11/26/2014 09:30 am ET Updated Dec 06, 2017

30 Days of Online Dating: Hey JDate, This Shiksa's Willing to Convert


Ahh, JDate. The blessed bastion of matzo-loving mensches. I'm really excited to test the waters on this site. In large part because this little Catholic loves the Jews, and has been told by many of their most devoted that she would be quite welcome in the tribe.

Fun fact of the day: You don't have to be Jewish to be on JDate. Hellllooooo, John Krasinskis, your shiksa awaits! You don't even have to be "willing to convert", but I go ahead and check that box anyway.

My excitement wanes the moment the screen loads. The website is an OCD nightmare. What year was this built? Why is it so cluttered? Which section do I click on first? And where, for Yahweh's sake, are my adorably pale little schlemiels??

A few deep breaths and several brown bags later, I make my way to the profile section. Unlike Tinder, the people of JDate want to know everything about you. Describe my life and ambitions?? I refuse to put my dreams in a box. Past relationships? "None" doesn't feel like a real crowd-pleaser, so I go with, "Minus the one I murdered and the three I'm currently stalking?" You with me, balebostes?

The virtual interrogation continues:

A brief history of my life: Born early. Bred over-achiever. Socialized sarcastic.

My perfect first date: It involves an Uber and John Krasinski and me making out.

On our first date, remind me to tell you the story about...: Don't worry. I'll remember.

The things I could never live without: Wit, candor, and crossword puzzles.

I'm looking for...: ...Perfection. Preferably with a solid sense of humor. And stellar bone structure.

I begin to tire of this very deep and very personal probing and head to the details portion of my profile, thinking it will be a quick hit of basic stats. Oh how wrong was I. Height, 5'11"; body style, lean and slender; hair, dark brown; eyes, green; ethnicity, cauc -- uh. Where's the caucasian?


Three quick Google searches later, I settle on, "Will tell you later".

'Likes & Interests' is a multiple-choice sort of deal, so that section flies by pretty quickly, setting me up for the Kibitz tab. I'm beginning to think there should be a separate shiksa membership to this site -- dictionary included.

The Kibitz Corner proffers a question of the day. Your answer will show up alongside your profile photo in this chat room of sorts, and people can comment, like, or click to send a little love tap your way. Open myself up to an onslaught of unvetted creepers? We'll go ahead and save that for another day.

I head back to my profile and click on the final notch -- Compatibility. This sector asks you to take a color code test, which will determine and define your core personality traits. I love these kinds of things.

Question 1: "When I failed as a child, I felt...". Failed as a child? Let's not be ridiculous here.

Perhaps it's time to browse those recommendations.

5'7". 5'8". 5'4".


Oy vey iz mir. As I'm contemplating a future filled with flats and neck pain, an irksome, Nokia-esque noise begins to ping from my screen. Oh holy night. The face of a 55-year-old man is leering at me, asking if I would like to chat. HE'S IN MY HOME. "JewGotSoul has viewed your profile." I feel so violated. I X his face away, but it's immediately replaced by three more. At the same time, I see my inbox numbers rise.

Do I even want to know?

The messages are overwhelmingly earnest. These men are nice. These men are serious. Suddenly my ideal first date that "involves an Uber and John Krasinski and me making out" feels childish.


Welp. I think that's enough JDating for one evening!

I'll leave you with this gem that I plan on cherishing forever:


THE NEIGHBORHOOD YENTA. I've been waiting my whole life to read those words.

Million. To. One.