Writing, Editing & Creative Media Consulting
Online Clips Archive
The Next Big Thing: “A Singular Space”
117 years ago
by Esther
in Online Clips Archive
A Singular Space (JW-Directions Guide-“The Next Big Thing”)
[…] It seems clear that the Jewish communal world needs to better understand its singles. But for all the discussions of Jewish demography, Jewish continuity and Gen-X and Y identification with so-called “hipster” Judaism, there seems to be surprisingly little effort applied to understanding what makes singles tick — socially and spiritually.
Columbia has its School of International and Public Affairs. Penn has Wharton. Brandeis has numerous academic institutes, including five centers relating to Jewish concerns (and not even counting their Middle East Institute). But nowhere is there an academic Institute on Jewish Single Life, which treat singles as a demographic vital to the constant conversation on Jewish continuity rather than a phenomenon or, as some organizations have decreed, a catastrophe. […]
For more, see the whole article here.
New Clips from Esther
017 years ago
A Very Kosher Comedy Christmas (Idol Chatter)
Bush’s So-Called Elementary School Life (Idol Chatter)
The Painted Veil: Class and Romance in the Time of Cholera (Idol Chatter)
Two Rabbis on the Radio (Idol Chatter)
Kula Uncovers "Hidden Wisdom" in New TV Series (Idol Chatter)
Dating 2.0 (Jewish Week singles)
Friends in High Places (Jewish Week singles)
Who Your Friends Are (Jewish Week singles)
High School Revisited (Jewish Week singles)
“Friends in High Places” (JW-First Person Singular)
118 years ago
by Esther
in Online Clips Archive
I recently returned from a trip to Los Angeles, which turned out to be memorable for many reasons – not the least of which was the fact that what happened had me reconsidering the nature of friendship. Read my latest singles column, “Friends in High Places,” for more…
“Friends in High Places”
by Esther D. Kustanowitz
Some people really love traveling. They book tickets casually, pack efficiently, carry the smallest of bags onto the plane, zip through security unencumbered by computers or magazines or much of anything. Airport transportation is a simple call; tray tables in any position herald experiential potential. These people pull their luggage behind them fluidly, the Supermen and Superwomen of suitcases. They treat every moment as precious, as if something pivotal is about to change. Or perhaps they’re so used to it that they don’t even think about it anymore. In either case, for them, the preparation for and the process of traveling are effortless.
And then there’s me. I don’t really enjoy the act of traveling, especially by airplane. Part of the reason is psychological and emotional: at 30,000 feet —with a cultural memory flecked with plane crash footage (thank you, ABC’s “Lost”!) — a writer becomes more aware of her mortality than is probably healthy, and the anxiety can be a little overwhelming. Flying can also highlight my sense of loneliness — unlike everyone else, I have no one to lean on in the air. Add to that a mild condition (I’m fine, don’t worry) that can cause me to experience a flight-related loss of consciousness, and I don’t think anyone would really blame me for a fear of flying.
It feels like I’ve had 14 triple espressos in two hours; my skin crawls, like my nervous system is freaking out. That combines with a simmering bout of nausea and lightheadedness, and often a stomachache. I’m usually able to stave off an episode through a series of simple fixes: cold compresses on pulse points, drinking a nice big bottle of water, splashing cold water on my face … and all is well.
(more…)
“Who Your Friends Are” (Jewish Week–First Person Singular)
018 years ago
by Esther
in Online Clips Archive
My latest singles article, “Who Your Friends Are,” appeared in last week’s Jewish Week.
You probably use the F-word way more than you should — with your boss, with your relatives, with others in your social circles. You probably don’t even think about it; you say it, and don’t even remember what it means. In most cases, it doesn’t even apply. Today, when people are in constant communication even if there’s a minimal offline relationship, it’s hard to know who to call “friend.”When we were kids, we proved closeness by proudly reciting our friends’ phone numbers. But between land line, cell number, office number, multiple e-mail addresses and the universal use of speed dial, most people can’t keep their personal Rolodexes in their heads anymore. (Cue a new generation that puzzles, “What’s a Rolodex?” and immediately returns its attention to its BlackBerrys, Treos or other personal digital organizer.) In college, we could just leave our dorm room doors open if we wanted to talk, but today people keep their doors closed and are reluctant to involve others in their drama. You can be in frequent contact with someone who is not your friend, and just because you’re not in constant contact doesn’t mean you’re not friends. The people you’ve known the longest don’t necessarily know you the best, although they once might have. Sometimes someone you just met seems like family from the first minute of your interaction, creating an intimacy that you may never develop with people you’ve known for years. It seems like the essential nature of friendship has changed.Especially in New York, the word “friend” is invoked so casually that it’s not an indicator of any intimacy. “My friend’s in a play” usually means that the performer is someone you met in improv class and haven’t seen in two years. “My friend writes for ‘Letterman'” means you know someone whose friend writes for Letterman — it doesn’t mean that you are any closer to Dave and Paul Shaffer and late-night superstardom than any other person. “I want to set you up with a friend of mine” may mean that the friend offering the setup met a guy through work and found out he was single. We never know.
