Smith Magazine has teamed up with Reboot (the people who brought you the National Day of Unplugging and Sukkah City) to bring you “Six Words on Jewish life.” Submit your six-word memoir (www.smithmag.net/jewish) by January 4th for a shot at being included in the book and a guarantee at being on the website.

Not sure where to start? We’re so glad you asked.  Some of the staff at NEXT have teamed up to provide you a list of their own six-word memoirs:

Ruvym ~ Russian family, still fears nonexistent KGB

Terissa ~ Single?! You should meet my son!

Emily ~ Once Kosher-style Texan loves pulled pork.

By Erica Brooke Fajge

If you’re a young, single, Jewish female, have I got the book for you: Secrets of Shiksa Appeal: Eight Steps to Attract Your Shul-Mate by Avi Roseman,  a New York native/Washington D.C. resident/IT consultant/singles columnist/yenta who makes this book a pleasure to read.

A friend of mine met the author, herself, at Club Getaway in Connecticut (the Jewish weekend, of course) and then told me about the book. Soon, I had a copy sent to me, and I was getting my reading on!

The thesis of the book is that, according to Roseman, young Jewish women should “shiksafy” themselves (a.k.a. act more like those gentile girls who buy Christmas gifts every year) in order to attract quality Jewish guys, as they often are drawn to shiksas. The book dispenses a lot of advice, some of which I agree with and some of which I disagree with – always a given. I have to admit, though, just a couple of weeks after finishing the book, I am beginning to agree with the author’s ideas more and more.

Throughout Shiksa, advice is given regarding dressing for a date, playing “hard to get,” meeting Jewish men, dealing with online dating vs. speed-dating, etc., defining a relationship, hooking up, and more.

Shiksa is quite a quick read, mostly due to its use of humor. Roseman, known throughout the book as “Ms. Avi,” tells it the way it is. You’ll find yourself nodding your head and saying, “Yes! Exactly!” many times while reading this book.

For example, I loved her description of “socially awkward guys” at Jewish events trying to pick up women. I am an avid lover of Jewish events, as many of my friends know, yet I have to agree this can be true (although there are definitely a number of exceptions, of course). She is right, though, when she says there are definitely some good looking, intelligent, ambitious, etc. Jewish guys there you’d want to meet, but that “they probably think the sun shines out of their asses.”

In many chapters “Ms. Avi” will mention a phone number that she has given out before: 867-5309 (no, not her real number). Sound familiar? If you’re younger than, maybe, 24, you’ll probably have no idea what I’m talking about, but it’s a reference to that fabulous 80s tune we all know and love.

I have to admit that I agree with her view on letting a guy do the pursuing; if not, how do you know if he’s really into you?

I love how she categorizes the different types of Jewish guys out there you’ll meet including the “Kosher Player” and how she advises to always let the guy pay on the first date and not even to bother with “the reach” – you know, when you pretend to reach for your wallet and offer to pay, even though you’re thinking, “If he takes me up on it, I will never go out with him again.”

What did I disagree with? Well, Roseman’s theme throughout the book is that we, Jewish girls, need to act more like shiksas in order to attract quality Jewish men. While I do agree that Jewish guys can sometimes get intimidated by the “Jewish mother,” I don’t think that Jewish females are that different from non-Jewish females. Yes, we probably are under more pressure to get married and procreate, but the author seems to think that Jewish girls are always more “desperate” than their non-Jewish counterparts. I have to admit; I’m sure there are also just as many desperate shiksas out there throwing themselves at guys as we speak (and also many non-desperate, independent girls, both Jewish and not).

And while I do agree with a lot of the old-fashioned advice in general, I think it is totally okay for us, women, to contact a guy on JDate or any online dating site – something Roseman does not mention at all in the online dating chapter. There could be some great guys you’d be missing out on if you always waited for them to find you. Sometimes you do have to put yourself out there a little more – in my opinion.

I could probably go on and on forever; there is just so much good stuff in here. Whether you agree with the advice or not, one thing is for sure: Secrets of Shiksa Appeal: Eight Steps to Attract Your Shul-Mate is entertaining and is a “shul” winner!

Erica is a Birthright Israel Alumna and a guest book reviewer. Interested in reviewing a new Jewish book for Alef?  Contact alef@birthrightisraelnext.org for more info.

