Who Knows Best?

"The Women's Balcony" has been on my to-watch list for quite a while, and then I saw that it was now free on Prime. Chap arein! 

It was a charming movie, but it also made me think. 

The premise (SPOILERS AHEAD, ABANDON SHIP) is about a small, Sephardi (I think) shul in Israel. The film opens with a Shabbos bar mitzvah, and the close community are all trooping to shul, carrying various dishes of food to contribute to the festivities. 

That scene was so lovely. A beautiful, idyllic family of shul members, all uniting in a simcha.

But then the ezras nashim collapses, and the shul has to be closed. As their beloved, elderly rabbi falls into a funk, a young, more chareidi model wiggles in, and the men are initially taken with him. He preaches that the women should be covering their hair. That the women should repent, because after all, it was their section that was destroyed. 

Soon the members are divided. The wives are furious at their husbands. Friends are turning on friends—all in the name of halacha. 

Eventually, the new rabbi oversteps, and he is ousted, and the shul returns to its former tranquility. 

We learned in school, that if you see someone doing wrong you should tell them so—but only if you know they will hear you. Then again, "an imperfect peace is better than a perfect controversy." 

What is supposed to be our focus? To ensure that everyone else is following the law somewhat correctly, or should we hold hands and sing kumbaya?

Ma would oft say, "Your guf, and my neshama," meaning it is not our business where other people stand spiritually. We should only be concerned, at most, for others' physical safety. I'm of the same opinion, that it is not my place to be judge and jury, to decide that others are transgressing and must repent to specifically my ways. 

My vote is with kumbaya.

Information Overload

Trying to stay on top of what's new and happening in the skincare/makeup velt, I'm getting bombarded with social media terminology. 

First: "Slugging." Slugging is when the skin needs some loving downtime, and after applying moisturizer and somesuch, a layer of thick jelly, like Vaseline, is shmeared on top to seal everything in. 

Sounds icky. 

Second: "Skin cycling." This is when instead of applying certain products nightly, there is a rotation instead, to allow for "repair." 

Thirdly: "Gritting." I gotta say, I'm taken with this one, except I don't have the time/energy/patience to properly see it through. It's the idea that oily buildup on the skin will only dissolve with another oil, so if one were to massage the face for 20 minutes with a cleansing oil or regular oil, blackheads and pore-clogging gunk will eventually float up to the surface. 

Sounds like witchcraft. 

I also follow a number of dermatologists, who thankfully clarify what makes sense and what doesn't, as a lot of the people peddling these methods aren't exactly professionals. 

There is a lot of information out there. There are accounts for weight loss advocating no carbs, all carbs, only fruits, all foods but with intuition. There are recipes galore and the developers are constantly "obsessed" with their creations. There are sleep training accounts and anti-sleep training accounts. Then there's the ones with the best way to keep your home clean. The baby-lead weaning ones really freak me out, because I am not making my baby three course meals three times a day. I don't eat that well!

There is a barfing barrage of information spewing out there, and they can't all be right. 

Some of it I read and think, "Sounds ok in theory, but it doesn't work for me." Take the new trend of "gentle parenting." It's all about validating your children's feelings but still guiding them to better behavior. This new way involves so much talking. I kinda prefer Ma's European way of doing things: The Look. Done. 

That's not to say that just because it isn't for me that it's not for anyone else. Meaning: we all have to do what works for us. I am not into charcuterie boards (I can barely pronounce the word correctly) but I am into making my own tomato sauce (from tomato paste, it takes quicker than you think). We each choose our own patchke.

So don't take everyone so seriously. It may work for them, and not for you.

Indian Matchmaking" Reactions IIII

 While doing some googling to see if any of the couples featured in the past season are still together, I came across this TIME article which had some grumblings about the show. 

Let's see . . . does Sima accommodate the men more than women? Oh, yeah, sure, like every other shadchan, nothing new there. She's also more old-world, and she seems to have trouble navigating the new one. She's constantly displayed here as the savior of all, but there's only one couple this season who's met a potential someone because of her. Either it didn't work for everyone else or they met their someone through family, friends, or on their own. 

But the article grumbled how the people coming to her are asking for someone from a similar background, and how bad that is. They make it seem like it's a form of racism. 

