Esther Kustanowitz

Anyone who’s involved in today’s tech age and is conversant in the zeitgeist of social media surely already realizes that Facebook has changed almost everything about the way people–most of them younger, but with a growing older population–relate to each other. (See “Status Symbol,” here.) Joining the program late (because if you get to a trend after the Jewish Week does, let’s face it, you’re late) is CNN, which has suddenly discovered that relationships are different in the age of Facebook.

Matt Pestinger, 18, started his group, “Your relationship doesn’t count unless it’s posted on Facebook,” as a commentary on today’s world, he said in an e-mail. “I decided to start this group to point out what our world has come to and it cracks me up,” the University of Oklahoma freshman said. His group has 468 members. “People love the group,” he said. “One thing everyone says is, ‘That’s hilarious and true.'”

A very apt social commentary. This is what it takes these days. But I’d take it further. Nothing is real until it’s on Facebook. That’s why this year’s April Fool’s Joke worked…but that’s another discussion.

Samantha Majka wants to let people know a little more about her relationship. Majka, 18, is a sophomore at Towson University in Towson, Maryland. She created the online group “Facebook relationship status options are insufficient.” The group, which has nearly 2,000 members, boasts ideas for Facebook to add to its lists of options for relationships. Some of the ideas are “Has [insert name] wrapped around his/her finger,” “Is seeing […] but sssh don’t tell” and “Is trying to figure out a way to break up with […]”

Whoa. Can you imagine logging into Facebook and perusing your status feed, only to find that your boyfriend, Josh (or something), is “trying to figure out a way to break up with [insert your name here]”? But that other one–“is seeing [….] but sssh don’t tell”–in addition to really needing a comma and perhaps one less s and one more h, is completely pointless. I mean, the nature of Facebook is to broadcast, to shout to everyone, even people you don’t know that well (or at all), “look what I’m doing!!” Adding “shh, it’s a secret” doesn’t keep it a secret. It’s already out there and people are not that disciplined.

So if you think you’re in a relationship, think again. There are all levels of declaration of intent and promises of permanence when it comes to defining yourself in relation to other people; so be wary of what you share with whom. And if you don’t know where you are, check your status.

One of the most popular questions that people ask me on and off this blog is about who should pay on a first date. So let’s all just take the poll and we’ll come up with a definitive answer, once and for all. Need some help making your choice? Check out this post and see if it persuades you.

In last week’s Jewish Standard (the Jewish paper of note for Northern New Jersey which also has the distinction of having been the first place I had an organized encounter with journalism, as a summer intern), there is a series of articles about Jewish singles that I wanted to share.

The first one, “A Plea for Common Sense,” is just that, one author’s plea to the community to look at the singles crisis with a little more logic and a little less insanity (a plan that I’m totally behind, in case that wasn’t clear). But this extends beyond the regular insanity of asking for photos of the bride’s family so the intended husband can “make sure” that his wife isn’t going to get fat when she gets older. (Yes, that’s “regular insanity.” Stay tuned for “insane insanity.”)

The interview with Yehuda Salamone, author of The Shidduch Crisis: Causes and Cures, includes this gem…

“Shadchan to mother of a young woman: ‘Does she wear a seat belt in the car?’”
The answer is, as the law dictates, “Of course.” But, Salamon continues, “It seems that the young man’s family felt that if the young woman wore a seatbelt, the chest strap would heighten her physical attraction, causing the young man to lose control of himself. Of course,” he saturninely observes, “it would not be the young man’s fault but rather the fault of the young woman, who was behaving immodestly by wearing a seat belt.”

The article continues by quoting the mother of a young woman, presumably of marriageable age, who notes that once her daughters’ friends got married, they “no longer seem to know any single guys.” This is a phenomenon worthy of some sort of scientific documentation, how the wedding night seems to serve, among other purposes, as a single man eraser—I can count on one hand the number of times friends have tried to set me up, and usually even when I ask a formerly single friend of mine (male or female, it just doesn’t matter) to think of someone, they haven’t a clue. “We don’t know any single people” is sometimes the response, followed in second place by “we don’t know anyone good enough for you.” (The careful reader will note that these individual requests of an individual person are always answered in the “we,” and almost always immediately, as if the couple has some sort of mental database linkup that returns a 404 message: file not found.)

