Showing posts with label first date. Show all posts
Showing posts with label first date. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

The Curse Of The Shidduch Stalker


The clock neared eleven, and Mordy and Elaine were among the handful of customers remaining at the small coffee shop. An employee went about the empty tables flipping chairs up while another churned his mop in a bucket of murky water in the first’s wake.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Elaine said.

Incredulous, Mordy asked, “What do you mean you’ve never heard of the Shidduch Stalker?”

“Is this one of those dating blog things? I don’t read those,” she rolled her eyes. “They’re full of such shtus. And you should see the comments,” her chin jutted forward as she extended her neck and her mouth gaped slightly. “Talk about loshon hara!” She reeled her head in and shook it back and forth in disapproval.

Mordy dismissed her remarks with a waggle of his hand. “No, this is real. My friend’s chevrusa, who knew the guy it happened to, told him all about it.”

Elaine raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Uhuh, sure. So it’s one of those stories.”

Mordy rested his forearm on the table and leaned forward. “What’s that supposed to mean? ‘One of those stories’?” he injected an extra measure of sarcasm into his voice to surpass Elaine’s.

“You know, one of the made up stories guys tell girls on dates to impress them.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Mordy recoiled, presented both palms outward. “Are you accusing me,” he flicked both thumbs back toward himself, “Of trying to impress you?” Elaine giggled. “Chas V’Shalom! I’d never be so gaiva-dig.”

“Mmhmm,” she murmured and rolled her eyes again.

“Anyway, so the story goes that about 50 years ago, there was a boy from the city who heard about this amazing girl, really a ten out of ten, gorgeous, with wealthy parents who were willing to support them forever, with yichus all the way back to Moshe Rabbeinu-”

Elained pointed a finger at him, “Now I know you’re lying. No one’s ever been able to trace their yichus back to Moshe Rabbeinu,” she retorted disparagingly.

“B’li neder, this is the absolute emes,” he pressed both hands to his chest. “No sheker here!”

Elaine sighed playfully. “I’ll be the judge of that.” She spun her hand in a little vertical circle, “Nu, go on.”

“So yeah, this boy heard about this amazing, fantastic, beautiful girl. The absolute best of the best. And seeing how he was the top bochur at his yeshiva, he knew he’d have the best shot at marrying her. He knew anyways it was meant to be because he had just gotten a bracha from the Rosh Yeshiva for hatzlacha in shidduchim that very day.”

“This sounds too good to be true,” Elaine crossed her arms.

Mordy fixed a disapproving look at his date. “Weren’t you the one who just told me to ‘go on’?” She made a quick zipper motion across her lips with her index finger and thumb held together. “Thank you,” he nodded in mock appreciation.

“So, he went through all the right channels, their parents met and arranged everything, and it looked like everything was set all the way to the chuppah, even before their first date.” He flung his index finger up, hunched over and looked back and forth. “Then it happened…”

Elaine craned her head to the side, “Then what happened?”

Mordy straightened up in his seat and thumped the tabletop lightly with his hand. “If you’d let me finish and quit interrupting, maybe I could tell you,” he flashed a wry grin.

“Sorry!” she retracted her neck inward like a turtle, lifted her shoulders land offered an appeasing smile. 
“Please continue.”

He took a moment to clear his throat and sip gingerly from the straw in his drink. “The shadchan had it all worked out. Everyone knew this was it, and they all eagerly awaited the happy couple’s return from their first, and most likely, only date with news of their engagement. Alas, it was not meant to be…”

Elaine gasped.

“On the way home from their date, they were walking down the sidewalk, so engrossed in their conversation, their stares glued to each other’s face, that they didn’t notice the late night construction crew closing up shop .”

Elaine trembled, chewing at the tips of her perfectly manicured fingernails.

“As they happily strolled along, oblivious to their surroundings, the boy smacked right into a construction worker! He quickly turned to check on his date, and she was gone!”

“Gone?” Elaine squeaked with fright.

“Gone,” Mordy snapped his fingers. “Like that.” Elaine’s breathing became rapid. “While her beloved almost-chosson had smashed into the burly worker, she stepped right into an open manhole!”

“That’s horrible!” Elaine squealed, tears welling in her eyes. “Did they rescue her?”

“Of course that was the first thing on his mind. The boy frantically told the construction guys what happened and they sent two men down there wearing those helmets with flashlights on the front to search for her. After an hour, they came back and said they saw no sign of anyone in the sewers. They thought she might have hit her head and gotten washed away, so they called up their buddies at the processing plant to check.”

“I can’t imagine how she must have felt, all that icky stuff in her hair…” Elaine absentmindedly stroked at a lock next to her ear.

“Ahem,” Mordy furrowed his forehead at her.

“Oh, sorry!” She blinked a few times “So what happened in the end?” Dread crept back into her voice.

“They never found her,” he paused to let that sink in. “It was like she had vanished into thin air, like she had never existed in the first place.”

Elaine dabbed at the corner of her eye with a tissue she extracted from her purse. “That poor boy!” She sniffed “Whatever happened to him?”

“He was totally heartbroken. Utterly miserable. Completely torn up inside,” Mordy tilted his head to the side. “You gotta understand, this was his bashert we’re talking about. His one chance at true love had gone down the drain…” Mordy stopped midsentence, narrowed his eyes in confusion, then refocused his gaze, “...literally,” he smiled at his unintended clever turn of phrase.

Elaine snuffled into her tissue. “What’d he do with his life?”

“Some say he gave up on getting married and dedicated his life to becoming a Kabbalist somewhere in Israel,” Mordy glanced upward for a moment. “Others say he was driven mad because of his grief,” he looked into Elaine’s eyes which were widened with fear. “And now he roams the streets late at night, plodding along in a crazed stupor, still looking for his lost love. He stalks young couples who are out on shidduch dates… and they say if someone happens to bump into him they’ll never been seen again!”

Suddenly, every light in the room shut off, engulfing them in blackness. Elaine screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Sorry!” A voice called out in the darkness. The lights clicked back on, and a lone employee stood by the switch on the wall by the exit. “I thought all the customers had gone home already.”

“It’s okay, we were just about to leave,” Mordy glanced over at Elaine, who was hyperventilating and clawing at the collar of her shirt as though it were trying to strangle her. “Shall we?” He offered. Elaine nodded jerkily and began to rise.

A cool autumn breeze blew past as the door closed behind them. Elaine shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her torso to ward off the chill.

The remaining employee’s keys jingled in the door lock. “Goodnight, stay safe!” He waved to them and disappeared around the corner. Mordy and Elaine walked onward together in silence for a few minutes.

“So,” Elaine began furtively. “That whole Curse of the Shidduch Stalker isn’t really real, right?”

“What do you mean?” He asked in neutral tone.

“It’s just a story. It never happened,” her voice trembled.

“You can think that if you want to, but I’m pretty sure it’s true. I trust my friend’s chevrusa, he’s a pretty honest guy,” he replied, completely indifferent to Elaine’s mounting distress.

“Uhuh…” she nodded, rattled by her date’s total lack of reassurance.

A sudden crash from a nearby alley made Elaine jump. They came to a stop by a group of fading, white construction barriers. The blinking orange lights had burnt out on two of them.

Mordy glanced at the alley and smirked. “Oh, that’s probably some homeless cat knocking over a trashcan. It just wants some dinner,” he declared.

“I want to get back to my apartment as soon as possible. Where everything is safe,” she pursed her lips and hugged herself.

From the darkness of the alleyway a gravelly voice shouted, “Where is she?!”

“What was that?” Mordy whipped his head around to locate the source of the indignant question.

“Where is she?!” the mysterious voice repeated.

“Mordy, you’re going to get us killed! That’s probably the Shidduch Stalker!” Elaine’s face was a mixture of anger and terror. “Why’d you have to tell me that stupid story!?” She demanded, almost hysterical.

A hunched over form appeared out of the gloom. It shuffled along, holding its hands outward, crooked fingers splayed as though grasping for something.

Elaine’s breath caught in her throat, stifling the scream that had been building up.

The figure angled its head to focus on them. “Do you know where she is? Where did she go?”

“Look mister, this isn’t funny. We don’t have any change to spare. Leave us alone,” Mordy responded, doing his best to sound brave.

The figure hobbled into a circle of light cast by a lamppost, revealing an old man. His remaining grey hair was frazzled, poking out in all directions. An unkempt beard coated his slackened jaw. The scraggly facial hair Contained bits of food and a streak of foamy saliva dripped down at the corner of his mouth. His eyes appeared dazed, and his left eye was yellowish, cloudy and unfocused. An old, well-worn suit practically hung off his gaunt frame, and a tattered, dusty yarmulke was perched on his wrinkled, partially bald head.

You know where she is!” The old man pointed a kinked index finger with a lengthy, uncut fingernail at 
Mordy. “Tell me. Where did she go?”

Mordy began to tremble and fought himself to prevent Elaine from noticing his panic. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, mister. Have a good night, we’re going,” a twinge of stutter broke its way into his words.

“No, no,” the elderly man shook his head. “ You know. Tell me,“ he took several steps toward them, stopping only a foot away. “Where. Is. She?” He enunciated each word with what seemed like malice.