Originally published to Alef on 7/9/2010
By Ariel Joseph, Esq.

Being an American of mixed-heritage, I have always found dating Jewish women to be a somewhat…complicated endeavor. Sure, my mother was of Jewish heritage, as was her mother, but neither of them married Jewish men. Consequently, in addition to being Jewish, I am Irish, Czech, German, African, Indian, and Carib. Although most people can tell that I’m multi-racial, I am most often categorized as “Black,” at least until people learn that I am part Jewish, at which point I become a “Black Jew.”

I have learned that I am a culturally confusing package for most women, but for Jewish women in particular I seem to create a disruption in their schemas that make our relationships short lived. After much personal analysis and discussion with friends, family, and mentors, including Jewish community leaders, I have come to the conclusion that this is due to a cultural condition that I call “Black Jew Syndrome” (or BJS).

BJS can be broken down into three distinct stages: (1) The Infatuation, (2) the Internal Conflict, and (3) the Reconciliation. Before I investigate BJS in more detail, it is worth noting that I have always been attracted to members of the tribe; indeed, one out of every three women I have dated has been Jewish, so I have significant experience with this issue.

Stage One: Infatuation:
The Infatuation stage is marked by a strong interest/attraction, not unlike that shared by most new couples. What makes it distinct from other new relationships is the fetishization of the Black Jew for his “otherness.” Whereas in “regular” intra-racial relationships both partners engage in physical intimacy for the purposes of attraction, fun, and potential procreation, if an interracial element is added, sex changes.

I have dated women from many races and cultures, and the majority of time I would categorize sex with them as being “normal.” With Jewish women, however, the tone I hear in the bedroom changes. The fact that I’m Black seems to overwhelm other aspects of who I am and I have often times felt objectified. This isn’t always a bad thing, yet the Infatuation stage, unfortunately, almost always leads to stage two.

Stage Two: Internal Conflict:
After the initial obsession begins to wear off, the reality that she’s dating a “Black guy” begins to affect the average Jewish woman’s perception of the relationship. While she will usually continue to date her darker skinned companion at this stage in the relationship, dates in public begin to dwindle in number and any talk of meeting the family is usually put off.

I have witnessed this occur multiple times in my life. In fact, I once confronted a girlfriend with my concerns about the Internal Conflict when she began showing symptoms of it, and was surprised by the earnestness of her response.

“I can date you,” she said. “I just don’t think I can be in a serious relationship with you.”

“Why not?” I asked. “I mean, don’t you like me? Aren’t you happy being with me?”

“Of course I’m happy with you,” she replied. “I’m thinking about marriage, though, and I know my family wouldn’t be happy if I married a Black guy”.

“But my mom’s Jewish…” I told her. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Maybe with my parents, but my grandmother would keel over if she knew we were together. She wants 100% pure-blood Jewish great-grandchildren, and I’m sure my parents want 100% Jewish grandchildren themselves”.

The fact that I was both Jewish and Black created a genuine conflict in her. She enjoyed dating, sex, our conversations, and was happy with me as a person. Yet BJS took over and began causing her inner turmoil. She liked me, yet my race made it difficult for her to truly see me as a long-term prospect. I was fun to be with, but she had problems seeing me as boyfriend material.

Stage Three: Reconciliation:
The final stage of BJS manifests itself through an acknowledgement on the Jewish woman’s part that she needs to move on and find a guy that she can feel comfortable taking home to her parents and grandparents. If you are a Jewish woman or have dated Jewish women, you know exactly how intrusive Jewish parents and grandparents can be about who their descendants are involved with. Admittedly, Jewish people have a (somewhat) legitimate desire to see their offspring continue the Jewish bloodline. However, in my experience, it is their desire for Jewish offspring that is the primary cause of BJS. Jewish women I’ve dated usually arrive at an understanding, or Reconciliation, regarding their feelings toward me as a Black Jew based, in large part, upon what their parents or grandparents desire. Unfortunately, due to fear of disappointing their parents, this Reconciliation almost always ends with our relationship ending.

The Reconciliation stage does not seem to be an easy place to be for the Jewish women I’ve dated, and I don’t hold a grudge against them for choosing their families over a guy they’ve known for two or three months. That said, it is frustrating and demoralizing to be devalued due to the color of your skin. Perhaps when the “Greatest Generation” is gone and the “Boomers” become the oldest people in America, we will begin to see more tolerance from more Jewish matriarchs and patriarchs. For now, I just hope to find a woman who doesn’t give a fuck about the melanin in my skin, even if her family does.

