Speed Dating For Suits?

Speed Dating For Suits

Based on the popular courting concept, speed networking aims to supersize your contacts - http://www.businessweek.com/print/magazine/content/06_37/b4000088.htm?chan=gl

I met Arnold first. A bearded redhead with rimless glasses, he sat down across from me, nearly knee to knee, and handed me his business card. Arnold is a director at a commercial real estate firm and specializes in office and showroom leasing. Hmmm. No story here. (Clang!) Next up was Allan, a friendly, casually dressed guy who had worked with the former parent company of the Knitting Factory, a music venue in New York. Allan, who now runs an entertainment marketing firm and a career coaching service, had potential, but before I could learn more, the bell rang again. (Clang!)

Allan was followed by Scott, a "certified hypnotist" who wanted to show me a stress-reduction technique (Clang!); Ron, a quiet freelance writer with a wave of salt-and-pepper hair (Clang!); and Marvin, a sixtyish, straight-from-central-casting huckster who wanted to sell me on some kind of Web 2.0 affiliate scheme ("Video blogging! Video social networking!") more than hear about me. "This is going to revolutionize the Internet -- PERIOD," he blared. (Clang!!!)

Although it may bear a striking resemblance, speed dating this was not. I was participating in an evening of "speed networking" -- a structured series of four-minute conversations modeled after the dating format. My goal? To write about this increasingly popular phenomenon, of course, but also I hoped to meet interesting entrepreneurs who might be worthy of a story.

While I had no success with my latter aim, the format -- hypnotists and hucksters aside -- has its advantages. Speed networking offers the glad-handers an easy chance to swap business cards and wallflowers a safe way to stop guarding the cheese platter. And for those of us uneasy with using "network" as a verb, it promises a gracious escape hatch from aggressive pitchmen like Marvin.

GAINING MOMENTUM 
Speed networking has its roots in the 2002-03 downturn, but has proliferated recently. The folks who sponsored the event I attended, New York-based Networking for Professionals, are expanding to five more cities in the next year: Chicago, Phoenix, Los Angeles, Miami, and San Francisco. And now companies such as Deloitte Touche Tohmatsu and Chubb Corp. (CB ) are organizing internal speed networking events. Chubb first tried the approach in January to spice up a women's group luncheon on networking. A few Deloitte offices have also begun using speed networking; the Dallas office holds occasional "speed mixers" in lieu of traditional cocktail hours to help young associates at the firm meet its always-traveling senior partners.

Local chambers of commerce, industry conferences, and professional groups are getting in on the act, too. The Financial Women's Assn. held its first speed networking event in June in New York. It was greeted with rave reviews, says Janet Handal, who co-chaired the FWA's lifestyles committee. Handal got the idea after hearing about speed dating from her yoga teacher, from whom she borrowed a 22-inch bronze gong to lend a fun aspect to the event. "And we started out with wine," says Handal, "which is always a good idea."

As is water. Introducing yourself again and again over a din of amped-up networkers is hard on the throat. By the end of the night I was exhausted. It didn't help that I'd made the mistake of sitting on the inside circle of chairs, where I had to rotate to the next chair every four minutes, leaving me juggling business cards, a notepad, and my bag while the 15 people I faced stayed put.

As I rounded the room, I asked each of the attorneys, tech-services entrepreneurs, and financial planners that I met -- many were repeat attendees, hence their wise choice of outside-circle seats -- whether they had gotten clients from past events. Most said they hadn't but seemed happy to have made a lot of referrals. On my way out the door, Scott the hypnotist stopped me to discuss that stress-reduction technique, I carefully avoided Marvin, and I offered up a little prayer of thanks that it's easier to come by a story than a client.

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First Date 2.0: New ShidduchVision Service aims to ease shidduch crisis

First Date 2.0: ShidduchVision aims to ease shidduch crisis

By Ben Harris

New York (JTA) — A new effort based in Baltimore represents the latest attempt to address what is often described as a crisis of Orthodox singles unable to find suitable mates.

The new service, known as ShidduchVision, will permit Orthodox singles to go on first "dates" via video conference rather than travel to far-off locales to meet potential suitors.

A local representative for the service will host participants while they conduct up to three meetings over a secure high-speed line, after which they will decide if they want to take the relationship further by meeting in person.

At $18 per user per session — the costs likely will be borne by the men — the service aims not only to save the money of inter-city travel, but also to avoid the heartache of traveling a long distance for what ends up being a bad date.