Elaine started backing away from Mordy, who stood his ground shakily. She bumped into the group of temporary barriers set up around an open manhole.

“I-I told you. I have n-no idea who you’re talking about. P-please!” Mordy held his hands up in appeal.

“You know! Tell me!” The old man snarled and lunged at Mordy. Elaine shrieked and took off running, knocking over one of the white construction barriers to the pavement with a clatter.

Before Mordy knew it, his shirt was ripped, his glasses flung from his face, his cheek was bleeding, and he found himself thrown onto the street, sitting down while leaning back and supported by his elbows. The old man crouched over him, struggling to get to his feet in preparation to strike again. The orange blinking light from a maintenance barrier flashed eerily in the elderly man’s eyes like flames.

Mordy quickly backpedalled on his palms while kicking his feet in front of him, trying to put some distance between himself and his attacker. His hand slipped in a puddle and he fell backward, knocking his head hard against a fire hydrant.

Blackness swallowed his vision and he knew no more.

~~~

Mordy awoke in a hospital bed several hours later. A crew of city workers returned from their routine coffee break and discovered him unconscious in a puddle, blood smeared down his face and onto his shirt. The foreman called emergency services, and they were able to stop the bleeding and get him to the hospital where a doctor bandaged his cheek and stitched up the gash on the back of his scalp. Despite a clear scan, his doctor decided to keep him overnight for observation, just in case any unexpected effects from his head injury became problematic.

Judah, Mordy’s friend from yeshiva dropped by to visit him after morning seder.

“So you told her the Shidduch Stalker story, huh?” Judah tossed the months-old Sports Illustrated magazine onto the bedside nightstand.

“I didn’t see any harm in it,” Mordy fluffed the covers on his bed. “I was hoping it’d impress her, you know,” he added, utterly despondent.

Judah stretched out his legs and crossed his feet at the ankles. “And she hasn’t called or texted back since last night?”

Mordy checked his phone for the umpteenth time. “Nope. I’ve left her three voicemails and about a dozen text messages. The Shadchan just texted me and said that she wasn’t interested in a second date and I should move on.”

Judah nodded sympathetically and drew in a relaxing breath.

“No one is going to go out with me after this story gets out,” Mordy pouted. “Even if they don’t believe the whole Shidduch Stalker thing, they’re gonna say I’m not safe to be around or something.”

Judah raised his eyebrows and scrunched his mouth to one side in thought. After a moment he looked over at Mordy out of the corner of his eyes, “Unless someone proved the Shidduch Stalker was real.”

Mordy practically leapt from his bed, “What in the world are you talking about? Why would I want to meet up with that murderous geezer again?!”

“Who said you would? I think it might even be fun.”

The heart monitor started beeping faster as Mordy grew more upset, “Are you nuts?!”

Judah held out a hand to placate his friend. “Look, you only got into trouble because I told you the story in the first place. I didn’t think it was true at the time. My chevrusa Shimmy is such a jokester anyways, so I was always suspicious about his cousin who mysteriously ‘disappeared’ after a date.”

Mordy threw his hands up in frustration, “Now you tell me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he patted the railing on Mordy’s bed. “I’ve got a date tonight anyway. I’ll figure this out.”

“Just watch your back,” Mordy leaned back into his pillow and stared at the ceiling. “And don’t blame me if she turns you down for a second date.”

~~~

Judah stole a peek at his watch. It was a quarter to eleven and everything was on schedule. He watched another couple clean up their table and slip out the front door. His date was finishing a story about her neighbor’s cat getting stuck in a tree and how it was rescued by a fireman.

“You know, you only think those kinds of things happen in movies, and yet it really happened to your neighbor across the street,” he observed Avigayil as she finished up her coffee.

“It’s funny, right? Funny as in odd,” she clarified with a smile.

Judah had been planning how he was going to introduce the story of the Shidduch Stalker, but Avigayil started speaking again before he could open his mouth.

“So, you heard about what happened last night?” She lowered her voice and looked around the room as though conveying a secret, “With that guy and girl who got attacked during their date?”

Judah raised an eyebrow and smiled inwardly. “You mean the so-called ‘Shidduch Stalker?’” He mimed quotations in the air.

“Turns out the best friend of the girl in the story is a big-time shidduch blogger, and she told her all about it. The post said the guy was a total coward and she had to run for her life because he more scared than she was.”

Judah chewed his lower lip, biting back a defense of Mordy and chose to feign ignorance instead. “You don’t really think they got attacked by the man from that story, do you?”

“Hey,” she raised both hands in a shrug, “I only know what I read. It seemed pretty authentic to me.”

Tsshh,” Judah enunciated in disbelief.Not everything on the internet, let alone shidduchim blogs, is even remotely true.” Judah turned as someone gently tapped him on the shoulder.

“I hate to interrupt your date, but we’re closing up for the night,” an employee informed them with a polite smile.

“Thanks for the notice,” Judah replied. “Ready to go home?” Avigayil nodded and started gathering her trash together for disposal.

They left the cafĂ© alongside the remaining employee and started walking toward the nearby lot where Judah had parked the car. He had deliberately chosen a lot that was in the exact path Mordy and his date had traveled the night before when the so-called “Shidduch Stalker” appeared and confronted them.

Avigayil talked on about another blog she read regularly, while Judah listened and offered an occasional verbal acknowledgement to prove he was following her narrative. His main attention was focused on scanning the darkened alleys as they passed by for unusual signs of movement or anything else out of the ordinary. Up ahead, he noticed a section of the street that had its upper layer of asphalt torn up and was surrounded by beaten up white barriers with blinking orange lights. A steamroller and an asphalt distributor truck were parked off to the side, unoccupied for the time being.

“-then my cousin sent me this other blog I hadn’t heard of before, but this one was written by a guy, and…” she trailed off and looked over her shoulder. “Did you see that?”

Judah felt a tension mounting in his gut, “See what?”

“Something just scampered from behind the steamroller into the alley over there,” she indicated with a nod.

Judah took a few steps closer and peered down the dark, narrow passageway. “I don’t see anything.”

Avigayil yelped as something metallic clanged behind her. Judah spun on his heel toward his date. An unkempt, elderly man wearing a well-worn suit stepped out from behind the asphalt truck, holding a trashcan lid and a soup ladle. He banged the ladle on the metal cover and flashed a malevolent smile, showing off his missing or otherwise yellowed and crooked teeth.

“Where is she?” He asked through clenched teeth.

Judah moved in front of Avigayil, who gratefully stood behind him and peered over his shoulder. “Where is who? What do you want?”

The old man fixed his one clouded eye on Judah and gestured with the ladle, “You know where she is, so tell me.”

Judah couldn’t believe this was actually happening, and he started reaching for his cell phone to call the cops. “Let’s just take it easy now, no need to, uh, whack anyone with that thing.” As soon as the phone cleared his front pocket, the old man lashed out and smacked him on the wrist with the ladle. His phone spun off into the recessed area where the asphalt had been removed. Its screen glowed white from the dark crevice.

 “Do you have your phone one you?” Judah asked Avigayil, keeping his eyes facing forward in case the elderly assailant made another move to strike.

Avigayil patted the pockets on her skirt. “Darn, I left it back in my apartment,” she sounded disappointed. “If I could only have videoed this for one of those blogs!”

“I think we need to worry a little bit more about making sure the story the bloggers write isn’t about a dead couple than documenting this guy to confirm he’s real,” Judah said, an edge of annoyance creeping into his voice.

“Where iiiiiiis she?!” The old man practically sang, waving the ladle back and forth in the air. “Tell me!” He poked Judah in the chest with the serving implement then backed away tentatively.

Judah took a deep breath, trying to maintain some semblance of calm. “Avigayil, I think we’re going to need to bolt in a minute before this gets any more violent. I’ll count to three and you take off running toward the busy intersection to flag down a cop or something.”

“And just what are you going to do?”

“Distract him so you can get away,” Judah sounded confident.

“I appreciate your offer of thrilling heroics, but I’d rather not leave you to be spooned to death.”

Judah glanced over his shoulder at her, “That’s very sweet of you.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She smiled.

Their bonding moment was interrupted as the old man bellowed, “Tell me where she is!!!” and started charging toward Judah, ladle raised high above his head.

“Oh, Fer cryin’ out loud! That’s the second time this week!” A gruff, male voice shouted, the sound echoing off the buildings to either side. Judah and Avigayil whirled around and saw a heavyset man in a stained grey jumpsuit wearing a hard hat with an attached flashlight come running up the street with two similarly dressed men in tow.

“Jimmy,” the rotund man said to his younger coworker on the right, “Go call the home and tell them he’s out again and needs to be picked up.”

The old man froze like a wilderness creature staring into the headlights of an oncoming car.

“Hey, Gramps, gets away from those two kids. Your ride is on the way,” he jerked a thumb to indicate 
Judah and Avigayil should get behind him.

Judah’s eyebrows knotted in confusion. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Just hold your horses a minute until they gets here, then I can tells ya all about it,” the worker waved his question away.

While they waited, the head worker introduced himself as Sal and his co-workers as Jimmy and Tom. Judah also had time to sneak over to the hole in the street and retrieve his phone. The old man was like a statue, appearing as though he wasn't even breathing.

