A Shidduch Related Tale

Meir Rosenblum closes the sefer softly and lovingly. He enjoys learning immensely but he knows there is a time to learn and a time to act. Now the second part of his day begins.

Meir smiles at his chavrusa before exiting the yeshiva. His feet take him to his car, as his rapid-fire mind still focuses on the blatt of gemara he reviewed with his talented chavrusa, Shimmy.

Meir drives along, words of Torah reverberating in his head.

In the meantime, Meir’s mother, Chaya Rosenblum, was sitting in her renovated kitchen in Brooklyn looking at a day far less enjoyable than her son’s. Her phone rang out with yet another shidduch call.

“Her name is Devora Singer,” the seasoned shadchan began. “She just came back from Israel and is looking for a sincere, learning boy. I’m sure she and Meir will have lots to talk about. She wants to study social work online. I interviewed her yesterday and she’s the real Eishes Chayil type.”

“Thanks Mrs. Shmulavitch,” Chaya says through a barely contained sigh. “You could send me her resume.”

She hangs up the phone and places it on her freshly wiped countertop. Lately, cleaning is the only way Chaya seems to be able to get out her frustration over her current predicament.

Chaya’s incredibly proud of the boy Meir has become, especially since he was quite difficult during his high school years when he concentrated less on school, and more on outside activities. Meir would disrupt the class often, calling out answers or distracting other students with his ramblings. Nowadays, however, Meir loves to learn and Chaya’s happy to have him home from Israel and is looking for him to get married.  She thought he was on board, yet, Meir has insisted on turning down every single girl that’s suggested to him. He’s turned down beautiful girls, smart girls, younger girls, older girls, ones with well to do families, and one’s leading simple lives.  Chaya and her husband, Michael, are concerned about their boy, but their rabbi insists that they need to be patient.  “Patient…” Chaya wonders, “as if a mother can be patient when it comes to shidduchim.”   Chaya looks up and whispers, “Ribono Shel Olam what am I to do?”

At that very same moment, there’s a knock on the door and the sound of a key turning. Chaya glances at the digital clock on her new oven and realizes its already five o’clock. She wipes her eyes quickly on her sleeve.

The ginger haired thirteen-year-old Hindy dumps her backpack on the floor with a thump. She walks into the kitchen, where she finds her mother preparing her food.

“How was school?”

“Good. My friend Sarala said I can do homework at her house tonight. Can I go, Mommy?”

Chaya, lost in her own thoughts, hardly hears her daughter.

“Mommy?”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Thanks.” Hindy quickly eats her dinner of schnitzel and mashed potatoes and rushes out the door. Chaya continues mulling over her thoughts- and it’s about one thing. Always about one thing these days. How to get Meir to go out with even just one of his fine prospects.

The house remains quiet until nine o'clock. At that time, Mr. Micheal Rosenblum, lawyer extraordinaire, returns home.

Chaya is already at the table, steaming plates of food and fine silverware set out.

Meir joins them shortly after they begin. Lately, he’s been returning home at around nine fifteen, and refuses to tell his parents where’s he has been. Michael and Chaya have both tried figuring out where Meir comes back from at such an hour, but neither have been successful. Chaya tried both direct and indirect questions, yet she is left with no answers. Meir always assures her he does nothing that would disappoint either of his parents. He begs for their trust. Something neither of them can fully give.

All she knows is the mileage is going up steadily on Meir’s 2016 Toyota Camry.

She also knows the neighbors have been talking. Why this one’s daughter has been turned down by him. Why Meir is out and about so much. Why Meir seems like a good boy but is obviously harboring a secret. The last one hurts the most. Why won’t he just tell her where he goes and what he does? Doesn’t she, as a good Jewish mother, deserve to know?

Chaya and Micheal have made multiple calls to Meir’s rebbeim, but they don’t know what’s been going on. Only Rabbi Yechiel Schwartz, Meir’s trusted mentor and guide, knows the truth. And he is as tight- lipped as Meir. The only thing he repeatedly tells them is that there is nothing to be concerned about.

They could only hope that’s true.

***

Long drives used to bother Meir but not anymore. Now he uses it as a time to learn even more and to deeply reflect. So many times he wanted to tell his parents where he goes almost every day after yeshiva. So many times he wanted to just give in to the questions and to the pressure. To truly reassure his parents. But he isn’t ready.

He had to tell someone though. Just one person. Rabbi Shwartz. He keeps Meir’s secret safe. All he does is calm Meir’s worried parents and the Rosh Yeshiva, the Rabbi’s voice always soothing like a balm. 

Meir hums to himself as he gets lost in his mind. His deep blue eyes remain alert, yet calm.

