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. 

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.

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. 

A Temporary Victim

In 2017, Indian comedian Hari Kondabolu released a documentary called "The Problem with Apu," detailing the racist depiction of the character. Eventually, due to negative publicity, "The Simpsons" removed the character from the show. 

But not all Indians felt the same. Akaash Singh, also a comedian, has a special called "Bring Back Apu." In a NY Times article, he explains why he is pro-Apu. The article opens with a quote from his special:  

Here is a brown man married to a beautiful brown woman, owns his own business, selling overpriced products to unwitting white people. Apu is not racist. He’s the American dream.

But he explains his perspective further: 

Singh is quick to compliment Kondabolu, who he said reached out to him after hearing him on a podcast. “He said I implied he didn’t work hard and I said I don’t think that at all,” Singh said, praising Kondabolu’s joke writing and work ethic. “My issue is with your mentality,” Singh said he told his fellow comic. “The victimhood mentality. The mentality weakens us as a people.”

There was an organization that's purpose used to be enlightening frei Jews as to what being frum meant. It did so cheerfully, educating readers without being insulted by the oddball assumptions they had to clarify. 

But as the various minorities began to clamber up their soapboxes, they also shifted. Now, with furrow-browed intent, they focus on misrepresentations in media, demanding for change. 

When Singh talked about victimhood, it occurred to me why I found the change in attitude disconcerting. 

As you know, I'm a descendant of survivors. Not only did they survive the war (dayenu!) they then had to flee their rebuilt lives 10 years later when the die-hard communists came to power. They had to move to a new country and start again, again. 

It was not right, on any level, what they had to go through. But if they had stopped to focus only on their injustice, they would not have achieved anything. 

If you kvetch too much, no one will want to be around you. Including your own family. And you don't get anywhere. 

My grandparents were well within their rights to collapse into helpless mush. But they didn't. They were victims once. They didn't stay victims forever. 

Constantly focusing on those who have sinned against you isn't healthy. Nor does it accomplish anything. 

This organization could still do the work they do . . . with a little more humor. Less "this has to stop!!!" Rabid racists won't change their mind anyway, and most people are simply misinformed, not malicious. 

I'm not saying they aren't right. But being right isn't always enough.

“There’s merit to both sides,” Singh said. “I’m not completely right, as much as I would love to be.”

Shtisel Observations

 I've been rewatching Shtisel. The first time I saw it was after Han and I married, before it was on Netflix. Han bought the DVDs, and we slowly enjoyed it, the one show we watched together. We enjoyed it at such a sluggish pace that halfway through it hit Netflix. 

Now, I'm binging. My memory sucks in general and I have very little recall as to the plot. 

But the whole time that I savor, I still have some complaints. *SPOILERS ahead*

One of the basic positives of observant life is family. Emphasis is placed on young marriage and parenthood. Shulem says in the show that he has six children, and five are married. There's a lot of people there to have your back. 

The show opens with the matriarch, Devorah, as having recently passed. I can personally attest that such a death leaves a mark in the family. But one thing is for sure, Shulem and Akive would be having dinner or Shabbos by one of the other children's houses at some point. Instead, Shulem is dining alone, or hopefully visiting the homes of various widows or divorcees for a hot supper.  

Even later, when Giti has her own restaurant, Shulem is still sadly on the search for a decent dinner. C'mon, people.

Additionally, when Lippe vanishes, Giti does not ask for her family's help at all. Even though Kive is unmarried and currently unoccupied (broodily chain smoking on the balcony is not a valid activity), she never calls upon him for help with her five kids. Instead, Ruchami is appointed the sole caregiver while Giti works. 

While we know Giti was terrified of the community finding out and becoming an object of pity, her father would definitely be the one person she could definitely rely on to keep her secret. 

Instead, she struggles alone, in terror, trying desperately to support her family. While she didn't have to accept her father's money, she could have accepted other forms of help—emotional support, babysitting.  