A few minutes later, a dark van pulled up and two muscular men in white coats piled out along with a short middle-aged woman wearing glasses and her hair up in a tight bun.

“I’m dreadfully sorry about all this, especially since this is the second occurrence this week,” she gushed an apology as she trundled over to them. Behind her, the men tussled with the elderly fellow and managed to disarm him of his makeshift weapons.

Sal scratched the back of his neck, “Youz really need to beef up your security, miss-”

“That’s doctor, thank you,” she shot back curtly.

“Whatever. I can’t have this guy interrupting our work over here every other night. The city manager is gonna dock our pay if we don’t get this job finished.”

The doctor, who carried herself with an air of authority, scribbled a few things on the clipboard she had previously held tucked under her arm. “I realize your predicament, and we will do our utmost to resolve this situation.”

“Thanks,” he hooked his thumbs into his belt and stretched his shoulders.

Judah and Avigayil watched the exchange in silence. “So, uh, anyone care to explain why we were attacked by an old man with a ladle?”

“Oh, did he hurt you?” The doctor looked alarmed and held a hand to her chest.

“No, just knocked my phone out of my hand,” Judah showed her the still-functioning device.

“Thank goodness, I’d hate to have a lawsuit on our hands.”

“Sparky over there,” Sal motioned with a thumb, “keeps breaking out of the old folks’ home three blocks that way,” he pointed past them, “And goes roamin’ the streets at night, causin’ mischief.”

Avigayil regarded the doctor with concern. “Isn’t that dangerous? How does he escape, anyway?”

“He, uh,” she cleared her throat into a fist. “He has a knack for deceiving his caretaker, who gets replaced every so often since he is simply so difficult to deal with, into not taking his medication. He disposes of it in some convenient location such as a nearby potted plant.”

“And he goes a little wacko whenever he ain’t on his meds,” Sal interrupted, spinning his finger next to his temple and whistling. The doctor shooed him away with her clipboard.

“So who’s this woman he keeps talking about?” Judah asked.

“What woman?” The doctor seemed surprised.

“He kept asking us where “she” is,” Avigayil added.

“Oh my, what a misunderstanding!” She glanced over at the old man, who was presently being secured in a straightjacket by her two beefy assistants. “I think he was referring to Shia, his wealthy nephew who finances his stay with us. The man has no children and never married, as far as we are aware. His nephew placed him in our care well over a decade ago and rarely visits. I imagine he’s wondering aloud why his nephew left him at our home.”

Judah nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Well, now that everything is taken care of, I bid you all a good night,” the doctor announced with finality. She signaled her assistants and they began moving the old man toward the open side door of the van.

“Hotcha!” he cried and slipped out of their grasp, bounding over to Judah and Avigayil. When he reached them, he suddenly stood ramrod straight, inclined his head toward Judah’s ear, and said in a low whisper, “I will find her, you know. Tee hee!” He cackled as one of the brawny men clamped down on his shoulder with a meaty fist. Judah stiffened, his eyes wide.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever grandpa, it’s time for a ride in the nice van over there,” the assistant grumbled. His partner joined him and grabbed the old man’s other arm with both hands. They hauled him bodily down the street toward their vehicle.

“All right youz guys, back to work!” Sal told his team and waddled over to the steamroller.

As the van started up with a sputter and drove away, Avigayil looked askance at Judah. He remained stock-still with a blank look on his face.

“You okay? What’d the creepy guy say?”

He snapped out of his reverie, blinked a few times and shook his head. “Oh, uh, just some incoherent babble. Let’s get you back to your apartment,” he began walking.

Avigayil sidled up beside him, practically bouncing from the adrenaline flowing through her bloodstream. “I can’t wait to write about this for my own blog! Just imagine, a firsthand account of the infamous Shidduch Stalker,” she said with pride.

Judah rolled his eyes and shuddered.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Shidduchim? There's An App For That!

Imagine if all it took to get a date would be opening an app on your phone, checking to see which guys/girls were available in the nearby vicinity, a few quick texts/first phone call, and you're off!

Apparently, this is a new thing that's catching on in the secular world. Check out this NY Times article called "With an App, Your Next Date Could Be Just Around the Corner."

Sounds interesting, right?

Of course, there are some potential issues which the article, and the makers of these apps, try to address, such as personal safety when you're meeting up with someone you've had next-to-no contact with. Users of the app seem to think highly of it, though they have some difficulty attempting to move past a mental/societal stigma that this sort of thing is geared toward hook-ups and one night stands.

They say the services allow them to skip the more elaborate mating rituals of standard online dating, which seems to move glacially in an era of text messaging and social networking.
“It can take a month to actually meet up with someone that you’re messaging online,” Ms. Wang said. Mobile services allow for a “quicker jump from virtual meetings to actually meeting.”
In my time as a shadchan, and as a dater, I know that it can take a long time to "officially" set up a date, and there is indeed a rush, because people frankly have limited time to devote to dating, especially in the fast-paced existence that we live in.

So is this sort of thing the way of the future for Jewish Orthodox dating, perhaps in more Modern/YU circles?

I tend to think we won't adopt this technology in the immediate future, particularly with our culture's obsession with resumes, fact finding, and research. Granted, everyone should try to find out something about the person who has been suggested to them, because no one wants to end up going out with a psycho who either wastes their time or puts them in danger of some sort.

However, I can see this catching on eventually, especially if it becomes more standard in secular society. We adapted the online dating model with J-Date and Future Simchas, then customized it further to be in-line with our shidduch values system with Saw You at Sinai and YU Connects - so if near-instant app dating becomes an accepted norm, I think it could happen.

Sure, you may say: "You're certifiably crazy Shades of Grey! Who in their right mind would try this or even find someone they would want to date or marry using an app that locates the nearest available singles of the opposite gender?"

I'll answer that question/exclamation with a story of my friend, who randomly met his wife while going on Yeshiva University's Torah Tours for Simchas Torah a few years ago, back when non-YU/Stern students could participate. In order to save time/gas, the CJF people running Torah Tours asked all the volunteers to coordinate rides with one another so that they could meet up and get to their communities together. My friend, along with another mutual friend, were told to pick up a girl who was assigned to their group and give her a ride to their destination. Of course, they gladly obliged - and she in fact lived one block over from his parents apartment.

I'm sure you can see where this is going. Over the course of Yom Tov they hit it off, began dating, and are now happily married with a young daughter. Too good to be true? They grew up within one block of one another and never encountered each other before! To make things spookier, upon showing his wife some old videos of us all hanging out together in Israel while we were in yeshiva, his not-yet-wife walked through the frame of one shot. Yes, they were in the exact same place, within 10-15 feet of one another and never even exchanged glances. Now they're married.

Yes, yes, you can tell me this is one more example of those crazy hashgacha pratis stories we all know and love (or hate), but hey, it happened! Imagine if we could input our own hishtadlus by making those nearby, but currently unnoticed connections sooner? Ultimately, how it works out will be in the hands of HaShem anyway, but why not "help" in anyway we can, k'v'yachol? Chazal tell us that even HaShem finds making shidduchim as hard as it was to split the Reed Sea when our ancestors left Mitzrayim, so why shouldn't we find every means of putting in our own effort?

For those who are scared of the idea of going on a date without sufficient research being conducted beforehand, I have a few ideas.

1) The dates necessarily won't be as instantaneous , but let's give a short window of opportunity, say an 1-2 hours, for the interested person, should he/she desire, to make a phone call or two.

2) If the system catches on, and we can create a network of references who "approve" the person, all you would have to do is check the list of registered references and see if there was anyone you know. The dater would have had to contact the person, invite them, we'll say, when they set up their mini-profile, and that individual has to reply and potentially be available for contact. Instead of having a few references, you could end up having a very long list - each categorized differently based on their personal connection to the dater - and odds are, you'll know someone on it, given how Jewish Geography works, especially if both of the daters live in close proximity.

3) For anyone who still wants a shadchan available - and ASoG and I have seen fewer people actually use us at all as intermediaries - those people could also be attached to the profile, "on call" as it were, for post-date follow ups and anything else that may need to be communicated, even a 1 and done reply.

I'll admit, the idea isn't perfect and would certainly require further thought and planning before YU Connects makes an app of their own like this. But with the increasingly fast-paced, time-crunched daily schedules we all deal with, perhaps this could be a new tool to be used in the never-ending quest to match up all the singles out there.

Monday, May 23, 2011

YU Don’t Connect #3 – Remind Me, How Does This Telephone Thing Work?

Welcome back to our ongoing feature of how to improve your YUConnects and Saw You at Sinai dating experience, which I have titled:

Y U Don't Connect - OR - How Not To Be Seen At Sinai.

Please be sure to check out the first and second posts.

Today’s post covers two aspects of an issue that plagues both shadchanim and daters: Lack of courtesy in establishing/maintaining contact by phone.

Part 1:

On occasion, ASoG and I have been fortunate enough to achieve a mutual match, wherein both the guy and girl have checked out the other party’s profile and decided to accept the suggestion. Once the second person clicks the accept button, YUConnects/Saw You at Sinai sends out an automated email containing both numbers, along with the message that the guy should make contact within a short period of time.

It seems simply right? Wrong.