"This will allow many, many more options, especially for those who are termed 'out-of-towners,'" said Jeff Cohn, the Baltimore businessman and founder of the Make a Shidduch Foundation who started ShidduchVision.

 

Picky men or math?

The new service, which is expected to go live within weeks, reflects the extraordinary lengths to which members of the Orthodox community are going to address the so-called shidduch, or matchmaking, crisis — a term which has been in circulation for years and refers to what is widely considered a glut of unmarried adults, most of them women.

Though the existence of such a crisis is broadly recognized, its source is widely in dispute. Some say the particulars of Orthodox dating are at fault, with its near-hermetic separation between the sexes.

Others say that singles have become to picky, that they — but mostly men — approach dating with a laundry list of requirements and undertake intrusive background checks to determine if a potential partner meets them.

Still others say that Orthodox parents coddle their children too much, which inhibits the normal social development necessary to enter into a committed, mature adult relationship.

And still others say it's a function of simple mathematics: boys start dating at a slightly older age than girls, and given Orthodox demographics and dating patterns, that means there will always be more girls on the market at any given time.

"The crisis is that there are no real venues for young religious people to meet and to learn to socialize with one another," says Michael Salomon, an Orthodox therapist from Long Island and the author of "The Shidduch Crisis," one of a host of books on the topic. "Everything has become, I guess the word that's used is 'assur' — not proper."

Moshe Pogrow, a Queens-based rabbi, has become perhaps the leading exponent of the mathematical theory. Pogrow is the founder of the North American Shidduch Initiative, a program that provides financial incentives to marry off couples who are the same age or where the woman is older.

Pogrow declined to comment, saying he had no interest cooperating in an article addressing anything other than the "fact" that the age gap is at fault. In an article published in March, Pogrow asserted that the only plausible reason for the crisis is that there are more girls than boys in the dating pool at any given time.

"The solution is obvious, and it is the only solution," Pogrow wrote. "We — parents of young men and women, friends, shadchanim, mentors, rabbonim — need to take the initiative to close the age gap between boys and girls who are dating. Either boys must get married earlier, or girls must get married later, or a combination of both."

 

Cash incentives

Other than Pogrow's organization, however, most initiatives to address the crisis employ a strategy along the lines of ShidduchVision: help more singles meet each other. And the extent of these programs is staggering.

Agudath Israel of America, the fervently Orthodox umbrella group, started Invei Hagefen, an organization focusing on singles over 25 — past prime marrying age in the Orthodox world — which also provides mentoring services throughout the dating process.

In Baltimore, which many say is one of the communities hardest hit, an array of projects is under way:

• The Baltimore Shidduch Network is a 20-year-old organization that helps facilitate the exchange of information about prospective singles.

• A similar service, 1-800-Shadchan, is run by Cohn's foundation, which also publishes a magazine with profiles of singles, The Shadchan. Last year, the community hired a full-time shadchan, or matchmaker, to help marry off its singles. The shadchan already is responsible for nine matches.

• Star-K, a local kosher supervision agency, offers cash incentives to anyone who arranges a marriage for a religious Baltimore woman aged 22 and over.

"I'm not in a position to say that the entire picture is improving," said Fruma Schiffenbauer, the director of Invei Hagefen. "I only know that it would be radically worse if we weren't in the picture."

But to some singles, the efforts of well-intentioned crisis responders not only aren't helping, but they are making the problem worse.

Chananya Weissman, founder of the 5-year-old Web site EndTheMadness.org, says the problem is a corruption of Jewish values, and his site invites users to sign a covenant affirming basic principles to govern their dating lives. Weissman says that most matchmaking efforts are focused on the symptoms, not the disease.

The site includes a section called "Madness Watch," where users share stories of Orthodox silliness. Weissman himself writes of what he portrays as the un-Jewish guidance given to singles, such as the discouragement from dating individuals who only recently have embraced Orthodoxy because that would subject offspring of the union to the influences of secular relatives. Or the belief that only married couples should be permitted to suggest matches.

Weissman also rails against the Orthodox practice of strict separation of the sexes.

"So the girls were supposed to go from interaction in any way with their male counterparts as the most forbidden of all forbiddens to establishing a successful marital relationship with one of these people with little delay," Weissman writes, referring to the message communicated to Orthodox women. "Makes a whole lot of sense, if you're insane."

Weissman, who is 30 and unmarried, also believes the idea that more women than men are searching for spouses is based on a false perception, and finds Pogrow's idea of providing financial incentives horribly misguided. The result, he says, is that matchmakers will be "bribed" to suggest pairings based on age rather than suitability.

