Enduring rejection at
a Shabbat service
for singles in L.A.

TERESA STRASSER

Special to The Jewish News

Los Angeles
am in the bathroom of Sinai Temple,
hunched over my notebook, scrawling
down words in the fluorescent light and
wondering what I was thinking when I
decided to catch "Friday Night Live" alone.
"Friday Night Live" is a relatively new
Shabbat service designed to attract Jewish sin-
gles, ages 29 to 40, in Los Angeles. The service
has become increasingly popular since it began
in June, and now attracts standing-room-only
crowds of up to 800. They come for an accessi-
ble service and they stay for the post-prayer
mingling session, which involves Israeli folk
dancing and platters of Chinese chicken salad.
I've come to check it out, more as a writer than

,

Teresa Strasser is a twentysomething writer and
performer living in Los Angeles.

Now married, the
author checks out a
singles party and
heads home happily.

SUSAN SHAPIRO
Special to The Jewish News

Manhattan
ast Saturday night, my sculptor
friend John Brown called to say ,he
was coming to a party in my
Greenwich Village high-rise. For a
minute I was insulted I hadn't been invited.
Then John explained that he was attending a
gathering of art and ardor called "Cafe
Singles," and I wasn't included because I had
recently wed. John wanted to borrow the cool
sculpture of five small heads he'd given my
husband, Aaron, and me for our wedding pre-
sent, so he'd have less of his art to carry from
his Upper West Side apartment.
As Aaron and I did the "married-couple
thing," ordering in Chinese food and watching

Susan Shapiro", originally from Bloomfield Hills,
recently finished a novel entitled Tangle.

a single — although I am
both.
I stuff my notebook
into my purse and head
into the crowded lobby,
where I feel like I've just
gotten off an airplane
and no one is there to
greet me, but behind me
is someone's long-lost
Uncle Al who is being
barraged with hugs and
balloons. It seems like
everyone else knows
someone, so I pretend
I'm looking for a friend
until the service starts,
when I plant myself in
the back row.
The familiar melodies
of the prayers are sooth- ,
ing. I begin to relax. I
only reach for my notebook sporadically, tak-
ing notes in one or two word bursts I hope will
be enough to jog my memory later.
Oprah. Commitment. Jealous. Atonal. Cell
phone. Haven.
I stare at this huge room full of mostly sin-
gle people, and I remember this therapist I saw
on "Oprah." The therapist said "single" was a

videos, John stopped
by for his sculpture.
He said I should
come by later to pick
it up and check out
the party. (Aaron
loathes parties.) So
at 11:30, after She's
So Lovely (which we
hated) and Eve's
Bayou (which we
liked), I switched
from sweat pants to
black jeans and
sneaked upstairs to
the 10th floor to
reclaim our nuptial
present.
There, I found 50
men and women
mingling in a spa-
cious, dark-lit one-
bedroom apartment.
More men than
women, I noted.
Why didn't anyone
have cute guy-filled soirees in my building
when I was single?
John introduced me to the party-giver,
Bonnie. Having been a solo player in
Manhattan for 15 years myself, I immediately
reduced Bonnie to her single stars: pretty, 43-
year-old, divorced, Jewish woman from

•

defeatist word, and that we should think of
ourselves not as "single," but as "open to new
experiences and relationships." It's this kind of
positive thinking, she said, that will help the
universe bring love into our lives.
All the positive thinking in the world isn't
going to help me, I think, noticing a guy who

SHABBAT SERVICE

on page 93

Chicago working in management consulting.
Bonnie said she was on a mission to meet men
when she inadvertently wound up starting this
dating service.
"I'm giving the kind of party I wanted to go
to," she explained. "Quiet and intimate, no

SINGLES PARTY

on page 94

11/13
1998

Detroit Jewish New