As a side point: What do the writers of the show have against women? They're either dead or dying or near death. Devorah is dead; Bubbe falls down the stairs, recovers, then dies; Rebbetzin Ehrblich, my favorite character, commits suicide; initially, Nuchem's wife is unseen, but alive, but then is also dead; Libbe mysteriously dies two months after having a baby; Ruchami almost dies in childbirth. At least kill them off in more original ways. 

The show does a great job of showing that observant women are not oppressed, that they are strong, capable, and respected. So why are they all dead?

Queen Anne

I recently read The Jane Austen Society (the book was simply okay, in my opinion). 

Two characters were discussing their favorite characters. One said (obviously) Elizabeth Bennet. Another countered with Emma Woodhouse. 

It made me consider who my favorite character is. 

I am not sure if it's allowed to have a favorite Austen character if one has not yet read the book (I have only the 1995 film adaptation to work with at the moment) but mine is Anne Elliot. 

I first saw it in my youth—maybe in my tweenhood?—with Ma. It was on Masterpiece Theater and I had taped it. I then rewatched it, as I was wont to do with my favorite films, many many times. 

Anne does what has to be done, even if no one appreciates her for it. She gets no parade—if anything, she is merely scorned by her own family for her efforts. But she keeps soldiering on. (That's why Wentworth is an ideal mate—he's an actual officer in the navy, complete with stiff back, who knows what it means to keep soldiering on).

Removed from her oppressive household and placed in fresh surroundings, she blossoms. Kind and receptive company brings out her qualities. And yet, a common-sensical creature, she never loses her head. As various crises arise, she is the one who wades into the fray and calmly takes hold of the situation (like the captain of a ship?).

Anne's "error" was for not accepting Wentworth's proposal when she was 19—an understandable mistake, considering how he was penniless at the time and her only trusted source was Lady Russell. But she does not make the same error again. Nor did she compromise in the interim. 

Elizabeth Bennet, while highly admired for her wit and sparkle, makes quite a few boo boos. She messed up big time by believing Wickham's lies so readily, especially in a society when tattling is considered déclassé. But then, she wanted to believe the worst about Darcy, so she did. 

Anne herself is capable of a retort, perhaps without Elizabeth's delivery, but because of her stillness her response is more likely to be heard and accepted. 

Emma—well, a bit of a self-important meddler, wasn't she? She nearly ruined Harriet's life, and she was cruel at times to boot. 

Elinor Dashwood is a close second for favorite (I read the book, but must say the 2008 adaptation was infinitely more enjoyable), but Anne has my vote.  

Thank You For Your Service

I've been reading online nowadays a lot of hate on Gilmore Girls. Which I find surprising. 

Sure, nowadays if there was a show in that vein, Rory would be biracial, at least. 

But it premiered 20 years ago, and that doesn't seem so long ago to invoke "it was a different time." OK, yeah, there are lots of white people, and some are even privileged white people, but I still don't see how that is problematic. 

Han watched it for the first time recently, and through his observations I'm remembering how frustrating it was to see Rory's unspooling through various bad choices. First was handing in the good boyfriend for the jerk boyfriend, then having an affair with good boyfriend, allowing one unpleasant interview to completely undo her self-confidence and send her over the edge, then getting together with maybe not a 100% jerk, but he's still pretty irritating. 

Maybe that was the point. I've seen this sort of thing in real life, albeit not to such an extreme: Girl puts lots of pressure on herself to be perfect, and burns out by the time she's 21. But Rory becomes really unlikable and she doesn't improve in the follow up, A Year in the Life. 

But I found her more believable than her early goody-goodiness. Lorelai was usually the screw-up, and Rory was the adult in the relationship, until she decided to finally have a belated hedonistic teenagehood, which is not a good look on an actual adult. 

Han was complaining about Emily when he first began. "You'll see," I told him, "she'll become your favorite character." And she did. Some people on the forums grump that Lorelai was always saying how horrible her childhood was, but with no details; as I understand it, she could have simply felt "unseen" and misunderstood by her parents. That can be a lonely place to be. 

