You know it’s serious when it goes offline

IN the online world of Jewish dating, exclusivity is declared by pulling your profile off JDate. It was an act that I had both anticipated and feared. I would not have considered “cutting the cord” if Jonathan hadn’t done it first. But once he did, I found myself confronted by all my mixed feelings about being a “JDater.”

Initially, I was relieved that I would no longer have to subject myself to the ups and downs of the system -- scanning the profiles, clicking on the men who looked interesting, hoping that they would notice and e-mail me, and being disappointed if they did not.

But then I recognized that I would be giving up the thrill of the chase, or the thrill of being chased. I must confess that I took great pleasure in checking in each day, seeing who viewed me and, even more so, who “hot-listed” me. It was exciting to hear “You’ve got mail” and to discover that I had a communication from JDate. Was it that cute guy whose profile I had clicked on the night before? Or was it that guy whose instant message I had ignored, hoping that he got the hint? No matter. Those milliseconds between seeing an e-mail from JDate and opening it were always filled with anticipation.

And no matter who the e-mail was from, it always made me feel good. If it was the guy whose IM I had ignored, I still was happy to know that he found me attractive. And if the e-mail was from the cute guy, I was thrilled. But even if things didn’t work out, I still had other possibilities. For me, that’s what JDate was all about -- the possibilities.

I came to recognize, however, that I was so caught up in the process that I had lost sight of the fact that I had achieved my goal -- to find someone special. And the irony is that, although Jonathan and I were both on JDate and viewed each other’s profiles, we did not meet online. Jonathan, who is more religiously observant than I am, had been looking for a woman who kept kosher “to some degree,” which I do not. Although the JDate profile allows you to indicate that you would relocate for the right person, there is no place to indicate that you would keep kosher for the right person. Then again, I hadn’t even thought about the possibility until I met Jonathan. Some things just need to be discussed in person.

Fortunately, I had the opportunity to meet him at a Jewish singles dinner, where, instead of viewing me online and hot-listing me, he viewed me in the flesh (so to speak) and found me attractive and where, instead of IM-ing me, he talked to me face to face. Later, instead of e-mailing me, he called and asked me out.

Not being used to dating a mensch, it took me a while to realize that I was being “courted.” Initially, I thought that he was just like the other men -- scared -- and was taking his time. Well, he was taking his time -- to get to know me, to tell me about himself, to plan activities we would both enjoy, to send me complimentary e-mails, to bring me a rose.

And over time, I found that I was checking into JDate less frequently, that I no longer cared as much about who viewed me, who hot-listed me or even who e-mailed me, and that virtual reality was no match for actual reality. I deactivated but still kept my profile online (as did Jonathan). I wondered what was going through his head, and I still wanted to hold on to that last vestige of possibility.

Then early one morning, I received an e-mail from him in which he wrote, “After we finished speaking, and you were off to sleep, I called up JDate and took myself offline. One less distraction, so I can focus on you.”

Jonathan had cut the cord, and I was ready to do the same.

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Sharon Lynn Bear can be reached at weekend@latimes .com.