Be careful of what you wish for

A few years ago, while visiting Tzfat in the north of Israel, my sister insisted that I visit a specific holy area she'd heard a lot about. This site, by the name of Amuka, is the burial ground of a great rabbi who was known to have special powers. In particular, hundreds of people go in droves to his grave each week to pray for health, fertility or marriage. It was recommended I go for the latter.

The experience of visiting the grave in Amuka was nothing less than surreal. I was told to buy candles at the entrance and then was instructed to pray at the grave, light the candle outside while saying my prayer to meet my life partner, and then circle the dome that sits on the roof of the grave 7 times. This resembles the Jewish tradition of circling one's groom during the wedding ceremony, and I took the entire process very seriously. My good friend, who came with me for the journey but was not prepared to partake in any of the humiliating rituals, simply stood at the side and laughed. All she could think of was how she would describe my antics afterwards to our friends at home.

Imagine both of our surprise, then, when I got a phone call as we got back into the car, from someone who wanted to fix me up. We both went a little pale. Could this be it? Could it be that just one visit to a grave in Tzfat was all it would take to get me together with fate's intended partner?

The call was from a cousin, who had given my number to a friend, who was going to give it to her brother. The down side of this was that my cousin had never met the guy. In fact, all she knew about him was that he was apparently a great guy. The up side? I was in one of the most beautiful places in the world, I had just made a special prayer for a partner, and the timing couldn't be better. I was convinced that this was a date with destiny.

All my cousin could tell me was the potential date's name. However, with the advent of the Internet, that was more than enough to go on to find some of the all-too-important info I sought before going out with someone. I googled him, and was a little intimidated to find hundreds of search results come up. It seemed my potential date was a very well-known Israel journalist who specialized in political commentary. This did not bode well for me. With a pre-disposition to nightmares and an idyllic approach to existence, I take a clear ostrich (head-in-the-sand) approach to life. The daily news is not something that appears on my list of priorities for any given day.

So I spent the next week reading up on actuality, with a strong desire to hold my own in a conversation with someone who was a clear intellectual. Yet when he eventually called, he sounded shy and quite introverted. Making conversation was not easy, and it made me wonder how he could be such a successful journalist when he could barely string a minute of small talk together. Soon after the call began, it ended, with us agreeing to meet the following night in a central location.

The date took place on what was possibly the hottest night in the history of the state of Israel. It was so hot that getting dressed was a chore, and I regretted agreeing to meet this virtual stranger at all. I use the term 'getting dressed' loosely – it was too hot for real clothing, so I elected to wear a t(iny)-shirt with spaghetti-thin straps and some loose cotton pants with sandals. Imagine my shock when my date got out his car wearing a long-sleeved white shirt and black jacket. Did he have poor circulation? Bad skin? Was he albino? As these questions raced through my mind, he turned his back to lock the door, and I spotted what might as well have been a luminous yarmulke clipped to his head. Could it be? Could my cousin have been so desperate for me to meet someone that she forgot I was secular? When she told me his name, did she forget to mention the 'rabbi' first?

He hid what could only have been horror like a true gentleman. I doubt he'd ever seen a woman as naked as I was on that steaming night, and it took every ounce of good manners for me not to get back in my car and bolt it out of there. I'm sure the feeling was mutual.

We went to a nice kosher restaurant, which I found kind of ironic considering that I was clearly not dressed for anything kosher at all. I was impressed that he was not too embarrassed to be seen with me in public, but then again, he probably didn't know of any non-kosher establishments in the area. The date lasted as long as it takes to drink a glass of coke. He was in a rush to get to a lesson at his seminary. I was in a rush to get anywhere else.

And the studying I'd done to ensure I could hold my own in a conversation on current affairs turned out to be unnecessary. Other than a coincidental common name, my date and the famous journalist had nothing in common. It seems Google doesn't yet cover the local yeshiva celebrities.