As we know in real life, sometimes two okay people can have such a bad dynamic that it can be toxic. It doesn't mean one is wrong and the other right. It just means that it's better if they don't spend a lot of time together. 

So, no, I'm not going to hate on Gilmore Girls now, the way a lot of other people are. It served its purpose in its time, and maybe it has become obsolete. In 20 years, lots of our current favorites will be burned at the stake, too.

The Love of Mothers

 I've been watching Call My Agent! on Netflix, a French series about, well, agents for the French stars. 

The show focuses more on the younger agents of the firm, but sometimes the crusty old-timer, Arlette, gets a word in edgewise, and she does have the wisdom of age and experience. 

In Season 3 episode entitled "Isabelle," she comes to visit a new mother, who had accidentally become pregnant and hadn't been sure to begin with if she should have the child. The mother is overwhelmed in this new change, questioning her decision. 

Arlette begins to speak of her own experience. "I don't do regrets, you know me. I was a free woman, at a time when it wasn't easy to choose that way of life. People looked at me funny. I partied hard, I worked hard, traveled a lot, I had many lovers," she tells the mother. 

"Yeah, and you had no regrets," the mother assumes. Arlette corrects her impression: "I do. There's one thing I wish I'd had: a mother's love for her child. That's a special kind of love. It never goes away. Yeah, I would've loved to experience that! It can be kind of frightening too. You gotta experience that. Live your life to the fullest."

I found the way she expresses that regret to be interesting. A number of women would say they want a child for the child's love for them; but she seems to see quite clearly that love from one's own children is not a guarantee. However, a mother (typically) loves her own child, no matter what.

It's hard sometimes to have the perspective when a toddler is screaming blue murder—that we don't become mothers in order to receive love, but to give love. That the child did not ask to come here, and that it has no obligations to us (as yet. The kibbud av v'eim thing kicks in later). 

The Frummies Fight Back

Social media has been having hysterics over My Unorthodox Life—and it even had a moment when it had a conversation in my family. 

I have a relative who was in Bais Yaakov of Monsey with Julia, and she didn't even realize who she was until I told her. When I read online that Julia is 50, then read elsewhere that she had attended BYM, and I knew my relative is the same age, I texted her: 

Me: Did you go to high school with a Talia Leibov? 

Relative: Yes

Me: She's Julia Haart. My Unorthodox Life

Relative: WHAT? I thought it was a chassidish girl! 

Because if she had been chassidish, like Deborah Feldman of the original Unorthodox, then there wouldn't have been so much of a backlash. We know there are more extreme forms of chassidus, and the general Jewish public couldn't really know, for sure, what her upbringing had been like (although there were some who said they knew her in the past and it wasn't the way she made it out to be). 

However, in the case of Haart, her former classmates—like my relative—can vociferously claim that she is out-and-out lying about plenty. 

I have chosen not to see the show to preserve my equilibrium, but my relative was stunned what Haart claimed. For instance, even if her parents chose not to have a tv or newspapers, Haart definitely had classmates—like my relative—who did. Her classmates's parents were professionals: doctors, lawyers, accountants, nurses, teachers, etc. Her own mother was a math teacher. Her classmates—like my relative—went to college. My relative attended the local community college, RCC, and from there to CUNY. She wasn't a rebel, "defying her culture to get an education." That was the mainstream thing to do. 

Besides for the fact that Julia decided to manipulate her observant past for ratings, I find it disturbing that any sort of caring mother would exploit her teenagers in such a manner to gain the fame that she obviously craves. She attempts to reframe this irresponsibility by claiming to be a feminist warrior, fighting for the rights of oppressed women (eye roll). Even if her children agreed, they are certainly not old enough to understand the repercussions of becoming recognizable across the world. The internet can be cruel. 

As the counterperspective is exploding over social media—since Haart was not chassidish, her former compatriots are quite familiar with the medium—a counter-counterperspective has erupted as well, saying that "this is her story," that just because everyone else has a grand time being frum that doesn't mean she didn't feel squelched. 

