Atarah was twenty-six. She was pretty and smart and very
kind. All she wanted at any given moment was to do Hashem's
will and what better way was there to do it than by setting
up a Jewish home? What better way indeed? None. Atarah was
convinced of that. She was just waiting and waiting and
waiting for her `intended' to make his appearance and help
her accomplish that.
All she did lately, lately — meaning the past eight
years, was wait and hope and wait some more. Her classmates
and friends were all married, each with children of their
own. What would be with her? She tried every segulah
`on the market.' She went to the Kosel for forty days. She
made the trek to Amukah, she said Shir Hashirim and
went to the Kosel for midnight Nishmas. Why wasn't
anything helping? Was there anything wrong with her?
Her twenty-seventh birthday was fast approaching.
"I must be engaged before then, please, Hashem!" she begged,
her forehead leaning against the Wall.
She had two weeks left.
"Maybe my fate is to be an old maid," she thought in
exasperation and sadness.
She sat on the bus on her way home. A woman sat down beside
her. The stranger kept eyeing Atarah. Finally, she said, "Are
you Atarah?"
Atarah nodded.
"I'm Yaffa. Remember me from tenth grade?"
Atarah did and they began to talk. Yaffa glanced at Atarah's
brown hair.
"Did you ever go to see Rav———?"
Atarah shook her head. She had gone to ask for a blessing
from almost every Rav in Eretz Yisroel. But for some reason
or other had never gone to this particular one.
"Maybe you should go," Yaffa suggested. "He occasionally
points people in the right direction." Yaffa said goodbye and
got off the bus.
When her stop came, Atarah didn't get off but continued until
the bus entered the neighborhood where that Rav lived. She
figured that Hashem had surely put Yaffa on the bus so that
she could hear about him. She hesitantly knocked on the white
door and waited. The Rav himself appeared at the threshhold.
Atarah wasn't sure what to say. Obviously it wasn't the set
time for appointments. She blushed and tried to say
something. Her words tumbled out incoherently.
The Rav smiled and invited her in. He pointed her to a chair
and kindly asked her what her name was and what was the
matter. Atarah said her name, then contrary to her strong
nature, her eyes filled with tears as she put her problem
before him.
The Rav listened, thought for a few moments and said
softly.
"There may be somebody that you need to ask for
forgiveness."
Atarah's back went rigid. Her heart missed a beat. She was
always so careful with others' feelings. She always made sure
that everyone around her was happy and content and not the
slightest bit hurt. How could it be that she needed to ask
forgiveness?
"From whom? For what?" she asked in confusion.
The Rav shook his head. "You know."
Atarah felt bewildered and helpless. "But how will I know
that it's the right person?"
The Rav smiled slightly. "You'll know," he said simply, and
gave Atarah a blessisng.
Atarah went down the steps without looking where she was
going. Forgiveness? From whom?
She climbed on the bus, but saw nothing the whole way home.
She thought and thought. She passed the rest of the day in a
daze. I must remember, I must remember, she kept
demanding of herself. She went through her list of friends
and acquaintances and came up with nothing. In the middle of
the night, she suddenly sat up.
"That must be it!" she whispered aloud.
As soon as it was early enough to call anybody, she called
one person then the next and a trail of phone calls until she
finally received the phone number of Yael.
The story went back many years when she and Yael were both
fifteen. They were involved with the Bnos program. Both of
them were leaders for the fifth grade. They prepared their
program together and spent many hours on the phone. At the
end of the year, they were not only buddies, but tight
friends.
Atarah didn't remember the exact details. All she could
recall was that before they both went off for their vacation
family trips there was a blow-up. Atarah must have been in
the wrong, because she remembered that Yael was livid. They
didn't talk for a day, then Atarah said diplomatically,
"Sorry it had to end like this," and they both moved on. They
never spoke to each other since.
"It must be her," Atarah felt.
With a fluttering heart and stuttering words, Atarah dialed
the number. Yael's cheerful voice came through clear and
strong.
"Just like the old Yael," Atarah thought ruefully. "I
could've gained so much from her friendship. What a loss."
"H..h..h..hi Yael, it's me Atarah."
"Atarah? Are you kidding me? ATARAH! I've thought so much
about you? Do you know that when I was standing under my
chuppah and was supposed to pray for shalom
bayis and good children, you kept popping into my head? I
don't know why. I guess I miss you."
Atarah couldn't answer. A huge lump struggled to slide up her
throat.
"You there, Atarah?"
"Uh huh," Atarah whispered. "You forgive me, Yael?"
"Forgive you? Of course. Let's forget about it and pretend it
never happened."
Atarah was crying now.
"Thanks, Yael,"she sniffed. They spoke a while longer, then
with promises of keeping in touch, they said goodbye.
A shadchan called the next day. She met the boy a day
later. A day before her twenty-seventh birthday she was
officially engaged. This is a true story; I have changed the
names.
