In light of yesterday’s post I’ve been thinking about dating and some particularly Jewish dating problems. (Because it’s not like I ever think about dating without some kind of professional prompt).

Anyway, one of the things that I’ve found to be really important to me when I’m dating someone is intense privacy. I have probably had more than my fair share of secret boyfriends, and though sometimes it was because going public would have upset our families or friends, more often it was simply because we wanted to get to know each other and spend time with each other without the pressure that so often comes with dating, especially in the Jewish community, where a singleton can’t walk three steps without someone asking if they’re seeing anyone, and if they’d maybe like to meet my nephew, he’s a dentist and he went to Princeton…. I don’t know about others, but having my community constantly scrutinizing who I go out with, and how often, is demoralizing and embarrassing, and generally cancels out any romance that might have existed. It’s not that I don’t appreciate that people want to fix me up, because I really am flattered and often interested in meeting the men that are suggested. But if the date is going to have to exist within this critical mass of public scrutiny, I’m not interested.

It’s interesting, because there are places you can go—in Israel especially, though obviously this happens anywhere there’s a big Orthodox community—to watch young frum couples on shidduch dates. These dates are held exclusively in very public venues, like hotel lobbies, under the watchful eyes of other couples, and various community members. The idea is that nothing should become private until a couple is actually married. Until that point, everything should be open for conversation.

While I see how that works in the most observant communities, it’s simply unmanageable for me. I cannot focus enough on someone in a public setting like a lobby, or even a bar, to know if I want to spend more time with them. Privacy has always been such a big part of my life, and so it’s a part of my dating life, too. I have to make a small investment of privacy in someone before I decide if a bigger investment is worth my time.

I recognize that this is completely against the haredi view of dating, and perhaps even to halacha (I don’t know enough about yichud to make this call, but I suspect my preference is not halachic) but it’s the reality of the way I deal with relationships. And I think it mirrors the way I operate with God, too. I often prefer to daven alone simply because I want to have some privacy with God.

This isn’t the case with everyone, but next time you’re talking to a young single friend about how his last date went, think about taking a step back, and allowing him to process things without the community’s input. There’s a lot of time in a good relationship for engagement with community, but I wish we gave young people a little more agency when they’re making choices. It seems, ultimately, like the responsible thing to do.

In keeping with the theme of a lack of privacy inhibiting people from getting to know each other, here’s an awesome short video about lawyers, sex and consent.

Check this out. Some kids at Cornell are putting a little eco-kasher in their Shabbes, which I've always thought was a splendid idea. It's not a new idea, by any means, as Hillels and other groups have been hosting things like this for years. And, of course, lots of people are thinking along the same lines because, well, it's a vital aspect of Tikkun Olam and especially this year, the Shemitah, the year to let the land rest, there's certainly a lot of discussion about going greener.

Coalition for the Environment and Jewish Life made this cool list of conservation tips called Lo-Watt Shabbat, and while you're there, check out their list of tips for greening up several holidays.

Uh: It takes more than a green kippot to go green for Shabbes.

Sometimes, it can be overwhelming to go-green all at once, so what if we all just started with Shabbes? What things could be done to make Shabbes, specifically, more eco-friendly? Perhaps baking our own challah? I know, I know, easy for me to say. I cook. Okay, how about at least buying it locally? Right? Sure. In fact, maybe buying local/oranic produce for our Shabbes meals would be a nice thing, too. Or maybe trying out an "eco-veg" vegetarian Shabbes meal if you aren't vegetarian full-time? Add a little organic kosher wine, perhaps? That's not too difficult, right?

These recycled glasses could be a nice gift or addition to a Shabbes table. (However, although they'd have to be re-heated and such to be reshaped, I still wonder about the kashrut issues surrounding recycled glassware...? Know what I mean? The "previously used" aspect makes me want to say not kosher, the recycled part and the high-temperature part makes me want to say kosher. Discuss.) ChosenThings has a little post up about a cool idea for making a very naturey set of shabbes candleholders (might be very cute and thematic for Rosh HsShanaha or, as they suggest, Sukkot, no?) And, on the topic of candles, here is some interesting reading about selecting the healthiest Shabbes candles.

What about looking for a challah board made from a sustainable/renewable wood like bamboo? All sorts of ideas, folks, and every little bit counts. What eco-friendly things can you think of for a greener Shabbes? Hmmm?

Shabbat Shalom.

This morning I was reading an article in the New York Times about women who don’t like dating men who make much less money than they do because it makes for an awkward--or at the very least unromantic--dynamic. The article ends with the following little date anecdote:
So....: How do you keep kosher?