But the problem with that argument is that Haart does not differentiate between her home life and the frum community she was in. She watched tv in her friends houses, she met their professional parents. Her parents were baalei teshuva, and she probably remembered her previous life quite well and was very possibly less than thrilled with the life decision they made, but that has no bearing on her misstated claims of how "everyone" is.

"The outside world" she keeps referring to is not known as "the outside world" to most frummies. We interact with it freely, choosing the elements we like and passing on the elements we don't. 

The rest of the world likes to think observant Jews have no exposure to secular society, because if we did, why the hell would we be religious? Religious "nutters" like us, poor things, don't realize how good they could have it—bacon! Free love! Short shorts!—if only they knew! 

The idea that observant Jews are employed in Manhattan firms, go to the movies, and post selfies of themselves on Instagram, and are still frum is a bit confusing to them. For Haart to say, "My parents decided to become religious when I was 10 and we joined a rather pleasant middle-of-the-road community who were observant and yet still got home delivery of the New York Times": YAWN. No one's interested in a show like that. They want the freak factor. 

The reason why #myorthodoxlife is staging a loud backlash is not just because of Haart; it's because Jews have seen an uptick in antisemitic attacks, and we really don't need anymore bad publicity. It's nothing new; the majority of the world doesn't like us. But we—like every other individual—has a voice, thanks to social media. We don't have to wait politely for a newspaper to be willing to publish our point of view. Alexa Fleksher created enough of a buzz that even Netflix noticed.

But as the success of Shtisel has shown, "the outside world" is just as content with seeing how the religious roll, even if they never choose to leave. I've watched shows about all sorts of different cultures and found them fascinating. Shidduch dating? They would have a field day! 

Haart's playing it wrong, fighting against her youngest's religiosity. She should embrace it. That's what the people want to see. 

The Goofy. The Quirky. The You.

I am still working my way through Miranda, and there was a few episode arc that I loved. 

Miranda has caught the eye of a reporter, Mike. He asks her out, and on it she invariably does a Miranda—something goofy that makes her get odd looks from people. Like if someone says something that happens to be a song lyric, she has to belt out the whole song. 

Once she's finished her ballad, she waves goodbye to Mike and leaves. Because of course he won't be interested in her now. 

But he is. He comes back to her store, starry-eyed, breathing, "So quirky." 

In the next episode, Miranda still attempts to tone down her Miranda-ness because of course he won't stay interested in her. She manages until she doesn't (in front of his father), at which point he sighs in relief. He was wondering where his quirky girl had gone. 

Yes, this is television, and a sitcom at that, but I assure you, dear audience, that life is very much like this. 

For those who have been in the dating trenches, how often were you told not to be "yourself"? (Raising both my hands.) Frankly, it's too much work to suppress the real me. Yes, a good number of guys bolted in horror, but Han says I have "simchas hachayim." 

Han can be his real self with me, and I can be my real me with him. And it's fun. Because it turns out, we can both be goofy. 

Free To Be Me

I've already plowed through "My Crazy Ex-Girlfriend," although due to baby-induced sleep deprivation, I've forgotten pretty much most of it. I vaguely recall that it was highly enjoyable. 

Rebecca Bloom, the star and co-creator, came out with a memoir, and she was duly interviewed. This paragraph spoke to me. 

“I’ve never been able to be anyone but myself,” Bloom said in a video chat. “And when I’ve very vociferously attempted to not be myself — when I would come to school and be like, ‘I’ve had a makeover!’ — I’ve never been able to hide well. The conclusion I’ve come to in the past 10 years is, well, I might as well just lean hard into who I am.”

Yuuuuuuuuuup. 

In real (as opposed to the blogosphere) life, few people get me. Less than few comprehended me in school. The harder I would try to be likable, I was avoided even more. So, if the results are going to be the same, I might as well be me. 