Photo by Charles Williams, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more posts from issue #16: Diverse Jews

This post originally appeared on Alef  on February 10,  2010.

Emily and Sarah are twenty-something Jewish women living in New York City. In spite of the odds, their love of Judaism has not translated into a love of Jewish men.
…

Growing up, did your families impose expectations that you should marry Jewish?

Sarah: I think my parents always wanted me to marry a good person. The focus was never on the person’s religion. My father was Catholic when he married my mom (he later converted to Judaism), so it would have been hypocritical for them to pressure me into a Jewish marriage.

Emily: My mom wasn’t Jewish when she met my dad, so my parents were in sort of an opposite situation. She converted before they were married and my brothers and I were raised secularly so there was no discussion at all of religion playing a part in who I decided to be with.

Have your respective family situations affected your dating histories?

Sarah: I haven’t been in a serious relationship with any Jewish guys.  In college, I dated a tall, skinny redhead from the suburbs of Milwaukee – definitely not Jewish. Later on, I dated another tall, skinny redhead (I guess I have a “type”) from rural Minnesota – also not Jewish. I thought we might end up staying together for a long time, and he was fine with the fact that I wanted to have a Jewish family. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I always wondered if I could raise a Jewish family if my partner wasn’t Jewish. But since my mom did, I thought I could too.

I did date two Jewish guys casually in between relationships, but it never got serious.

Now, I’m single…

What’s your number?

Sarah: …

Just kidding…[smiles;  scratches chin; looks away] Right…So Emily, what about you?

Emily: I’ve only been in two serious relationships in my life. I suppose I know what I don’t want when I see it and tend to shut it down as soon as I know it wont work.

My two brief experiences with Jewish men, incidentally, both ended badly. One of them dumped me after a couple weeks of casual dating to immediately begin pursuing my roommate, the other led me to believe he wanted an emotional relationship when all he wanted was a physical one.

My first serious boyfriend was Albanian, Eastern Orthodox, and knew very little about Judaism. Even though the relationship lasted almost two years, we always knew that the difference in religion was going to have a detrimental effect on us. He was happy to celebrate Chanukah and Passover with me, but his ideological issues with some aspects of Judaism gave him cause to debate me on several occasions.

My second real relationship is only just beginning, and although he has one Jewish grandparent, he too was raised with little knowledge of the religion.

Does his Jewish ancestry make you feel any different about him?

Emily: I think what’s more important to me is that he isn’t tied to a religious philosophy that I fundamentally disagree with.

How, if at all, do you want Judaism to play a role in your current relationship?

Emily: I hope that he understands and appreciates it as a part of who I am. We already share the same set of values, regardless of our religious upbringings, so that’s not an issue. I want him to be willing to celebrate with me when I am moved to celebrate.

Sarah: If I fall in love and marry someone who isn’t Jewish, this is how I would want it to be too.

Sarah, so why do you think you’ve mostly dated non-Jewish guys?

Sarah: I really don’t know why I’ve dated mostly non-Jews–they just happen to have been people I’ve been drawn to. As I get older, I’m starting to think it’s more important for me to intentionally date Jewish guys, since I want to marry a Jewish man eventually.

This is a challenging situation. It feels wrong not to date someone I like just because he isn’t Jewish. But I’m also at the age when, any day, I could meet the person I eventually end up marrying.

Have you ever put yourself in a situation where you could be intentionally meeting or dating a Jewish guy?

Sarah: I’m cringing at this question, because the answer is “no.” Outside of work, few of my friends are Jewish, so I’m rarely in a situation where I meet Jewish guys.

I don’t really want to join a synagogue. I’m not interested in meat-market mixers. Should I join J-Date? That doesn’t sound all that appealing either…I think I’ve been hoping that I’ll randomly meet a Jewish guy someday. I live in New York City, so there’s a good chance it could happen.

So who do you want to end up with?

Sarah: I want to marry someone Jewish, have a Jewish household and Jewish children. I’m not at all religious, but I love being Jewish. It would seem tragic to me for my children to not be a part of such a rich tradition.