ASoG and I simply don’t understand why guys tend to drag their heels like crazy when it comes to making that first call. Granted, a first phone call is nerve-wracking, but it really shouldn’t be more than a “Hello, how are you? When are you available to go out? I have a few ideas of what we could do, please let me know what you’d prefer.” Scheduling the first phone call can be practically annoying as well, because it is rather silly to call the girl up and ask, “Hello, when will you be free to talk about our first date?” Or the cringe-worthy opener, “Hello, this is so-and-so, is now a good time?"

A much less complicated approach, which I used when I was dating, is to just text the girl and say “Hi, it’s Ploni Almoni from YUConnects. Could you please let me know when/what time would be good to call you to discuss the first date?”

For some reason however, this doesn’t get done so readily. We get calls or emails from girls asking what’s going on, it’s been several days to a week since the phone numbers were sent out and they haven’t heard a peep from Mr. Phone-a-phobe. In our effort to be as helpful as possible, we contact the guy and ask him what the deal is. Every single time we’ve received some lame excuse that in no way vindicates his lack of courtesy in leaving the girl hanging.

By the time we’ve basically yelled at the guy (not quite, though we are quite firm in giving him a bit of mussar), the girl has begun to lose interest because the guy is clearly not quite the mentsch-type if he can’t think about the girl’s feelings while he goes about his business ignoring her. While most times the guy will call right after we hang up, apologize profusely, and things go forward from there, there have been instances where he continued to dilly-dally and the girl got a better offer and dropped him, much to his (self inflicted) disappointment.

Lesson #1 – Guys should ALWAYS call/text the girl ASAP after a mutual match is approved. It really doesn’t take much effort to send a text inquiring her availability for a phone call. Without this first step, no one’s going to connect to anybody since they’ve forced an awkward non-starter.

Point 2:

As soon as we find out that we have a soon-to-be dating couple, we make sure to reach out to each party and let them know we’re there to help in any way we can, including being their go-between for the first few dates, or fielding any questions and responding to issues that may arise as dating goes on.

Many times, no one even responds to this friendly email, so the couple goes out some random number of times and ends the shidduch without telling us anything. We end up emailing them to find out what the deal was, or we try contacting them while they are dating to check up on them and still get no response.

This sort of situation has also led to some awkward and hastily concluded matches because one of the two parties suddenly gets antsy after the first, second, or third date, wants to end the shidduch, but can’t bring him/herself to do so.

Now, I firmly believe this is why the shadchanim are there and why they should be involved in the first few dates. Once a relationship has been established, at say 4-5 dates, then the couple should be comfortable enough to discuss things amongst themselves (following the State of the Union Address), and using an intermediary to decide if there is a next date (or not) is entirely unnecessary. The problem is that people think that this method is archaic, too “frum,” stupid, or whatever, and overestimate their abilities to give a face-to-face or over-the-phone direct rejection.

In this case, the culprits are almost equally divided between male and female. A concerned dater emails/calls to update us on how things are going, and he/she usually say something along the lines of, “I had a great date (or two) with X, there was good conversation, the attraction’s there, and I’m excited for our next date. But, he/she hasn’t been responding to my calls/texts and I’ve already left several voicemails that were unanswered.”

The attention required here from our end is usually more direct, so we (usually me) call the MIA dater and politely ask how things are going. The usual response is that things have been pretty good, but he/she has decided that the other person really isn’t for him/her. We’ll often have a bit of a chat about what bothers them and if their decision is definite, which it almost always is, and then I question why they haven’t been in contact with the other person. Then I hear him/her waffling on the other side of the line, only to come up with some lame excuse that they were sick, had phone trouble, out of town, or busy with work/school.

Were they honestly so busy that they couldn’t send a text or make a brief call to update the other person? And if they honestly didn’t want to continue, why let the other person sit there for days (or weeks) thinking that things were going well, only to decide to drop the bomb on them later? Of course, that job is one that we usually have to do because they’ve suddenly lost their nerve.

I’m a big advocate for using the shadchanim/connectors as go betweens for the first few dates. ASoG and I can’t force anyone to work with us as intermediaries, which is why we offer but don’t demand to be involved. However, if you as a dater decide you don’t need us, be consistent in your bevahior and courteous enough to let the other person know if you have decided to end the relationship. DO NOT drop off the face of the Earth because you’ve suddenly become a super hero by the name of Captain Awkward and need to spend your time avoiding your date. It isn’t right, it isn’t nice, and it certainly won’t help you develop any people skills as you become a more experienced dater.

Lesson #2: Once a shidduch has begun, guys AND girls should never leave the other person in the dark without contact for any extended period of time. Send that text, make that call, or better yet, use your shadchanim from the start like you’re supposed to.

Communication is key. If you can’t learn to effectively communicate now, then you’re in for some real trouble after the chuppah. If all the singles out there would simply learn to be a little more respectful and courteous of their fellow daters, the shidduch world would be a better place.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Made To Order

Rivky had a long, detailed list. However, her multi-page “manifesto” as her dating mentor jokingly called it, was nothing compared to the extensive set of possibilities displayed on the computer screen in front of her. She had always wanted her prince charming to be tall, dark, and handsome, but this newest “shadchan” wanted to know her preference for shade of hair and eye color, specific height (down to quarter-inch intervals), shoulder width, nose size, ear spread, even pitch of speaking voice. Rivky was happy to note the option for a splendid singing voice, which she eagerly checked off. Her circle of friends was always talking about hoping for husbands who would lead beautiful zemiros at their future Shabbos tables, and she agreed that she needed this as one of her must-have, top priorities.

There were simply so many particular details to browse through! Rivky wasn’t an indecisive person, but she had to admit she was a little overwhelmed with all the decisions she had to make on the seemingly endless range of specifics being presented to her. There was much to consider aside from physical attributes and looks. She could specify if she wanted a kollelnik or working boy, his level of learning proficiency, what sort of secular education background he possessed, personal attitudes, hashkafa, mood tendencies, food and music preferences, and even what style of shoe he liked to wear!

Rivky knew that she wanted a husband who was a learner and an earner, but not the type of guy who just learned daf yomi for 45 minutes a day after davening. He needed to be a real masmid with a good learning head on his shoulders who could give the daf yomi shiur because he already knew shas almost ba’al peh. Her future husband would also be adept at his career and able to properly support his growing family in a comfortable, but not too extravagant fashion. He had to be sensitive, loving, giving, and willing to do anything for her because she was going to be his queen, presiding over his household in grandeur. Rivky already imagined the meals she would cook, perhaps with some hired help, in her magnificently decorated and supplied kitchen, served in her luxurious grand dining room, with all their beautiful, well-behaved children arranged around their table.

Despite having her “work” cut out for her, Rivky remained undaunted in the task at hand. This was going to be it, her absolutely perfect shidduch! No more pointless outings to hotel lobbies and long, aimless walks in the park, or taking hours to make herself up to please an ungrateful, unkempt, ill-mannered brute date after date. By this time next year, she will have settled into blissful married life with the beloved soul mate she always dreamed of.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rivky noticed another figure across the office at another computer station who was deeply involved in the same procedure she was tackling. Totally engrossed in her decision making, Rivky paid the young man no mind as he intensely went about his own check list examination.

Benjy was having the time of his life. Going through all the options, leaving no stone unturned in fulfilling all of his desires for an ezer k’negdo was more fun than any date he’d ever been on. No more worrying about pressing shadchanim to find out what dress size the girl was, how much she weighed, how tall she was, getting a picture, or what her mother and grandmother looked like. He was thrilled to find out he could even decide exactly what look and body type his shidduch would be.

Benjy wanted someone smart, but not too smart, who would be a good housekeeper, and could cook a delicious meal any day of the week, especially on Shabbos. She needed to be outgoing, helpful, sweet, and supportive, not to mention downright gorgeous. He envisioned a wife he could show off walking down the street and would also produce cute kids for his parents to shep nachas, while still staying in great shape after each pregnancy.

Taking a break from his constant mouse-clicking, Benjy began to daydream. He’d never have to get all dressed up, making sure his clothing was freshly dry cleaned, shave regularly, or fake being all gentlemanly ever again. His wife would love everything about him, even the “manly” things that his previous dates had found undesirable or repulsive. She’d fulfill every one of his desires, and thank him every day for choosing her to be his wife as she served him a freshly prepared, steaming hot dinner upon his arrival home each evening.

His future life partner would never demand every moment of his time, and always let him watch the game as well as hang out with his buddies whenever he wanted. She’d never make him do stuff he didn’t enjoy, like go shopping, clean the bathroom, or mow the lawn. Benjy just knew that his wife would make sure the house was spick and span every day, keep the kids quiet and in-line, and pick up his socks whenever he left them lying on the floor wherever he felt like tossing them after a hard day at the office.

More than anything, Benjy looked forward to his wife’s ageless, smooth-skinned, well-toned, beautiful appearance that would always make his heart flutter, no matter how old she became.

