Dating a Jew wannabe

By Paula Tavrow

Nothing in his Internet ad had suggested that he wanted to swap his guilt-inducing Catholic upbringing for an observant Jewish midadulthood. All I knew was that he was in his 40s, a scientist and a poet, who was now looking for a meaningful relationship. Or, to quote his ad directly: "I've lived out my wild side to the brink; it's time to be, to hear, to live, to stand by somebody."

Intrigued, I e-mailed my standard self-description, which includes a cursory mention of my affiliation with 2 percent of Americans (and probably 95 percent of psychiatrists). We quickly agreed to chat by phone.

In that first conversation, he did let slip that he was very taken with the Jewish theologian Abraham Joshua Heschel. But our discussion traversed other intellectual terrain as well -- including Dante, Jung and Freud. So I did not grasp initially the extent of his interest in my inherited faith, of which I have only a smidgen of academic knowledge.

Our first date was a wonderful six-hour meander. It started with dinner, then an inspiring speech by the half-Jewish feminist Gloria Steinem, followed by more food, dessert and decaf. En route back to my car, he finally unburdened himself: He wanted to be a Jew. He felt sure that one of his great-grandparents was probably a Jew. But, more to the point, Judaism seemed to him to be warm, passionate, logical, thought-provoking and accessible. He wanted to embrace it. He even told me that he had broken off a relationship with a Jewish woman because of her hostility to her own faith, among other things.

On our second date, he confided that in the previous year he had enrolled in a course at the University of Judaism for people wanting to join forces with us Mosaics. The class was not for shleppers. It required a four-month commitment of weekly three-hour seminars and dense readings. He told me that everyone else attended with a personal "coach": a Jewish spouse or fiancée who encouraged the potential convert to stay the course. Ultimately, the utter loneliness of his endeavor sapped his drive, and he dropped out shortly before graduating. He assured me, though, that he still kept a yarmulke and prayer shawl in the trunk of his car "for emergencies."

As a mostly nonobservant Jew, I found his interest in Judaism to be curious, but also (I must admit) heartwarming. Curious, because I could not imagine why a grown man would want or need to change his faith. To me, much of Judaism revolves around holidays and eating. Without the bother of converting, non-Jewish friends have shared with me the pleasures of Passover matzah-ball soup, Chanukah latkes, Purim hamantaschen and even Yom Kippur break-the-fasts. They have participated in bat mitzvahs and perused noted Jewish writers. So why take such a major step, which in his case would also require relinquishing a piece of his most private anatomy?

At the same time, his desire to become a Jew conjured up many pleasant sensations. Pride that my faith was worth so much study. Luck that I had been born into it. Tenderness toward someone who had so much fascination with my origins. Renewed interest in learning more about a religion that could demand, and obtain, such intense efforts from those who want to get in on the fun. I was newly reminded of a favorite episode of "Sex and the City," where Charlotte observed that rabbis played "hard to get" with would-be believers.

On our third date, we partook of a succulent sushi dinner, walked around Hollywood and then decamped to a nightclub for drinks and dancing. After a glass of white wine (for me) and scotch (for him), he reached for my hand, looked deeply into my eyes, and asked fervently, "Would you be my Jewish coach?"

Now, dear reader, you will immediately recognize this as a significant dating moment. Suddenly I was awash in conflicted feelings. Was I sufficiently interested in this man to commit to months of Jewish coaching? Was he telling the truth about his motivations for joining our tribe, or was he trying to escape some sordid past involving nuns with wooden rulers? Most importantly, was he mainly interested in me as a woman, or as a Jew?

With so much hanging in the balance, I told him that I needed time to consider his proposition. I could see that he was disappointed by my reticence. He later suggested that we take some tango classes together, to which I readily agreed. But I could tell that his heart wasn't in it.

After a few more dates, a multitude of red flags started to surface -- his numerous failed marriages, debts, unkempt apartment, insomnia, troubles with the IRS, conflicts with his parents, substance abuse. The end was nigh. As a close friend remarked, "This guy is a train wreck." And, so, with a heavy heart, I eventually ended my relationship with the wanna-be Jew.

I sometimes wonder whether I was wrong to turn down his request to be a Jewish helpmate, even if we were not destined to be Jewish soulmates. On the other hand, maybe the rabbis are right: better to be hard to get than a cakewalk. I do hope that one day he will be able to embellish his Internet ads with a hard-earned SJM.

Paula Tavrow, a chronic dater, can be reached at ptavrow@yahoo.com.