Before Meir knows it, he’s pulling into what has become a very familiar parking spot, next to a cream-colored building that is almost like his second home. He remembers the first time when he came, he needed help getting around. Now he’s the one giving directions to visitors.

The doors slide open to welcome Meir and a blast of cool air and bitter-sweet feeling greets him as he steps inside the establishment.

***

Chaya just keeps adding things to her shopping cart. Milk, eggs, the super sugary yogurts that Hindy eats every morning for breakfast, decent looking lettuce, and Chaya’s guilty pleasure… milchig caramel swirl ice cream.

Chaya turns the squeaky cart around the bend and almost bumps into Mrs. Zemel.

“Sorry!” Chaya yelps.

“It’s quite alright.” Mrs. Zemel’s wrinkled face smiles.  “How is the family doing?”

“Everyone is well thanks. And how are you?”

“Baruch Hashem still getting around.” Mrs. Zemel looks around and then meets Chaya’s eyes. “Are you sure everything is fine with Meir?”

Meir.

Always Meir.

Just when she thinks she may be able to escape her concerned thoughts about her son, someone or something redirects her right back. Whether it’s at home, on the road, or grocery shopping, Meir seems to always find his way into Chaya’s mind.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” The lie comes easier than expected. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just Mrs. Mermelstein saw him at the gas station Monday. Then Mrs. Finkle saw your Meir looking preoccupied on the street corner the other day. He was just standing there when it was time to walk. And I saw Meir just today at the gas station. Again. Why would he need to go to the gas station twice in one week?” She chuckles as if it’s a joke.

Chaya nods as Mrs. Zemel mentions a couple of the older, single women in their neighborhood. Her throat tightens. The neighbors are becoming far too nosy for her liking.

Mrs. Zemel arches her brow at Chaya, and she knows she has to say something. “I appreciate your concern Mrs. Zemel,” she says in a slightly choked voice. She swallows. “I must be on my way now. I hope you have a great day.”

Chaya, with only half her mind on the task, adds other items to her cart. Items she hopes are on the list. Why must everyone seem to notice Meir?

She never wished to live anywhere but in the hustle and bustle of a city like Flatbush, but right now she wishes she could just live in a hole somewhere.

***

Meir enters the old age home with a bounce in his step. His guilt ebbs away each time he arrives and every time, he surprises himself with how much he enjoys coming. Something about helping these men and women does something for Meir that not even learning can do. And as a Talmud chacham he is consumed by learning in the best way.

Meir greets the secretary kindly and she smiles at him appreciatively. He then opens the door to the stairs and begins climbing. He reaches the second floor quickly. 

Meir lightly, but firmly knocks on the first of a hallway of doors. Mr. Kleinman is always his first stop, and he takes time to speak to him as he does to the other members of the old age home.

When he enters, Mr. Kleinman opens his eyes.

"Hi there Meir."

"Hi Mr. Kleinman," Meir flashes the elderly man a kind smile. "How are you today?"

The older man just sighs. Meir pulls a chair over to his bedside. 

His wrinkled eyes meet Meir's youthful ones. Mr. Kleinman has become particularly close with Meir, sharing things with the boy he didn't care to share with others.

"I've been living by myself in this room for five months now and I learned I'm getting a new roommate today. It used to be lonely but now I like having my own space. I don't know how I'm supposed to go back to sharing a room with a complete stranger."

Meir nods sympathetically, as he contemplates a response. “Change is hard,” he begins, hoping Hashem will put the right word in his mouth, “but without ever doing the unknown we would never grow. We would never know. We would just be comfortable. On the one hand, you can request he move into another room and keep living with ease on your own. Or you could give this new situation a try because it may just be one of the best bonds you will ever make.”

“You should be a lawyer, you’re so persuasive.” Mr. Kleinman laughs. “Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

Meir grins. He’s grateful he could help.

Meir catches up with Mr. Kleinman for a few more minutes before moving on to the next room. “I’ll see you soon. Your nurse will escort you to mincha, ma’ariv in about thirty minutes.”

One of Meir’s friends used to volunteer at the Jewish old age home making sure the residents were happy and being well taken care of; eating their kosher food and davening in comfort.  Meir’s friend recently moved away to help his aging parents in Israel, and he asked Meir to fill the void, at least temporarily, until he could find a reliable person to truly take on the job.

Meir knew this opportunity was one from Hashem. One designed to let him do teshuvah, and slowly release the guilt that has held on to him like a leech. Meir’s parents know nothing of these feelings that he has hidden so well. He isn’t looking forward to that day where he would have to shamefully admit why he’s doing that which he is doing. He knows they deserve to know though. Deserve to stop worrying about him.