Emily, what about you? Who do you want to end up with and why?

Emily: One thing you said [Sarah] really resonated with me: I’m not at all religious, but I love being Jewish. I once found myself excitedly describing Shabbat to my current boyfriend as if I were a five-year-old on Christmas morning. At the same time, and after lots of consideration, I’ve decided that I don’t need to be married to a Jewish person to live the kind of Jewish life that I want for myself.

Being the product of a mixed marriage myself, I know that it can be difficult to impart some of the traditions on your children when both parents are not Jewish, but I also found that, being in that situation, I was able to find and choose Judaism for myself.

Sarah: I liked what you said about how having parents from different backgrounds led you to “find and choose Judaism for yourself.” I wonder if the same thing happened to me as a result of growing up in a mixed household. They say that children of intermarriage generally aren’t raised with a strong sense of Jewish identity, but you and I seem to be exceptions to that rule.

Emily: If only there were a formula!

Photo by CarbonNYC, licensed under Creative Commons. Heart photo by easyrab, also licensed under Creative Commons.

By Lila Miller

We all have a type. Some like tall, dark and handsome, some go for jocks, and others fall for blondes in skinny jeans. And me? Well, my friends would probably describe my type as: “dorky Jewish boy.” But a year ago when I found myself newly single and moving to DC, I decided to throw all notions of type out the window. And that, my friends, is how I ended up on a date with Ricardo.

As I threw out preconceived ideas about the sort of guy I was looking for, I hurled myself into a circuit of parties and after-work happy hours. So, how did Ricardo and I meet? At a bar, of course. He made fun of me for wearing sneakers (I had just gotten out of a foot cast a week earlier), and then promptly bought me a drink to apologize.

Our first date was dinner at a cute, hole-in-wall Thai restaurant. We sat down, ordered a bottle of wine, and as I lifted my glass of chardonnay, he asked, “What’s on your ring?”

My name, written in Hebrew, I explained.

“Oh, so you’re Jewish?”

Ricardo grew up Catholic in Puerto Rico and had little knowledge of Judaism. He was very curious though and proceeded to good-naturedly quiz me for a solid twenty minutes as we waited for our food to arrive.

“What do Jews think of Jesus? Why don’t you believe he’s the Messiah? What are those hats the men wear?”

Typical first-date conversation, it was not, and I found myself slightly amused at the thought that I was talking more about Judaism on a date with a Catholic than I ever had when dating a Jewish guy. Conversation moved to more mundane matters for a few minutes, and then our food arrived.

He ordered shrimp pad thai. I got pad see ew with tofu.

“Want to try some?” he offered.

“Umm, no thanks.”

“What, you don’t like shrimp?”

I hesitated briefly and then explained that I keep Kosher, so I don’t eat shrimp. Another barrage of questions followed. I did my best to explain Jewish dietary laws in a logical manner, but when we started getting into why I’ll eat cheese with fish but not chicken, I knew we had reached the limits of what logic could defend. A few minutes later I excused myself to go to the restroom and was happy that when I got back he didn’t try and offer me some of his crab rangoon.

Despite the slightly awkward start, it was actually a great date. The conversation flowed easily as we chatted about jobs, music, and our favorite things to do in DC. Ricardo was sweet, good-looking, incredibly smart, and the sexy accent certainly didn’t hurt either.

In the months that followed, I had many more interesting dates, with Ricardo and others, Jewish and non-Jewish, dorky and somewhat less dorky. Sometimes Judaism dominated the conversation, sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes I found myself debating Israeli politics or talking about plans for Passover and other times being Jewish didn’t come up at all. Despite the wide variety of experiences, I’m still not sure what the right balance is, or even what I want it to be, but there is one thing I know for sure – old habits die hard. I again find myself dating a “dorky Jewish boy,” and at the moment, I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Photo by Andreas H. Lunde, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more posts from Issue #22: Couples.

…

No question about it, dating and marriage are hot button issues for the Jewish people. Between conversations about where the community stands on homosexual couples, to debates about where it stands on interfaith couples, there is an awful lot of chatter. Not to mention that hemming and hawing coming from your mother, insisting that you marry a nice Jewish boy or girl and settle down to give her some grandchildren. Not to also mention the ominous and ever-present JDate angel and devil sitting on your shoulders. To join or not to join? That is the question.

