Lost Chassan
As told to Debbie Shapiro
When my husband told me that a shadchen had called for our daughter Shulamis, my immediate reaction was "No way!" She was only sixteen, and although she was very mature for her age, sixteen is still sixteen. I felt that she really should wait at least another year before considering about marriage.
This wasn't the first time that someone had called to suggest a shidduch for her. The shadchanim began pestering us while we were still in the midst of her older sister's sheva brachos – and Shulamis was only twelve years old at the time. But Shulamis had a certain confidence that made her appear much older than her age. So when I's point out that the young woman they had seen helping at the sheva brachos was really still a child, they were flabbergasted. "No, no," they'd argue, "Not that one. I'm talking about her older sister." But she was that older sister.
So that afternoon, when my husband mentioned that a shadchen had just called, and that this time it sounded like something worth listening to, I just laughed at the idea.
But my husband had heard enough to be excited. "I know the boy's father. I was at his wedding, and even attended his sheva brachos—real nice, ehrlicher people. His grandfather was one of the tzaddikim of Jerusalem
Personally, I thought the idea was completely crazy, but I grudgingly agreed to ask our rav for his opinion. He also knew the family, and promised to look into the bachur for us, which wasn't difficult as both his brother and brother-in-law were maggidei shiurim in the boy's yeshiva. The information he received was excellent. "The boy is a real gem," our rav told us. "You'd be a fool to turn down such a suggestion." I was flabbergasted. I had been positive that he'd respond, "What's the rush? Let her enjoy life a bit."
My husband was thrilled; this was exactly what he always wanted. But I was devastated. As the oldest daughter at home, Shulamis literally ran my household. Her idea of relaxation was to clean the refrigerator or reorganize the linen closet. She loved sewing and thanks to her creativity we were all beautifully dressed. How would I ever manage without her?
After several more phone calls, we – well, at least my husband, Yehoshua – arrived at the same conclusion as the rav. Now, the only problem was, how do we break the news to Shulamis. She wasn’t at all interested in getting married.
Shulamis' first reaction was, "I'm still a kid. Leave me alone," but after more details, she agreed to see him – but only from a distance.
So Yehoshua phoned the shadchen to tell her that he was willing to meet the boy, and that while he would talk with him, his daughter would be watching from a distance. That's how Shulamis and I found ourselves sitting on a lone park bench late one night, waiting anxiously for my husband and said bachur to emerge from the shul for a short stroll along the meandering paths.
The shul door opened. "There they are," I almost shouted in excitement.
"Shhhh… someone will hear you," Shulamis whispered, her face beet red.
Then, the unthinkable happened. Yehoshua and Shlomo, the bachur in question, headed directly to where we were sitting and strolled back and forth -- and back and forth, and back and forth -- right in front of us. "Poor guy," my daughter whispered when they were at the far end of the path, before turning around to walk in front of us again. "How embarrassing to be put on display like that."
It wasn't until several years later that I learned that my husband and Shlomo were so engrossed in their discussion that they didn't even realize that we were there!
Girl liked boy (at least from a distance). Father liked boy -- but we still had no idea if boy liked girl. So a meeting was set up for the following evening in my married daughter's home; well actually it wasn't just the couple. As per Yerushalmi custom, both sets of parents would also be coming.
I am not Yerushalmi. Yes, I like the Yerushalmi, and I admire their insular lifestyle, permeated with kedusha and tahara, but despite the fact that I have lived in Israel
But Shulamis was not interested in seeing Shlomo again. "I don't think he's what I'm looking for," she told us the moment Shlomo and his parents left.
I was thrilled.
My husband was devastated.
Later on that evening, over a cup of hot cinnamon tea, my husband and I had what I'll call a "discussion."
"I don't understand it. How could she turn him down like that? He's exactly what we're looking for. What a gem; such middos; a real masmid; the top boy in his shiur... how could she just say no?"
"She didn't like him," I retorted (Yay!). "We can't push her to get married. She's not even seventeen.... I think she wants someone more worldly."
"Worldly? Limud Torah's everything. This guy is totally immersed in his Torah! We're not pushing her. But she could at least give him another chance. Such a gem; such middos; a real masmid…"
Eventually I came to the conclusion that my husband was so enamored with this boy that he wasn't hearing what I was saying. "Let's ask the Rav," I suggested, positive that our neighborhood rav would agree with me that we should just forget about the whole thing. After all, Shulamis was only sixteen – and she didn't even like the guy!
