"Aviva, it's been a long winter, with the children being on
antibiotics just about every month. I'm sure some of the
other neighbors are in the same boat. Let's come up with a
fun night out that won't cost much but that will enrich us.
I've got it — a women's Adar party!" We decide on the
theme of "An Evening of Joy, an Evening of Memories", with no
children above the age of 6 months allowed. We send
invitations to the neighbors to bring a photo from each one's
wedding (or the whole album, if preferred!) and a story
showing Divine Providence regarding the wedding preparations
or how they first met.
The night of Rosh Chodesh arrives, as well as approximately
fifteen neighbors, all good friends, ranging in age from
newlywed to recent great-grandmother. Gitty brings a fruit
platter; Rochele, who's always on a diet, sets down a bowl of
veggies. Devorah enters, smiling widely. "Thank you so much
for arranging this, ladies," she beams. "It's exactly what I
need to put some sparkle in my week." In keeping with the
theme of the party, one talented neighbor frosted a cake in
the shape of a bride, and once we all finish exclaiming over
it, she carefully cuts it into slices and urges us to eat.
Trying to keep the creamy frosting off our Rosh Chodesh
clothes, we savor the cake to the last crumb. I turn the tape
recorder on, and lively music fills the room. I lower the
volume so we'll be able to converse comfortably.
We nosh on fresh fruit as we giggle over our friends' wedding
pictures, trying to imagine, for example, Sara of eight
children, one of them married, as that young, thin, sweet
looking bride in the picture. Who would guess that Mindy with
thick glasses and a bewildered look in the wedding picture is
now our poised Rebbetzin Mindy wearing contact lenses?
Already women at the party are looking more relaxed and
rejuvenated. Part of the smiles comes from seeing how styles
changed over the years, how what one year was "the latest"
would just a few years later be considered hopelessly old-
fashioned.
"What a shame," sighs Leah, her wrinkles more prominent in
thought, "all that money wasted on these extravaganzas. If
you take a close look at what I'm wearing in my wedding
picture, you'll see an uncanny resemblance to a Shabbos
tablecloth! My uncle worked in a tablecloth factory, and was
able to give my mother enough tablecloths to sew a wedding
gown for each of us."
"Wish my parents would've had that opportunity," grumbles
Miriam. "They were so in debt from my older sister's wedding
that I borrowed our next door neighbors Purim costume."
We burst out laughing. "Oh, stop it, Miriam!" commands Sara.
"Sure, you're petite enough to fit into a Purim costume, but
you can't convince me that this beautiful dress in the
picture is a Purim costume."
"Actually, it really was, but what can I say — even
Purim costumes used to be made better in those days. Thank
you for not being able to tell. It makes me hope that none of
our wedding guests could, either.
Faygie, my co-planner for this party, announces the
hashgochoh protis part of the program. Since the women
might be embarrassed to be the first to tell their story, she
begins. "Did you ever hear of a bride coming late to her own
wedding? All of my older siblings had gotten married in a
certain hall but the evening of my wedding was already
booked, so we settled on another hall, a good hour's drive
from our neighborhood. My father is the type who focuses on
what's really important in life, like Torah and
mitzvos, and disregards materialistic details of life.
On the day of my wedding, his mind was occupied with prayers
for my future and that of my descendants. My older siblings
traveled to the hall with their families, while my father
drove my mother, my Aunt Reva from Monsey, and me."
Faygie stops for a minute, stifling a chortle. "He was
driving on autopilot, I suppose, because he drove us to the
same hall where my siblings had gotten married. None of us
caught his mistake, and we filed into the hall, ready to meet
the photographer."
The other women at the party begin to laugh.
"Sure, a photographer was there, taking pictures of some
other bride in a long white dress! So there we all stood,
waiting patiently for the rest of our family to show up for
our pictures. After a quarter of an hour, the other bride's
father came over to my father and pleasantly asked why we
were standing around, as his daughter felt uncomfortable with
an audience. My father politely explained that we were here
for my wedding today."
Again we all laugh, imagining the scene.
