The Matchup

11/30/2010 | | Special To The Jewish Week | The Matchup

‘I’ve got two weeks to find me a boyfriend,” I told my friend as we slurped our soup, hunched over the counter of the kubeh bar in the shuk, all the while keeping our eyes on the sundry stream of characters parading by.

Which is another way of saying, my days as a singles columnist were rapidly coming to an end — not because I found myself the near-sighted, stoop-shouldered, multilingual Jewish genius of my dreams.

Sigh! I should be so lucky!

11/02/2010 | | Special To The Jewish Week | The Matchup

‘Going on a whirlwind, round the world tour?” the mover asked me as he packed up my china.

I explained that I lived in Israel. And since the next tenants for my condo in Chicago wanted it unfurnished I had to pack up and store everything.

Because he was my mover he did not ask the kind of probing, Talmudic question that this situation begs, namely: If I am living in Israel for nearly two years already, why don’t I just up and ship everything to Israel or sell it off?

Good question.

But he did ask about my china.

09/29/2010 | | Special to the Jewish | The Matchup

The thing about Jerusalem is, you’re bound to run into someone you know at some point.

And by “you” I mean, “me.”

Which is another way of saying, while waiting for the bus the other day, the gentleman who walked by and then parked himself right behind me and who looked suspiciously like the gentleman in the States who had once stolen my heart, was no doubt the very same man.

And the skinny blonde by his side?

08/31/2010 | | Special To The Jewish Week | The Matchup

 ‘Where was I?”

Which was really another way of saying, “What in the bleep was I doing?”

I asked myself these questions through my haze as I lay prone on a couch in the living room of an Israeli couple I barely knew.

08/03/2010 | | Special To The Jewish Week | The Matchup

In the mood for a Real, Honest-to-Hashem Love Story?

Something that does not end with the phrase, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry?” 

Something, for that matter, that does not end in disappointment and loneliness? Or worse: Penury and woe?

I mean, something with teeth. Preferably involving the Shoah? Because I don’t know about you but I love a good Holocaust love story. 

06/29/2010 | | Special To The Jewish Week | The Matchup

 We met at a bar in Tel Aviv. I was covering an event for work and he was a volunteer for the organization I was profiling.

According to my version, I was standing on the sidelines, mustering up my courage to approach strangers, when he approached me. Relieved that the “quotes” were coming to me and that I didn’t have to ask for them, I proceeded to pull out my notebook and pepper him with questions. All in the name of work, of course.