In Relationship

All good things come to an end. And, I like to think, some of the bad things never began in the first place.

Let's take my last "relationship" - if you could even call it that, since that's being mighty generous, in my opinion. And even though I don't normally use this space as a place to put my musings on my personal life, I feel this is the best place for me to do it now, since all relationships are in a way a relationship with G-d. That, and the fact that my relationship with Judaism is for me the primary relationship in my life right now.

I was upfront with BG about this in the beginning. I told him on multiple occasions that I was converting to Judaism, starting on the first date. And I made sure he was okay with this, really trying to gauge his reaction to the idea in general. I also told him I didn't want to "date anybody" right then - partly because of the conversion, and also because I suspected I might one day be interested in dating a Jewish man. And even conversion cannot give him a Jewish childhood any more that it can for me. And that's something I am interested in, discriminatory as that may be. On the other hand, true love takes all tricks, and in the face of that, I'm sure I'd have to reconsider what I "want." These ideas are merely guidelines. Probably essential to this trope is that I did not love him, then or now.

I dated him - why? Because he was there. Because he seemed to care for me and wanted to support me. And he seemed to understand where I was coming from. I also seemed to understand him, and so we had a connection, but it was a superficial connection at best. It was a connection of external references, whereas deep in my core, I felt very much alone, and very unacknowledged, no matter how much he said that he cared about me.

I think I knew all along that it was not a good match, and yet, it seemed, the world at large was supporting our relationship. A good friend of mine, as well as other people, told me what a good guy he was. He had a decent job. He wanted a girlfriend. And that's not always the case. It was almost too easy.

But as things went along, I became more and more uncomfortable. It was fairly disconcerting, to say the least, that it was only after we solidified our relationship that he decided to tell me that he'd had an inclination to convert to Judaism all this time. This was two months and many conversations since our first date, when I let him know that my conversion was very important to me. My only assumption could be that when I had told him I suspected I might want to date a Jewish guy, so suddenly he wanted to be that Jewish guy. Maybe that is when I lost all respect for him. But I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, even though it was clear that he hadn't really given the matter much thought - at least not in the sense that would lead me to believe that he really knew what he was getting into.

Fast-forward a few months. He moves in. He moves out. We fight. I get the sense he is operating on some level other than mine. I get the feeling his ears are open, but he isn't really listening to me. I am unsatisfied, both physically and emotionally, and I just about can't take it any more.

I was willing to try and "make it work," but he insisted on moving out. So I let him, and I decided that the best thing would be for us to break up. But we still saw each other. Almost as much as when we were dating. For about a month, we dating without being an actual couple.

And then it dawned on me that this whole time, he had been seeing a friend of mine, without my knowledge, and that both this friend and him and kept information from me, either by outright lying, or simply by omission, and that whenever I found out, he would make some excuse or try to justify it in some way. I said, uh-uh. No way, that's not happening. There are a lot of things I can take, but dishonesty isn't one of them.

So he got the boot for real this time, and so did my friend. I saw her briefly for coffee one day, and then said, "See you later." I wasn't mean. I merely suggested they should date each other. I think that I probably have done them a wonderful service. After this, they will realize, on their own separate steam, that they were made for each other all along, and I was the catalyst that helped make it happen.

At the same time, I feel deceived, used, and abused by people who supposedly called themselves my friends. But they weren't friends. They weren't looking out for me. They were barely looking out for themselves. I did myself a favor by getting out of there. And not a moment too soon. Maybe too late. But not too late to learn something.