When you’re single, you’ve got lots of friends. They’re locals, people you hang out with, go to movies with and suffer through singles events with. But you probably don’t call them unless you have to. (E-mail is easier.) Part of the community, they’re “friends from shul”; you probably know basic information about them (“she’s in finance” or “he’s a student”), but lack additional details. You’ve been to their homes for group meals; you may not even know their last names and find yourself calling them “taller Mike” and “shorter Mike,” or “teacher Rachel” and “social worker Rachel.” They’re there. But on a daily basis, you’re not actively aware of them; they’re a part of your environment, like the meridian that runs up and down Broadway.
When you meet someone new, there’s a slim window for romance. But as Avenue Q’s Kate Monster put it, there’s a fine line between love and a waste of your time. If you’re lucky, the connection remains special even as it transitions into friendship. If you’re not, after running into each other on the way home from the gym or running errands, the relationship is subsumed into the wider circle. If they’re all “friends,” they become like ATMs or Duane Reades — generic, replaceable. Wait a few blocks and there’ll be another one.
But sometimes you need a friend, in those moments when the world seems so overwhelming and you just need help. You know people — your e-mail list is longer than a congressional filibuster, and between MySpace, Friendster and Facebook, you’ve got hundreds of “friends.” But when it really counts, who are you gonna call?
Fortunately, having many people in your emotional Rolodex — or BlackBerry — gives you a choice. If you need someone to hold you while you cry, you call one person. If you need someone to suggest a blueprint for change, you call someone else. If what you need to do is not talk, but just type until things feel better, you probably have people for that too. Sometimes you need someone who understands your specific personal or professional context. Here, technology enables you to customize your support system and, after careful thought, define for yourself what it means to be a friend.
Perhaps technology has forever changed the nature of friendship. But hopefully it also pays us a communal dividend. People who have good friends have examples to follow; people who have friends make better friends.
Esther D. Kustanowitz doesn’t really know where most of her friends work, and hopes that doesn’t make her a bad friend. You can contact her at jdatersanonymous@gmail.com
“Finding the Jewish Future” (Jewish Week)
018 years ago
by Esther
in Online Clips Archive
“Finding the Jewish Future,” an article I wrote about the UJC General Assembly, appears in this week’s Jewish Week.
Remember, you can always find my freshest content on this page…
“Saved” (American Jewish Life)
118 years ago
Angela Himsel grew up as part of a fringe Christian cult that demonized doctors, makeup, feminists, the Magic-8 ball, and even Christmas. Instead they worshipped Jesus and, quite oddly, celebrated the Jewish holidays. Flash forward a few decades. She’s now a convert to Judaism (married to a rabbi’s son no less), has three children, and is wrestling with the demons of her past.
Angela Himsel doesn’t look like your average former cult member. The redheaded Manhattan mother of three is unquestionably attractive, even without the makeup that she wears. She wears her openness in her smile and her confidence sparkles in her eyes, which seem to flash both blue and gray, conveying a vision that parallels the clarity she has spent a good portion of her life seeking. But there are moments during our conversation when Angela’s eyes widen, and I see the eternally curious child within, still asking “Why?” and still involved in the ongoing process of self-discovery.
As a child, Angela and her nine siblings were part of a Christian sect known as the Worldwide Church of God (WCG). Not a typical cult in the Jonestown or Branch Davidian sense, the church still certainly fit the major criteria: it was led by a charismatic leader (in the WCG’s case, a man by the name of Herbert Armstrong) and required families in the church to give significant portions of their income — framed as “tithes” — to charity.
Despite the lack of poisoned Kool-Aid, Angela is certain that the WCG faithful would have done anything for their leader. Because Armstrong preached that modern medicine was the tool of Satan, she explains, “People died of ruptured appendixes, curable illnesses. If someone was depressed or mentally ill … anything wrong with you was probably Satan, or a demon doing Satan’s bidding. If Armstrong had asked people to sacrifice their lives for him, I actually believe they would have,” Angela says, shaking her head.
To see the entire article, visit the beautiful AJL Magazine website, here.
