December 11, 2004

Alison on Aliyah:  The Perils of Dating in Israel

            I’ve been single for quite some time now, and many of my friends here seem to be getting fed up with it.  As of late, I’ve received a number of requests to set me up with friends, nephews, cousins, and even the occasional “Oh, I met another American last week who I thought would be perfect for you!”  The offers are very sweet, but the thought of blind dating makes my stomach turn.  Last year when I made aliyah, however, I promised myself that I would never turn down an invitation to meet someone new or try a new experience, and I am still attempting to honor that pact.  So, painful (and often hilarious) as it’s been, I’ve been dating lately.

            Even though I was not terribly experienced at this in the States, I have been struck by the drastic differences in the process over here in Israel.  The things that were important in America are so much lower on the priority scale here, and questions that I used to ask have become surpassed by questions I never would have dreamed of asking.  For instance, a major concern of mine in Providence was always finding someone who would be willing to move to Israel with me at some point.  Now, the only question is how much does he love it here.  Age has become less critical to me, for some reason, while education and intellectual level have increased in importance.  I suppose it has something to do with the variety (or lack thereof) here.

            The number one issue when being fixed up, or when trying to fix someone else up, in Jerusalem is religion.  How religious is he?  What sect does she belong to?  What synagogue does he go to?  Where did she get her religious education?  Is he shomer shabbat?  Is she shomeret negiah (adheres to strict rules regarding physical contact between the sexes)?  The questions never end and I, for one, am only just beginning to understand the answers.  I have pretty much given up trying to fix up my religious friends, whose criteria are so specific I sometimes wonder how anyone gets together here.

            The questions that come up during the date are also very different in Israel.  There is a fantastic television show here called “Double Date” – something like a cross between “The Love Connection” and VH-1’s “Pop-Up Video” – during which the viewer gets to watch not only the unfolding of a blind date but also the comedic commentary of the show’s hosts.  I watch it frequently and have found that, within the first five minutes of each date, without fail, the daters ask each other what rank, position, and service they fulfilled in the army.  It is simply a given that each of them has been in the army, and it is a cultural norm that the answer to this question will provide an array of important information, both obvious and latent.

            And so here I am, with a big, fat “not applicable” to both of these major dating questions.  I really hadn’t thought much of these inadequacies until recently, when I have realized that the pickin’s for a gal like me, especially in Jerusalem, are slim indeed.  About two months ago, I was introduced through a mutual friend to a guy to whom I was immediately attracted.  It was the first time a blind “meeting” of mine has turned out to be positive in any way, shape, or form; and I was ecstatically optimistic until I noticed that he was wearing a kipah.

            I was immediately thrown into uncertainty.  A kipah is undoubtedly a sign of religiosity on some level, and any religiosity is more than my level.  My friend had told me that the guy used to be much more religious, and now he wasn’t so sure where he stood.  I dropped a number of hints during our lunch, trying to figure out his stances on the basic customs and practices.

He didn’t appear to be bothered by the tattoo showing prominently on my shoulder – that’s a good sign, I figured.  When I mentioned that our mutual friend thought I wasn’t “modest” (code word for religious) enough for his taste, he laughed and shook his head – good but perhaps ambiguous sign.  He touched my arm at one point – whew, at least he’s not shomer negiah, I concluded.  The big test was later in the week when I invited him to a Shabbat dinner that would require traveling by car.  When he accepted, I was finally convinced that I might actually have a shot with him.

            Things are going well with us these days, but I still can’t help but feel insecure about these ambiguities that I’ve never had to deal with before.  All of these little intricacies of religious expectations are totally beyond me, and it is unsettling to be held to a standard about which I have little knowledge or understanding.  There are times that I feel grateful to have found anyone at all willing to tolerate my lack of religiosity.  In the States, I always figured I’d be incredibly lucky to even find a suitable Jewish guy at all.  In Israel, being Jewish is just the tip of the iceberg.