Truly, marriage could only have
been invented by G-d, because who would ever venture into it, or suffer through
it, or enjoy the benefits of it, if it were not for the Divine law that compels
us. And I am not specifically speaking about my own marriage, but rather about
the institution per se.
Who but G-d could ever have come
up with the idea that living together, one man and one woman (yes, for the
record, that is the only definition of marriage that I accept) in a committed union is a good idea,
considering how much hard work is involved? Far easier to be a serial
monogamist. And yet, there is a certain quaint charm to it.
When I was still waiting for Mr.
Right, I often heard married people talk about the “hard work” involved in
marriage. “Fair enough”, I used to think, “but what does that really mean –
what kind of hard work?” I am currently taking a poll among my married friends,
but while I am waiting for the results to come in, I have thought a lot about
it, and for myself I think it means: accepting
the fact that marriage is meant to change you for the better. It may sound
easy and self-evident, but it isn’t. One’s inner sloth – the Evil Inclination –
just wants to take it easy, and resists change the whole time, and that is the
fight that is hard work for one’s better self to win. It is so much easier to
denigrate the marriage, or the spouse, than to take oneself to task and demand
improvement.
We do not know the man we have
married until we have lived with him for quite a while, but neither do we know
ourselves until we are tested. Marriage comes to provide that test. You go
around thinking you are an absolutely charming specimen of womanhood, but then
– once again! – he puts away the ketchup bottle upside down, and it leaks all
over the refrigerator – and there goes your charm down the drain for the
umpteenth time.
When we met, my future husband
declared, in an unguarded moment, that he could take very well care of his own
physical needs and that he wasn’t looking for a wife to do so; he had
experienced freshly ironed underwear in his first marriage and felt it was
overrated – what he was longing for was a wife he could talk to; a wife who
would understand him. Obviously, his words have come back to haunt him. In his
present, considerably happier, marriage he knows himself to be lucky if
his underwear are reasonably freshly laundered.
There was an incident once, when
I had actually been neglecting the laundry to a degree that was quite unusual
even for me – no doubt due to a pressing engagement with a pint of ice cream –
and there was not a clean undershirt to be had either for love or money; but did
he complain? No, never saying a word, he just quietly went out and bought
himself some new undershirts, thereby further endearing himself to me for all
eternity. (A little tip for all you husbands who might want a little tip.) And
all you radical feminists out there, who are braying: “why didn’t he just wash his
own undershirts?” – shame on you! I really can’t afford to buy new washing
machines all the time.
But hark! – there is a murmur in
my little writing chamber. It is a chorus of disgruntled readers’ voices:
“Wasn’t this article supposed to be about how you are being tested, oh charming
specimen of womanhood?” you are saying. “So far, all we can see is that your
husband is the one being tested – and passing with flying colors, we might add
– while you are floating about all day on a cloud of ice cream!”
Ahem.
Who is writing this article – you
or me? I thought so. Let me therefore assure you that I am being tested too;
sometimes I pass, sometimes I fail. In the early days there used to be many
more fails than passes – criticism (constructive or otherwise) or various types of dissatisfaction on my part would be clearly voiced at even minor provocations –
but the ratio is changing, slowly but surely; I am learning to keep my mouth
shut, or to use it in a more pleasant way. A little trick I discovered along the way was to try to stop even the irritated
thought when it would pop up, and not give it any real estate in my brain,
because once a thought is rattling around inside your head it can so easily
slip out through the mouth. And yes, in case you are interested, since this is
a great challenge for me, it is very hard work.
But G-d wants us to work on
ourselves, and grow and improve, so he gives us marriage, with its daily
opportunities for character refinement, and it is a wise woman – or man – who
takes advantage of those opportunities. The reward will surely come, hopefully
already in this world.
Ultimately, speaking of marriage, we might be faced with the question: does a woman really need a man, or is the single woman “like a
fish without a bicycle”? Personally, I would say that she might not need him,
but that without him she won’t be all that she can be.
Shalom Uv’racha!
Shulamit