Rivky and Benjy had independently read about Dr. Otto von Schnitzelpusskrankengescheitmeier’s shidduchim services in their local Jewish newspaper. It was hard to believe that “Dr. Otto” could really deliver on his promise to provide the absolute perfect shidduch after only nine months of intensive research and cultivation, but his customer references and rabbinical haskamos spoke for themselves. True, he cost a pretty penny, but when Rivky considered that people had already been practically auctioning off the best bochurim for decades, and Benjy made a rough computation of how much he’d already spent on years of dating, both thought this was an investment worth their money. Just thinking about a guarantee to the end of their dating woes made each of them beyond excited.

But, Dr. Otto was no typical shadchan. Some might hesitate to even call him a real matchmaker of any sort. Dr. Otto was, by formal training, a bio-engineer of the highest caliber with multiple doctorates from the most prestigious universities across the world. After several decades of failing to strike it big in the medical industry where government bans on human cloning had stymied his research, Dr. Otto sought to fulfill a different need for his genius intellect and prowess in genetic manipulation. After just a few short years of privately funded experimentation he had solicited from a few fabulously wealthy entrepreneurs with single, aging children, Dr. Otto perfected his art. For the right price, he could manufacture a picture-perfect spouse in his advanced laboratory, the only one of its kind in the entire world.

Collecting, modifying and combining the specified genes took several weeks, while gestation in his patented artificial womb lasted for a few months, with the remaining time utilized to accelerate the growth process to the predetermined age and flash educate the “work in progress” to the customer’s requested intelligence/career level. At the scheduled due date, which was always approximately nine months after an order was placed, the impeccably customized shidduch candidate was decanted, double-checked against the electronic profile order, suitably dressed, then presented to the customer.

On average, it only took about four to five dates with his creation for a marriage proposal to occur. A reputable 99.8% of the ensuing unions were harmonious and without fault, much to Dr. Otto’s delight. The remaining 0.2% that ended in divorce or separation were due to unforeseen imperfections in the product, which was promptly recalled, recycled for parts and replaced within the year. Dr. Otto was known for never leaving any customer unsatisfied. He couldn’t stand for allowing anything less than perfect to leave his laboratory.

Rivky finished her shidduch qualification survey, submitted her results and waved to the secretary as she left the office. Moments later, Benjy concluded re-checking the last item on the list, saved his answers, and grabbed his hat and jacket off the coat rack as he headed out the door.

Nine months flew by. Although Rivky sometimes felt the days crawl ever so slowly, the sheer agony of counting off weeks on the calendar was counterbalanced by the light at the end of the tunnel that she would finally have her perfect chosson.

She soon found herself sitting across from “Shlomo” in a darkened hotel lounge. As she absentmindedly stirred her diet Coke, her towering, built up excitement began to dissipate, like the ice that was melting in her glass.

“I like long walks in the park and the latest Jewish music hits. What about you?” The rakishly handsome made-to-order young man implored.

“Well, I actually like those things too.”

“Perfect!” Shlomo practically clapped his hands together with enthusiasm. “For our next date, we’ll go on a walk in Central Park, where I will regale you with my encyclopedic knowledge of the Talmud Bavli and Yerushalmi, followed by a trip to the local Judaica store to preview the latest CD releases.” He leaned forward and made an excited face “It’ll be a hoot!”

Rivky stopped herself before she began her next reply and began to consider just what was going on. After all that time spent checking off those little boxes on the computer screen, all the patient waiting, and after all that money… Rivky had to admit Shlomo was probably the biggest dud she’d ever gone out with. Something just wasn’t right about him, despite being absolutely perfect in every way that she had imagined. True, Shlomo was far better mannered, courteous, and certainly better looking than anyone Rivky had dated in the past, but she was beginning to think that he was nothing more than her list brought to life; a bunch of details given form in the flesh, but just as flat and uninteresting as the paper it was printed on.

As she sat there thinking, Shlomo adjusted his posture to be even more ramrod straight, held his hands clasped in his lap, and continued beaming the absolute goofiest grin in Rivky’s direction. Rivky half-smiled back unenthusiastically, which was her usual given sign for indicating that the date should be over, but Shlomo either didn’t notice, or had no clue what she was trying to communicate.

Nearby, Benjy was struggling with his own date as well.

“So, like, I looove cooking and cleaning. Nothing makes me happier than, like, making sure that my man is toootally comfy and taken care of.”

“That sounds great, Orli,” Benjy stifled a yawn with his hand. Leaning his head backward, Benjy finished the remainder of his drink in one gulp. He siged and roughly set the now-empty glass back on the wooden table with an overly audible clink.

“Oh, and I’ve gotta say that my favorite thing is ‘kicking it back’ with a cold beer and watching the game! Seeing those big, strong men smack into each other, throw the ball, hit a home run, then score a three pointer from downtown is just so interesting!” She flashed her blindingly white, perfectly straight teeth, which matched well with her flawlessly beautiful face.

“Uh… right,” he groaned. The idea of his wife throwing back a beer with the boys during the Jets game didn’t seem like so much fun to Benjy. He began to realize that he didn’t have much to say to “Orli.” She simply chirped back that she loved everything he did and would do anything he ever asked. Granted, she was smoking hot, but he felt like he was talking to a parakeet whenever they exchanged words. He never thought he’d ever choose personality over looks, but Orli’s gorgeous appearance hid a startlingly empty interior. To Benjy, it simply didn’t feel like he was talking to another person. He knew being married to the woman who fulfilled his entire list to the T was going to be great, but he at least wanted another human being to share a home with, not a zombified-robot-thing.

Shlomo was just not taking her hints seriously, and Rivky had no idea what to do. She had glanced at her watch several times, to which Shlomo asked if her watch was broken and offered to buy her a new one. She cleared her throat noisily and Shlomo produced lozenges from a coat pocket, suggesting she take one or two. She even tried her rudest tactic and began filing her nails right there at the table, very clearly ignoring anything further that Shlomo had to say. He definitely noticed she was distracted, but instead of realizing what she was conveying and ask if she wanted him to take her home, he began giving her tips for maintaining healthy cuticles.

Wishing she was somewhere else, someone nearby caught Rivky’s eye. It was that boy who was in Dr. Otto’s office with her nine months ago when she ordered Shlomo’s… creation. She guessed he was also on his first date with his own dream shidduch, and it even looked like it wasn’t quite working out for him, either. She had no clue who he was or what he was like, but their mutual interest in trying out Dr. Otto must have meant something.

Glancing past Orli, Benjy recognized the girl from that fateful day in Dr. Otto’s office. Surprisingly, she seemed to be staring intently in his direction, like she thought he was cute, or something. Meeting her gaze, he raised an eyebrow and stealthily inclined his head toward the exit, giving a subtle expression of invitation. In reply, she raised both eyebrows, smiled faintly, and carefully nodded twice.

“If you’ll please excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room,” Rivky pushed her chair away from the table and started walking toward the door.

“But Rivky, the restroom is over there,” Shlomo said in his know-it-all voice, raising an arm to point the other way.

“I’m going out to have a smoke,” Benjy declared, abruptly standing up.

“I thought you said you never touched a cigarette?” Orli asked, quite puzzled.

“Yeah, well… um... See you later,” he casually announced over his shoulder, without looking back, while at the same time picking up the pace of his stride.

Benjy exited the lounge moments after Rivky, who was eagerly awaiting his arrival. She smiled up at him and he returned the first genuine grin he had displayed all night. Both released an exasperated sigh, happy to be away from their automaton-like dates.

“I’m Benjy,” he said after a moment of awkward silence.

“Rivky,” she offered, shyly looked down and softly kicked at the carpet. Benjy didn’t pick up the conversation, and after such a horrid night, Rivky was feeling kind of bold. “So, there’s a kosher Chinese restaurant a few blocks away…” She gestured to her right. “I happen to love Chinese food. It’s my absolute favorite…” She looked up and stared into his eyes. “Would you like to go out to dinner?”

“Actually, I hate Chinese food,” Benjy replied bluntly. “But there is a dairy Italian cafĂ© two blocks over there,” he pointed in the opposite direction.

“I’m lactose-intolerant,” she admitted, somewhat embarrassed to confess such things to a total stranger. Rivky paused, taking a moment to think things over. After tonight’s disaster, she figured she may as well take a leap of faith. “But, I can probably order the fish or something.”

“Sounds good to me. Shall we?” He gestured with a wave, and they started walking down the sidewalk in unison.

Meanwhile, inside the hotel lounge…

“Hi! I’m Shlomo. How are you this fine evening?” Shlomo plunked himself down in Benjy’s empty seat.

Baruch HaShem!” She squealed with glee. “My name is Orli.”

Monday, July 5, 2010

"But The Silence Was Unbroken, And The Stillness Gave No Token"

Bonus points to whoever can tell me where the title of this post comes from without Googling it.

I think one of the most dreaded moments on any date - especially a first or second date - is the moment of awkward silence when conversation grinds to a halt for one reason or another.

The question to ponder is: do these bits of silence mean anything negative?

I’m not referring to the prolonged silence that lasts for minutes upon minutes with both people squirming and wishing to be elsewhere. Rather, the occasional pause where you just can’t find any words to bring forth into the conversation.

I’ve read/heard very different perspectives on exactly what these quiet moments mean. The general consensus is that sitting there dumbfounded is not the best thing to happen. A more yeshivish dating advice book that I was perusing recently basically said to avoid silence at all costs, and that quiet spells indicate DOOM (yes, all upper-cased).