The heilaga Brené speaks of the difference between "fitting in" and "belonging." In my view, it's still "belonging" even if you are on your own, in your own space. The price of fighting my own nature and personality was too high, and I was unwilling to pay it. 

Perhaps some thought (no, some definitely thought) that if I had been more willing to be "typical" (whatever that means) I would have married earlier, but . . . that's a negatory. Han and I aren't "atypical," we just like to abide to our own truths, like moisturizers, funky clothing, and lemon desserts (that's just a few of the things we have in common). 

As long as you are nice to others, there is nothing wrong with embracing yourself. I've become quite fond of goofy energy. 

My Dear Miranda

Is anyone here familiar with Miranda? Oh, you must watch it. It's on Hulu, and I'm finally giving it the time it so richly deserves. 

Miranda Hart, for those who need assistance, also played Chummy on Call the Midwife (she was excellent!) 

Miranda's character on her comedy is a goofy 35-year-old who tends to walk into things, the despair of her poshy-washy mother who just wants her married. In one episode, she gets a voicemail about a funeral but the message doesn't say who died. She shows up, and is relieved to see her mother is there.

Miranda: Mum? Thank goodness, I've been trying to get hold of you. Why didn't you call? 

Mum: I didn't want you here. I was going to tell everyone you're in prison—less embarrassing than having to admit you're still single. 

This is a common enough scene in Miranda, so, yes, goyim also get single-shamed. 

The joy of Miranda is that she is always completely and unapologetically herself, and even though she may drool at a passing gorgeous man, she can't even pretend to be something she isn't. If she does, her goofiness simply intensifies. 

Her private school friends cruelly call her "Queen Kong," but recent friends get her zaniness and roll with it. 

Maybe because I'm a fellow Amazon, but I find her relatable, even though her antics are definitely out of my comfort zone. 

As more time passes, I wonder why worth is so often applied to marital status. Han was telling me of a shidduch he had made when he was single, and how shadchanus was grudgingly provided quite a long time past the wedding. He felt as though if he had been married, he would have been taken more seriously. 

Maybe that's why my shidduch idea had been blown off (even though they did marry later, with a different official shadchan). 

Miranda's mother finds her ridiculous, but it seems her major concern is her singlehood. 

Sounds familiar. 

Indian Shidduchim

I don't usually binge tv. I pride myself that I don't binge tv. 

Then I binged (to the best of my mothering ability) the end of Season 3 of "Offspring" (so much suspense!). Last week I clicked on "Indian Matchmaking" (pretty lame title, I know) and plowed through 8 episodes in 2 days. 

It's supposedly a reality show, but we all know reality shows aren't really "reality." Content is carefully edited for maximum impact. Drama is often cultivated to keep things interesting. 

There also begs the question as to what sort of person wants their lives broadcasted on international screens. 

The show centers around Sima, who claims to be "the top matchmaker in Mumbai" (can that be verified?) and her travels around the world to meet various clients. 

A common complaint by Sima is how her clients expect too much, they want the perfect person that doesn't exist, that they must be more flexible and willing to compromise. Take Aparna, who is located in the US. 

Aparna, initially, doesn't come off as very likable. She's not a cheerful sort of person. Sima notes her "negative vibes." Aparna tells Sima what she's looking for, and frankly, I didn't think she was being unreasonable. She even says what she doesn't need—funny. 

Sima then sets her up with someone who barely meets her criteria—probably another way to generate some drama. No surprise, Aparna is not interested in him. 

As the show goes on, Aparna becomes less grim, more smiley, but no less specific about what she needs. Why should she be? She actually knows herself.

Then there's the India-based Akshay. He makes it quite clear that he's not interested in marriage yet, but his mother wants him wed. Akshay is obviously dragging his feet while his mother is pulling the ol' Jewish guilt about her blood pressure. 

It's kind of painful to watch Akshay in action, as he is not a natural in front of the camera. Listening to him attempt to make conversation with a girl is torturous ("So, do you like dogs?").