“High School Revisited” (Jewish Week-First Person Singular)
118 years ago
High School Revisited
by Esther D. Kustanowitz
October 27, 2006
Back in high school, popularity was a cliche. There were varsity jackets, and even though there were no cheerleaders in yeshiva high schools, there were popular girls who would have seized a set of pompoms were they to be given rabbinic authorization to do so. Academic achievement was a given, but the varsity Jews were our physical elite, admired for rising above the cerebral success so long associated with our people, ascending to a place of physical strength. Even in a school that assigned points for Jewish values, high scores on the court sometimes meant more. Even in yeshiva, the social order followed secular norms: jocks at the top, nerds at the bottom.
In those days, one of the worst things you could call someone was “nerd.” Or “geek.” Or “four-eyes.” Being smart was nerdy enough; knowing how a computer worked was like the social kiss of death. You could use a computer for video games, but with Atari and Nintendo, you had self-contained gaming units; to master Pac-Man or Donkey Kong it was no computer required. And you’d certainly never mention having seen Star Wars 47 times.
Toting hardware used to be a bad thing. (Pocket protector, anyone?) But in 2006, being smart or involved in technology isn’t necessarily unpopular. Sure, high school is probably still a challenge. But today, geeks are role models. They created Windows, revolutionizing the way computers are used. They took “Al Gore’s Internet” and developed a tool that people can’t imagine living without. People live online: instant messaging, e-mailing, downloading, gaming, buying more stuff than anyone could conceivably need at Amazon.com and eBay. Without world nerd-dom, we wouldn’t have file-sharing or iPods. Today’s pocket protectors are a business must-have–they’re called BlackBerrys. Today, everyone is a nerd at heart. Kids today own their nerdiness in an inspiring and holistic manner. Even cool kids are tech geeks, with their Sidekicks and plasma screens. Bloggers are arguably the most vocal kind of neo-nerd, but they–OK, we– wear the badge proudly, as it conveys a literate, passionate force of the opinionated, the vox populi given a platform. In high school, we might have suffered in silence. But time is the great equalizer. Nowadays, either literally or figuratively, we all wear glasses.
Because things have changed, we should face facts and readjust our expectations. Today, there are many more nerds than jocks, many more geeks than cheerleaders. These facts should provide us with a comfort zone of the cerebral. But anecdotally, experientially and in conversations overheard (OK, eavesdropped on) at Starbucks, our dating expectations are still totally out of whack. Women claim to want smart Jewish guys, but also want them to be strong, tall and non-nerdy. And men, literally sitting at the same table, say “I’ll go out with anyone, as long as she’s hot.”
As adults, we’ve recontextualized our nerdiness as normal. But inside, we’re still the faded remnants of whoever we were in high school, still playing by junior varsity rules. We believe we’re open-minded. But we’re probably not–maybe because we’re socially conditioned to believe that aligning with geeks will drag us back down, while “dating up” grants an all-access pass to communal acceptance. And the message of such an upward socially mobile alliance is recognition by someone “worthy” who sees that we are more than just our labels.
Which, of course, we are. Jewish singles are bodies and brains, hearts and ideas, values, personalities and quirks. Jocks may pick their noses, and cheerleaders may snore unattractively. A guy with a facial scar may not be dangerous, and a woman who’s endlessly peppy may not be happy. Our outsides don’t always match our insides. We’re all walking wounded, containing the shards of our adolescent selves; it’s called baggage because we take it everywhere.
The eternal dating challenge is to seek lasting relationships that elate us but which are still grounded in viable reality. Lowering expectations from “too high” to “reasonable” is not “settling”–it’s “being realistic.” But here’s the rub: Only by accepting ourselves for who we are can we expect the same of others–whoever they were then, or are now. Whatever our outside appearance, we’ve always been who we are. And even if life has transformed us from pimply teens to confident adults, on the inside, we are still us.
Esther D. Kustanowitz has seen Star Wars about 47 times and often wears her glasses.
“Recommitment Ceremony” (First Person Singular)
018 years ago
Recommitment Ceremony (Jewish Week–First Person Singular)
by Esther D. Kustanowitz
(09/29/2006)
To err is human, clearly. And during the High Holy Day season, even those of us who acknowledge our errant ways and engage in the process of repentance with a pure heart still possess the fatal flaw of our humanity. As soon as the hunger pangs from the Yom Kippur fast wane, we’re back on stage in our tragicomedy of errors, slinging gossip over bagels and lox, and likely violating any Rosh HaShanah resolutions before sunrise on the 11th of Tishrei. Another year goes by, and we’re back in our synagogues, proclaiming our guilt all over again in an endless annual loop—it’s like an episode of “The Twilight Zone.”
What’s the point in persisting in this annual dance of repentance?