The questions are endless, and where are the role models sent to tell us what to do? Of all the high-profile Jews in Hollywood – Sarah Silverman, Adam Sandler, Natalie Portman, to name a few – none of them have high profile relationships that we can scrutinize and compare to our own. In fact, this year’s highest-profile Jewish relationship belongs to not-so-Jewish Chelsea Clinton (now Mezvinsky).

When the Love and Sex Issues of Alef came out last February, we had no idea what a ruckus they would cause. Now, after eight more months of reflection, we bring you the Couples Issue, jam-packed with tales of Jewish relationships and how they got to be the way they are. Our writers might not be celebrities of Hollywood, but you should feel free to scrutinize the relationships they share with you anyway and as always, we’d love to hear what you have to say.

- Alef

Photo by Lachlan Hardy, licensed under Creative Commons.

Couples Posts:
Type A Dating
What Comes First?
He Said/She Said
Soy Vey
Big Q’s, small r’s
Deconstructing Amy
This Little Light of Mine

By Ruby Marez

I started writing this intro after a particularly horrific experience. I had just broken up with a Hispanic guy after he told me he didn’t want to join me and my Israeli friends on a trip to Coney Island because he didn’t want to “go to the beach and hang out with Shylock and Company.” My jaw had never dropped harder to the floor. Not knowing he secretly harbored resentment and prejudice towards Jews I was stunned, horrified, and in a panic. Without a second of hesitation I told him off and dumped him right there for perpetuating anti-Semitic stereotypes, callously dismissing and putting down my friends, and mostly for disrespecting himself.

You might think this situation would send me running back into the muscular arms of my “chosen men.” While it may seem “easier” to marry someone Jewish to avoid a situation like this again, that is not the reality. No matter who I am with, if he harbors any prejudice towards any group of people, I am immediately disgusted.

When I asked my dad about marrying a non-Jewish Puerto Rican woman, he said that for him it was a non-issue, that she did everything she could to learn about Judaism to pass it on to her kids. My Puerto Rican mother, who became the leader of Shabbat in our household, says she was not intimidated by my father’s differences but rather intrigued.  She embraced them and together they made their own special blend of culture and faith.  In our house we had fusion food before it was a chi-chi, overpriced concept. Latkes with rice and beans was my lifestyle (and it was delicious). This taught me the simple (and slightly corny) lesson of “don’t hate, celebrate.”

My monologue comes from that lesson along with my struggle to accept who I am and where I came from. I wouldn’t call myself an ethnic Jew because it sounds redundant…I would say I’m a multi-cultural Jew. A tapestry of several shapes and colors; a mixed salad with many different flavors. I am a Jew of European and Sephardic descent and Hispanic, and 1/8th African and from the mid-west, and a woman, and a brunette, and a wise-ass, and an actor, and a writer, and a comedian and at times, a lil’ crazy. I’m a friggin’ United Colors of Benetton ad-campaign.

As Agueda Ramirez, my best friend and fellow actor/writing partner said to me, “You’re a party mix. You’re not just potato chips. You’re a Dorito with a pretzel stick with a peanut, with whatever else is in party mix. Some people don’t like mixing their chips with their party mix. And that’s okay. You just keep being party mix.”

I-am-party mix. Dig in.

Read more posts from issue #16: Diverse Jews

Ruby Marez is currently living in New York City and pursuing her self designed Masters from Antioch University-McGregor in acting and writing. Come see her writing and acting skills in her upcoming sketch show, “Internet Stalkers: We’re Not Creepy!” at The Magnet Theater.  Ruby is one member of the duo improv team RuBin,  They host and perform a duos-only improv show on the last Monday of every month at The Creek in Long Island City. Ruby also performs musical improv with Los Banditos Del Canto (The Bandits of Song) all over the city. Become our fan on facebook!

The funniest, most inherently Jewish joke that I have ever heard is one that was never intended to be funny. It stems from deep within our Jewish roots, from a place we all know and feel. And we only laugh at the joke because our only other option is to cry at our loneliness and the humiliation of being set up with another complete mismatch. Here’s the classic joke. The line that kills every time. The epitome of modern Jewish humor – “I know the perfect person for you.”