Then Nadia. Nadia's "issue" is that while she's ethnically Indian, her family has been living in Guyana for generations (they are now in the US). Some Indian men find that off-putting. But she's definitely who everyone (the audience) has a crush on—she's  gorgeous (those highlights!), bright, and bubbly (but definitely not flaky as she is an event planner). She's totally the opposite of Aparna. Yet Sima sets them both up with the same guy, Shekar. In fact, the same three American based candidates keep popping up. It makes you wonder how many singles Sima actually knows in the US. 

So here's the kicker: none of the people featured on the show actually ends up with a relationship. The one engagement, which is loftily proclaimed, was called off yet that detail was not included in the show (thank you Internet, for the rebuttal). 

Han was wondering why they call it "arranged marriages" when it's really not anymore. It's like us, shidduch dating, which connotes a matchmaker. Akshay had a hundred girls suggested to him, but he rejected them for nebulous reasons (because he doesn't want to get married yet! He said so!) 

It was an easy, relatable watch, but the end point is the same for us: a matchmaker is not a miracle worker. She is not an all-knowing being who can magically select one's soulmate from the mass of humanity. She flings spaghetti against the wall to see what sticks. 

So so familiar . . . 

Who Is Worthy of Love?

In a sort of continuation from my previous post, this article analyzes the rom-com's dislike of capable, professional, "demanding" women. 

Alexis Soloski eviscerates the trope, as the hero "must" be rescued from the no-nonsense fiance that he, we presume, willingly dated until the floaty girl-woman flits by. 

Soloski references Baroness Schraeder from "The Sound of Music." As a child, I knew I was supposed to dislike her, but why, really? Her wardrobe is divine, she oozes wit, intelligence, and sophistication, and is, one would think, more appropriate for the brisk, grim Captain than an unworldly former nun who is probably 20 years, at least, his junior. 

"Behind every great man is a great woman"—I can assure you those women kick keister. 

The other side of the coin is the "boring boyfriend," that is not "exciting enough" for the heroine. He's nice, but seemingly bland. I'm still recovering from the improbable ending of "Sweet Home Alabama," when Reese Witherspoon tells Patrick Dempsey at the altar that she can't marry him because she loves someone else. His response is to smile angelically and reassures her he understands. Puh-leez.  

Undergirding these characters, almost all of them created by men, is a troubling male fantasy, that the ideal woman will depend on a man almost entirely, but ask nothing from him and that women who do ask are too much trouble. Who decided that women who know what they want and ask for it are monsters and that men who don’t know and don’t ask are simps? Clichés like these efface the complications of real relationships. Sometimes we leave nice people. Sometimes nice people leave us. And maybe assertive, uptight women don’t even need a man to live happily ever after. But if they want one, they should get him.

We all know no-nonsense women that are married, as are milquetoast men. The popular girl in school was never the wide-eyed naif; it's the commandant of the classroom. She gets her man, and not by standing idly by.

Ah, Nostalgia

Han has been a little desperate for new television options, and in that desperation, he's, um, well, watching Gilmore Girls. This is what he's reduced to after finishing The Americans. 

He came to me a bit puzzled as to why Dean likes Rory. In my opinion, Alexis Bledel is as cute as a button in those early episodes, but then he answered his own question: "Oh yeah, he was taken that she was reading so intently that when something loud happened she didn't even notice." 

I burst out laughing. Even Gilmore Girls peddled the romantic clichés of every girls fantasy. "Ooooh, he loves her 'cause she reads." Golly, I can't believe I fell for that. 

Han then brought me his iPad, laughing at this scene:

  

The humor here is that Rune, who is miles out of Lorelai's league, finds Lorelai hideous. 

That probably describes a number of my bad dates in a nutshell. 

Han was particularly annoyed how the relationship between Lorelai and Rory's teacher fell apart for nebulous reasons. I reminded him that this is television, and it suited the writers to keep Lorelai single, and we all know who she was meant to end up with anyway (no spoilers from me).

