With Their Eyes Only
By JENNIFER MEDINA
AT this hot spot, there is no cover charge, no velvet rope. There is, however, a loosely enforced dress code, with women in skirts that fall at least below the knee, and men in collared shirts and khakis, and, of course, skullcaps.
On a midsummer Saturday afternoon, the Great Lawn in Central Park is the best place - perhaps the only place - for these modestly dressed eligible bachelors and bachelorettes to meet, so much so that by 5 p.m., the lawn has been transformed into a unmistakable singles scene for the Sabbath-observant Jews of the Upper West Side.
Someone unfamiliar with the scene might have trouble distinguishing those searching for potential dates from the masses who have simply come to stroll. But this day the park is filled with more than 100 modern Orthodox Jews in their 20's and 30's, most of them single. It is that status they eagerly seek to change.
"What about him?" one conversation began, as three young women started promenading around the northwest edge of the lawn. Those same three words were most likely being uttered in dozens of other spots.
"Uh, I think Rebecca went out with him once," a woman named Wendy responded, as she shuffled through the lawn with her pink-polished toes.
To understand who these singles are, one must first understand why they were in the park this sultry afternoon. The list of rules that observant Jews abide by on the Sabbath is long - no handling money, no riding in a car or subway, no using electricity. If you are a young single Jew, that translates into no visits to bars, clubs, restaurants or coffee shops.
So on long summer days, when the Sabbath does not end until around 9 p.m., the social scene moves outside, where no music, cash or transportation is required. Watching the crowds is entertainment enough.
"Look, this is it," a young man announced while giving an impromptu tour with his wife to some acquaintances who were apparently in town from St. Louis and had seen nothing like this in their Midwestern Jewish world. "Welcome to the scene of the Upper West Side," he said. "This is the scene you've heard all about."
A middle-aged man in the group turned to the younger man. "Did you used to come here all the time to meet all the women?" he asked, glancing at the young man's wife, "You know, before you were married?"
The younger man laughed before responding with heavy sarcasm. "Yeah, all the time," he said. "I had all the ladies."
One peculiar thing about observing Shabbat on the Great Lawn is that few would admit to actually enjoying the experience. And many people would give only their first names, out of a desire, they said, to avoid embarrassment or protect their privacy. "Why do we always come?" a young man named Brian asked his friend, who looked as though he were headed to a bar in SoHo, dressed in a crisp long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans. "It's always the same people."
Yet that is clearly part of the draw. Running into an acquaintance from a former life is almost inevitable, what with the countless hours spent at Jewish summer camp, synagogue youth group activities and college Hillel events ensuring that there would be dozens of potential old friends to be seen.
As another group approached the crowd, a young woman named Yona hung back. With her long black skirt and her chin-length curls perfectly gelled into place, she would have fit in just fine on the lawn. But she stopped suddenly. "No way," she said, standing back in defiance. "I'm just not going through all that."
Instead, she sat on a blanket with a friend as the other two from her group braved the glut of people. They emerged a few minutes later, with reports about who was recently engaged, married or - most thrilling of all - pregnant.
And this speaks to an essential truth about the scene. Tidbits of gossip often outnumber pick-up lines, in part because if flirting is what you desire, not even a modicum of privacy is to be had. And since religious laws prohibit writing on the Sabbath, it is also impossible to ask a potential date for her telephone number.
Just before 8 p.m., as early evening prayer services were beginning and the sun was starting to set, the crowds began to filter out. A few couples walked hand in hand, but most of those women already had diamonds glittering on their left ring fingers.
* Copyright 2005 The New York Times Company
By JENNIFER MEDINA
AT this hot spot, there is no cover charge, no velvet rope. There is, however, a loosely enforced dress code, with women in skirts that fall at least below the knee, and men in collared shirts and khakis, and, of course, skullcaps.
On a midsummer Saturday afternoon, the Great Lawn in Central Park is the best place - perhaps the only place - for these modestly dressed eligible bachelors and bachelorettes to meet, so much so that by 5 p.m., the lawn has been transformed into a unmistakable singles scene for the Sabbath-observant Jews of the Upper West Side.
Someone unfamiliar with the scene might have trouble distinguishing those searching for potential dates from the masses who have simply come to stroll. But this day the park is filled with more than 100 modern Orthodox Jews in their 20's and 30's, most of them single. It is that status they eagerly seek to change.
"What about him?" one conversation began, as three young women started promenading around the northwest edge of the lawn. Those same three words were most likely being uttered in dozens of other spots.
"Uh, I think Rebecca went out with him once," a woman named Wendy responded, as she shuffled through the lawn with her pink-polished toes.
To understand who these singles are, one must first understand why they were in the park this sultry afternoon. The list of rules that observant Jews abide by on the Sabbath is long - no handling money, no riding in a car or subway, no using electricity. If you are a young single Jew, that translates into no visits to bars, clubs, restaurants or coffee shops.
So on long summer days, when the Sabbath does not end until around 9 p.m., the social scene moves outside, where no music, cash or transportation is required. Watching the crowds is entertainment enough.
"Look, this is it," a young man announced while giving an impromptu tour with his wife to some acquaintances who were apparently in town from St. Louis and had seen nothing like this in their Midwestern Jewish world. "Welcome to the scene of the Upper West Side," he said. "This is the scene you've heard all about."
A middle-aged man in the group turned to the younger man. "Did you used to come here all the time to meet all the women?" he asked, glancing at the young man's wife, "You know, before you were married?"
The younger man laughed before responding with heavy sarcasm. "Yeah, all the time," he said. "I had all the ladies."
One peculiar thing about observing Shabbat on the Great Lawn is that few would admit to actually enjoying the experience. And many people would give only their first names, out of a desire, they said, to avoid embarrassment or protect their privacy. "Why do we always come?" a young man named Brian asked his friend, who looked as though he were headed to a bar in SoHo, dressed in a crisp long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans. "It's always the same people."
Yet that is clearly part of the draw. Running into an acquaintance from a former life is almost inevitable, what with the countless hours spent at Jewish summer camp, synagogue youth group activities and college Hillel events ensuring that there would be dozens of potential old friends to be seen.
As another group approached the crowd, a young woman named Yona hung back. With her long black skirt and her chin-length curls perfectly gelled into place, she would have fit in just fine on the lawn. But she stopped suddenly. "No way," she said, standing back in defiance. "I'm just not going through all that."
Instead, she sat on a blanket with a friend as the other two from her group braved the glut of people. They emerged a few minutes later, with reports about who was recently engaged, married or - most thrilling of all - pregnant.
And this speaks to an essential truth about the scene. Tidbits of gossip often outnumber pick-up lines, in part because if flirting is what you desire, not even a modicum of privacy is to be had. And since religious laws prohibit writing on the Sabbath, it is also impossible to ask a potential date for her telephone number.
Just before 8 p.m., as early evening prayer services were beginning and the sun was starting to set, the crowds began to filter out. A few couples walked hand in hand, but most of those women already had diamonds glittering on their left ring fingers.
* Copyright 2005 The New York Times Company
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