Being 26 and single (like REALLY single) is fine. Not ideal, but fine. I work with all Jewish women, I make regular guest appearances at my mom’s school where all the teachers are Jewish women, and I’m very involved in my community. You could only imagine the harassment I get. I take in stride, I take it as a compliment. Sometimes, the one setting me up says such nice things about me that I find myself interested in meeting this version of me. But the truth is that I’m nice, I do lots of charity work, I have some good qualities. Super. Everyone assumes that since I am single I am looking to be set up. (Well, until someone brings up the Richard Simmons story and then they think I’m gay, which is also fine but not true and even then they have someone for me.)

Just this week, I got a call from a teacher at my mom’s school. “Ari, will you do me a favor?” Mind you, I have never met this teacher before in my life, but that’s okay.

“Sure. What do you need?”

She then explained the favor – something humiliating but fun involving a cape, a mask and her kindergarten class.

“Yeah, that sounds like fun.”

Here it comes. I can feel it.

“Great. See you Thursday. Oh, and I have a daughter. She’s gorgeous. I’ll show you a picture. She’s single. She’s in college. She’s a real knock-out. She’s perfect for you.”

Choke. Wow. Really?

“Great. I’ll see you Thursday.”

(Side note: Never saw a picture of the daughter. I’ll be okay.)

The last time someone set me up with “the perfect person for me.” I could tell it would end poorly before it even began. But how can I turn down a “she’s perfect for you” when I’m single? Then I’ll get barraged with, “this could have been the one and you turned her down because you didn’t like her Facebook profile? This is why you’re single.”

I have been set up with girls who are married, lesbians, shomer neggiah, and live thousands of miles away. All of them were “a perfect match.” I think since the days of the shadchan being the center of a Jewish society, matchmaking has been an art form that everyone thinks they have. It’s somehow engrained in us. But this is the divine comedy. While some of these shidduchs turn out well, most just make for great stories with friends.

I’ll end with my favorite one.

“Ari, I have the perfect girl for you,” two separate people told me.

Fine, I’ll meet her. Why not?

During our (already awkward) first encounter, one of our matchmakers lets out this gem: “By the way, did you know that you two are cousins?”

Forget Woody Allen, Jerry Seinfeld, Mel Brooks – anyone else that we consider a Jewish comedian. This is the real hilarity.

Photo by emanuxa, licensed under Creative Commons

Read more posts from Issue 09: “What’s So Funny.”

I’ve always been a sucker for a funny man.  Most of the other girls my age went for the guys who played guitar or were easy on the eyes.  I think it runs in my family.  The story of my parents’ courtship includes a scene that goes something like this:

Mom (A news anchorwoman): You know, you’re a very good looking man, have you ever thought about working in front of the camera?
Dad (A camera man): No.  I prefer to pull the puppet strings.

My grandmother met her late husband in a similarly snarky fashion: as she primly passed by, he laid out on the hood of his car.

Growing up I always dreamed that I would meet a fella who could sweep me off my feet in the manner of Groucho Marx or Mel Brooks, with a raise of the eyebrows at the end of a punchline.    Instead, everywhere I turned, it seemed that the generation of sexy Jewish humor had passed. Let me be clear: I’m no ageist, but I’m not interested in geriatric seduction.  Did they have grandsons who would take me to dinner?

It wasn’t until recently, when the new wave of Jewish comedians arrived on the scene (bearing their new brand of Jewish humor), that I realized what I was really missing.  It wasn’t that Groucho, Mel, and more recently, Adam (Sandler), were funnier, but that they were shamelessly, unabashedly, flag-wavingly Jewish.  I feel the same way watching them as I do every time a friend makes a lame joke about gefilte fish. Given that being Jewish is substantially “cooler” than it was two generations ago, jokes that center around the subjects of latkes, bubbes, and bris are no longer necessary to get the point across – that these funnymen (and funnywomen) are Jewish.  These days all it takes is an awkward run of the hand through that curly Jew-fro hair and we all know.  They may look too goofy to pull off Clark Gable sobriety, but when these guys turn to their borscht belt antecedents, I’m a goner.

Photo by re-ality, and Son_of_Groucho, licensed under Creative Commons

Read more posts from Issue 09: “What’s So Funny.”

Is it important to you to end up with someone who is Jewish?  If that’s the case, is it imperative to only date Jewish people along the way?

Photo by victoriapeckham, licensed under Creative Commons.