Since the days of the yenta, the allure of having a wellmatched Jewish mate found for you has been balanced by the fear of the unpredictability of most websites that offer to do the same services. Even in its slogan, Match.com offers a consolatory “It’s okay to look.” Speed date success stories promise a shortcut to love and happiness, and large-scale mixers like the Matzo Ball seem certain to improve one’s odds. But how realistic is the process, and how easy is the leap from JDate to a first date? I decided to find out.

With about a one-month timeframe, I set out to find a vehicle that could connect me with a single Jewish male. My first obstacle was finding the right program. The online dating sites turned me off pretty quickly; the established ones lost me at their price tags. All the others seemed to disregard my every preference, beyond my desire to be matched with a biological male (any algorithm that would pair me with screennames like “prettyBoi” and “TllDrkNHndsm” must have a misplaced decimal or something). After a series of Google searches juggling the buzzwords “Jewish,” “singles” and “Chicago” got me nowhere, I called Northwestern University’s Hillel and was referred to the Chicago Jewish United Fund/Jewish Federation of Metropolitan Chicago’s website.

I combed through the site for two weeks before an event on the calendar popped up: a dinner meet-up with a group called “Jewish Social Singles.” A week later I was sitting in the entrance of a Chinese buffet trying desperately to capture some affirmative eye contact from the few other young people standing near the door. Finally, someone from the group guessed I was one of theirs and introduced herself. Her name was Carol. She was nervous and soft-spoken, and almost 65 years old. I choked on my gum.

Very quickly I realized that the “21 plus” indication was the only age parameter. I also discovered that, apart from one other woman in her late 40s, I was the only person new to the group, which had evolved from a date-finding mechanism into more of a club for single people. The only partnering they did was in dividing up teams for their bi-monthly bowling trips.

For the next two hours I would drink six glasses of water, bite each of my nails down to a bloody pulp and fight to stay afloat, blundering my way through computer talk with the only two guys born after 1970. I was silently pleading, for the first time in my life, that someone would ask me about school. I took my first exit opportunity, dodged three follow-up invitations and a newsletter, and made sure I was out of sight before sprinting out the door. My immediate regret was that I hadn’t thought to buy a drink that could have cushioned the blow of the advances of a man who bore a striking resemblance to Harry Caray.

Assessing the aftermath of a what is no doubt a record-12 horrible first dates occurring simultaneously-I realized that, in addition to meeting a traumatic and horribly disappointing outcome, I spent more effort planning how and to whom I should relinquish the responsibility for finding a date than it would have taken me to go on twice as many. In matchmaking theory, Jewish Social Singles should have offered me a more qualified pool of candidates for romantic partners than JDate does. In practice, though, I discussed community theater with nine women and five men over soggy crab rangoon on a Saturday night. And if this means that this love-finding process truly is as hit-or-miss as it seems, take my word for it and take the hunt into your own hands. Get involved in activities you enjoy, make time for developing meaningful relationships in all facets of your life, and back out of any blind dates planned around early-bird specials. Trust me on that last one.

lizzie SCHIFFMAN