28/11/99

Jewish geminations

    One of the more interesting subtleties of the Jerusalem social scene is dating among the very Orthodox. By the time Menachem Mendel and Rivka Shaindel have actually met, a discreet matchmaking procedure by their elders has already determined that, with God's help, they are not too far apart -- that is, religiously, not bodily.
    Hormones atingle, the nervous he and bashful she abate their bursting maturity over a cup of coffee at a necessarily public place, never sure what to do with their eyes, what to say, what not to say. Awkwardly, they speak of nothing much, but pick up much more by inference.
    Hard to believe, but occasionally I have been asked to participate in the matchmaking process. I really couldn't tell you how many marriages I have facilitated, but as director of the Jerusalem Scrabble Club -- one of my duties is matching players -- I have found myself geminating (arranging in pairs) such people together.
    The Scrabble club is apparently an ideal place for this kind of coupling, specifically among older zivugs (pairs). I might be called in advance, to ensure I don't screw up, or I may get a whispered earful from the gentleman at the scene: at some point in the evening, he'll ask, please make sure I get paired with that lady. No wink-wink, nudge-nudge; the poor fellow is twisted in knots, perhaps terrified that I'll guffaw and say something crude, and, God forbid, blow the whole thing.
    The club is ideal for several reasons: it is a parve environment religiously, sexually, socially; Scrabble is something you do one-on-one without touching, facing each other but without the excruciating dependence on conversation, because the diversion of playing is intensely comforting in such a rendez-vous;  they can surreptitiously observe each other in a subdued, semi-public setting; unlike chess, bridge or backgammon clubs, the congregants are genteel and the game is intellectual, with no immodest overtures (unless someone is intent on playing a naughty or suggestive word).
    For me, it's amusing to watch the ritual and help it along. Maybe they see my role as divinely ordained, especially if they end up betrothing, but I wouldn't ascribe such unearthliness to it; heck, sometimes I pair players who don't like each other.
    It doesn't take much -- besides authorizing the match, I might shtup a little zing by sidling over to their table to compliment a play they made. It gets them smiling, maybe a bit pleased with themselves, and who knows, it could be that positive vibes at such a moment are just what they need. God willing.
    (The downside is, God willing they should marry, God forbid they should ever come back to the Scrabble club, because for some Torah-observant, such a secular pursuit is frowned upon as a waste of time.)

ANOTHER MODE of matchmaking I came upon is something called the Zivug File. It's even safer than Scrabble, because there's no danger Rivka Shaindel might humiliate Menachem Mendel by winning big.
    The Zivug File is "approved and endorsed by rabbis in the Torah-observant community" (an official status my club does not have). The matchmaking resume is designed to "decide who is the most appropriate to meet and eliminate unnecessary dates."
    In this city, it's not enough to indicate "Religious: [] Yes [] No." If Rivka Shaindel's poppa wears his pants tucked into white socks, and she sees Menachem Mendel wearing his pants untucked into black socks, it would bring up serious questions about kashrut, and there is no way they could get married.
    You get an idea of the fragmentation -- or, if you prefer, diversity -- of Orthodoxy by the choice of answers on the Zivug File. It seems to me impossible to find the perfect match. Like, what if everything else fits, but under "Fear of God" he circles the 6 and she circles the 8?
    The question of religiosity on the form is not Yes/No, but neither is it exhaustive: "Frum from birth / ba'al teshuva / frum since 19__ / chozer be'teshuva / can marry a cohen / convert / Litvak / chasidic / Lubavitch / into chasidus but not chasidic / Sephardi / Yemenite."
    Politically, the range is even less comprehensive: "Zionist, Mizrahi, Kahana, aliya, hesder, yeshivish, insist on living in Eretz Yisroel." If you're a Shinui activist, boy, have you got the wrong bunch.
    Secular computerized dating clubs don't ask such things as:
    Hair covering (women only): "will not cover hair / cover part of hair/ allow some hair to show / will not allow any hair to show / will wear tichel or wig / tichel only / wig only / hat atop tichel or wig."  
    Dress code: (women) "wear long sleeves / wear full stockings / wear pants"; (men) "wear tzitzes out / wear blue t'chelet thread / wear a hat / long peyot / have a beard -- styled or natural." The question "wear earrings Y/N" is asked of the men, not the women.
    Food: "keep Cholov Yisroel / selectively rely on kosher certifications / eat in only kosher restaurants / eat parve in non-kosher restaurants / am careful about making brachos."
    Lifestyle: "TV could be on in my home / go to movies / am careful about loshon hora / plan to go to mikva / support Jewish feminism / served in IDF / community supports me with tzedaka / plan to contribute financially to supporting my family."
    Applications must be verified and signed by a rabbi.
    If you're Orthodox, these are natural questions you'd want to know; if you're oblivious about the religious, this must seem anywhere from ludicrous to quaint to mystifying.
    Taunt them if you will, but give plenty of credit for the importance they give such issues as: "give charity / active in community / involved in Jewish outreach / honor parents."
    I don't think I'll be handing out these membership forms to my daughters (in triplicate) because they already know exactly what they want: someone just like their daddy. For that, there's the Scrabble club; at least there, I can control whom they're paired with.