In the literal realm of human marital relationships, some couples, after five, 10, 20 years or so, decide to proclaim to the world that the person they’ve found is the person they still want to spend their lives with. They hold “second weddings” or “vow renewals” or “recommitment ceremonies,” inviting friends to witness the re-consecration of their partnership. But often, such ceremonies are prompted by the discovery of a breach in confidence or respect or another violation of the rules of sanctified relationships. Or perhaps the pair has survived a trauma and feels the need to reaffirm—not just for the sake of celebrating love in the public eye, but to put their own souls at ease—that despite all that has happened, their mate is still the One.
So the two stand there, opposite each other, looking into the eyes of their beloved and looking for a trust and commitment that they may not find. A partner may admit that he or she has made mistakes, and may swear before you and a group of people that from here on in, it’s all faith and devotion. But there’s a part of you that’s unsure: can people really change?
The relationship between God and the Jewish people is often cushioned in the metaphorical language of marital commitment. In Genesis, God made a covenant — sealed in flesh in the form of a brit milah (circumcision), which promised the Land of Israel to Abraham and his children. The terms of the agreement — God gives the land of Israel to the people, and the people will worship God — are reiterated at Mount Sinai. The term that God uses to refer to the people is segulah, which indicates a special, sanctified relationship like marriage.
And a midrash on the Mount Sinai narrative interprets that when the text says that the people stood b’tahteet ha’har, literally “in the bottom of the mountain,” that the mountain was suspended, chupah-like, over the heads of the assembled people — were they to try to end the relationship with God, they would have been crushed. And some suggest that Song of Songs, which describes a physically passionate affair — seemingly between a man and a woman — is a metaphor for the relationship between God and the Jews.
When it comes to actual marriage, something I admittedly don’t know anything about, I imagine that certain violations are forgivable and that others are not. At some point the two people who make up the zug (the couple) have to assess whether the relationship is worth it. But in the relationship with God, in which we have no way of really knowing whether God has forgiven us, the best we can do is see this annual assessment as a state of the union between the Jews and God.
The High Holy Day season is a chance to renew our relationship with Jewish life. Every year, we stand with our metaphorically wedded partner under a canopy of recommitment, and promise to marry each other all over again. As our Creator, surely God knows not to expect perfection — our entire relationship has been a bumpy cycle of imperfection: We violate our contract of commitment with God, and God rebukes but quickly forgives.
Still, we do what we can to make positive changes in our lives, to increase our commitment to living as nobly and morally as human beings can. We critically assess our actions and hopefully forgive ourselves as we attempt to curb evil inclinations, in the pursuit of more permanent partnerships, with other people and with God.
22 Days…
018 years ago
by Esther
in Online Clips Archive
In the 22 days of this month, I’ve written about “My Name Is Earl,” “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” a love coach who compares looking for a mate to trying to catch a cab in NYC, weddings, Orthodox women singing, and John Zorn’s genius grant–with a side of Stephen Colbert.
If you missed any of these vital commentaries, feel free to check out “Recent Writings.”
To all my fellow Jews out there, wishing you a happy and healthy 5767. May it be a productive and peaceful one.
“Hailing a Date” (Jewish Week–First Person Singular)
018 years ago
by Esther
in Online Clips Archive
Hailing A Date
NY Jewish Week–First Person Singular
September 15, 2006
One of the biggest transportation mistakes that new arrivals to New York make is trying to hail a cab that’s already full. As taxi after taxi zips by, they begin to wonder what’s wrong with them. “People catch cabs in the city every day; why won’t any of them stop for me?” The answer, they soon learn, is simple: Those cabs are already otherwise occupied — there’s no room for you inside.
Import the metaphor to the dating realm and you’ll wonder why you didn’t think of it sooner. Cabs, like people, have to be available before you can snag one going your way. While I’d like to take credit for this analogy, I can’t. That honor belongs to Nancy Slotnick, professional dating coach and author of the recently published “Turn Your Cablight On: Get Your Dream Man in 6 Months or Less” (Penguin).
In her “former life,” Slotnick was a corporate recruiter, but tired of talking about people’s jobs. “What’s the most important component to people’s happiness? Their love life. But there’s a big stigma in admitting that you’re single and looking — as if they’re saying that they need someone to be complete,” Slotnick observes. “If you really want to be with someone, you have to show you’re available and turn your light on. If your light isn’t on, then no one is going to flag you down.”
Seems simple enough — turn on light, admit you’re looking and get dates, right? But some of those cabs you see down the road — their lights seemingly ablaze to indicate availability — are actually sporting “off-duty” lights. Only when they’re right in front of you can you tell “available” from “off-duty.” And by that point, you just really want someone to take you home.