Many involved in the issue will quietly admit that things indeed have gotten out of hand. But few will say so publicly, unwilling to make statements that might be construed as an attack on Orthodox practices. Others consider it pointless, as such practices are the product of longstanding behaviors and carry with them the imprimatur of rabbinic legitimacy that won't be easily undone.

"We wish the issues would go away," said Steve Graber, an accountant who was a driving force behind the hiring of the Baltimore community matchmaker. "However, right now I don't believe that we have enough pull or power to fix the issues. It's a little bit like you can't fight city hall."

Instead, most of those concerned have decided to seek city hall's approval. Cohn proceeded with ShidduchVision only after securing the approval of respected rabbinic figures. The service's literature promises that "precautions will be put in place to protect the kedusha [holiness] and tznius [modesty] of the process."

"We have gone to great, great lengths and taken great care ensuring the security of the studios so that there is no access to the World Wide Web," Cohn said. "But even with all that, without approval from rabbonim, many people would not use it."

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excellent article on a woman who persevered to save her marriage...

August 2, 2009

Modern Love

Those Aren't Fighting Words, Dear

By LAURA A. MUNSON - Ny Times

LET'S say you have what you believe to be a healthy marriage. You're still friends and lovers after spending more than half of your lives together. The dreams you set out to achieve in your 20s — gazing into each other's eyes in candlelit city bistros when you were single and skinny — have for the most part come true.

Two decades later you have the 20 acres of land, the farmhouse, the children, the dogs and horses. You're the parents you said you would be, full of love and guidance. You've done it all: Disneyland, camping, Hawaii, Mexico, city living, stargazing.

Sure, you have your marital issues, but on the whole you feel so self-satisfied about how things have worked out that you would never, in your wildest nightmares, think you would hear these words from your husband one fine summer day: "I don't love you anymore. I'm not sure I ever did. I'm moving out. The kids will understand. They'll want me to be happy."

But wait. This isn't the divorce story you think it is. Neither is it a begging-him-to-stay story. It's a story about hearing your husband say "I don't love you anymore" and deciding not to believe him. And what can happen as a result.

Here's a visual: Child throws a temper tantrum. Tries to hit his mother. But the mother doesn't hit back, lecture or punish. Instead, she ducks. Then she tries to go about her business as if the tantrum isn't happening. She doesn't "reward" the tantrum. She simply doesn't take the tantrum personally because, after all, it's not about her.

Let me be clear: I'm not saying my husband was throwing a child's tantrum. No. He was in the grip of something else — a profound and far more troubling meltdown that comes not in childhood but in midlife, when we perceive that our personal trajectory is no longer arcing reliably upward as it once did. But I decided to respond the same way I'd responded to my children's tantrums. And I kept responding to it that way. For four months.

"I don't love you anymore. I'm not sure I ever did."

His words came at me like a speeding fist, like a sucker punch, yet somehow in that moment I was able to duck. And once I recovered and composed myself, I managed to say, "I don't buy it." Because I didn't.

He drew back in surprise. Apparently he'd expected me to burst into tears, to rage at him, to threaten him with a custody battle. Or beg him to change his mind.

So he turned mean. "I don't like what you've become."

Gut-wrenching pause. How could he say such a thing? That's when I really wanted to fight. To rage. To cry. But I didn't.

Instead, a shroud of calm enveloped me, and I repeated those words: "I don't buy it."

You see, I'd recently committed to a non-negotiable understanding with myself. I'd committed to "The End of Suffering." I'd finally managed to exile the voices in my head that told me my personal happiness was only as good as my outward success, rooted in things that were often outside my control. I'd seen the insanity of that equation and decided to take responsibility for my own happiness. And I mean all of it.

My husband hadn't yet come to this understanding with himself. He had enjoyed many years of hard work, and its rewards had supported our family of four all along. But his new endeavor hadn't been going so well, and his ability to be the breadwinner was in rapid decline. He'd been miserable about this, felt useless, was losing himself emotionally and letting himself go physically. And now he wanted out of our marriage; to be done with our family.

But I wasn't buying it.

I said: "It's not age-appropriate to expect children to be concerned with their parents' happiness. Not unless you want to create co-dependents who'll spend their lives in bad relationships and therapy. There are times in every relationship when the parties involved need a break. What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?"

"Huh?" he said.

