Quick-Fire Matches
Scenario: Your latest blind date is another bust. There you are, slumped over a table at Tony Roma’s, slogging through banal conversation with a nerdy mensch until you can escape.
You’re stuck. So is the conversation. With glazed eyes, you ask about his favorite color and wonder if you’ll end up alone like Aunt Pat, living with too many cats, cutting coupons and kvetching about the weather.
Solution? If you’re Jewish and dating in Southern California, you may want to try “speed dating,” an innovative strategy for the weary lovelorn sponsored by Aish HaTorah, a synagogue and international Jewish outreach network.
Starting with 16 people at a meeting in Los Angeles in January 1999, the program now gets hundreds of young single Jews each month in an effort to marry modern efficiency with old-fashioned matchmaking.
The program’s popularity has mushroomed, and gatherings are sold out for months in advance. Last summer, organizers sponsored eight programs a month in Los Angeles County. The program will expand to Orange County this winter with sessions planned for Newport Beach. Programs have also been added in Long Beach and Century City. Information is available from Aish HaTorah at (877) 328-3968.
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The idea sprang from a group of young Orthodox Jews who meet monthly in a chaperoned setting to mingle and look for a good match.
Organizers thought this centuries-old tradition, with some tinkering, could be applied to the fast-paced secular world as a novel way for Jewish singles to meet and have fun. Like other Aish HaTorah programs, speed dating is meant to reverse the increasing tendency of young Jews to marry outside the faith.
It’s a romantic musical chairs. After chipping in $10 each, potential sweethearts meet in a neutral setting--usually a coffeehouse--where organizers pair up members in a seven-minute rotation at small tables set up as numbered “stations.” There, strangers unfurl their bios and gauge mutual attraction.
An organizer rings a gold bell when it’s time to rotate. The men have to move. The women stay where they are, looking expectantly to see if the next guy coming to their table will be “the one.”
Between visits--organizers recently increased the number each person makes in a session from seven to eight--participants scribble notes in a “Dating Card” responding to questions meant to remind them about each experience: “Would I like to date this person?” and “Was this person polite, respectful, and did they try to get to know me?”
In contrast to some of the larger Jewish singles events in Southern California, “It’s a totally nonintimidating environment,” said program coordinator Meggy Ozyel, 29. “People who attend events with thousands of people end up meeting no one. With speed dating, you’re guaranteed to meet at least eight people.”
Although the setting is casual, there are rules posted on the tables: No ducking out for a few minutes to avoid an unlikely prospect. No exchanging phone numbers. And: “Do not ask: Where are you from? or What do you do?”
Aish HaTorah organizers set it up so that people don’t have to scribble down digits on napkins. If you’re keen on one of the eight men or women in your rotation, you can call up the folks at Aish HaTorah and they will provide the phone numbers, pending approval of the participants.
The rationale for not revealing occupations is equally practical: “If the guy’s a doctor, he’s a good catch, period,” said program coordinator Ozyel. Organizers want the gatherings to start lasting relationships, not treasure hunts.
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Aish HaTorah, founded in Jerusalem in 1974 by an American-born rabbi, seeks to return nonobservant Jews to Orthodox Judaism--or at least to stem the tide of Jewish assimilation. Its name means “Fire of the Torah.” Even those who disagree with Aish HaTorah’s overt agenda admire its success in reaching disaffected young Jews.
“If you’re serious about a serious relationship, then come to this event,” said Antony Belinsohn, 29, a television producer who helped brainstorm the speed dating concept. “This isn’t frivolous dating.”
The program has generated interest from temples and rabbis in other cities, according to Rabbi Yaacov Deyo of Aish HaTorah in Los Angeles, who helped start the program and aims to snare more than 5,000 Jews a month into speed dating by spring. It’s also generated interest worldwide through the Aish HaTorah network. In one year, organizers predict, the program will be active in over 90 locations worldwide, including cities in England, South Africa and Canada.
Speed dating has been so effective--with many couples forming and several engagements out of the last eleven months--that non-Jews have been showing interest in the event. But organizers are single-minded about their goal to solely hook up Jewish people.
Although many participants say they indeed want a Jewish mate, they articulate less lofty immediate goals--like trying to find a date for an upcoming work party.
“Friends have set me up, but there’s a lot of pressure” in blind dates, said 25-year-old Kevin Epstein from Los Angeles. “This gives me another avenue to try.”
Single folks at a recent Los Angeles gathering were reluctant to talk about their currently barren love lives. They didn’t want to look desperate. Many wouldn’t give their last names and insisted that they were just there to accompany a lonely friend.
“It’s ridiculous to think I’ll meet the woman of my life here,” said Marcos, rolling his eyes.
And most did acknowledge that the format was hardly romantic. It’s an amorous assembly line.
“The romantic ideal is that you meet someone spontaneously,” said Joel, a computer programmer. “This is rather forced.”
Still, with only seven minutes to kill, how bad could speed dating get--even if you end up face-to-face with someone with whom you have nothing in common except a pulse?
“A lot of people have negative attitudes about going to singles events,” said Mike, a consultant in Los Angeles. “People are pretty casual here. It’s better than a lot of other events.”