In 1996 I was “single and looking”. I was a divorcee, age 36. I had one daughter. I was religious — not frum from birth — but, my parents, my siblings and their families were all religious. My brother was a respected Rabbi in his community. I was (and still am) an attractive woman, I dress nicely, wear makeup when appropriate. I had a nice figure. I am smart and socially adept.
But I remained single for almost four and half years. Why? Because I wear hearing aids. I am hard of hearing. I used the telephone. I could watch TV or go to movies. I function so highly that unless you know what to look for you might not know that I was hard of hearing. But SHADCHANIM saw ONLY the fact that I was hard of hearing.
EVERY SINGLE Shadchan that called me to propose a potential shidduch — they would say he is “perfect” for me. Why? He is “deaf”, like you! Or, he is blind. He stutters. He has a disability. He is crippled. NOT ONCE did a shadchan suggest to fix me up with a “normal” man. NOT ONCE!
I even asked shadchanim to please NOT to tell a potential shidduch that I was hearing impaired, with the PROMISE that I would tell him on the very first date. There were two responses to that: either they flat out refused or they would “yes me” — agree to my condition but they lied — they would tell the potential match.
Now, a person who has never met me or seen me, upon being told that I am “hard of hearing” might have a picture in their head of a person who speaks funny, who is hard to understand, who uses sign language. That might frighten them off. Until they would meet me, there would be no way to dispel this incorrect perception. But I was never given that chance.
The ONLY way I was able to meet men was via the Internet — which back then was still budding — it was the wild wild west at the time. But, I did finally meet a wonderful man. At some point, while we were dating, and we were serious, I received a call from a shadchan. Before I had a chance to get a word in edgewise and tell her that I was seeing someone she began to suggest me a man. “Like you, he is DEAF”.
Finally, I stopped her and told her that I was seeing someone. “Oh that’s wonderful! Mazal Tov! Tell me about him!” And so I did — telling her his name, age, where he was from, that he was divorced, with four daughters, and so on. Suddenly she broke in, “Oh, yes, I know of him. He is VERY eligible. He is at the top of all our lists!” Did she HEAR herself (oh maybe SHE is deaf???)? “But not for me?” was my succinct reply. Silence was all I heard at the other end of the line. Then I told her to “please do me a favor. Remove him from your lists – he is TAKEN.” End of call.
I think our so called shadchanim have a LOT to learn about how to match people. I think they have chutzpah to think that the CAN make matches. You cannot know how hurtful the process was to me. How many nights I cried myself to sleep, thinking “what is wrong with me?”, knowing what was wrong with me was something I could not change, and also knowing how wrong and unfair it was that so trite a thing could keep me from getting married.
Today I am once again single — albeit extremely unwillingly so. My husband died a little over three years ago. I loved him very much and I miss him. But I am out there, trying once again, to find a husband. Only this time, it is not my disability that gets in my way — because now, at age 52 that I wear hearing aids is considered more normal — part of the aging process. However — it is now my AGE that is to my detriment. The number of normal, stable, age appropriate men available to me is quite dismal. It is disheartening. I do not see it as a given that I will find a husband once again. I may grow old alone.
Now, my discontent is with how forgotten I am as a single person in a community of couples and families. Couples make plans to go out — to movies, restaurants, shows, clubs, activities, whatever. They invite one another to do things together — but they never invite singles to join them. Perhaps the wives are insecure — perhaps they think I may have designs on their husbands. Of course, I don’t. But I cannot otherwise explain why I would not be included. Invitations are given out IN FRONT OF ME, as if I do not exist, I am not there. I am forgotten. Easily and conveniently, forgotten.
My Rabbi told me that it is not true. I am not forgotten. But he is wrong. Of course I am forgotten. Everyone gets busy with their families, their work, their friends who are couples, their own lives. And they forget — there is a single in their midst who is alone — and lonely.
The frum world is cruel to us singles. I frequently dine alone — even on Shabbat, especially on Shabbat or Chagim. When and if we are invited to a simcha, and the seating is planned — we are the “leftovers” — those that our hosts do not really know where to put us. I frequently find myself sitting amongst people I do not know, while my friends (at least those with whom I was friendly when I was still part of a couple) are all sitting together.
These are things most of us, who are happily married and ensconced in the security of our couplehood do not think about. I do not know what the solution is. I only know how I feel.
