Thursday, August 02, 2007

Close, but no knish

Tonight I met two wonderful gentlemen -- brilliant, accomplished, suavely French-accented Jews. We had amazing conversations; we laughed, we connected. And it can't go anywhere because neither of them is shomer shabbat.

The first guy, the Mysterious Moroccan (MM1), friended me on Facebook. I had no idea who he was, so I emailed him. We corresponded for a while and decided to meet in the real world, and had coffee at Starbucks this evening.

MM1 is incredible. Getting a PhD in nanotechnology, attractive, easygoing, friendly, and did I mention the sexy accent? But he doesn't believe in Gd, or keeping kosher, or waiting until you're married to have sex. (Technically I'm not so strict on the third point either, but at least I have the decency to feel guilty about it.)

Anyway, he encouraged me to join the French-speaking Jews' website he founded, for social networking and dating. "Be sure to post a picture," he told me, with a significant wink and nod. Like the Arabian Knight, MM1 must like fabulously voluptuous women. It was a small comfort.

I went home and fielded a call from the wonderful new shadchanit I met a few weeks ago. She and Alona attended a shidduch group meeting last night, and they suggested a guy for me -- Monsieur Magnifique (MM2). Alona couldn't tell me much about him but said he sounded nice, he was a few years older than I am, etc. The shadchanit asked if she could give him my phone number, and I agreed.

Scant minutes later, MM2 called. And he was amazing. Smart, funny, and best of all -- he totally appreciated and got me. He let me ramble on in my quirky way, praised my fractured French (high school was a long time ago...), was impressed by my academic and professional accomplishments and aspirations, and thought I sounded like la tante plus merveilleuse.

"You know, I've been talking about myself this whole call," I finally said. (Myself is my favorite topic, narcisse that I am, but it's not wise to reveal that in the first conversation with a potential mate.) "Tell me more about you!"

"Let's save that for our first date," MM2 said. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

Um... going to shul, then to a Shabbos dinner? Oh, no. "I'm shomer shabbat," I told him. "Aren't you?"

"Oh, no," he said. "I am not shomer shabbat."

Crap.

We said our wistful good-byes, and I immediately called the shadchanit. "MM2 is not shomer shabbat," I told her.

"He said he was a baal teshuva," she said. "He told me he was shomer shabbat."

"He's not," I said. She apologized; I said it was fine, and we hung up.

Story of my life. The frum men I meet won't give me the time of day. The non-frum men find me fascinating and wonderful. It really makes me wonder if I'm doing the right thing with my life. I know there are tons of non-frum Jews who have difficulty finding a spouse, but right now I feel so frustrated and stymied. Hude couldn't deal with my interest in working with abusive parents; MM2 thought that was fascinating and demonstrated depth of character.

And I'm Tantalus again... always reaching for the tempting fruit that sways just beyond my grasp.
Copyright (c) 2007 "Ayelet Survivor"

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