"Sounding a little strained, now, the other father pointed
out that they were at the hall for THEIR daughter's wedding
and that there must be a misunderstanding. 'Do you think that
perhaps we have the wrong day?' my mother asked doubtfully,
as if a mother would forget her daughter's wedding day. Aunt
Reva dug out the wedding invitation and shook with laughter.
'We're in the wrong hall,' she managed to gasp out, before
another bout of giggles. After apologizing to the other
family, we piled back into the car, and drove across town to
the other wedding hall, hooting with laughter.
When we finally got to the hall, my worried siblings and
future in-laws informed us that they had called the police to
try to track us down. When we called the police to cancel,
they wanted to come by the hall to be sure that we were not
playing a hoax. My father invited them to sit down for a few
minutes to partake of the festivities. The Hashgochoh Pratis
is that one of the officers was Jewish, but on the verge of
becoming engaged to an Italian girl. When he saw the joy and
kedushoh of a religious wedding, he changed his
mind."
"I almost didn't get married," Ora reveals. "Reuven was
almost exactly what I had been looking for, in outlook,
goals, education, and personality. I felt we were really
suited for each other and was just waiting for him to `pop
the question.
"We had gone for a long walk that day, and had discussed all
of the "where would you want to live" and "how open of a home
should we have" type of questions. We sat down on a quaint
metal filigree bench in a little park with of beautiful
flowers all around . . . " Ora seems lost in rapture. Miriam
coughs to bring her back to the present. "I was sure that he
was going to ask me to marry him, but he suddenly looked at
his watch and said, 'Hey, it's almost time for
minchah. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere, OK?'
and rushed off. I was sitting back against the bench,
breathing in the scent of the roses, when a middle-aged woman
on the bench opposite whom I hadn't even noticed before came
over.
"`What's with you and that fellow?' she asked, smiling.
"`I think we're going to get married,' I answered shyly.
"Her smile disappeared. `Oh no. No, that's not a good idea at
all. I just don't get good vibrations from both of you as a
couple. If you get married, it would be a big mistake.' She
walked off, shaking her head, and by the time Reuven came
back, his calm almost-fiancee had turned into a nervous
wreck. It took a lot of work for him to convince me to marry
him, but it was worth it. When I told him what the woman at
the park had said, he shrugged and said it was probably
maaseh Soton."
"That's some story," says Sara, "All I can say is that my
husband was the first boy I ever met. The match actually
sounded so unlikely — my family is Litvish and his is
Chassidish, my parents are American, his are Israeli, just
for starters — that my mother was sure it wouldn't come
to anything. 'Just relax,' she told jittery me who was in a
panic over My First Date. 'At least you'll have had the
experience of a first date, and with the next boy you'll
meet, you'll have gone through it already and you'll know
what to expect.' As it turned out, we liked each other and
were engaged three days later. After we were already married,
my husband told me that when he was going to meet me, it
wasn't to meet some girl who maybe-it'll-work-out- maybe-it-
won't. He was going to meet HIS WIFE for the very first time.
Talk about different expectations!"
Esther laughs ruefully. "You have no idea how lucky you are,
Sara. I'd rather not say how many different people I met
until I finally got married, but those felt like some of the
hardest years of my life. It seemed like all of my friends
were getting married and starting families, and I was the
only single one left. One year, Purim was coming and I just
couldn't face going for the Purim meal to a huge, happy
family, everyone sharing all these "in" family jokes, and I'd
be sitting there like a fifth wheel.
"I accepted an invitation from my friend, Brachi, to come for
Purim, as Brachi was still somewhat recently married without
children and I didn't think I'd feel so . . . overwhelmed
and left out at her house. On Purim day in the afternoon I
got off the bus in her neighborhood and started walking to
her apartment, when who do I see but Brachi and her husband
walking in my direction! When Brachi caught sight of me, she
stopped short and covered her mouth. 'Oy! I don't believe it -
- I completely forgot you were coming, and accepted an
invitation to Moishe's chavrusa! Tell you what, we have a
chicken in the freezer, go let yourself in and . . . '
"I was too hurt to even hear the rest. I went back home and
cried and cried all the rest of Purim. The next day, our Rav
called up with a shidduch and I finally met my
bashert."
