I was daydreaming about the TV show "Friends" during a storyboard meeting, totally oblivious to the goings on in the conference room around me.
-- It's patently obvious, I was thinking, that "Ross" and "Monica" are Jewish. And equally obvious that Chandler isn't. But I wonder if it's so obvious to non-Jews. Do they even think about things like this?
...Well, I thought... I could ask Rick.
Whoops. That would be a bad idea.
Rick and I had gone out several more times since my unsettling "du-uh" realization that he doesn't have Tribal Membership. But I still hadn't told him that it was an issue for me.
Why risk making him think I am flamingly ethnocentric, I reasoned, given the chance that we might peter out after few weeks anyway.
Yet my worst "fears" were being confirmed: Rick is as kind, open, intelligent and sweet as I'd suspected. Any break-up wasn't going to be easy.
I continued ruminating. Did Monica care that Chandler's not Jewish? In that Thanksgiving episode when her parents don't like him, maybe it was because he wasn't Jewish. I wonder if she thought about it when he proposed...
-- Get a grip, Jess. She's a fictional character, I reminded myself.
I started wondering about the show's writers. Did they think it was a touch irresponsible to introduce interfaith relationships and ignore the fact that they're an issue for many couples?
Do sitcom writers have a responsibility to portray interfaith relationships realistically?
-- It's a sitcom, Jessica. Not a social abstract.
-- "Jessica, is it okay?"
Vicki, the segment editor, was looking at me with raised eyebrows. She'd been explaining her reasons for wanting to scrap the introduction we'd originally planned.
"It's great, just great," I said. "Good job." Actually, I couldn't care less, shining a fake smile at my coworkers as I gathered up the meeting's papers.
I couldn't concentrate on work. Rick and I had been keeping company for a few weeks now and I was liking him more and more. But the usual heady pash period was seriously tempered by feelings of guilt and confusion.
My ambivalence was mostly bottled up because I knew the people I usually went to for advice -- my parents, Rina and Steve -- would definitely not sympathize with my quandary.
Maybe that was an indication that I wasn't doing the right thing, a voice said in my head. But you're not doing anything yet, another voice answered.
I crankily set the storyboards against the wall in my office and thought of how much my job irritated me." In a rush to combine Internet obsession with "branding," the de rigueur marketing craze, the Corporate Powers That Be at the magazine's parent company had me create a show based on the famous magazine that mimicked surfing on the web.
How can I worry about whether or not I can marry him when we're not even seeing each other exclusively?
It is a show tailor-made for short attention spans. We're constantly being challenged to come up with new "click" noises for the not-exactly-clever graphic "point-and-click" dissolves we used between segments. On days like this, I found my job -- ostensibly as exciting and new as a cruise on the Pacific Princess -- insipid.
Oy, am I crabby, I thought as I scrolled through my e-mail.
I skimmed a few work-related items, smiled at a cute "thinking of you" message from Rick and at one from Alison nagging me for socially neglecting her, and then paused at one from the Federation's young leadership group. It was a reminder about a big Jewish singles event sponsored by a local woman who wanted to encourage marriageable Jews to meet one another.
I stared at the subject line: "Don't forget: Greenberg Gathering tonight at New Orleans Square!"
I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms behind my head. I thought for a second and then snatched the phone out of its cradle.
"So what about your Office Lothario?" Alison asked me that night as we drove toward New Orleans Square. "I thought you liked him."
I shrugged. "I do, but it's not like we're exclusive, uh, yet," I said, checking my reflection in the passenger mirror. I hadn't explained the source of my hesitation to her.
I didn't understand myself why I had this drive to find a Jewish mate. Something drove us all to the Greenberg Gathering, like penguins compelled to gather on an ice floe. Was it just an inborn tendency to be clannish?
I didn't think so. Over the last few weeks, I'd been thinking about why I want to marry someone Jewish -- how I want to have a Jewish home, how I want my kids to have bar mitzvahs, go to synagogue. I thought of Rina's kids, Ari and Sarah, singing me Hebrew songs.
That's the kind of home I wanted.
Could I do that by myself? Could I create a Jewish home without a Jewish husband?
Every marriage starts out with a first-date.
-- Dunce, came the in-head reminder. You've known Rick for a total of one month! No one is talking marriage. But the other voice, now sounding suspiciously like my father, answered: Every marriage starts out with a first date.
And, the second voice continued, you know when there's potential for something to become serious. And Rick has that potential. He's a wonderful guy. Even if he lacks that familiarity.
"Hi, Jessica," a decidedly familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.
Harris. We'd not seen or spoken to each other since he stormed out of my apartment months ago.
"I'm surprised to see you here," he said confidently, looking a little too carefully at me. "You hate these things. I suppose Alison dragged you?"
I laughed and shook my head, glad that my heart's pounding was subsiding. "No, I came here of my own volition, believe it or not."
He stayed there for a few minutes, long enough for a few other people to gather around. I was about to move to the side when a small woman walked by and not-so-gently pushed me into a chair. Naturally, it was Becca, who'd taken an immediate dislike to me back when Harris and I were first dating.
I saw Harris looking at me, a cruel smile playing on his lips. I shook my head and looked around. I didn't belong here. Though I was on the other side of town, I felt confident Rick would come pick me up in a heartbeat. And I knew I would feel better being with him.
Without a thought of my kid's bar mitzvahs, I grabbed my purse and called.