (to which I heartily concur), but enough to get her own Wiki entry? 

But then I "got" it.

She's laughing—un-self-consciously and wholeheartedly. She's not worried what she looks like to confused passerby. She's not obsessing if others will see her as ridiculous. She is not at all concerned that her kids (or husband) will be embarrassed to be seen with her in public. 

Candace Payne bought a Chewbacca sound-effect mask. She's delighted with her purchase. Without reserve. 

She's happy.

This is the stuff of Brené.

Payne entitled the video, "It's the simple joys in life . . ." and darn-tooting, it is. 

This article by Amanda Hess comments on the phenomenon, but laughing videos in general get a lot of buzz. 

“This grown woman is using a mask that’s supposed to be for kids,” Mr. Warren said. But when we see the pure, childlike joy it produces in Ms. Payne, a stay-at-home mother from Grand Prairie, Tex., the event feels gloriously silly instead of pathetic. When laughter itself is the transgression, the videos pack a one-two punch. It’s not normal for a woman to laugh to herself at length in a crowded subway car, but it’s harmless, so as her laughing fit continues, others can’t help joining her. . . 

Online videos feel particularly intimate because they largely feature amateurs, are unscripted and are filmed up close and by hand. Ms. Payne “is a pleasant and attractive person to whom we freely lend our sympathies,” said Carl Plantinga, a professor of film and media at Calvin College who studies the psychology of cinema. “Her enthusiasm seems to be genuine and kind.”

And because she’s filming herself in close-up, her emotions are front and center — even once she puts on the mask, you can see her eyes glistening in delight. “Sympathetic viewers will involuntarily mimic her facial expressions, leading to emotional contagion,” Mr. Plantinga said. The use of Facebook Live — which streams live video instantly, with no opportunity to edit or scratch a take — only draws the viewer in closer.

Being happy—or even acting happy—is deliciously freeing. Not caring about "looking stupid" means one never does.    

    

Eyes

On Super Soul Sunday, Oprah (shudder) featured Rob and Kristen Bell, the husband and wife team of Zimzum of Love. 

That's right. Zimzum. As in "Tzimtzum."

They admit it is a kabbalistic concept. As the blurb explains, "Zimzum is a Hebrew term where God, in order to have a relationship with the world, contracts, creating space for the creation to exist. In marriage, zimzum is the dynamic energy field between two partners, in which each person contracts to allow the other to flourish. Mastering this field, this give and take of energy, is the secret to what makes marriage flourish."

Aright. 

I have not read the book. What I am sharing is a concept they shared with Oprah during the program. 

Rob explains that he's impulsive by nature, a leaper as opposed to a looker. His wife is more deliberate, slower to act. (In Meyer-Briggs, Rob is a Perceiver, while Kristen is a Judger.) When he gets psyched about something and is gung-ho, Kristen tugs him back. Once he would have been frustrated by her hesitance. 

Then he realized that when one marries, one gains another set of eyes. "Help me to see what you are seeing," he now asks her. In addition, he goes further, every child one has also contributes further "eyes," obtaining even more perspectives.

We all see the world differently, which creates differences in opinion. Arguments are usually about demanding that the other sees things your way. Yet the only way to achieve resolution is by comprehending what the other sees. 

This isn't just about couples. This applies to any relationship.    

TGIF

Gefilte fish is so passe.

Tedious Opinion

"Ah, a brilliant work of fiction!" I tried Salman Rushdie. I don't get him. 

Perhaps it is my lazy nature, but there aren't many hyped or classic works that I've reluctantly slogged through. Although I'm not exactly advertising my regency romance stage in high school. I do not consider never having read Wuthering Heights to be a proud lack of achievement.

I have definitely fallen prey to an author's reputation. How can I not? It's amazing how attractive a sale item becomes once I know the hauteur of the designer. Is a book any different? 

Zoë Heller explains how her school training for revering the literary greats left her unprepared to critique any sort of non-officially "sacred" writing. 

As are many of us, it would seem. Eventually, she became less admiring and more discerning about the big-kahuna authors. Heller concludes: 

It’s possible, of course, to get a little drunk on the pleasures of having unfashionable views. Contrarianism is a species of vanity and just as much of a bore, in its way, as unquestioning obeisance to prevailing opinion. (Every now and then, I have to check myself and ask, Do I really not rate Elena Ferrante, or do I just enjoy upsetting her cultish fans?) Still, it is better, by and large, to be a conceited skeptic than to spend one’s life sitting meekly on the critical bandwagon.

I couldn't get through the first Ferrante book. (Can I admit that?) But I don't think that questioning everything is any better than questioning nothing. Too often the former merely the same default reaction as the latter, not necessarily based on anything. 

In any case, opinion about current works will mean little a century from now: 

  

Predicting the next great American novel: 

When we think about the future, we envision a version of the present: that the TV shows, movies and singers who matter most today will be the ones remembered in100 years. History says otherwise, Chuck Klosterman argues in But What if We're Wrong? Thinking About the Present as if It Were in the Past. The works that endure, he says, are the ones that suture societies find meaningful, whether they are valued in their day or not. Herman Melville's Moby Dick was scorned when it came out, and Franz Kafka was dead before The Trial saw print. So which of today's writers will be remembered in 2116? Probably not Philip Roth or Jonathan Franzen, Klosterman says, but someone writing in obscurity (perhaps on the deep web), representing an ultra-marginalized group and covering subjects that can be completely reinterpreted by future readers. "The most amazing writer of this generation," he writes, "is someone you've never heard of."—Sarah Begley, TIME

Hey, that means any of us could be famous! As long as one doesn't mind being long dead and not seeing a penny from it. 