"Go trekking in Nepal. Build a yurt in the back meadow. Turn the garage studio into a man-cave. Get that drum set you've always wanted. Anything but hurting the children and me with a reckless move like the one you're talking about."

Then I repeated my line, "What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?"

"Huh?"

"How can we have a responsible distance?"

"I don't want distance," he said. "I want to move out."

My mind raced. Was it another woman? Drugs? Unconscionable secrets? But I stopped myself. I would not suffer.

Instead, I went to my desk, Googled "responsible separation" and came up with a list. It included things like: Who's allowed to use what credit cards? Who are the children allowed to see you with in town? Who's allowed keys to what?

I looked through the list and passed it on to him.

His response: "Keys? We don't even have keys to our house."

I remained stoic. I could see pain in his eyes. Pain I recognized.

"Oh, I see what you're doing," he said. "You're going to make me go into therapy. You're not going to let me move out. You're going to use the kids against me."

"I never said that. I just asked: What can we do to give you the distance you need ... "

"Stop saying that!"

Well, he didn't move out.

Instead, he spent the summer being unreliable. He stopped coming home at his usual six o'clock. He would stay out late and not call. He blew off our entire Fourth of July — the parade, the barbecue, the fireworks — to go to someone else's party. When he was at home, he was distant. He wouldn't look me in the eye. He didn't even wish me "Happy Birthday."

But I didn't play into it. I walked my line. I told the kids: "Daddy's having a hard time as adults often do. But we're a family, no matter what." I was not going to suffer. And neither were they.

MY trusted friends were irate on my behalf. "How can you just stand by and accept this behavior? Kick him out! Get a lawyer!"

I walked my line with them, too. This man was hurting, yet his problem wasn't mine to solve. In fact, I needed to get out of his way so he could solve it.

I know what you're thinking: I'm a pushover. I'm weak and scared and would put up with anything to keep the family together. I'm probably one of those women who would endure physical abuse. But I can assure you, I'm not. I load 1,500-pound horses into trailers and gallop through the high country of Montana all summer. I went through Pitocin-induced natural childbirth. And a Caesarean section without follow-up drugs. I am handy with a chain saw.

I simply had come to understand that I was not at the root of my husband's problem. He was. If he could turn his problem into a marital fight, he could make it about us. I needed to get out of the way so that wouldn't happen.

Privately, I decided to give him time. Six months.

I had good days, and I had bad days. On the good days, I took the high road. I ignored his lashing out, his merciless jabs. On bad days, I would fester in the August sun while the kids ran through sprinklers, raging at him in my mind. But I never wavered. Although it may sound ridiculous to say "Don't take it personally" when your husband tells you he no longer loves you, sometimes that's exactly what you have to do.

Instead of issuing ultimatums, yelling, crying or begging, I presented him with options. I created a summer of fun for our family and welcomed him to share in it, or not — it was up to him. If he chose not to come along, we would miss him, but we would be just fine, thank you very much. And we were.

And, yeah, you can bet I wanted to sit him down and persuade him to stay. To love me. To fight for what we've created. You can bet I wanted to.

But I didn't.

I barbecued. Made lemonade. Set the table for four. Loved him from afar.

And one day, there he was, home from work early, mowing the lawn. A man doesn't mow his lawn if he's going to leave it. Not this man. Then he fixed a door that had been broken for eight years. He made a comment about our front porch needing paint. Our front porch. He mentioned needing wood for next winter. The future. Little by little, he started talking about the future.

It was Thanksgiving dinner that sealed it. My husband bowed his head humbly and said, "I'm thankful for my family."

He was back.

And I saw what had been missing: pride. He'd lost pride in himself. Maybe that's what happens when our egos take a hit in midlife and we realize we're not as young and golden anymore.

When life's knocked us around. And our childhood myths reveal themselves to be just that. The truth feels like the biggest sucker-punch of them all: it's not a spouse or land or a job or money that brings us happiness. Those achievements, those relationships, can enhance our happiness, yes, but happiness has to start from within. Relying on any other equation can be lethal.

My husband had become lost in the myth. But he found his way out. We've since had the hard conversations. In fact, he encouraged me to write about our ordeal. To help other couples who arrive at this juncture in life. People who feel scared and stuck. Who believe their temporary feelings are permanent. Who see an easy out, and think they can escape.

My husband tried to strike a deal. Blame me for his pain. Unload his feelings of personal disgrace onto me.

But I ducked. And I waited. And it worked.

Laura A. Munson is a writer who lives in Whitefish, Mont.

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