Unyi Agba, 27, an advertising executive with a small firm in Boston, almost always dates professional men, but when she goes out with someone earning less money, there is tension. “This is a topic that’s traveled in my own female circles a lot in the last year,” she said. Across a restaurant table with a man who earns less, “it’s never explicitly said, but there are nuances,” she said. “Things are said like, ‘Boy I’m going to be really broke after this dinner.’ "
And her response?
“Silence.”

Full story

I was thinking about this because in my dating life it’s generally not the income that’s an issue so much as the particular level of religiosity or observance. The awkward silences that happen on my dates aren’t because of financial discrepancies, they’ll be because he’ll say something like, “I’m so excited to go to the Titans game on Saturday morning,” and I’ll have nothing add, since I’m going to spending Saturday morning at shul.

This is something that doesn’t get discussed much, but that is a real and frustrating issue for most singles I know. The pressure is on to find a Nice Jewish Partner, and everyone acts like it’s as easy as joining JDate, but the truth is that even a Nice Jewish Boy from the Upper West Side might not be a good match for me if he’s particularly invested in going to a lot of Big Ten football games, or even if he just hates ever going to synagogue. And a superfrum black hat guy from Monsey probably wouldn’t be happy with me and my jeans and non shomer-negiah lifestyle.

People like to downplay this as an issue, but the more time I spend in the dating circuit the more I notice how tough it is, especially for people who really are engaged with Jewish life in any substantial way, to find someone who even approaches their level of observancy. And honestly if you find someone who you really like but who doesn’t jive with the standards you’ve set for yourself, I don’t know of any resources or groups you can join to help figure out how to deal with that situation, even though it can be as challenging for you and your partner as it would be if one of you wasn’t Jewish. I’d say it even has potential to be more problematic than dating a non-Jew, because I think a lot of times in those situations the non-Jewish person doesn’t feel like they could be being judged or ridiculed for not participating in a ritual or joining an organization. As a goy, they’re exempt. But if I was dating a Jewish guy and he saw that I was keeping Shabbat, and wouldn’t eat meat in non kosher restaurants, he would be justified in being annoyed that I’m ruining his plans for crazy nights at the bars downtown, or forcing him to change reservations so we don’t eat at a steak house. I mean, he's Jewish and he's not staying in. And I would be justified in being annoyed that he doesn’t want to come to shul with me.

I don’t know what the solution to this is, other than only dating people whose religious lives are already really similar to yours, and I know that in any relationship there are going to be some discrepancies between how observant the two parties are and are willing to become. I’m just saying, no one ever talks about how hard it can be¬--even when you’re only dating Jews—to find someone who is really on the same spiritual and religious plane as you are. I’ve dated nonJews and never missed Shacharit, and I’ve dated Jews and had them convince me to come with them to a bar on Shabbat and they would just pay for my drinks. I’m not saying either of those were good relationships to begin with, I just think that if we’re going to push Jewish dating so hard we should have some contingency plans for couples that don’t belong to the same movement.

A friend and fellow blogger (I realize I have no shame linking to her like that) has decided it's time to find Mr. Menschy Right and over numerous gmail chat sessions, we have been digging through dating sites and profiles and such and found some things you might have overlooked. I can't say I can personally vouch for any of these, but let's assume that by my listing them I have not personally heard anyone say a date from any of these sites resulted in calling the cops, getting matched with a relative or otherwise grossed-out and a couple of these sites even resulted in some hot bashert-y action for a few people I know.

Shabbat Shalommmm!: Got plans Friday night?

1.Frumster. You've probably heard of it. Maybe you've been intimidated to use it because you don't call yourself frum? Puhleeze. It's not all frum, give it a whirl.

 2. Jewish Quality Singles. So what if only three people I know heard of this site prior to my asking about it? There were some decent-looking menschy types on the pages I clicked around on, so ya nevah know.

3. A Jewish Dating Site. So what if the first couple you see when you click over is dressed in circa-1985 finery? Old is new, bitches. 80s revival is in for autumn '07.

4. Jewish Singles Cafe. Yeah the page banner looks like a Sweet & Low advertisement. Big deal. Saccharin schmaccharin!

5. Jewish Matchmaker. Eh, it's free. Give a little try. 

6. Jmerica. Okay, slight bias here. I am sort of kind of BFFs with (and rumored to be related to) the or one of the masterminds behind this one. But, I can at least vouch for it's non-suckitude in that way, eh? Eh?