I Can't Win

As an one-on-one chatterer, I often come to a point when I think I'm talking too much about myself. It's not that I'm not curious about this person I have just met, but one does not really know what topic could be potentially problematic. There have been too many times when I inquired about something I thought to be completely innocuous, only to have unintentionally harried at the other's sore spot. 

Therefore, I expound about my experiences, opinions, and beliefs, hoping the other will chime in with her own experiences, opinions, and beliefs. 

But there are times, when the other side remains unresponsive, I often rebuke myself. Query her! Show interest in her interests. Yet there I go, telling her all about my favorite breakfast and my idea of a good book and my thoughts on classical fashion.

Until a date, when I realized, quite proudly, that I was being properly inquisitive, without even trying! Family history, work, hobbies—I covered them all. Good girl! I trilled inside. You're being considerate for once. Totally not coming off as self-absorbed.

"You ask too many questions," he replied tiredly at one point.

Oh.

Humph. Go be nice.     

Beinonim

Frank Bruni, "The Clintons' Secret Language"

I’m less and less interested in guessing, because I’m more and more aware of how compartmentalized people are, of how flawed and fruitless it is to extrapolate from one chamber of their lives to another. The stingiest spouse and parent can be the greatest boss, and vice versa. Someone who’s selfless and principled in one context is sometimes the opposite in another, as if there’s only so much goodness to go around.

And no chamber resists exploration and explanation like that of a marriage or comparable relationship.

We’re certain that we have it figured out — who musters the most patience, who makes the greatest sacrifices, who’s pure, who’s sullied — until it falls apart. Then we gape at the pieces, because none are recognizable.

We’re certain that social climbing or religious devotion is a couple’s glue, when what matters more is the secret language of goofy endearments that they speak. Or the unremarkable daily rituals that they’ve grown to relish. Or the tempo of his speech. Or the timbre of her laugh.

And when we come to our sweeping conclusions, we’re not perceiving but projecting, and we’re using couples to cling to our idealism or validate our cynicism. It’s a foolish game under any circumstances.

Humans are multi-faceted. Children utilize the simple categories of "good" and "bad" to view others. Adults should be more . . . well, adult about people. That's why it is a shock to me when I hear those who can qualify for social security using terms like "rasha merusha" about the next-door neighbor. 

There are times when I—and I admit this shamefully—will succumb and beredt A to B. When B responds, "That doesn't mean she's a bad person!," I get irritated. I didn't say she was. This one aspect of A is giving me grief; that doesn't mean I believe her to be on equal footing with Stalin. 

I have made judgements about others because of past bad experiences, or because of my own insecurities, or my own prejudices—as Rivka Silver beautifully describes. Yet people are delightfully complex.

One Yom Kippur, a speaker explained how the strength of the kehilla is formed by the variety of middos we each contribute. One is awesome with tzedaka; one rocks in shmiras halashon; one is da bomb in kavana; one is the bee's knees in kibud av v'eim. 

He didn't trod down this path, but this is my own continuation: Do none of these people have other, less stellar quirks? Of course not. One can be speak without thought; one is prone to impatience and anger; one repeatedly misses davening; one has cheated on his taxes. 

Where I excel, others struggle. Where I am weak, others bloom. Most of us try to become better. Progress may be faster for her, slower for him. We are all just freakin' human. Remember that, PL. 

I Want

As soon as Eewok walked through the door, I could tell that she hadn't slept enough the night before. When she hasn't rested sufficiently, Eewok, usually a total mammelah, becomes hair-raisingly self-involved and stubborn. 

"I want you to play cards with me," she demanded. 

I don't negotiate with terrorists. Since she didn't ask properly: "We'll see. Soon." 

"But I want you to play cards!" 

"What is this 'want'? What about what I want? You don't care that I want to read the paper. We don't talk like that."

The afternoon continued, with little progress. "I want." "I want." "I want." Rarely had I heard her use such language. 

Until the dam broke. She had wanted to go to shul with Luke and he remained firmly implacable. Eewok dissolved into tears. "But I want to!" she wailed, refusing to budge. 

"What is this 'want'?" I repeated in exasperation. "You want to be a big girl? Fine. Here it is: You don't get to do what you want." 

"You do!" she bawled. "Adults get to do what they want!" 

"What? That's what you think? Baby, being a grown-up doesn't mean you get to do what you want. Being a grown-up means you don't get to do what you want."

Large tears dripped down her reddened cheeks. She glared at me defiantly. I could almost hear her think, "Liar." 

Classic middle child. She is quite sure there is a conspiracy against her, plotting to keep her miserable and out of the fun. 

Wait till she finds out the truth. I never wanted to be an adult. Because I knew it's awesome to be young, under someone else's care, with no major responsibilities. Why the heck would I want to be an adult? Rochel Spagenthal gets it to. 

But it does have its upside, as she notes. Although "wanting" has little to do with it.  

TGIF

• "Making Marriage Work";
• "Naso, Relationships of All Sorts";
• "Dating While Introverted";
  
• "Introvert's First Date"; and
• Grumpy Introvert on Privacy and Dating.