How October 7 has changed Jewish dating (2024)

Never in my wildest dreams could I have anticipated that in 2024 I would have to face antisemitism and anti-Zionism as factors in dating.”

This lament from Liz Rudenko, a 38-year-old digital editor based in Melbourne, Australia, is typical of Jewish singletons since October 7.

The massacre and the subsequent war in Gaza between Israel and Hamas has cast a dreary shadow over the past year.

These days, a culture of despair and non-dialogue seems to permeate our TV screens, university campuses and streets.

Against this background you might think that love is very much not in the air. But you would be wrong. One unexpected consequence of the war is that it has turbo-charged Jewish people’s passions for finding their beshert, says celebrity matchmaker Aleeza Ben Shalom.

The frightening reality of war, the fragility of life and ephemerality of the present moment are prompting many Jewish singles to substitute fleeting flings for soulmate searches.

Ben Shalom, star of Netflix hit Jewish Matchmaking, also said that the generally polarising timesandthe state of the worldhave seen a tremendous uptick in people’s motivation to meet somebody right now.

“There used to be a lack of motivation or urgency for young people to date seriously rather than casually in the US and Europe, but they’re noticing now that they really need to find a Jewish partner – someone who understands their story and where they come from,” she says.

The dating situation in Israel has been different, where “there’s always been a high motivation to meet and marry”, Ben Shalom says. “But things have slowed down because we have so many people, both men and women, at war.

That hasn’t stopped some Israelis from seeking connection and virtual wartime matchmaking – even posting humorous romantic ads online. Soon after the outbreak of war last October and the daily rocket fire across Israel, people posted on Secret Tel Aviv, a Facebook group with half a million people, about seeking out “the one to run to the bomb shelter with”.

Ben Shalom also used her platform to showcase soldiers in Israel who don’t have significant others. “Our soldiers, who are out there and fighting – a lot of them are single,” she said last December. “And when they come back, we’ll have male and female soldiers… looking for soulmates.”

The theme of finding a lasting match is now being immortalised in Ben Shalom’s new book, Matchmaker Matchmaker: Find Me a Love That Lasts, out in early December, but which can be ordered online, where she sheds light on how traditional Jewish matchmaking can thrive in a modern world.

The book represents a culmination of her 20-year career around matrimony. Since entering the world of matchmaking as a side gig in 2007 on the SawYouAtSinai dating site, Ben Shalom has sent more than 200 Jewish couples down the aisle while also training 350 matchmakers and dating coaches.

Matchmaker Matchmaker incorporates her memorable mantras popularised on TV, such as “When in doubt, go out” and “Date ‘em ‘til you hate ‘em,” a sharp reversal of that ever-elusive “spark” and “butterfly” sensation some daters – inspired by romantic comedies and novellas – expect to feel within moments of encountering the one. Instead, Ben Shalom suggests that if the first date isn’t a resounding success, but also isn’t a spectacular failure, give it another shot.

Building real connections – ones that last a lifetime – ultimately take time. People, she says, can ultimately grow on you. While Hollywood may have mastered the rom-com, consider the generally-woeful, real-life marriage track records of many of the stars featured in those movies.

Ben Shalom, a native of Philadelphia who now lives in Pardes Hanna in Israel’s north with her husband, Gershon, and five children, is strictly Orthodox. Onscreen, she wears a wig to cover her hair, though her Netflix show features a rich religious and cultural diversity of Jewish singles in Israel and the USA, from Ashkenazim, Sephardim and Mizrahim, to pork-eating cultural Jews and frum Brooklynites.

Asked about talking politics during first encounters, Ben Shalom says heavier topics should generally be avoided. “But politics used to just be politics,” she adds. “In the past, we could disagree on our politics and go about our lives together, we could go into the voting booth and vote differently while still being married.”

“Today,” she adds, “I’m finding it very hard to match people if their politics are opposite, because it’s not just about politics, it’s about their values, about how they want to raise their family – it’s all now tied under this umbrella of politics.”

Since Jewish Matchmaking aired in May 2023, Ben Shalom has toured 70 cities worldwide to impart her matchmaking wisdom, including on a Soulmates at Sea kosher cruise sailing from Haifa to Cyprus and Greece, and on college campuses in the USA. “Nobody protested at our [college] events,” Ben Shalom says, relieved.

“I’m hoping it’s because I am spreading the light, and it’s dispelling the darkness and please God keeping it away from me. I’m not a fighter with a sword. I’m a fighter with my light.”

For some singles, whether they are in Melbourne or New York City, October 7 has also changed how they present themselves on dating apps.

The aforementioned Liz Rudenko, incensed by the flood of abuse she has received since the massacre is now more upfront on her dating profile. “I decided to get to the point early and I now list on my profile as my non-negotiable that ‘You believe that Israel has a right to exist and defend itself.’”

For Nikki Namdar, a 35-year-old business ops and strategy executive living in Orlando, Florida, Judaism was something she ran away from for most of her life. “I was always more proud to be Persian than Jewish, but I became a little more Jewish after my dad died, and even a little more Jewish after October 7,” she says.

“Before my dad passed,” she adds, “he warned me about the people who destroyed Iran. I never understood what he meant until October 7. It’s so healthy to be among your tribe – feeling the same collective grief and the same collective joy. We’re all family. We’re all connected. We are all one.”

Being Jewish is far more than a question of what you do or don’t believe religiously, says Joyce Serebrenik, a 26-year-old research coordinator at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York. “We are an ethnicity and a culture,” she says.

“Before, I was open to dating people outside of my religion, but after October 7 I noticed a fundamental difference between the Jewish community and my non-Jewish friends. Some of them shunned me for supporting Israel because they see this conflict as black or white through a Western lens of coloniser and colonised.

But that doesn’t apply in the context of Israel.”