7. Saw You At Sinai. Well, with a catchy little name like that, what's bad? Look for their cute "You had me a Shalom" bookmarks at all the MOT get-togethers. Or I'll give you one sometime. I have like eight, for reals.  

8. J Singles. What giant smiles on the front page! Look how happy those two are! They are so peas and carrots. 

9. J Love. So you meet the love of your life on a website that sounds like a funk band. Big deal.  

10. Jewish Friend Finder. Something about this title reminds me of how little old ladies introduce same-sex couples when they're trying really, really hard to be cool. "Esther, this is my grandson and is... uh, friend.." with "friend" all in air-quotes. (Speaking of oddly-used quotes, this is a great blog sent unto me today. Hilar squared.)

11. Executive Jewish Dating. Hey, if that's your bag, you might as wel.

12. J Soul Mate. Nice website, friendly-looking people, eh, why not? (I'm not positive you can be terribly successful if you are anything other than straight here, fyi.)

13. J Retro Match. I enjoy the retro trivia.

14. Someone Jewish. Find, schmooze, meet. 

15. Let My People Go. The title alone should get you clicking. 

16. Sephardic Date. The bears on the site creep me out, but otherwise, yeah, seems swell. 

17. Craigslist RSS. Here's what you do. Go into your group (m4w, w4m, m4m, w4w, whatever), set your age range and then scroll down after you do the search and there is an RSS feed option. What the fuck does that mean? It means you'll get any new ads that fit your criteria in the form of an update in your RSS reader (bloglines, etc.). Not too shabby.

18. Koolanoo.  Seems to be one of those sites people either really like or really don't like, but it's a site, it's social and it's Jewy. 

On Saturday I was at shul and I invited this family over for Friday night dinner. The first thing the father said when I invited them was, “I think people should invite you over.”

What the fuck am I supposed to say that? I think that way, too, but if people don’t invite me I’m not going to sit at home alone feeling sorry for myself. And then the same guy asks if I have enough room at my place for his whole family, and after I told him that I had 34 people at my house for dinner the night before, that I have a two bedroom apartment to myself, he says “You need a guy.” At first I thought he said, “You need a car,” which was really confusing, but as soon as I realized what he did actually say I was irritated.

First of all, I don’t NEED a guy, and I don’t see how my inviting a family over for dinner would in any way solicit that remark, but anyway, if I had a guy it’s not like he would be living in the guest bedroom. Not to put too fine a point on it, but if I was dating someone he’d be staying in my bed.

The whole thing got me thinking again about how poorly most communities (especially smaller communities) deal with single people. For some reason singles are often overlookedNone of Your Business: now, what's for dinner? for Shabbat invitations (I have actually had someone tell me she didn’t want the mix of people to be unbalanced by one single person at the table) and even though being single doesn’t say anything about one’s personality or interests, there are constantly these ridiculous and embarrassingly lame events planned for single people, as if somehow by single we’re united under some kind of banner.

Though I can’t say I would be opposed to being in a relationship right now, it’s hardly the top item on my To Do list, and honestly the most compelling reason to start dating someone these days is just to get the rest of the community to lay off for a while. I’m not interested in Jdating, nor do I want to go on a blind date with your nephew Jonah who’s in dental school. I’m BUSY.

So today’s practical spiritual advice is to first invite the singles that you know over more, and second to stop bugging them about their love life. Do they ask about how much sex you’re having with your partner? If not, then you don’t get to ask if they’re dating someone, and if not, why not.

They May Look Harmless: But these Bok Choy can kill me.Someone is punishing me for my skeptical attitude toward Urban Zen. By someone, I guess I mean God, in the way my mother says “God is punishing you” when I trip after making fun of someone, or rip my pants after ridiculing the tightness of someone else’s.

I was famished when lunch arrived on our table during the break yesterday. A dashing waiter came bearing a beautiful wooden tray stacked with bowls of “living” food—the kind of stuff rich, enlightened, skinny fashionistas are served at every meal. The people at my table—three yoga teachers, an internist, two nurse practitioners and an administrator at the American Cancer Society—snapped them up immediately.

I reached for my bowl with hesitancy, because I have to be extremely careful about what I eat outside my own kitchen. I have severe food allergies to seafood and pine nuts; they make my throat swell and cause what I will refer to delicately as “gastrointestinal distress.”

I knew I didn’t have to worry about seafood. “Living food” is vegan. (I hope!) I unwrapped my chopsticks and started poking around in the little bowl. Beautifully wilted bright green bok choy and dark grey pieces of eggplant lay on top of a bed of black grains, which seemed wild-rice-ish. No pine nuts in sight, seemed safe. I dug in.

