One of the great joys in life is blaming one’s mother.
My mother and I have a long list of things that I’ll punish her for in later life. It includes her not teaching me how to blow-dry my hair, not buying me those patent shoes all the other girls wore, not providing me with a sister, and forcing me to listen to songs about times tables in the car. As I hope anyone can tell, this list is all tongue in cheek – it’s all true, but I don’t think the trauma of having to teach myself to blow-dry my hair is going to have a lasting impact.
And, what’s more, she made a concerted effort to pass on some things which make up for it: for example, she hid her fear of spiders from me so that I can deal with them effortlessly, and she always encouraged me to make my own choices so that I didn’t inherit her indecisiveness.
But my mother seems to have passed on one other thing which has stuck, and right now I could do without it. I’m talking about my anxiety about finding a Jewish husband.
Women have shelf-lives, she’s taught me. It’s unfair but it’s true. Since I started dating boys she’s told me that if you mess around, all the good ones will be gone. I’ve learned that I don’t need to hurry but I shouldn’t dawdle. If I meet someone I like I should take him seriously, because they’re difficult to find. And I should be careful about dating boys who aren’t Jewish because what if I fall in love with them? I’d have a complicated situation on my hands: will they convert? Will I keep a kosher household? And oy vey, what about the children? It’d be much easier if I just stick to nice Jewish boys and then we can avoid all that nonsense.
I love her for teaching me that, and on the whole I think it’s a fair lesson. It is hard to find someone of husband material, especially from such a small pool. And she’s right about marrying a Jew: it would make my life a lot simpler.
The only problem is that this whole conversation has given me a weird neurosis about boys. If I meet a Jewish boy that I like, I immediately imagine what it would be like to marry them. It means that within a couple of dates I’m thinking in way bigger terms than I should be – I’m picking apart their personality traits, considering how we complement each other and wondering what he’ll be like at fifty. If his parents are divorced, I’m wondering whether that’s where he’s headed. If he says he doesn’t like kids my heart sinks. If he says he likes cats, I run.
It’s an unbelievably annoying situation. I’m only twenty-one and there’s no way I want to be married any time soon; it’s just that I can’t help seeing every guy I meet as ‘potential’. I’d much rather slow the whole thought-process down and not think about any of these things until it’s actually time to decide if I should marry them, or at least until we get into a proper relationship. Then, maybe, I can enjoy going out with nice guys and not freak out if his life plans clash with mine.
And I haven’t even started on what happens in my head when I date non-Jews. Oy vey indeed.
Noa Gendler is a final-year student at the University of Cambridge, studying English Literature. Before that she attended North London Collegiate School. She is a seasoned Limmudnik and is involved in Marom, the Masorti young adult community.