But the Rav's response was similar to my husbands. "Such a gem; such middos' a real masmid… (you get the idea…). Did she say actually say no," he asked me.
"Well, not exactly, she just said that she doesn't think she's interested."
"Tell her not to think so hard," he chuckled. "And tell her that I say she should meet him a second time. If, after the second time, she still thinks this way, well, what can I tell you? You can't push her into it. But such a gem; such good middos; a real masmid…"
When I told Shulamis what the rav said, her response was clear. She'd be willing to meet Shlomo a second time for the simple reason that we are her parents and she is obligated to respect us. But under no way would she ever marry the guy.
I was thrilled.
My husband was devastated.
The next afternoon Shlomo and Shulamis met a second time, again, in my married daughter's living room. This time, they spoke for close to three hours.
At the end of the three hours, when my married daughter called to let me know that Shlomo had just left, I didn't even give her a chance to say hello before asking. "How'd it go?"
I could hear the smile in her voice as she replied, "Shulamis's right here. Why don't you ask her?"
"Nu? How'd it go?" I was positive that she'd tell me that she never wanted to see him again. Instead her voice broke as she responded, "If he's interested, and Dor Yesharim says we're suitable, well, then, I want to marry him."
For once, I was speechless. "Are you sure?" I finally asked.
"Yes," she responded, sounding both buoyant and confident.
The next few minutes were what I can only describe as blissful pandemonium. Since we had gotten the okay from Dor Yesharim even before they met, I phoned the shadchen and asked her to relay Shulamis's response to the other side. Ten minutes later, she called us back to tell us that yes, Shlomo wants to marry my daughter. We made up that Shlomo and his family would come to our house at nine o'clock that evening to break the plate and make it official.
I raced to the room where my two younger daughters were busy doing homework. "I need your help quick," I yelled. Shulamis's getting engaged (gulp!). Tonight!"
While Shulamis was busy getting dressed for her engagement party, my two younger daughters cleaned our house until it shone. Meanwhile, I called all my married children to share the good news, and to tell them that they should come straight over to our house if they don't want to miss their sister's l'chayim. Cakes and drinks were bought, the table was set, and we all got took showers and put on our Shabbos best, and then sat down in our living room to wait for the honored guests arrival.
We waited and waited, and waited some more. Nine o'clock passed, and then ten o'clock, and then ten thirty. The neighborhood Rav came, wished us a hearty mazel tov, and then left. My grandchildren were getting rambunctious, the house didn't shine any more, and we were all eating and laughing to keep ourselves from stating the unmentionable. The pile of cakes was getting dangerously low.
"Do you think they changed their minds?" I whispered to my husband, after peering out the window for the umpteenth time.
He didn't answer. He was as perplexed – and worried -- as I was.
Finally, close to midnight, we heard the sound of several minibuses pulling up in front of our building. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang, and the festivities began. Of course Shlomo's family politely apologized for coming late, and we, of course, politely laughed and said it was nothing. But we were very confused.
We only learned the rest of the story close to a year later, when my by then very happily married daughter heard it from her husband.
My son-in-law, Shlomo, had agreed to the shidduch after the first meeting, but had been told that Shulamis had insisted that she meets him at least three times before making a decision. That afternoon's meeting was over before seven. Shlomo knew that if he returned home, he'd end up talking to his sisters instead of learning. On the other hand, if he returned to yeshiva, all his friends would figure out that he had skipped seder because of a shidduch. So he popped into one of the many shuls dotting Meah Shearim to pack in some learning before returning home (I said he was a masmid…).
Meanwhile, Shlomo's family was frantic. Shlomo was always either at home or at the yeshiva, but now he was in neither place. Suddenly, one of his sisters had an idea. It was just a few days before Purim, and the many of the bachurim in their kehilla were at shul, rehearsing for the annual Purim shpiel. "Maybe Shlomo went to shul to watch the rehearsals," she suggested.
Shlomo's mother immediately asked her not-yet—thirteen-year-old son, Shmueli, to run to the shul to see if Shlomo was there. Little Shmueli raced out of the house, feeling very grown up to be charged with such an important mission. Puffing and panting, he entered the shul and breathlessly asked, "Is Shlomo here? We need him, QUICK!"
