The June wedding season is just about behind us. Since
Shavuos, we've been rushing to and from weddings and sheva
brochos, greeting each other with the blessing that we
continue to meet at joyous occasions.
We have lots of blessings to shower upon the baalei
simcha and the new young couples as well.
At some of the affairs, a video crew comes to each table.
They point a camera in our direction. Then they thrust a
microphone before our face just as we are taking a bite of
the tempting fare that is in front of us, and ask us to say
something to the chosson and kalla.
We swallow hard, put on a plastic smile and boom out a
resounding, "Mazel Tov!" The microphone is quickly removed
and placed in front of our seat mate and so it goes.
At those times, I can't help but think that it is a shame
that no one asks those of us with decades of marriage
experience to say anything longer than ten seconds worth of
greeting or advice to the new couple.
What would you say if the microphone were yours for half an
hour and the video was only going to be seen by the
newlyweds? I have a pretty good idea of what I would say.
The first bit of advice I would share is, "Don't paint
yourself into a corner." What is the origin of this
expression?
In days gone by, before wall-to-wall carpets, textured vinyl,
before stone and ceramic tile became the common floorings,
many floors in the `old country' were made of wood. Wooden
floors were treated with either shellac, varnish or paint to
seal them and to protect them from moisture, and waxed
regularly by good housewives.
Periodically, the old coatings were sanded off and a new
layer of paint or varnish was applied. Armed with a bucket
and brush, a painter, often the householder himself, would
get down on hands and knees and start the tedious process of
painting the floor.
The perspective from the down-on-all-fours position is not
the best, and it was not uncommon for the workman to start as
soon as he entered the room and paint away, with sure strokes
in widening circles, until he had backed himself into the
last unpainted corner. There he would find, to his chagrin,
that there was no escape.
With freshly applied, wet gooey paint or sticky shellac in
front of him and the convergence of two blank walls behind
him, he was left with two choices. He could walk out over the
fresh paint, thereby spoiling all of the work he had just
done, or he could stay in the corner until the paint
dried.
Neither was particularly appealing and from that predicament
arose the expression, "Don't paint yourself into a
corner."
Don't create a situation of your own doing where you do
not have any gracious way out. Statements that begin
with, "I will never..." can easily paint someone into a
corner. So can, "If you do that one more time, I will..." We
women instinctively know that more men are prone to making
such statements than women. "Chosson!" I would tell
him. "Beware!"
Then I would turn my attention to the young lady at his side.
"My dear kalla, if your mate does make such a
statement, then you should keep in mind the verse in
Mishlei that teaches, `The wisest of women builds her
house; the foolish one destroys it with her own hands.'"
When we lived in the States, my children had a favorite
library book. It was about an endearing character named
Harold who possessed an amazing purple crayon. If Harold
found himself stranded in a high place, why, he would use his
magic crayon to draw a staircase and descend. If he were
trapped somewhere, he would draw a door, open it and flee.
Wise women have something in common with Harold and his
purple crayon. They can create escape hatches for their
husbands and facilitate happy endings to ticklish situations.
With this wisdom, they truly build their houses.
Next, I would give the newlyweds advice regarding something
they should do, consistently, right from the beginning of
their marriage. They should present a united front when well-
meaning relatives begin to tell them what to do.
"That's a good idea, but I will have to ask Shmuel," is a
perfect answer to grandmother's suggestion that they buy a
particular item of furniture.
"I don't know, I will have to check with Sori," gives the
chosson space when his father requests that the young
couple go there for their first seder.
After discussing in private what they both want to do, they
can then return to the inquiring relative with an answer.
"We would love to have a sofa when we have a more permanent
home, Bubby, but right now we think it best to accumulate
only the furniture we really need."
"We appreciate your kind invitation, Tatti, but it will work
out better for us to go to England for this Pesach."
Then, I would tell the young couple the best advice of all:
Relax, enjoy each other and be b'simcha as you build
your bayis ne'eman together.
My half hour is up already? I guess so. The cameraman is
ready to leave, the light bearer is going elsewhere, and the
microphone is about to be pulled away. Before I return to the
eggplant salad in front of me, I just have time to wish the
chosson and kalla a hearty Mazel Tov.
Mazel Tov! Mazel Tov!
