I was on instant messenger with a good friend this morning and we were lamenting the state of dating for liberal Jews in Chicago. I commented that the shidduch crisis in the Reform movement is that nobody is doing any matchmaking. We're left to our own devices - aka Jdate - and we struggle through alone.

Okay, some background.

Shidduch dating in the orthodox Jewish world is dating specifically to find your future spouse. When people make a shidduch, as I understand it, they are matchmaking. Making an introduction between two singles they think might hit it off. There's a bunch of talk about a shidduch crisis on orthodox blogs - not enough men or men wanting younger women, leaving the older singles to become old maids. Something like that.

Friends and comic Heshy Friedjust published a post of awkward shidduch moments. There is the blog Holy Shidduch where people can leave anonymous stories of Shidduch dates gone horribly wrong. There's Bad for Shidduchim and Aliza from Jewminicana wrote a great post about how if she and her husband had relied on a matchmaker, they wouldn't have been introduced. There's also Frum N Flipped - a religious woman that has made aliyah and is still searching for her beshert.

Here's the thing...

When I read about the world of shidduch dating in the Orthodox world I'm both releived that I'm not a part of it and sad that I'm not a part of it. I wish people took matchmaking more seriously in the liberal Jewish world. I wish my rabbi would call me up and say, "Leah, I've got someone you might be interested in, would you like me to introduce you." I wish that I was better about seeing potential romantic matches within my growing social circle and better at saying, "Friend, I've got someone you might want to date." I wish there was a way in Chicago to break out of the world of YLD (Young Leadership Division of the Federation) and JDate. A way to meet a man that someone that knows both of us thinks will be a good match for me.

Since I converted four years ago, I've been set up on ONE date and I was set-up by a reader of my blog. She did a great job - on paper, we were a perfect match. In reality, we didn't have the chemistry. But Jendeis took the time to say, "International travel, educated, geographically desirable" and then make an introduction.

So here is my call to the Reform movement, to secular Jews, to Jews outside of Orthodoxy - MORE MATCHMAKING PLEASE. Let's replace Jdate with matchmaking... Introductions made by people that know both parties. That have an idea who we are as real people and not just how we present ourselves online.

Pretty please?

After I got home from Israel this summer, I had it in my head that I would return in November. Not for any particular reason, just that I would return. I started keeping my schedule clear and talking to friends about planning a trip. Finally a friend nudged me into "buying the damn ticket." That night I found one on Turkish Airways for $700 and booked the ticket.

Here I am. In Tel Aviv for the month. I was able to sublet an apartment with a great location. I've got a few workshops planned and a lot of free time. I hope to write a lot, see friends, cook a few good dinners and just have a nice month. Let me know if you want to hang out. 

"About two years ago, I looked around and realized that what I had documented back then was a physical metaphor of how people would react to the Internet, which Josh predicted would eventually take over our lives."

Ondi Timoner, Director, We Live In Public

Let me repeat that...

"a physical metaphor of how people would react to the Internet..."

Today I went with 7 others (5 Twitter friends, one client introduced via a Twitter connection and a friend of the client) to see the documentary We Live In Public at the Music Box Theater. We Live In Public covers the two final art/internet experiments of Josh Harris. An analyst that made $80 million in the dot com boom, spent it like crazy and eventually hit rock-bottom and disappeared to upstate New York where he bought an apple farm.

This isn't a review, but a collection of thoughts that have been swirling around in my head before and after seeing the movie. I left the movie feeling like I'd been punched in the face. For all the insanity (drugs + interrogation + weapons), Josh did predict how we would behave once the Internet became pervasive.

One - Jason Calacanis

Jason Calacanis is featured in the movie. He's someone that's been on my radar for a few years (founder of Mahalo and Weblogs Inc), but not someone I follow regularly. After Sundance, he posted to his blog a very long missive he'd originally sent out to his mailing list. Published in January 2009, I only came across the post this week. We Live in Public (and the end of empathy) is long, but worth the read. Also worth your time are the comments.

It is not so much his reflections of Josh Harris or the time the film covers, but his wrestling with the end of empathy. He describes the dehumanization of people on the web as Internet Asperger's Syndrome. (Look for thoughtful comments from people with Asperger's and you'll understand that he shouldn't have said Asperger's, but don't invalidate the whole post over this).

"In this syndrome, the afflicted stops seeing the humanity in other people. They view individuals as objects, not individuals. The focus on repetitive behaviors–checking email, blogging, twittering and retiring andys–combines with an inability to feel empathy and connect with people."

The afflicted stops seeing the humanity in other people.

"We’re harvesting our lives and putting them online. We’re addicted to gaining followers and friends (or email subscribers, as the case may be), and reading comments we get in return. As we look for validation and our daily 15 minutes of fame, we do so at the cost of our humanity."