I’m not so sure I can agree with that. From my own experience, it seems that there are quiet times where discussion fades off and that occurrence is totally natural and normal. Such silences are not necessarily harbingers of death (for the relationship that is).

But then again, sometimes they are.

I was once on a date where these pauses arose a few times toward the end of the evening, first at the very end of our meal, and then slightly more extensively when I was walking my date back to her apartment. I reported back to the shadchan that I was a little concerned that she might not be interested in another date. The reason this idea even arose in my mind was based on two previous experiences where such little moments of silence appeared during a date (in one case a second date, and the other at the conclusion of a first date) wherein the girl ended things in an abrupt fashion immediately thereafter. I had seemingly developed a sense of paranoia for these bits of quietude. However, even in spite of those two short-lived shidduchim, my fears were for naught, and I was granted another date.

In retrospect, I’m surprised at myself for losing sight of the fact that short, quiet moments are not inherently bad.

I once was going out with someone who was quiet in the extreme. Almost every outing made me feel like I was having a one-sided conversation. The typical short periods of silence were rather extended, very much akin to the real ill-natured, awkward silences that indicate a lack of connection. I was initially frightened by this, also taking it as a sign of disinterest, but the shadchan assured me this was just her nature. I grew to understand that the shadchan was indeed correct. The person I was going out with was simply a very thoughtful, intelligent person who took time to measure her words carefully and very rarely said anything that was half-processed or simply thrown out to continue the conversation.

I learned that moments of silence can be quite natural and not disconcerting one Shabbos morning when I was walking to shul with my father. Coincidentally, this happened to occur during a school break that interrupted the aforementioned “silent type” girl I was going out with. Of course, my father and I chat a good bit whenever I’m back in town, and when we’re walking to shul for shacharis, is a time when we can have some father-son bonding time. The cool morning air, sunlight shining everywhere, and birds flitting to and fro chirping from the nearby trees creates a peaceful atmosphere conducive to conversation.

As we walked along, I realized that our dialogue was beginning to peter off, and momentarily worried about the silence that would follow. When we actually ceased talking and simply continued walking side-by-side, I realized that this quietness wasn’t really awkward at all. I was perfectly fine simply enjoying being in the presence of my father and observing all the flora and fauna around us. I simply took a deep breath of fresh morning air and released all the built up tension I had been expecting.

I knew then that the same thing applies to dating. Not every minute has to be filled with words, especially if you have to spout meaningless dribble to maintain an ongoing conversation. When the break was over and I went back to my shidduch, the quiet spans no longer bothered me as much, and sometimes not at all. Granted, this girl was definitely far less talkative than pretty much any other person I went out with, but learning this lesson during a more “extreme” case of recurring moments of silence certainly helped later on with other dates. After that point, I began to appreciate the bits of quiet that cropped up here and there during time spent on shidduchim.

Even in marriage, you won’t be talking constantly, and it is a pleasure to simply enjoy the other person’s presence, knowing that he/she is there beside you. There is a sense of comfort and belonging knowing that you can be with that other person and not need to continually throw out conversation starters merely for the sake of preventing gaps without any talking. If you can be at ease with a person in these moments, and learn to properly appreciate them, especially as the relationship develops (and excusing the few awkward ones at the start of a courtship) I think you’re on the road to discovering how well you really enjoy merely being with that person.

That is definitely a necessity for marriage – since interesting and engaging conversation isn’t going to happen all the time in real life anyway.

So I vote that we should welcome bits of silence, quash feelings of awkwardness, and see if we can appreciate the feeling of being accompanied by someone we can, and should care about. That unspoken emotional connection is very important.

May we all find that special individual for whom silent moments are not a burden but a pleasure!

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

The Way To A Woman's Heart: A Response

Reading coralcap's recent post "The Way to a Man's Heart" really got me thinking. I figure it is worthwhile write a complementary post and thereby address some of the guys' issues that have emerged from overly ambitious or unrealistic male expectations from dating/first dates. I have read lots of blogs about the jerk-ified behavior of many guys out there, so my intent is to put them in their place (to be blunt), or at least open their eyes to their foibles that give guys in general a bad name. So for all the good guys out there that don't act out in these repugnant fashions, read the post anyway to you can further remove the possibility of behaving in a way that shames yourself and your fellow men.

1) Put yourself in the right frame of mind. Just because the the fact remains that shidduchim are a market unfairly balanced in favor of guys does not mean that you're G-d's gift to women and can act in such a fashion or treat them in any way that suggests you're doing your date a favor by taking her out. You're not as amazing as your ego says you are, and it's time to develop a proper sense of humility. You've been given a chance to go out with a woman who might be your wife, treat her with the respect she deserves and lose the cocksure attitude, it's unattractive at best, repulsive at worst.

2) Speak to her in warm, friendly tone. She's your date, not your chevrusa or football buddy. The fact that she's female should mean that you switch to an entirely different way of expressing yourself, which includes being polite, respectful, using proper grammar, and similar to #1 not make her feel like you're giving her tzedaka by going on a date with her. You want to be friends with your wife, so you better try to cultivate an atmosphere of friendliness and connection. Your tone of voice is a good starting point. Haughtiness is a big no-no, and I would be most surprised if any serious, intelligent woman out there thinks anyone who sits there spouting lines and stories that clearly demonstrate he's full of himself will want a second or third date.

3) Be courteous. This means holding the door for your date, making sure that she is comfortable at your dating location, and periodically checking on how calling the girl is doing (if you're having an activity date, see if she's hungry, thirsty, or would like to use the restroom). Also, never be late or don't call her if you get delayed or something comes up that makes your arrival later than expected. Acting as a proper gentleman and dutifully caring for your date, regardless of where the shidduch ends up, is proper protocol. None of this "well, if she sees me as the typical guy that I am and can stand that, she must be a keeper." Real men act like gentlemen, not brutes who only think of themselves.

4) Knock it off with the boastful tales of your antics. Seriously, dudes. Your buddies may appreciate your vainglory tales of doing "guy things" and causing unwanted mischief, but girls quite probably don't. If anything, such immature revelations about yourself will make her think you're not quite grown up enough to be a functional husband and father. One or two stories from your youth (IE 13 or younger) can be cute, because that's what little boys do. Talking about childish accomplishments, pranks, etc that you have devised and carried out when you're anywhere near the age of dating does not cast a positive light on your ability to be a serious and loving partner and head of a household. That doesn't mean you shouldn't been humorous or tell jokes (in fact girls like it when you can make them smile and laugh), but having a sense of humor and laughing uncontrollably at your own stories that involve scatological references are apples and oranges, my friend.

5) Show interest. It doesn't matter if you don't think the shidduch isn't going to go anywhere. There is no reason why you need to emotionally and psychologically disengage from the conversation and interaction with your date. Leave the brooding and decision making until after you get home. Your date put in a lot of effort, probably a lot more than you did for this outing, and she deserves some positive expression of emotion that you're happy to be there. Don't mislead her by being overly enthusiastic when you're not feeling that way, but you should not give off a negative vibe while on a date.

6) Make eye contact. Guys' eyes have a tendency to wander around to places women don't want them staring at. She is a human being and deserves your full attention on her face. You can learn a lot from the way she emotes, and there is a lot more depth to those expressions than can be gathered just from hearing the words coming out of her mouth as your stare at her chest (or elsewhere) and wonder about dress sizes and other insignificant things. Even if you aren't engaging in perverted thoughts, your date rightfully deserves your full attention to demonstrate that you are properly following the conversation and find her a worthwhile companion for this date. Even if you think she's not attractive, worry about that later and don't let on that you don't think she's hot or whatever.

7) Body language is important. Don't slouch. Don't sit there with your legs spread out like you were hanging out with the guys drinking a beer and watching the game. Be relaxed, not uptight, but don't get overly comfortable that it indicates you really don't care about the date. How you arrange your posture shouldn't give the impression that the comfy-ness of your sitting position is more important than properly interacting with your date by making eye contact, etc. You need to physically demonstrate attentiveness aside from looking in her general direction.

8) Be thankful. Your date isn't "doing you a favor" by going out with you, and you certainly don't deserve any particular girl's attention or affection. Showing off an attitude that expresses your thoughts that you have a list of other girls you could have gone out with, so this girl isn't so important, is very, very insensitive and wrong. Even if you actually have such a list of candidates, your focus and gratitude needs to be on the here and now: She is the only woman in the world that matters. Make your judgment call about continuing the date after it's over and you've dropped her off at her house/apartment. No matter what happens, thank her for the opportunity to go out with her, it can never hurt.

9) Reciprocate Feelings. Some guys tend to be dunderheads and unaware of subtle (or not so subtle) female emotional expressions. In turn, they might revel in the fact that a girl likes them, or be scared out of their wits at the prospect of someone liking who they are. In either situation, be more observant of hints and respond accordingly. There is no reason to go overboard, nor should guys clam up like a box turtle and pretend nothing is going on. Being at ease and responding measure-for-measure is a surefire way to allow a relationship to progress where both the guy and girl are developing feelings on the same page without one having to "keep up" with the other. Having feelings for a person of the opposite gender can be intimidating, but you shouldn't let them be. Relax, turn off any preconceived notions or that macho male autopilot mode (where emotional expression is wimpy, or downright unmanly), and respond to your date, especially as you continue going out.