(more…)

My newest column, “Looking Out for #2,” is now online at the Jewish Week website. (At least until it’s not…I understand some of you have been having problems viewing my pieces online…so I’m reprinting it below.)

“Looking Out for #2″
by Esther D. Kustanowitz

The first time there’s a major change in your life for the better, it’s always special. The many little surprises, and the elation of participating in something completely and utterly new. Even if you try to recapture the magic of that first experience, and even if that second time is really good, your expectations are so high that they’re near impossible to reach.

Parents profess that all their children are equal in potential, as well as equally loved. But the purity of that first experience, in which the first child is the unique center of a fresh new world of chaos and wonderment, cannot be duplicated. Child No. 2 is emotionally welcomed and loved, no question, but the fanfare and hullabaloo seem reduced. No wonder second or middle children often feel as if they’re being given short shrift.

Of course this is unfair to No. 2. But there’s no avoiding it. Parental attention is now divided between new baby-related tasks and the responsibilities to the pioneer child. Even the community may not think to support the birth of No. 2 the way they did the birth of No. 1. The first-born may have inspired sonnets, or presents, or in my family’s case, singles columns. But from the first second of life, No. 2 is most likely wearing hand-me-downs. How to ensure that the second child feels unconditional love, within limited time and split attention?

The most important thing is to try to duplicate some of No. 1’s pivotal experiences. If No. 1 got a kangaroo to sleep with, then No. 2 should also have a special stuffed animal designated for his use. And if Doda Esther happened to write a singles column about No. 1, how could she possibly excuse herself from writing about No. 2, and waxing similarly rhapsodic about her hopes for the boy-then-man that this swaddled lump will become? “You don’t have to,” the Mommy assured me. “No one expects you to.” Except I expect me to: I’m looking out for No. 2.

But as an oldest child, my sympathies are not only with the cute, cuddly newborn No. 2 and his “middle child syndrome,” but also with No. 1. I remember what it was like to have to share the spotlight with a sibling. My brother was small, didn’t do much, and was a boy. That was all new to me, which was cool. I gave him a brush for his non-hair. And while placid, sweet moments were captured on still and moving film, I realize now that many of them might have been staged. As he grew, and did more, he managed to do more to annoy me. We developed a sibling rivalry, and our parents developed a system to keep our academic lives independent of each other. He knew I was good in English, and I knew he was a math and science kid. But we never knew what grades the other was getting. My parents didn’t even let us share our SAT scores.

After the arrival of No. 3, and later when we grew up, my older-younger brother and I managed to make our way back to a relationship that has become warmer than anyone observing those early fights could have expected. I went through college, meeting people who truly despised their siblings, and knew I was lucky. Our tension never included loathing; competition wasn’t always healthy, but it wasn’t hatred, either.

I observe No. 1 and his relationship with No. 2, now just a month old. The second is new, and little, and doesn’t do much. The first knows he has to be gentle with No. 2, and that as an older brother he is supposed to share. I hope to teach both of them to leave themselves open to the other, even as they are working to define themselves as individuals. I hope to help them avoid competition with each other, to help them share space and negotiate their differences positively, and help them realize that even if they disagree, they can still do so from a place of love.

I’ve been living alone for more years than I can count (like I said, I was never good at math). But someday, I’m going to have to let someone else into my (literal and emotional) space. It’s going to take adjustment. I’m going to have to consider that person’s needs, and accept that I’m not my own boss—my decisions will now affect someone else’s life, too. It may feel like a home invasion, like I’m giving up my stuff (or identity) by sharing it with someone else. I was here first. But being the pioneer in this space of myself and in the future family I hope to have, also means being the first to say, “Welcome home.”

Esther D. Kustanowitz is the proud doda of Gil Aviad and Dov Yair, and, even if pressed, knows better than to pick favorites. You can reach her at jdatersanonymous@gmail.com.