“I’m surprised there’s eggplant in here,” I say, trying to make conversation, because I want to kill myself with anxiety when stuck in a silent group of strangers, “It’s a nightshade, right? I thought macrobiotic people didn’t eat it.” I looked around for a response but my tablemates ignored the comment and continued eating. Oh-kay. I am a dork.

I take a bite, avoiding the eggplant as I know some people get a scratchy throat from eggplant that isn’t cooked properly and I don’t want to mistake a scratchy throat for an on-the-verge-of-closing throat as I am not holding any Xanax. The bok choy is all right but it isn’t all that. Everyone is talking about how “incredibly delicious” and “refreshing” the food at this conference has been, how they wish someone would post the recipes on the website. The food reminds me of those little plastic containers of seaweedy mystery you find under the water bottles in a health food store, but I am done commenting on it. I eat a few bites and pass my near-full bowl to a waiter, who looks at me as if I were throwing away a little bowl of gold.

As we work through our lunch—brainstorming strategies for improving the experience of dying in America’s hospitals—I feel myself growing spacier and spacier. My writing is getting messy. Is it hot in here? My forehead is beading sweat.

I know what is coming. The back of my throat is swelling; my epiglottis is irritated too, so enlarged that if I were to breathe in deep and quick you could hear it flutter. I eat a few grapes to try to clear out the bitter taste of histamine from my mouth, test my swallowing reflex.
Michael Beckwith: The fox from The Secret was there. In real life. But even he couldn't save me from myself.
Michael Bernard Beckwith—the handsome African American guy with dreads from The Secret video—is leading a meditation.

He intones, “So that which is eternally going on becomes the object of our awareness…”

The object of my awareness right now is that I might go into anaphylactic shock and barf in front of Donna Karan, Christy Turlington, and Uma Thurman’s dad.

“The realm of everything good is revealing itself through this panel, this conference, this gathering…”

But not through this lunch!

I open my eyes to locate the nearest bathroom. It is located right off the main meeting room, and were I to retch inside it, everyone would hear me. No question embarrasses me more than “Are you OK?” when I am sick, so falling apart in front of this crowd is not an option. Though if I were to fall apart, now would be the time to do it, while they’re all on planet meditation.

“Allow us to become more and never less than our true self…”

I am about to be one lunch less than myself if I don’t get out of here…

I gather up my huge bag and coat and weave through the legs surrounding our table, saying, “Bye! Thank you! I have to run!” Until this moment I haven’t noticed that I’ve essentially lost my voice due to throat swelling. What if I leave and asphyxiate on the fringes of the far West Village? No one will discover me for at least an hour—the conference is scheduled to run until 3 p.m!

Walking outside, the fresh air helps for a second. I run toward the nearest Starbucks, which is two blocks away. Outside, three weird guys yell at me, “Save your receipt for a two dollar Metrocard!” What?

I pray for no line. There’s a line. There’s a woman with a massive wheelie suitcase who has obviously popped in to do her post-flight grooming. Think of something undisgusting. Vanilla ice cream. Disgusting! What if someone asks me if I’m OK? Morning sickness, that’s a good answer. But then they’ll ask when the baby is due. How depressing. If I ever come back to this Starbucks I’ll have to come up with a miscarriage story.Starbucks Bathroom: Worth my $4.50 any day of the week.

Come on, lady. I consider throwing up in my coat. I could turn away from the baristas and just hide my face in the black wool, wrap the whole mess up, and toss it neatly into the dumpster outside. But I really like this coat. Once, after a similar anaphylactic experience which, coincidentally, also occurred in the West Village, I threw up into my favorite shawl and tossed it out the window on the West Side Highway. The cab driver didn’t even notice.

Mercifully, the post-flight girl is finished rather quickly. Her makeup looks good. I run inside and no matter how hard I push I can’t get the spring-loaded door closed quickly enough. I do so in just enough time to rid myself of a gallon of black mess—caponata!—and feel better instantly. I splash water on my face, put my sunglasses on, and crash into another Urban Zen participant as I career out of the bathroom. She looks at me sympathetically. Probably thinks I’m bulimic.

I run out of the Starbucks and the weird guys yell, “Didja save your receipt? We’ve got your Metrocard!”

“I didn’t buy anything!” I scream at them in my underwater swollen Disney villain voice. They are frightened of me.

Bounding toward the Christopher Street station I pop into another Starbucks and repeat the experience. For goodness sake, I only ate one bite!

OK, God, I promise to be more openhearted when it comes to Zen fashionistas. I’ve learned my lesson.

But tomorrow I’m going on a purifying fast.