There Goes That Fantasy

When I entered my teens, Ma introduced me to the next level of "literature": Regency romances. 

The authors were typically Joan Smith, Carola Dunn, Fiona Hill. Georgette Heyer here and there, but she used a lot of annoying exclamation points and was rather antisemitic.  The books were usually about a mousey girl who for some unknown reason catches the fancy of a strapping, handsome marquis (he always had a title, rarely a mere Mr.), or about a spirited young woman of striking beauty but was too anticonvention for her own good who for some unknown reason catches the fancy of a strapping, handsome marquis. 

I gobbled them up like tater tots. They were my main form of entertainment for years, until I branched out into medieval romances as well. Cough. 

In the last decade or so, I've left them behind, preferring historical novels of other topics. But I still watch the Austen adaptations with glee. 

My sister-in-law and I swap books, and she excitedly handed me "A Murder in Time" by Julie McElwain. It's about a female FBI agent who gets sucked into a vortex and ends up in Regency England. 

However, she is not familiar with Austen's work, and finds the restrictions on women to be simply ridiculous.  Seeing the era through her eyes, you do realize that she's right. The romance is gone. So while all the language of those books I once enjoyed are there, the limitations women faced, the hardscrabble existence of the other 99% of humanity that wasn't landed gentry, the misconceptions on science and medicine, has sort of removed the glow from those tales. 

It's like when I read "Longbourn" by Jo Baker, and however considerate Lizzy is depicted in "Pride and Prejudice," maids were not granted that consideration. While most women believe they would have been Emma in another life, chances are they would have had the job of scrubbing her boots for a pittance. 

When I was a teenager, "Ever After" was one of my favorite movies. Spirited girl wins heart of prince! Yay! Then I began to read Sharon Kay Penman's novels about the British monarchy, and it became quite clear that princes did not marry for love. They married for political reasons, and had mistresses for love. I think I read somewhere once that character of Danielle was actually based on a mistress of a royal Henri. Being a royal mistress was actually  a great position so had Danielle been offered that, she would have been thrilled. All those scenes of Marguerite angling to become princess is all the more laughable because she would have known that's never. Ever. Gonna. Happen. 

I can't rewatch "Ever After" again knowing that. 

There are times in life when fantasies are fun and helpful. But then you grow out of them, finding you don't need them anymore. 

But I still anthropomorphize toys. Hmm.

People Influence People

The Orville, "Lasting Impressions" 

The show, a satire/homage of Star Trek, takes place in the 2400s. Archeologists discover a time capsule from 2015, in which a cell phone is discovered. They manage to access it, and a video from the owner, Laura, pops up. 

Gordon, the ship's pilot, has been rather unsuccessful with the ladies, and finds himself drawn to Laura's video. He uses her cell phone, which is full of information (texts, videos, whatnot), to create a holographic simulation of Laura and her life. 

 

At the time of the program's opening, Laura has broken up with her long-time boyfriend, Greg. Gordon is rather taken with her, and keeps reentering the program (to the crew's worry). 

She initially tells him that she is a saleswoman at Macy's, but dreams of making it as a singer. He goes to hear her soulfully strum and croon in a bar, and, quite typically, falls in love with her. 

However, the program is operating on the details of her phone, and she gently explains to him that she has gotten back together with Greg. 

Gordon can't bear to let her go, and tells the computer to delete Greg from the program. 

However, the next time he enters the program, Laura is not the same. She briskly discusses pursuit of a promotion, and when asked about her singing, scoffs that no way could she perform in public. 

Greg was the one who encouraged her to take her singing to another level. No Greg, no Laura that Gordon fell in love with. 

Commander Grayson explains to Gordon that we are born blank slates, and we become who we are by our relationships. I still think there is a good chunk of nature involved, but it is true to some extent. 

I know I wasn't the same person at 31 as I was at 19, and in my almost two years of marriage and becoming a mother, I've probably changed some more.  

It also made me think on what sort of influence I have been on others. It's rather daunting, that responsibility.