Meir visits each person and hears about their day. He loves how simple things make them happy and how they live with such truth. He knows he learns so much from each interaction. Even after he is relieved of his position, he plans to come every other week to continue to see and speak to the special neshamos that reside here. He still can’t believe how much he’s grown to feel fond of this place and of the people here. Sometimes we can even surprise ourselves when dared to experience, he muses to himself.

Meir takes a deep breath and enters the large room at the end of the hall where he leads the men, and a couple of women, in the mincha and ma’ariv service. Mr. Gold is already there. The short, salt and pepper haired man is always there before anyone else. He said he likes to contemplate Hashem before tefillah.

Pretty soon every man is accounted for. All except Mr. Kleinman. Meir is about to go looking for him, and ensure he’s okay, when he walks in with another elderly gentleman. There’s a third man who’s accompanying them; he’s tall, lean, and middle-aged sporting a black, short beard.

Mr. Kleinman and the older man are laughing and the man in the dark beard takes a long look at Meir.

“Are you Meir Rosenblum?” He asks in a South African accent.

“Yes, I am.” He reaches out a hand and the man shakes it.

“I am Moshe Singer, and this is my tzadik of a father, Avraham.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m looking forward to getting to know your father better.”

Moshe nods and Mr. Kleinman and Mr. Singer hobble over.

“Avraham, I want you to meet the amazing Meir Rosenblum. He takes care of all of us here and does a fine job of it.” The warmth in Mr. Kleinman’s voice makes Meir redden. If only they knew.

Before Meir knows it, it’s time to go. He briefly says goodbye to each person before he heads out.

“Before you go,” Mr. Singer says, “I wanted to tell you that I have an amazing granddaughter named Devora. When you’re ready to date, you two should go out. I have a feeling it’s going to be a great match.” He then proceeds to describe Devora in an overflowing and loving way that only a grandfather can. His pride is evident in his words.

Meir, just as when anyone talks to him, pays close attention. He knows that she has been suggested to him, and he finds himself curious to hear more.

“She sounds wonderful. I’d be honored to go out with her when I become available, and the time is right. Assuming my parents agree.” It isn’t that Meir doesn’t want to start shidduchim but at the same time he definitely doesn’t mind waiting a bit longer. He knows his head must be fully present in all he does. Everyone has a past, and as long as it’s behind him then it’s all going to be okay.

“Just don’t forget to invite us to the wedding,” Avraham jokes.

Meir then waves goodbye. He’s told Mr. Kleinman to try something new, and maybe he can take his own advice. He’ll only move on to the next chapter when he decides to take a leap of faith.

Meir walks down the stairs, out the door and into his car. He takes in the musty scent as he sits in the beige leather seat. Today marks a month since he’s been visiting the old age home. His Saba was in the old age home for a month.

The realization of this parallel is clear as day and Meir and he begins to cry. The emotions he kept so long spilling out.

“I’m sorry Saba,” he whispers chokingly, “I’m sorry I let you down. I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I said I couldn’t visit you without ever telling you why. Old age homes scared me. My fear overpowered my love for you. I should’ve told you the truth. I should’ve cared enough. You died, and I never had the chance to say goodbye.” The lump in his throat grows, making it increasingly harder to get the words out. “I love you, Saba. I love you and I hope the fact that I come here every day makes up for it. I do this for you. And I hope you could still be proud of me.”

The heart felt confession makes Meir feel like a stone was lifted off his chest. He takes a few tissues out of the box and wiped his face dry.

Isn’t it time to forgive himself? To let go of the pain that’s been holding him back?

He takes a deep breath. Yes, Meir answers himself with conviction, it is time to move forward.

Lesson:

The lesson of course is whatever resonated with you and whatever it is you want to take out of it.

Besides for hoping to entertain the readers, it’s to remind us- yes I’m including myself in this- that there's always more to people and situations that meet the eye. Instead of rushing to judgement and making assumptions because it’s easier than having to think, let’s try to give people the benefit of the doubt, just as we would want them to do when viewing us. In light of the state of our world, let’s aim to understand and to leave room in our minds and hearts for alternate explanations.

We need to be smart yet we must recall that things aren’t always how they seem. We are seeing moments of a person’s entire life. Documented pieces of bits of information that make them who they are. But each person is an entire book. When we look at just a page, we can’t think we have read the whole book.

Hashem gave us seichel (wisdom) let’s use it to analyze, but to analyze with our compassionate hearts and not just our rapid-fire minds.

Another lesson I want to mention is that we have to use our compassionate hearts and desire to come to understand not just on others but on ourselves too. We are all human and we all make choices we wish we didn’t make, do things we wish we didn’t do, or say things we wished came out differently. Love yourself enough to be okay with making mistakes because that’s part of how we grow and learn. As the saying goes, “mistakes are our best teachers.”

Let go of the guilt and shame and embrace our humanness. We all fall but we could all also get up again.