BOSTON -- From across the room, he saw her, a young woman wearing the
flowing garb of her Muslim culture.
And, from what Khaled Rawashdeh was told about the young woman that
day two
years ago at a religious social, she was everything he was looking
for in a
mate: Lebanese, a faithful Muslim and a member of a well-respected
family
in Boston. Yet he never said a word to the 18-year-old. Instead, he
walked
into her father's office days later and asked for her hand in marriage.
After an investigation that reached back to the young man's family in
Jordan, Mona Eid and her father agreed to the proposal.
The story of Mona and Khaled's journey to the altar is similar to that
of a
growing number of young immigrants in Massachusetts who, aware of this
country's high divorce rate and struggling to hold onto their cultural
roots, are turning to a variation of a centuries-old custom carried
over
from their homelands -- arranged marriages.
"In our culture, love comes after marriage," said Mona Rawashdeh, 20.
While there is little statistical evidence on the prevalence of marrying
for economic, cultural and religious reasons rather than for love,
members
of the immigrant community in Massachusetts are increasingly turning
to
their parents to choose a mate, say cultural leaders from the Asian,
Indian
and Arab communities.
The parents of these singles, aware of the evolving world in which their
children live, are beginning to use the Internet and classified ads
to help
them with their matchmaking endeavors. In July, Indian parents across
the
country will bring their children between the ages of 21 and 35 to
a
matrimonial conference in New Jersey.
"The marriage is a mutual agreement between the family and the woman,"
said
Imam Talal Eid, Mona's father. "If she says yes, then we have to say
yes.
If one of us says no, then the deal is off."
While such marriages rarely end in divorce, unlike nearly half of American
marriages, the idea of arranging to marry someone you do not know goes
against this country's tradition of what sociologists have dubbed "love
marriages."
The problem with so-called love marriages, said Jamal Malek, a member
of
the Islamic Center of Boston, is that relationships between both sides
of
the family and economic and religious differences are not taken into
consideration until it is too late.
Furthermore, sex and romance have been so much a part of the American
prenuptial relationship that romance soon withers, whereas love is
just
beginning to blossom after couples like Mona and Khaled are married,
said
Malek.
"See, the reason why they last," said Mona Rawashdeh, "is in my religion,
marriage is something that is for your whole life. So when you have
that
mentality that it's forever, whatever happens you try to work it out."
But that success rate should be viewed only through cultural prisms,
according to Omar Khalidi, a professor at the Massachusetts Institute
of
Technology.
Some in the Asian and Muslim cultures stay in bad marriages because
divorces, although allowed, are discouraged, said Khalidi. "The individuals
may not be happy, but they are not breaking up because of societal
pressures," he said. "But, by American standards, that's a lousy marriage."
Unlike the days of old, when children were forced to marry their parents'
choice of mate, today the young are involved in the process, and can
choose
not to marry at all.
Quoc Huynh, 20, decided not to follow in his older brother's footsteps.
Last summer, his brother reluctantly traveled to their native Vietnam
to
marry a bride of the family's choosing.
"But I'm just too young to even think about it," said Huynh, who plans
to
complete his university studies and seek a job rather than a wife.
"There are many young people who say, `No, I don't want to follow your
system,' " said Malek. "So basically, we as parents have learned you
can
only go to a certain extent with your children. As they say, "You can
drive
a horse to water but you can't make him drink.' "
While the Immigration and Naturalization Service saw a 40 percent increase
between 1995 and 1996 in the number of green-card holders requesting
to
bring their spouse to this country, laws are tightening to secure against
marriage fraud and abuse against women.
Three years ago in Lincoln, Neb., a 39-year-old Iraqi arranged the marriage
of his two daughters, 18 and 14, to two Iraqis, ages 28 and 34, who
had
fled the Gulf War. The Islamic tradition ran against the Nebraska law,
so
the girls were protected when they fled; they were eventually placed
in
foster care. The adults were charged with child abuse.
While such incidents do happen, said Malek, most parents are careful
to
make sure their child is marrying someone well adjusted, economically
sound
and from the same social class.
Chris Jayavendra, 29, will travel to his native India this summer to
marry
someone not only of his culture but of the same class.
"I dated women, but it was just important that when I got married that
I
marry in the same caste system," said Jayavendra, a member of the Brahmin
caste, the highest in India's social class system. Now that he is nearing
30, Jayavendra decided, like his brothers and sisters before him, to
allow
his parents to choose his prospects. His parents made calls to families,
visited homes and investigated eligible women. Then, they sent their
son
pictures of India's loveliest and smartest.
"It's actually kind of fun," said Jayavendra.
Two years ago, Khaled Rawashdeh, 27, was also planning to travel to
his
native Jordan so his parents could help him find a bride. But when
friends
told him about Mona, he decided he might not travel to Jordan after
all.
He called her father's office and arrived with two other people to
introduce himself to the clergyman.
"I said, `I am looking to get married and I think your daughter is what
I
am looking for. What do you think?' " remembered Rawashdeh.
But Imam Talal Eid, who runs the Islamic Center of Boston, was not in
any
mood to discuss a marriage proposal. "I really wanted Mona to finish
the
first year in college," he said.
But Eid himself had sought the help of his mother in finding a wife
22
years ago when he was a young, busy clergyman in Lebanon. The fruit
of his
mother's labor has lasted 20 years and produced six children.
Mona, his oldest daughter, and her suitor would sit in their home on
Sunday
evenings like he and his wife did years before, discussing their dreams
and
interests. Known as the engagement period, it is when couples, who
can call
the wedding off at any time, get to know each other.
"For me, I found what I wanted and nothing about her could turn me off,"
said Khaled Rawashdeh. "I couldn't ask for better."