Not only does that describe online behavior of so many people, but it describes how humans are able to go to war. The dehumanization of other. 

Two - Julia Allison

I don't remember when I first noticed Reblogging NonSociety. A month, two months ago tops. I'm obsessed with it and also embarrassed that I read it daily. Reblogging Non-Society is "dedicated to watching the train wreck that is NonSociety ."

I hate that I read something dedicated to tearing another woman down. On the flip side, I don't get Julia Allison's fame. She's been on the cover of Wired and featured in a story on how to turn yourself into a web celebrity. In Reblogging NonSociety, there are also some gems. Advice hidden for Julia and anyone else reading.

"Maybe Julia Allison, victim, might learn from this, and cease from Twitter-spewing her life to thousands of strangers." 

"Stop Tweeting that shit [like “when you know, you know” and “you’re the exception to my rule” as you told your friends you’d “found a boyfriend.”] in the initial stages of your acquaintance. It scares the shit out of them."

Like I said, I'm not proud of myself for being a reader or spending any attention on it. But what I try to remember every time I open the site - is that for all the celebrity that Julia has built for herself - she is a person. Those posts and comments hurt her. I wish that someone who knows her would pull her aside and say, "There is some truth and good advice hidden in the snark. It is time to live privately."

Three - Merlin Mann

Merlin Mann is behind Inbox Zero. Inbox Zero is a myth in my world, but one that I admire. My main interaction and awareness of Merlin are his hilarious and often favorited tweets. Earlier this week, though, he posted a video that I finally watched tonight after much egging on by Dave. The total time to watch the two videos is just under an hour, but worth it.

First watch the video at the bottom of the page - 5 Household Hacks. And then watch his longer video where he explains what pushed him to make the funny, cutting video.  Merlin talks about the the self-help industry, carpet baggers in social media, and butchers. And so much more. 

Four - Waking up at 4AM

On Shabbat, I stayed up late talking with friends about our lives. Eventually my friend Erin started talking about kayaking.  For her, kayaking is bringing her incredible joy and she thinks it is worth getting up at 4AM to go out for a sunrise paddle.

I couldn't tell her what in my life is worth waking up at 4AM. Although sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, roll over and read recent tweets and emails with one eye open.

Five - Shabbat

On my DC trip, which my friends must be sick of hearing me talk about, not only did I observe shabbat more than I ever do in Chicago, I stayed offline when I got to the Conversation in Baltimore. While some chose to keep their smart phones handy, I left it in my room and also didn't take any paper with me. I was completely unplugged and totally present.

It was exhausting.

I realized that I use my Blackberry as a shield. A wall. A way to protect myself. My blackberry has not kept my heart from getting broken, but it keeps me out of the muck that can be so hard to handle at times.

As a result, I'm now staying offline for shabbat. I'm still on my phone some, but I'm keeping my computer off. I'm trying to be fully present at least one day a week. So far... so good.

Six - Peggy Orenstein

Peggy wrote a piece in the New York Times this week about how having information at our fingertips is sucking time away from us and that access to information is not the same as becoming wise.

"this mass-erosion of our self-control was inevitable, as the instrument of our productivity merged with that of our distraction: since computers have expanded from mere business tools to full-service entertainment centers. But I think there’s something deeper going on as well. Those mythical bird-women (look it up) didn’t seduce with beauty or carnality — not with petty diversions — but with the promise of unending knowledge. “Over all the generous earth we know everything that happens,” they crooned to passing ships, vowing that any sailor who heeded their voices would emerge a “wiser man.” That is precisely the draw of the Internet."

Seven - Leah Jones

A client said to me this week, "I follow you on Twitter. Nothing is too small for you to comment on. Tell me about that."

I responded that while I live publicly, I live privately. Yes. I share mundane details of my life, but I am rarely deeply personal. The idea of Naked Blogging is long-gone for me. I have an understanding that just because we can put it all out there, we shouldn't.

There is power in mystery. There is preservation in privacy. I am much more private online than I have ever been in six years of blogging.

Eight - Kris Krug

"You can blog about me or you can date me, but you can't do both."

Nine - We Live In Public

We left the theater, the eight of us, and looked at our phones. Could we tweet about what we'd just seen? What we were feeling? I wondered if everyone was reeling the way I was. I asked, "So... are we all going to delete our Twitter accounts now?"

I won't. If it wasn't for Twitter and Facebook, I'd have been at the movie alone. I suppose if it wasn't for Twitter and Facebook, the film wouldn't have resonated so much.

Just because we live in public, doesn't mean we give up privacy. It means we have to manage privacy in our lives. It means that we accept a sometimes cruel mirror that might be put in front of us. It means learning to cope with assholes. Deciding if you feed trolls. Debating if there is truth in the snark that might someday be turned against yourself.

Living in public, also means a responsibility to our friends living publicly with us. Pulling them aside and reminding them that they are human beings first and Internet personas... second? third? twenty first?

