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A match made in seven (minutes, that is)
Sunday, June 10, 2001 By Gene Collier, Post-Gazette Staff Writer
There being no apparent limit to a life's burden of misconceptions, you can now be walking down the street in Squirrel Hill thinking, "What a perfect spring evening for a spirited round of Jewish speed dating," and, in fact, be all wrong about that.
This was Friday night, and with sundown bringing the Sabbath, a critical element of speed dating had been effectively outlawed according to traditional observance.
Along with photography.
"We don't write on the Sabbath; that's a very big handicap associated with Sabbath speed dating," said Rachelee Sacks of Squirrel Hill. "When it isn't on the Sabbath, you write down notes and give them to the facilitators. So I'm in the process of making cards for everybody. I'm not sure how we're going to do this. I guess if they're interested in a specific man or woman, they'll give that person's card to a facilitator, or some way."
Two speed-dating activities are actually part of a three-day conference of Orthodox singles from across the country that Sacks is helping coordinate in Squirrel Hill this weekend. Speed dating itself is typically done during the week, to avoid conflicts with the Sabbath.
"It's a little wacky," Sacks said of the challenge that the Sabbath session posed.
On its face, speed dating doesn't sound the least bit wacky, given our unremitting penchant to hurry things and the notion that there are, when you get down to it, very few dates that couldn't do with a severe editing, speed dating looks almost like an overdue concept.
Perhaps you've already thought of your own version, in fact. In lieu of the standard dinner and a movie, perhaps some drive-through and a very short independent film. Or something. Had a great time. I'll call ya. Yeah.
As it happens, speed dating was invented by five Jewish education students in Los Angeles, in part to de-pressurize the dating ritual and in part to facilitate the matching of Orthodox Jews in an effort to reverse a trend toward intermarriage.
"That was three years ago, and it's been very successful," said Rabbi Danny Moskovitz, who is in town from New York this weekend to officiate a couple of speed-dating sessions, one at Poale Zedeck Synagogue, a second at 6:30 tonight at the Jewish Community Center, both in Squirrel Hill.
"Something like 50 percent of the people who do it end up finding someone," Moskovitz said. "A lot of the traditional ways to meet people are not one-on-one. It's a dinner party of eight, or some other group. Decisions about whom to talk with are left to the individual in those situations, but speed dating takes that away. Speed dating forces you to talk to people you might not ordinarily talk to.
"Men like to decide. Speed dating takes that away. You have to talk to a certain number of people, one-on-one, for seven minutes."
Seven minutes. That's the entire date. A short conversation. Or perhaps the seven-minute conversation you thought would never end. Then you move to another "date."
In a synagogue's basement hall, arranged for the evening with a dozen large round tables populated by more than 100 Orthodox singles, aged 30 to 50, hailing from Denver to Atlanta to New York, Rabbi Moscovitz explained the process and went over the rules.
Protect yourself at all times. No wait, that's boxing.
"Everybody in this room wants to meet somebody," said the rabbi, who is 27 but looks 17. "And you're going to meet the people I tell you to meet. Speed dating has resulted in two dozen marriages to date (applause). You'll talk one-on-one to the person you are assigned. When your time is up, thank the person for giving you seven minutes of her time. We ask that you don't ask the following two questions: 'What do you do for a living?' and 'What is your age?'
"The answers tend to create a certain image, a certain 'yea' or 'nay.' "
And with that, the gentlemen started their engines, undeterred by the new knowledge that they would not be able to determine who among the single females is, for example, a 38-year-old rodeo clown. And it was, as Sacks had predicted, a little wacky.
"I like the fact that the men have to move around and the women don't have to," said Reggie Levi, a divorcee who had driven from Detroit and was in her first speed-dating session. "The older I get, the better I like that. I don't like that secular stuff that everything has to be equal."
Levi was just finishing her first seven-minute date with Steve. It was apparent that they had finished a few minutes early, even though Steve may have had all of his time-outs remaining.
"I don't think they expect you to find a husband in six or seven minutes," she said, "but all these people, they're all looking to get married. Of course, they've all got different baggage."
The speed-dating activity lasts just seven or eight rounds, which amounts on this night, with the shuffling between tables, to a little more than an hour's activity during the three-day conference that Tova Weinberg and Abby Sternlicht helped Sacks organize.
"Unfortunately, if you're single, this is something that you have to kind of endure," Levi said. "It's because there's really no other way for Orthodox Jews to meet. It's hard even if you're secular, but there are so few Orthodox Jews around that this is really necessary, especially for the older people.
"When you're young and you're at college or the different summer camps or whatever, it's not so difficult, but when you're older and you're working, even when you go to synagogue there isn't a lot of one-on-one contact.
"I've met some of my very best friends on these singles weekends, but what's funny is they're all women," she added.
Of course, while that's a benefit, it's a benefit decidedly off the target of this weekend, especially to those with such a passion for this mission as Weinberg.
"I've been doing this for 23 years; I don't like intermarriage," she said. "I love to match people. I'm a matchmaker. There are so many lonely people out there. I just always thought there was some way I was going to help. When Orthodox Jews, the women are 23 or 24, or when the men are 25 or 26, it's like something has to happen. The mothers get hysterical. The women get hysterical.
"Who is this coming down the stairs?"
She takes a moment to ask Sacks.
"I think it's someone related to the rabbi," Sacks said.
"How old?"
"I think 17."
"Oh, too young."
Sacks watches the men switch tables again. She sees a lot of what she thought she would see.
"It's fraught with nervousness," she said. "There's a lot of 'Am I making a good impression?' A lot of 'Is this cute?' There's a lot of pain out there in the world of singles."
Rabbi Moskovitz surveys the room, waiting to call the next switch. He's asked if speed dating could backfire on certain people.
"It sets a lot of people up for a fall, but not everyone meets everyone, so it's not like you're being rejected by every single person in the room," he said. "And rejection, if it comes, comes through a third part, the facilitators."
Right. You let a facilitator know if you're interested in talking with someone again, and the facilitator lets you know if the interest is mutual.
The facilitators were frazzled Friday night, but encouraged.
"One lady told me she met three people already that she'd like to talk with again," Sacks said. "It took six months of planning for this. We had to find housing for everyone within walking distance of the synagogue. This is going to go on for three days. If they don't marry each other, I'm gonna kill them."
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