I tried to stay as close to coralcap's original format as I could, modifying where I thought necessary. So what do the guy's for whom this was an eye-opening experience think? Do my fellow "nice guys" agree and have anything to add? What about the gals - am I on target?

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Do I Have Something On My Teeth? Uh... Yes? I Mean, No...

Welcome to our second installment of "Awkward Daring Moments."

Girls take significant time and expend a lot of effort to make themselves look good for dates. Makeup is always a significant component (or almost always, from my experience) of their pre-date preparation, because they understandably want to appear attractive for their suitor. However, not everything always goes as planned.

Case in point: one thing I have not really figured out in 2+ years of dating is what I should do if my date has lipstick smudged on her teeth. I know it's rude to point it out blatantly, but I also know that she must feel awful after coming back from a night on the town, looking in a mirror, and discovering to her personal horror that her upper incisors were pink the entire evening.

I've even had one date who called me out on not saying anything to her and was fairly indignant about it. Mind you, we had been going out for a few months, so I guess there was already a pre-established level of comfort that made her feel fine telling me not to let such a gaff slide by again.

Another date was clearly aware of the lipstick conundrum, and attempted to clean her teeth without me noticing on more than one occasion (including when I used the restroom), and only succeeded in changing spread and pattern of the mis-located makeup.

Recent interviews I conducted with several female relatives yielded two answers, depending on the length of time the couple has been seeing one another.

1) If this makeup mishap occurs on a first date or one of the early dates, the guy should neither say nor do anything to indicate that there is anything amiss. It's much worse to critique or point out the girl's colored smile than to not say anything at all.

As an added caveat, I was told that if the guy notices that the girl is aware of her problem and attempting to correct it, he should gracefully excuse himself to the restroom so that she can discreetly wipe her teeth clean in his absence.

2) If the couple have been going out for some extended period of time, it is seemingly the guy's obligation to carefully inform his date of her colored teeth and let her resolve the issue.

I've still yet to directly address such an occurrence while on a date. Even after hearing my relatives' advice, I still don't think I feel so comfortable shining a spotlight on my date's unintentional makeup blunder. It just seems like it's not worth embarrassing her on the spot with me, the guy she's trying to impress, right in front of her. On the flip side, If I don't say anything at all, perhaps she'll think that I never even noticed. Or she might think that being the dumb male that I am, I don't really know the difference in the first place (I imagine this could be true for some guys).

The only parallel example from the male direction that I can think of (that is exclusively male, since anyone can have stuff stuck in their teeth) is the pants zipper caught in "down mode." I would say that more than 90% of the time nothing beyond the interior lip of the zipper area is visible, which is the same color as the pants anyway. It's only the mere fact that the zipper is "disengaged" that can be irksome, I guess, since thankfully there is no real exposure worth being embarrassed about.

For the record, I do think the two are really apples and oranges. If a guy doesn't notice his date's lipstick smeared teeth, then perhaps he hasn't been looking her in the face as he should have while on the date. In contrast, I can't think of any logical explanation to the benefit of the doubt for women-folk who notice that their suitor's "barn door" is open...

Thoughts, ladies and gentlemen?

Thursday, April 22, 2010

The Intervention

Yankel was nervous. He had no clue why he received a summons to appear in the Rosh Yeshiva’s office that afternoon. It was the start of his second zman since returning from two years in Israel, and he’d been the model bochur ever since he arrived at the yeshiva’s doorstep. He never came late to davening or seder, was respectful toward his shiur rebbe, got along great with his chevrusas and roommates, and even liked the food served in the cafeteria. He couldn’t think of any particular offense he had committed that would warrant a confrontation with the intimidating man who ran the place.

Ignoring the growing sense of uneasiness in his belly, Yankel kissed the mezuzah on the doorframe, walked into the waiting area, and sat down. The secretary, Mrs. Borgerkrantz, a woman in her sixties wearing a youthful looking sheitel that did not match her age, gave him a disinterested look and went back to awkwardly typing at her computer with her index fingers.

Yankel reached into his pocket and fumbled with the now-crumpled paper that his morning seder chevrusa gave him earlier that day. Straightening it as best as he could, he reread the scrawled writing for the umpteenth time, “Yankel Feigelstone, please report to HaRav Gezunterman Shlita’s office at 4 PM.” Yankel loosened his collar a bit, wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, all the while keeping his eyes fixated on the crinkled sheet of loose-leaf.

After a few minutes, the secretary glanced in Yankel’s direction, sighed tersely, and picked up the phone on her desk. She punched in the Rosh Yeshiva’s code and waited for the connection to go through.

“Yes, HaRav Gezunterman, Shlita?” She warbled in a sweet old-lady voice. “The Feigelstone boy is here for his meeting. All right, I’ll send him right in,” she hung up the phone and snapped her fingers to wake Yankel from his stupor. He lifted his head, a concerned look on his face. “The Rosh Yeshiva will see you now,” she snapped, all niceness drained from her expression. Yankel hopped up from his seat, dropping the note, and quickly stooped to pick it up. He jammed it back into his pocket and hurriedly walked past the secretary’s desk into the nearby office.

“Please, have a seat. And close the door behind you, if you don’t mind.” The Rosh Yeshiva sat in his large, heavily padded, black leather chair. He was angled away from the door, and the seat’s high back blocked Yankel from seeing anything other than Rav Gezunterman’s left hand on the armrest. Yankel quickly complied and anxiously took his place in the only other chair in the room, which was understandably not nearly as nice as the Rosh Yeshiva’s, but still of a higher quality than those found in the beis medrish.

“Do you have any idea why I asked you to see me?” Rav Gezunterman’s deep voice asked, still facing the window.

“I-I-I’m really not s-sure… I thought I had b-been doing pretty good in my learning and-”

“You were seen in town last night…” The leather chair squeaked as it turned around on its swivel base. “With a… girl,” Rav Gezunterman’s intense eyes peered over his thick glasses, which were perched on the end of his large nose.

“I c-can explain that. I’ve already been here for one z-zman, so my f-freezer period is over… isn’t it?” Yankel swallowed timidly. His mouth had gone dry the moment he entered the office, and the action strained his throat.

“Well, yes, that is true,” Rav Gezunterman stared off into space and stroked his long, grey-white beard.

“A-and we were in a public place, n-no yichud issues, a-and we were sitting more than an arm-lengths apart.”

“That’s right, that’s what I was told, but-”

“But what?” Yankel immediately regretted the outburst. “I-I-I’m so s-sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt the Rosh Yeshiva, Shlita…” he trailed off, looked down and twiddled his thumbs.

“From the report I received, it seems like you weren’t having such a great time. Is that true?” Rav Gezunterman leaned forward slightly, pursed his lips and raised a shaggy eyebrow.

“Yes, I mean no… it was only a f-first date a-after all.”

“Look, Yankel, I just wanted to say-”

“I’m sorry I didn’t go through the official yeshiva channels!” Yankel cried out, his voice cracking. He internally scolded himself for interrupting the Rosh Yeshiva for a second time. “But my older sister’s mother-in-law said she knew this g-girl who was s-so aidel and-”

“That’s quite all right,” Rav Gezunterman shook his head slightly and waved his hand backward and forward a few times. “Our boys are redt shidduchim from all kinds of shadchanim. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Th-then what’s wrong?” Yankel cringed, as though waiting to be struck.

“You,” the Rosh Yeshiva stated, as a matter-of-factly.

“M-me?!” Yankel’s voice jumped another pitch.

“Correct.”

“What’s wr-wrong with me!?” Yankel felt his heart leap to his throat, blocking the airway.

“You’ve simply got no skills!” Rav Gezunterman threw both hands in the air. “How do you expect to get married acting like a nebbach case?” He thundered.

“W-with all due respect, I’m not sure what the Rosh Yeshiva means,” Yankel squirmed uneasily.

“What I mean is that you need to work on how you present yourself. No one’s going to be impressed with you if you don’t go out there trying to ‘wow’ them!”

“Um… can the Rosh Yeshiva please elaborate a little more? I-I’m still unclear.”

“I’ll give you an example. My sources say you were sitting slumped over when you were talking to the girl. That’s totally wrong – totally wrong! You need to have proper posture,” Rav Gezunterman straightened his back into the padded leather of his chair. “Remember, this isn’t your chevrusa, she could be your wife!”

Yankel’s face flushed pink, and he made a feeble attempt to make his spine erect. After a few painful seconds of straining, he slumped back down with a sigh.

“Also, your clothes were terrible, who let you out of the dorms looking like that? We’re going to have to put you in touch with one of your better dressed friends who can lend you a nice suit.”

“…What’s wrong with my suit?”

“Do you seriously expect me to believe that was your Shabbes suit? With all the creases and that seam on the ankle that is coming undone?”

“It was… my Shabbes suit…” Yankel answered weakly.

“And that hat of yours, pshhh!” Rav Gezunterman seemed to ignore Yankel’s response. “With the crunched up top and warped brim! Did you sit on it or something?”

