Long Island singles go west

By Etta Chinskey

I am 30 and I am single. Without thinking too hard, I can come up with a couple of dozen other singles just like me. I am sure, as you read this article, your own list of beloved eligible singles will play through your mind. Some are having a harder time than others. Some have made the most of it, turning their jobs into fulfilling careers, going back to school, or volunteering their time. And some are actually enjoying the search for their bashert [soul mate]. But no matter how well they are adapting and coping, they all know that something is missing.

The problem of the single young-adult is a uniquely Orthodox one. When I am in the secular world, I forget that I no longer have to make apologies for my marital status. My peers in grad school want to know what the rush is. They tell me thirty is so young to settle down. But when I am back in my natural habitat, I can feel the pressure rushing back. The air is different. I can hear the tic tock of that pesky clock again. When I am at work or in school is doesn’t matter that I am unmarried, it doesn’t affect my performance or my enjoyment of the task at hand. But when I am engaged in the spiritual rituals of halachic life, the same just doesn’t hold true.

In our Jewish life, a single man or woman is literally incomplete without their zivug [match]. And if today’s sophisticated single doesn’t intuitively always feel their missing other half, they are reminded of these phantom pangs when they navigate through their religious life. Everything that makes up the religious experience is just better when you have a husband or wife. Having children gets you even further into the social network. What 30 year-old wants to dress up on Purim and go to hear the Megillah as Harry Potter? It is so much less awkward when your wife is also in a wizard robe and your kids are brandishing magic wands.

And so it seems, there is a correlation between being married and remaining religious. I have noticed over the years that my married friends (on the whole) are far more affiliated than my friends who are still single. It is a trend we can all see and are struggling to understand. Is it because singles feel more accepted in the secular world and begin to identify with it? Or is it that they feel isolated from the religious community because being married gives you the secret pass into all the good clubs? Many older singles feel betrayed by an ideal that they were promised as kids. Where is their Shabbat challah? Where is their shiny atara [silver decoration for the tallit] specially ordered for the new chattan [groom]? Now that they have to re-envision what they expected of their lives, could they still feel accepted and celebrated as a single religious Jew?

I am still trying to figure it out.

I recently dated a guy who lives on the Upper West Side in an impressive apartment off the park. He is a successful lawyer who enjoys both his work and his secure spot among a group of similarly career-established-but-single 20 and 30-something’s.

Unlike my Long Island single friends, this group was solidly affiliated with the religious community and though each individual had a different label or description for himself or herself, they were dedicated to Torah life. What was their secret? How did they stay so connected?

One answer may be geography. At home in Long Beach or with friends in the Five Towns, I wouldn’t want to show up to the local Young Israel on Purim in my Gryffindor best. But in Manhattan, in a shul filled with single hipsters...Well, why not?

My brief stint as an Upper West Side single only lasted three months but luckily one of the months was Adar. There were multiple places where young singles would be listening to the story of Esther and breaking their fast and my promising yuppie invited me to choose. Because I wanted to truly experience something different, I picked a small Orthodox shul that caters to singles that consider themselves both frum and progressive.

As I sat on my side of the mechitza I was equally uncomfortable and intrigued to hear women take part in the reading. But what really stayed with me were the costumes. All around me people were fully engaged in the spirit of the Yom Tov. There were super heroes, a few Queen Esthers, a Darth Vader, and a very good Elvis impersonator.

After Megillah, and while we sipped orange juice around a  table with snacks, I noticed there were brainy costumes that  reflected the education level in the room. One crafty girl was in a  full-body cat suit that was modestly covered by a box that she wore around her mid-section. I had heard of the cat in the hat but not in the box. She graciously explained that she was dressed as Schrödinger’s cat, which is apparently a famous paradox in quantum mechanics. I did not really understand the reference then or now that I Googled it, but I can tell you that it still makes me smile. How clever and fun! Where did these young, hip and frum academics come from and why hadn’t I known about this scene before?

For the first time I began to understand why my HALB, HANC and HAFTR counterparts were fleeing to the city life. Suddenly, this proud Long Islander understood the pull of this mythical land called the Upper West Side.

Alas, my city love was not meant to be and though my boyfriend and I parted as friends, knowing we were not each other’s other half, I felt those phantom pangs for a while. I walked around more aware that something was missing. It is only now, a year later, I realize that it wasn’t just the promise of marriage that I missed, but the promise of a community, one that I hadn’t even known I still longed for.