Now this is amusing. I'm all for diversity, people, but marriage is a whole other ball game. 

Take me. I had told people that it would be nice if the guy would be heimish (that's HI-mish, not HAY-mish. The latter is a Scottish name). Unless the other person was heimish, they had no idea what I meant. Some thought I meant chassidish, but no, it is not chassidish, and chassidus definitely does not work for me. 

On the show, Viral asked for a man with the same background as her, Gujarati, including fluency in the language. There is something to speaking the same lingo as your life partner. I, for example, am fluent in Yinglish (cough). Along with that are also certain cultural values. 

There are many happy couples in our world who are "intercultural"; Sephardi and Ashkenazi is just one example. I found a divide with boys from American backgrounds. Yes, I am an American born, but I was European raised, and that makes a difference. It just does. 

I was told not to be hung up on it, and I never used it as a reason to decline the date. But when we would meet, conversation would flounder. We weren't able to understand each other's perspective. 

I was one of those people that shared background was important. It's not important to everyone. Some people enjoy such differences, the exoticness of an unfamiliar culture. Cool cool. 

But let's not call such a preference "ethnocentrism."

"Indian Matchmaking" Reactions III

Rejection. It sucks. 

It's also a large part of dating, whether one is the rejector or the rejectee. Either way, it's not pleasant. 

In my dating years, I was beyond stressed about rejecting someone. For the most part, I could tell off the bat that it wasn't shayach and felt no need to go on a second date. It wasn't until I found out from my dating kinfauna that there is an "obligatory" two-date minimum, to which I respond, "Whah?" 

I had thought, that if I knew this wasn't going anywhere, why raise someone else's hopes up needlessly with another date? Because here's the thing: there is no way to make rejection better. A "no" after two dates isn't more palatable than a "no" after one. I'm saying this from the other side, that rejection sucks, plain and simple. 

On the show, there were two examples of people who were both in the position of rejector and rejectee: Nadia and Vinesh. 

Nadia had been seeing Shekar, who is considered to be a nice, steady guy. But then Vishal walks into a mixer, and well . . . let's just say Vishal is striking. He's tall, gorgeous, and has the same cheerful energy Nadia is known for. But he's seven years younger than her.

So Nadia starts claiming that Shekar didn't seem to be that interested, and calls him to break up with him. She even tells him that she felt like he was "rejecting" her. Shekar seems blindsided, and denies it, but ultimately accepts her decision with grace. He then hangs up the phone and cries. 

Nadia is then bouncing along with Vishal, happy as a clam, until he flies out to see her. She is looking at him with excitement and expectation. He does not look at her the same way. He then proceeds to break up with her. 

Nadia, stunned, does not accept his decision gracefully. She snaps and snarls. Initially, I was taken with her sassiness. But then recalled: she rejected Shekar, and hoped he would take it ok. Yet when she is rejected, the claws come out. 

Well well. 

Then there is Vinesh. Vinesh is cheerful, loud, and jokes a lot (his jokes are not always funny). He is first matched with Mosum, who matches his energy, but she's not so focused on appearances. Vinesh asks her for her number after they meet, but then tells the screen that he asked for it to be polite, that he does not intend to date her (he does know that Mosum will hear this, right? This is international programming). 

Later, he's set up Meena, who, dare I say it, is smokin'. From her perfectly blown hair, fake lashes, and low cut cleavage, she is striking. But it's obvious that she does not appreciate Vinesh's humor. Vinesh, smitten with her looks, proclaims that the date went well, while Meena thinks otherwise. 

When told that Meena felt "friendship rather than romance" (this is the show code for "no way Jose"), Vinesh looks stricken. It takes him a few minutes to recover. 

It seems, for both these people, it's perfectly reasonable to be the rejector. After all, if it's not meant to be, if they're not feeling it, they just gotta be honest, y'know? They don't give the other people much thought. But when they're being rejected . . . it's a whole other ball game. REJECTION SUCKS. 

Rejection, in all forms, sucks. It sucks when you try to talk to someone new and they scurry away from you. It sucks when you apply to a school and they don't accept you. It sucks when your credit card gets rejected. It just sucks, overall. 

There are some people who so don't want to reject someone else that they just marry them. That really could have been me, if there wasn't a shadchan to do my dirty work. I would not have survived to have a happy union if I had to tell someone directly "I like you like a friend." 

