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He sounded perfectly pleasant so we met up for a date in Manchester. For 17 years my sex life wasn’t up to much, so it was nerve-racking when I first got into bed with someone else. The first man I slept with after my husband was someone I met through a tennis club. I knew I didn’t want a long-term relationship with him — he wasn’t my type — but I did find him attractive, so we booked a proper date. Everyone who posts their picture online will have used one from at least ten or 15 years ago. I’ve turned up to several dates where I’ve walked into a restaurant, seen the man I’m supposed to be meeting, but he looks more like his father.

It was the day I’d long hoped for, marrying a nice Jewish girl. In fact, by the time we’d started dating, I’d given up on Jewish women, and my dream of a perfect Jewish wedding, altogether. The intense pressure I felt to date and marry within the tribe damaged my perception of Jewish women and my ability to be myself around them.

She had a great sense of humor, a wonderful smile, and an honesty that I found refreshing.

She was also unbendingly ethical, deeply scholarly, and emotionally supportive—virtues I’d always believed essential in a prospective girlfriend or wife.

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