I Accidentally Went On a Date with a Nazi

Dating apps didn’t exist the last time I was single. That makes me sound like a dinosaur but after a ten-year relationship and a divorce, I was ready to take tiny steps back into the online dating pool. I heard there were ghosts and sharks and some other unsavory characters circling the app algorithm, but I took a chance.

I typed up a cute and witty bio, “I’m looking for a secure guy who can handle a badass woman. What makes me awesome? I’m a copywriter, the center of my Jewish community, a fantastic mom, a bookworm and a triathlete.” I followed it up with the purple Star of David emoji front and center. I uploaded my smiling face and started swiping.

My experience seemed typical, I had my share of unanswered messages, canceled plans, fake profiles and just plain rude comments. Then I matched with Steve. Steve was dorky-cute, 45, tall and (best of all) could write well. Full sentences, big words and the correct use of commas turn me on. What can I say? I’m a word nerd.

His profile was thoughtfully filled out and his messages were intelligent. He also was a single parent to a five-year-old so we immediately had that in common. Steve didn’t leave me on read when I told him my schedule with the complications of school pick-ups and custody. We moved our conversation to texts, which I learned is a big move based on the warning message from the dating app making sure I knew the risks of leaving the app to chat. Steve did not seem like he was going to try to scam me for the thousands of dollars that were definitely not in my bank account. It was safe to text away.

I shared stories about my involvement in my local synagogue and talked about how my daughter loved singing songs with the Rabbi.

Steve regaled me with good morning texts and sent photos of cute things his son had done. I shared stories about my involvement in my local synagogue and talked about how my daughter loved singing songs with the Rabbi. He told me that he had only lived in New York City for two years and had made the big leap to city life with his now ex-wife after living his whole life in a small town in Oregon. The city excited him and even though I have lived here my whole life, I thought it could be fun to share that sense of adventure and newness with someone. As elder millennials, we even spoke on the phone for hours after our respective kids’ bedtime routines were done. Our custody schedules were opposite and didn’t line up. A few weeks went by before we could set a concrete time for a date.

Our Sunday Date

Our Sunday date was approaching and Steve thoughtfully planned a brunch date and told me that we could feel out the vibes after eating and see if we wanted to spend more time together.

We laughed over eggs and I was surprised at how easy he was to talk to. Our day continued like a movie montage of a great date in NYC. We walked around Washington Square Park and pointed out the crazy characters that hang out around the fountain. Steve grabbed my hand and twirled me around to the music a shirtless drummer (It was 35°F out!) was playing. We agreed that our noses were numb and hopped on the subway (he paid my fare) to our next indoor destination.

The rest of the date was pretty low-key as the time passed quickly. We talked for hours while sitting next to each other at a table in a food hall market. We sipped some beers and smiled a lot at each other. The conversation got serious when we talked about what we were looking for. Steve and I were on the same page, this first date was making me happy and I started to share more details about my daughter and family. When Steve went to use the bathroom, I sent some friends quick messages saying I was still out and having an amazing time.

Tattoos

We were both surprised that it was close to 5pm when we finally peeked at our watches. With grumbling tummies, we decided to try a famous taco booth that always has a long line. The tacos were delicious but also so incredibly spicy that we both rolled up our sleeves. I noticed a tattoo on his arm of an astrological sign and asked if he had any others. Steve said yes and told me about a few small ones that he got a long time ago—a musical note, a name—then he looked at me seriously as his chin slumped down and he started fidgeting with his fingers.

“I have a tattoo on my foot that I regret very much. I got it when I was stupid and young but haven’t covered it up yet.”

“I have to tell you something.” I put down my taco and turned my chair. Bracing myself for rejection and the “I had a great time, but” line, I swallowed and pursed my lips together to, maybe this time, be able to hold in my emotions.

“I have a tattoo on my foot that I regret very much. I got it when I was stupid and young but haven’t covered it up yet.” Steve paused and looked at me like a puppy who had just destroyed my favorite throw pillow, and said, “It’s a swastika.”

My eyes went wide and my mouth dropped open. I was in shock. What did this man just tell me? Me, a proud, outspoken Jew who was wearing my Star of David necklace about 12 inches away from his face?

Steve asked if I was ok, as tears automatically formed in my eyes. I shook my head and said I needed a minute. How was I supposed to process this information after spending hours with someone who has a permanent symbol on his body of hate for me and my people? I had so many questions and also didn’t want to know the answers. He repeated how he regretted it and covered it with a Sharpie when he went to the beach. He apologized for upsetting me and said he understood how serious it was—like that was supposed to make me feel better.

I managed to say I needed some air and we went outside into the cold night. I started walking in silence with no destination or plan as my head was swirling. Was this person at some point in a Nazi group? Did he hate Jews? Did he get to know me to hurt me? Why hadn’t he removed it? But, I didn’t ask anything. That’s the thing about shock, it freezes you sometimes.

I composed a text telling Steve how I could not date someone with a swastika on their body.

When we got to the subway station, Steve said he was sorry and that he still wanted to see me again but understood if I didn’t want to see him. As the train rumbled towards home, I composed a text telling Steve how I could not date someone with a swastika on their body and that it was very serious, especially with all the antisemitism and hate for Jews occurring in the world now. He texted back that he understood and that he was going to make it a priority to get it covered. I did not reply.

The day after our date he sent me a message that it should be covered by the weekend. I did not reply.

Two days later, Steve’s name popped up on my phone, another message. He told me he wanted to show me how serious he was because action speaks and thanked me for being the catalyst for something that should have happened a long time ago. Attached was a photo of a crude black box surrounded by an orange shape. Steve had purchased a tattoo gun on Amazon and covered the swastika himself.

After one date with me, the tattoo was covered. I was a combination of impressed (it must hurt to tattoo your own foot) and flabbergasted. This 45-year-old man, who was married previously and has a child, finally realized he shouldn’t have had a swastika displayed on his body anymore. Thanks to me there is one less symbol of Jewish hate out there in the world.