So while there are times when rejection is necessary, please remember: try to be as kind as possible.

"Indian Matchmaking" Reactions II

Pradhyuman was a problem in Season 1. He was, by all accounts, too picky. Siiiigh. 

He was unrealistic. He was too demanding. He did not understand that he cannot get everything. He rejected 150 suggestions (I think that's less than Han dated).

At the end of the season, he FINALLY goes out with someone who looks compatible, and the music swells hopefully. But as the credits roll, we're informed that it didn't take.

Ay, Pradhyuman. What are we to do with you? Tsk tsk. 

Then, much to my surprise, Season 2 opens with Pradhyuman beaming, gushing about his girlfriend that he met at a party. He's floating on air. 

A few episodes in, he eagerly prepares the engagement setup—with no one shoving him—and of his own free will, proposes to his beloved. 

Huh.

Now, I gotta admit, I had been a nay-sayer. I had also thought that Pradhyuman was one of those really impossible ones that will end up alone with his cats because he's just not being amenable. 

But here we are, with him blissfully committed. 

There are numerous stories like this, about seemingly "impossible" singles, who everyone sighs and moans and predicts doom and gloom and then—the moon hits their eye like a big pizza pie and it's AMORE. 

Maybe they weren't being impossible. Maybe they were just . . . waiting for the right one.    

"Indian Matchmaking" Reactions, I

A new season of "Indian Matchmaking" has arrived, and I plowed through it. Luckily Anakin finds it entertaining. 

The new season opens with Akshay, who lives in the Indian equivalent of Yehupitz. The family business is based there, so he cannot relocate. Both he and Sima the Matchmaker agree it's difficult for him "because the girls don't want to be in" Yehupitz, "they all want to live in the big cities." Dramatic sigh. 

Generalizations. They rankle me. 

Perhaps because I had been constantly lumped into generalizations, that because I was single and a certain age I was automatically picky, that I was unrealistically demanding this or that, that I must have, I must have, I must have—no, I wasn't. I wasn't. 

Additionally, I was constantly told that the man I was on the search for, with 2.5 criteria, did not exist. There are no boys like that, I was repeatedly told. 

So even when a semi-scripted reality show starts spouting generalizations, I get annoyed. It still—still!—gets under my skin. 

Because, seriously, in ALL OF INDIA there isn't ONE or TWO or maybe ONE HUNDRED women who would be willing to live in a small, cozy, warm community? Heck, enough of our own people want to live out-of-town, and we're a pretty small minority, as opposed to a country with one BILLION people. 

I was trying to set up an acquaintance, and on the phone with her I was stunned that she had pretty much the same criteria as me, maybe 1.5. (I refuse to count "normal" as criteria.) I felt compelled to reassure her that I got what I was looking for, it's not unheard of or impossible. Because yes, men like my husband exist, the same way I exist. 

All May Be Well, But . . .

I follow @iwassupposedtohaveababy on Instagram, even though, B'H, that is not my concern. But I feel a vague sort of kinship to women who waited years for something that others seemed to have attained with ease. 

(Disclaimer: I am in no way comparing my situation to that for those struggling with infertility.) 

I did a little googling on the creator of the account, who expresses raw emotion at times, even posting reels of herself crying. So I was surprised to learn that she had, B'H, overcome her infertility struggles and B'H has a bouncing family. 

Initially, I was confused—if she has her children, why does she still carry such sadness? 

But then I remembered: 

"All's well that ends well" isn't quite true. You read this blog, hearing me still complain about my single years, how I was treated, how much it hurt, and maybe some of you wonder, "She's married now, she has kids, maybe she should let it go"? 

It's not so easy to let go of pain. 

I was once venting to my sister about relatives who live in a bustling, interconnected community, and how they had never attempted to set me up, even though they had tried for other people. 

She said, puzzled, "But you're married now. To Han. Who isn't even from their area. So it all worked out anyway." 

"That's not the point. When I was in it, when I was desperate for a suggestion, when the phone wasn't ringing . . . it hurt when they would gush about a shidduch they were trying for someone else, and not for me. Never for me." 

When I see the people who insulted me in the past, it's hard to get over what they thought of me then. Do they find me acceptable now that I'm married? Maybe. Well, I don't care, and would prefer not to interact with you, buh-byeeeeee. 