Yankel’s stomach dropped, remembering the feeling of horror that coursed through his scrawny body upon realizing he had forgotten his hat on his seat when he went to knock on his date’s door. That horror intensified a thousand times over when he absentmindedly forgot that he forgot the hat, reentered the car and sat down.

“And don’t forget your tzitzis, they’re all yellowed and knotted up! Do you think girls will be impressed if you keep those things un-tucked? Not to mention the one tzitzis that you keep hanging out of the back of your waistband that looks like a lost piece of toilet paper!”

Yankel mournfully looked down at the well-worn, pitiful looking tzitzis cradled his hand.

“Back when I was dating,” Rav Gezunterman puffed out his chest, sliding a thumb under each suspender. “There were times where the only article of clothing of mine that I wore on a date was my underpants.” He tilted his head and whispered behind an upraised hand, “And sometimes I even borrowed those, too!”

Yankel’s face twisted in a look of revulsion.

“And you’ve got to hold the door for her, yes, yes,” Rav Gezunterman nodded his wizened head knowingly.

“But rebbe said in shiur that it isn’t tzniyus to hold the do-”

“Look, I know those halachos too, you don’t need to quote me your shiur rebbe. Seriously though, girls these days are looking for gentlemen. You’ve gotta be, what d’ya call it? Gallant.” He drew out the last syllable and spread both hands in a half arc on either side of his face.

Yankel failed to muster a reply and wished he had a pen and paper to start taking notes.

Rav Gezunterman broke the uncomfortable silence. “So, tell me, Yankel, was she attractive?”

“I… I guess so.”

“Well, was she pretty?” The Rosh Yeshiva pressed.

“Um, I, uh…”

“Was she gorgeous?”

“I-I really wouldn’t know, to tell the truth.”

“And why not?” Rav Gezunterman let the question hang.

Yankel shrugged and stared into his lap.

“That’s precisely why!” Rav Gezunterman slammed his fist on the desk in front of him, causing Yankel to jump in his seat. “You weren’t even looking at her! How can you determine if this aidel maidel is pretty enough for you if you don’t even know what she looks like? Granted,” the Rosh Yeshiva leaned back in his chair and methodically rocked up and down on its base, “you shouldn’t be ogling her like a piece of fleisch. That doesn’t befit a ben Toirah.”

Yankel nodded in silent agreement.

“But, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t give her a look over from the neck down at all…” the Rosh Yeshiva made a tsk sound with his teeth. “That’s important, too… to a degree.” He put both hands flat on the desk. “I’ll give you a mashul. A man needs to eat food, right? But, he can’t spend his entire life eating bland food. Sure, he’ll get nutrition or some such, but he needs some flavor, some spices that are pleasing to his taste buds, you know.”

Yankel failed to see where Rav Gezunterman was going with this mashul.

“So too,” he began the nimshal, “Some guys like zaftig girls, and others... not so much. But you shouldn’t place all the emphasis on that, no, no, no,” the Rosh Yeshiva shook his head back and forth and narrowed his gaze on Yankel. “A Shayna punim is definitely more important,” he jabbed an index finger into the air.

Yankel guessed that was a good point.

“And let’s not forget your car! What is that thing you’ve been driving anyway?”

Yankel absentmindedly scratched the back of his head and looked toward the ceiling. “It’s my mother’s twelve passenger van… I’ve got eight brothers and sisters, and Totti takes the bus to work.”

“Well that won’t do! Not anymore, it won’t. We’re going to get you a nice car to take on dates… You can even borrow my car.”

“The 1984 Buick?” Yankel inquired, puzzled.

“Eh… on second thought, how about Rabbi Krumfry’s car? He’s a cool dude,” Rabbi Gezunterman said the last two words with cartoonish emphasis, trying to bridge the generational gap in a way that Yankel didn’t quite appreciate.

“Um… Rabbi Krumfry rides a motorcycle.”

“Oh,” Rabbi Gezunterman’s eyebrows scrunched together, clearly caught off guard. “I forgot about that.”

“A-and anyway, I don’t think my mom would let me r-ride a motorcycle, especially since that time-”

“Scratch that then,” Rav Gezunterman stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment. “I’ve got it!” He reached over to his phone and pressed the intercom button. “Mrs. Borgerkrantz?”

“Yes, Rav Gezunterman, Shlita?”

“Call in that Five Towns boy, you know, what’s-his-face. Tell him his driving privileges are revoked for the foreseeable future…”

“But what about the-” Mrs. Borgerkrantz began.

Rav Gezunterman let go of the intercom button and raised the receiver to his ear so Yankel wouldn’t hear what the secretary was saying. Despite these efforts, the boy could still detect the muffled, cranky voice through the wall.

“Look, it doesn’t mean a thing to me if he has special permission from his mommy,” he wrapped the spiraled phone cord around a finger. “He could have a note from the President of the United States for all I care… and besides, he’s been slacking off on Shacharis attendance anyway, so you can blame it on that.” He hung up the phone with a clatter and turned back to Yankel. “See, now wasn’t that easy?”

“I-I g-guess so,” Yankel stammered.

“Of course it was!” He exclaimed and clapped his hands once. “I am the Rosh Yeshiva, after all!”

“W-whatever you say, Rav Gezunterman, Shlita.”

“Back to business,” the Rosh Yeshiva became serious again. “You need to learn talk about some shtusim, y’know everyday stuff that interests people.”

“But rebbe said that was b-bittul Toirah.”

“Look, are you going to listen to your rebbe, who’s been married for all of 3 years and has just one kid with another on the way,” Rav Gezunterman held his hands out like a scale. “Or me,” he gestured with a much higher raised hand, “When I’ve been married for forty years, have ten children and twenty four and a half grandchildren,” he dropped the other hand below the desk. “Hmmm?”

Yankel wondered what the half meant.

“Thankfully, this is easy to fix,” the Rosh Yeshiva spun on his chair and opened a filing cabinet. Reaching in, he lifted out a small pile of magazines. “The girls don’t want to hear about the Rav Chaim you learned in shiur, they want to hear about stuff like this.” He plopped the magazines one-by-one onto the desktop. Yankel saw a Reader’s Digest, a Newsweek, and a shopping catalog from Bass Pro Shop. All were several months old.

“I had Mrs. Borgerkrantz go through these and cut out anything that was pritzusdik, so it’s okay to read them.”

Yankel picked up the Newsweek and opened it to find large chunks missing from most of the pages.

“I think there’s an interesting article about the price of tea in China on page 56.”

Eagerly flipping through the dissected pages, Yankel was dismayed to find that there wasn’t a page 56.

“Also, if you’re going to give her some divrei Toirah, which I highly recommend, you’ve got to keep it light, no heavy mussar stuff. It turns girls off,” Rav Gezunterman chewed his lower lip. “Try something like Rav Shimshon Rafael Hirsch, I think we’ve got a copy of one of his seforim in the beis medrish somewhere.”

“But Rebbe said we shouldn’t learn Rav Hirsch…”

“Why? ‘Cuz he’s too ‘modern’ or something?” Rav Gezunterman waggled a hand aimlessly. “Feh, I say. Girls eat that stuff up like there’s no tomorrow.”

The Rosh Yeshiva got up from his seat and started walking toward the door. Yankel sprang to his feet and joined him. Unexpectedly, Rav Gezunterman put a friendly arm around Yankel’s shoulder.

“We’ll get you back on the track to the chupa soon enough, Yankel. You just got to trust me,” he stopped walking and glanced down at Yankel’s face. “You do trust me, right?”

“O-of course, Rav Gezunterman, Shlita!” Something green caught Yankel’s eye. He looked over to Rav Gezunterman’s hand hanging off his shoulder. In between his middle and ring fingers he held a fifty dollar bill. Rav Gezunterman deftly slipped it into Yankel’s shirt pocket and gave it a light pat.

“Uh… what’s the money for?”

“Shaliach mitzvah money.”

“But I’m not going to Israel anytime soon,” Yankel protested, reaching into his pocket to remove the money. Rav Gezuntermnn lightly batted Yankel’s hand away.

“True, but your case warrants some tzedoka. Take her to a pizza joint, not a lounge. Make sure you get her something a little more than a glass of tap water. You can put whatever’s left in tzedoka. Or, if you’re lucky, save it for a second date,” Rav Gezunterman turned his head and offered a cheesy wink.

“Ooookay,” Yankel left the money where it was. He hoped he didn’t forget it was there and ruin it in the wash. Rav Gezunterman opened the door and let his arm fall back to his side.

“Be sure to tell me how things go, I want regular updates! And don’t forget, I’m always here if you ever need to schmooze again.”

“I a-appreciate the Rosh Yeshiva Shlita’s advice and time… I’ll try my best.”

“No, no. You’ll do your best, none of this I’m gonna try business. It’ll all work out, you’ll be fine,” Rav Gezunterman smiled and gave a double thumbs-up. Yankel mustered the courage to offer his own thumbs up in return and quickly fled the office as fast as his feet would carry him.

“Nice boy, that one,” Rav Gezunterman gave a satisfactory nod toward Mrs. Borgerkrantz. The sudden foreign-language cries of the yeshiva’s janitor enticed the Rosh Yeshiva to peer down the hallway. He watched as Yankel tripped over the janitor’s “wet floor” sign and slammed into a wall face first.

“Not too bright, though.”