This is what the documentary made me think about. The articles it brought to mine. The modern versions of Josh Harris. The experiments. The rat maze. All in all, we hold the plug and we can turn it off and live in private again.

While I was at The Conversation in Baltimore, I read the few existing chapters from the novel I hope to write. The feed back was very encouraging, so I'm planning on working on it while I'm in Israel. Yep, I'm going back. I have a few webinars and workshops to attend to while I'm in town, but a big part of the trip will be writing. It isn't NaNoWriMo, because I'm not starting from scratch, but I do hope to add serious amounts of text to my draft.

Here's chapter one of my as of yet unfinished novel.

The Matzah Holiday

“Why didn’t you tell me this was the matzah one?” I said to Aaron as we waited for the cab to come.

“I thought you knew.”

“How would I know? How would I know? You said we were going to a seder, you didn’t say we were going to big important matzah dinner!”

Aaron and I got into a cab outside of his parents house, drunk after four glasses of wine at his parents seder. I was nursing a bruised ego and hurt feelings from the things I overheard his mom and aunt say from the kitchen. Oh, and there was one little faux pas.

“You could have told me not to bring dinner rolls.”

“Sweetie, I really thought you knew.  And if you’d met me at my house before, I could have stopped you.”

“For future reference when I say, ‘should i bring something?’ the appropriate response is more like ‘the food rules are insane, why I don’t I take care of it’ instead of, ‘sure, mom will appreciate that.’”

Aaron leaned over and kissed me on the top of my head. He pulled me closer on the cab and whispered, “Sweetie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you it was Passover and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you not to bring dinner rolls. You’re the first... well, you know, the first...”

“Shiksa.”

“I wasn’t going to say it that way.”

“Your mom didn’t have any problems saying it.”

“Trace, she’ll realize how great you are. I promise, she’ll see that it doesn’t matter.”

“What other rules should I know for surviving in your family?”

“I can’t think of anything else.” Aaron paused, “Other than don’t bring those bacon wrapped figs that you make, that wouldn’t fly.”

The cab got to my house and I asked Aaron if he was sure he didn’t want to stay over.  “Thanks, but I need to go help my mom tomorrow and go to the second night seder at my synagogue.... you know, just stuff going on.”

He hugged me again, kissed me good night and got back into the cab to head from my less-than-fashionable Ravenswood apartment to his slightly more fashionable address in Lincoln Square.

Aaron and I had only been together a couple months and we’re already my longest relationship.  Aaron was more of a serial monogamist. He was with Rachel for close to three years, but things came tumbling down when she and his mom ganged up on him about getting married. He’s not just my longest relationship, but my first Jewish boyfriend, which until tonight wasn’t an issue. I got inside and dropped everything on the couch, including myself. That wine hit me harder than I expected. 


"Please don't blog about this." I said or he said or we both said to each other. We agreed and then went to our blogs and made obtuse references to what we'd promised each other we wouldn't blog. That was years ago, but as I tweeted to my friend Evelyn today, I blog very little of the deeply personal these days in an effort to keep a private life while I live publicly. 

I am both flattered and embarrassed when I meet someone that has read my blog or, more likely, follows me on Twitter. It connects immediately to a moment when I was a few years out of High School and realized that, while I was never popular, I was more well-known than I knew.  This embarrassment I feel for being well known for writing about my cat, my inability to cook, my obsession with Matilda, Moody's and Metropolis, the CTA and my new company... the embarrassment is turning into a much sharper version of self-deprecating humor than I've ever turned on myself before.

I insisted to a man I was interested in that I was, in fact, nobody special. That he was mistaken. That I am not a cool kid, nor will I ever be. That I am nobody special and to stop insisting that I might be.

What if I'm actually afraid that I am someone special? What if great things are expected of me and I don't know if I can deliver? Is it possible that I've gotten too good at self-deprecating humor? That I am so convincing of the total accidental nature of my success, that I've convinced him and others that indeed... I don't have what they are looking for.

Despite all of the arguments that I've written in my journal, the potential compromises and solutions, the problems I've acknowledged and let go of... I don't have the fighting instinct to say, "No, wait, I'm much more than I let you think I am."

I know that I'm capable of more.

Of giving more, of loving more, of writing more, of doing more and being more than I am today. I'm becoming that special person. I'd like to be someone that speaks up in the future and explains why I think the barriers aren't really as big as we thought.

I need to stop saying that I'm nobody special, because people are starting to believe me. Mainly, I'm starting to believe me and the record has been on very fast repeat lately and I have to find something else to occupy my thoughts.

My friend Jill Gardner gave this d'var on Lech Lecha in 2006 and offered to let me share it with you here. She's giving a new d'var on the same portion this month and exploring how her life has changed and how this Torah portion now is something completely different. But for now, I'm sharing her 2006 d'var.