The neighbors sigh with relief, and I notice a few women
furtively wiping away tears. We'd never realized what Esther
had undergone.
"The Halacha is that we're supposed to give tzedokoh on Purim
to whomever stretches out his hand, without investigating,"
says Mindy. "Purim is a very special time for asking, for
stretching out our hands to Hashem for our needs also."
"You know, that reminds me of my own saga," Yocheved
offers.
Yocheved is a wonderful neighbor, but sometimes she tends to
tell stories with a lot of details. I unobtrusively reach
toward the refreshment table, take the platter of brownies
off, and gesture to the woman on my left to start passing it
around.
"Like Esther, I also had a challenging time dating. It was
awful. I thought I'd never get married. My friend Malky and I
decided to `get away from it all' one Shabbos and accepted an
invitation from a mutual friend, Jenny, to her parent's
house. What a pleasant, relaxing Shabbos it was! Her family
lived outside of New York State at the time, so the change of
scenery and pace were very welcome. They lived on a beautiful
estate with a fruit orchard and the delicious, healthy fruit
and vegetable salads nourished our bodies and souls.
"Motzei Shabbos we thanked our friend and her parents
heartily and returned home, as Malky had to work the next
day. Sunday morning, Jenny's mother took the time from her
busy life to call . . . to tell me what a horrible person I
was."
We all gasped. Our marvelous Yocheved? "'Every time you
opened your mouth, something sarcastic came out,' she
accused. I blinked back tears. Over Shabbos I had really
enjoyed myself and THOUGHT I was behaving rather well!
Jenny's mother went on and on, and concluded with, ' . . .
and if I were a matchmaker and had to pick between setting up
you or Malky, I sure wouldn't pick you!'
"At that point, I had already met SCORES of boys and, like I
said, was despairing of ever getting married. When I hung up
the phone, stunned and wounded, I started crying and couldn't
stop. Here I THOUGHT I was acting amiable, and THAT'S the
impression I made? I wasn't angry at Jenny's mother; despite
her verbal onslaught, I felt that she somehow intended that
her comments were for my benefit.
"You know how it is when someone criticizes you for the way
your house looks, how your child (mis)behaves, or the results
of the project you just completed?"
We nod.
"Although it might hurt, it doesn't compare to an attack on
your very essence and personality.
"So there I was, dissolving in a puddle of tears, when I
suddenly remembered, oh, great. I've got a date tonight with
some fellow. Why should I waste his time and my own, if I'm
such a horrible person who's never going to get married
anyway? I was about to call my cousin who had suggested the
match and tell her to cancel, but then I thought, how can I
do that to her? She really has been trying to find someone
for me.
"OK, get out the mop and clean up the tears. Get dressed, put
on makeup, and wait for the knock on the door. At 8:00 p.m.
Prince Charming rang the bell, and a week later we were
engaged."
We suck in our breath at the sudden turnabout, and Mindy
comments, "It says that Hashem's salvation comes in the blink
of an eye, and that it's always darkest before dawn."
"Ugh, but what an experience to have to go through," one of
the women murmurs.
"On the other hand," says Yocheved, "because it took so long
until I got married, I appreciate my husband. No matter what
disagreements we had when we were newly married, it never
crossed my mind, `Hey, what do I need him for? Maybe I should
get divorced and look for someone else.' Oh no! I knew how
REEALLY hard it can be to find that someone! The longer we're
married, the more I value my husband and see his wonderful
qualities."
Aha, I think to myself, maybe that explains why Esther is so
involved in matchmaking for other girls, and why Yocheved
never accuses older singles of being too picky. The ordeals
they had suffered through had heightened their sensitivities
to others. Boruch Hashem, their stories arrived at a happy
conclusion and were a welcome reminder of the blessing of
having found our mates. All in all, I suppose it had been an
evening of joy, of memories . . . and of gratitude.
