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“He might not be your Bashert. But he will definitely give you something to blog about”, said a beloved person of mine as I set out on my first shidduch date with an Israeli Charedi.
The chat with the Shadchan was in itself an experience. The Shadchan tells me: “Where do you want to meet him?” Trying to be the wonderful accomodating person that I am, I said that since I am not accustomed to the Israeli style of dating, he should tell me what is accepted and I will conform. The Shadchan told me not to worry and whatever I preffered was ok. I said that in such a case I would want the young man to pick me up from where I was staying. The Shadchan almost passed out: “What? Ze lo mekubal po!” This is not accepted here. Ok, ok. Then where would you like us to meet? A certain hotel. A certain time. Any Questions? Yes, I said, is there a time limit to the date (I heard of them before). No no, says the Shadchan, whatever you like, however the conversation flows.
Great, on the night of the date, the rush rush, with the shower, make-up, hair and whole deal...I run into the hotel barely on time huffing and panting.
Here is the scene: approximately six guys in black hats scattered in random places in the lobby. One stands by the desk, the other one sits on the couch. A girl stands by the column, another by the reception. I look around. I want to go out with the guy to my right. Do I get to choose? Oh, no? Bummer.
Of course, the guy who looks most nervous that he's practically shaking walks over to me. Why is it this one? I think. I wanted that one. Never mind. I smile. The guy doesn't really speak English. That's fine. Thank G-d I speak Hebrew. Oh, he wants to practice his English on me? Sure, no problem, use me as an English tutor. On a date.
We choose a table and as we are about to sit down, this American family asks in the most accents Hebrew ever known to humanity. Can you please take a picture of us? They ask me and the guy as if we are a couple. We do the eye thing that means: will you take the picture or should I? He eyed that I should. He sat down by the table while I was busy telling the Americans to smile. I was trying to suck in my stomach as hard as I could and was hoping that his frumkeit and shmirat eynaim were at work.
I sit down at the table. He says: So, what are you looking for in a husband?
Wow. That was direct. This was probably not my soulmate. I might as well have an interesting conversation.
We spoke for awhile where he told me that eighty percent of girls can marry eighty percent of guys and that I and he are part of the eighty percent, therefore, the dating process actually is not necessary.
“Speak for yourself,” I thought. I do not belong to eighty per cent of anything.
He looks at his watch and says: “Oh my word, it's been an hour an a half! A first date has to be between forty five minutes and an hour.”
“Ah. Aaahhh! Yeah, let's get out of here! Quick....”
So he wasn't my bashert, but I did have a blog...