The bachurim immediately sensed that something unusual was going on. "Why do you need Shlomo? Is it an emergency?" one of them slyly asked.
"Well, kind of…" Shmueli mumbled, before telling them the exciting news that his older brother was getting engaged that night.
Shmueli returned home to tell his family that Shlomo was not in shul. But meanwhile, the good news spread fast and it wasn’t long until the entire Meah Shearim knew that Shlomo was a chasan. The only person who didn't know, however, was Shlomo himself!
At eleven o'clock, Shlomo gently replaced the worn Gemara in the bookshelf. Then he donned his hat, wrapped himself up in his warm winter coat and left the shul to return home. On his way, several people stopped him to wish him a hearty mazel tov. He assumed it was because his sister had given birth that morning. Five minutes later he opened the front door and was surprised to see his entire extended family sitting there, staring at him, their faces a combination of curiosity and amusement.
"Where were you?" his father asked.
"Shlomo, hurry up, your kallah's waiting for you," interjected his mother.
Meanwhile, one sister started polishing his right shoe, while the other one grabbed his hat right off of his head and began brushing it with a vengeance. Within minutes, two minibuses pulled up in front of their house, and, less than a quarter of an hour later – and close to three hours after the agreed upon time – they knocked on our door.
During the ten month engagement period, the chasan and kalla did not see each other or speak to each other. On several occasions, however, we had what is termed a "vishita" or official state visit. While all the men gathered in the chasan's house, the women gathered in our house, and -- well -- visited. Of course we made all sorts of fancy delicacies that everyone was too polite to eat, and were quickly gobbled up by the grandchildren and their mothers the moment the company walked out the door.
Less than a week before the wedding, I decided to try on my new outfit and matching shoes to see if they were comfortable enough for me to really dance in. After polkaing around the living room with my next door neighbor, I went to the bathroom to get a tissue, and slipped, banging my knee into the corner of wall.
I remember lying there, in agony, looking at my grossly deformed knee, and wondering why this was happening to me now, just days before my daughter's wedding. Barely able to speak from the pain, I managed to gasp, "Quickly, this is a medical emergency. Call an ambulance."
My neighbor, still in shock at the sudden turn of events, looked at me in disbelief and asked, "But Debbie, are you sure you need an ambulance?"
At that, I totally lost my cool. "Yes," I screamed. "NOW!"
I don't remember too much after that, but the Hatzala people later told me that I was very funny and kept on cracking stupid jokes when most people would probably be screaming. The only thing I remember saying is that when one of them asked me what had happened, I replied, "My mother-in-laws plane is landing now (which it was!). I guess I just didn't want to have to deal with that…" And that is how I ended up dancing one foot for the entire wedding and actually, if I may say so myself, I was pretty good at it.
The chuppah took place in a school yard, surrounded by overcrowded apartment buildings and trash cans. There was no music. But without the theatrics and shtick, I mamash felt the seriousness of the moment. As a matter of fact, rather than spend the day having her sheitel done and waiting for the makeup artist to arrive, the mechutenester fasted and recited Tehillim for the young couple's future happiness. Both sets of parents escorted the young couple to cheder yichud, and yes, my daughter entered with her right foot, and we broke the traditional bagel over their heads as they stepped over the threshold. While I hopped on one foot with an ugly white bandage wrapped around my other leg, my daughter, the kallah, was following the Yerushalmi minhag of wearing black shoes (yes, black shoes!) under her wedding gown. My best friend was appalled, but she later told me that she as much as she kept on looking at Shulamis's feet, she never once managed to see her shoes.
In the middle of the wedding, a Yerushalmi rebbetzin that I am friendly with walked into the hall, and I hopped over to greet her. After wishing each other a hearty Mazel Tov, she looked at me with a curious expression on her face and asked, "So who do you know here?"
We returned home exhausted and ecstatic – and starving! The first thing we did upon entering the house was to make a beeline to the refrigerator and prepare a quick meal of cornflakes and milk. Yes, cornflakes and milk; all of us --- the entire family! -- were milchigs. Between shaking hands and dancing, we had not managed to eat anything more than a kzayis of bread!
And for once, I'll admit it: I was wrong, and my husband was completely right. Shlomo was, and still is, a real gem, and yes, it was, and still is, a great shidduch, replete with numerous dividends, bli ayin hora.
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