For those who have experienced pregnancy loss, people (including me) can mistakenly believe that with the arrival of other children, the previous ones were simply "replaced." But she lost a child. The child may not have been viable, the child may never have drawn breath, but that child was still loved, cherished . . . and lost. Those children cannot be replaced, anymore than my mother could be replaced with a stepmother. People are not interchangeable.

Shidduch Lit: Italian for Beginners

I've become impossible to please when it comes to romantic fluff. 

The basic structure of such a novel is to involve a very easily avoidable misunderstanding. Like, seriously, a five-year-old could have navigated this successfully. And Italian for Beginners is no different. 

Additionally, it has that annoying trope of "busy American who doesn't know how to live visits an exotic locale, imbibes the wisdom of the natives (who are all waiters, and yet live in lovely apartments), and discovers the meaning of life." 

However, the book had enough relatability that I will plug it here. 

Not to give a spoiler here, so if you don't want one then do not read on, but our heroine is a single woman in her mid-30s who has become the despair of her religious family (Catholic, not Jewish, but the emphasis on marriage and kids is near identical). She is humiliated at her younger sister's wedding despite her attempts to retain her dignity. 

She also has a lot of childhood issues with abandonment that should really have been addressed earlier with a therapist, and a lot of information was unnecessarily withheld from her on that subject, but at some point she realizes that she cannot be in a relationship if she doesn't know herself. 

Now, this point is a pet peeve of mine. How can people select life partners if they don't really know themselves? A lot of what we do involves following a societal script, without much questioning. Bad4 was the first to dryly proclaim that she would get a man without blow-drying her hair every morning, and many of us choose to slightly rock the boat in multitude of harmless ways. 

For instance, there had been some mumblings during my single time for my love of colorful makeup (which, I attest, was still classy and tasteful). Han loves the painted version of me (which I rarely apply nowadays, being a dishrag of a mommy) and even recently commented that so many girls aren't into strong makeup—why is that?

Because Han and I chose to express ourselves as we did (he's a rather snazzy dresser), that was one aspect that showed how our personalities could align. We didn't suppress our identities for the sake of appearances; our appearances reflected who we were.

I see other frum girls harmlessly stepping out of line and I love it. I love how they follow their passions, and also marry happily (I'm assuming happily) as they are.  

This, Too, Shall Be Forgotten

My memory is, pardon my French, in the toilet. 

My brain is keeping only primary processing needs online. I am not, as Data would say, operating at optimal parameters. 

Han tells me that I said something and I have no memory of the conversation. He could so easily gaslight me. Maybe he has? It's possible.

I was recently scrolling through old dating posts and found it amusing that I didn't remember some of the incidents. Sure, there were some guys I remembered, but some happenings were completely erased from my memory banks. 

At the time, these occurrences were so frustrating, so all consuming, and now—they've vanished.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I haven't forgotten everything. I still have that ability to hold a grudge for nearly forever. Yes, yes, I'm working on it.

But I'm glad to see that some occurrences that had upset me so much once upon a time have faded into the ether, of no significance.

Experiences

Han and I have been mulling the significance of "experience." 

For instance, when Han was dating, he had a married friend inform him that he should be focusing on such-and-such (rather shallow criteria) and he should be trusted because, you know, he's married. 

But what his friend considered sufficient for marriage was insufficient for Han. So while his friend may have been married, his experience was not enough to be a guiding force for Han. 

And then, with Han and I now on the other side, having accumulated a wealth of dating experience between us, no one wants our advice. To have dated for so long was strictly our faults, no one wants our insight, thank you very much, have a good day. 

I thought of myself, when I went through the harrowing and traumatizing experience of childbirth (no, I did not find it "empowering" at all, it's called "back labor"), I had a whole new respect for every other woman who has done it. Especially the 20-year-olds. Never mind the teenagers. 

There are some experiences that others cannot really understand, even though they think they do. Like loss and grief. Until you've been there, you cannot chap. 

I have my judgy moments, my cut-and-dried proclamations about certain subjects, but when I've finally donned those shoes and taken a walk around the block, all I can say is "Oh." The less we know, the more we think we know. As time goes on, the more I see, the more I realize that I have to shut up.