Hypnotized?

I finally did it – yesterday I went to see a hypnotist.

Like so many women, I have had varying difficulties maintaining my desired weight over the years; there was one period, about twenty years ago, when I was even seriously overweight. I managed to overcome that, and it never got that bad again, thank G-d. A little thyroid problem kept me skinny for several years, but when that was cured (I fought them tooth and nail, but the doctors insisted), so was the skinniness. Typical.

So the pounds would sneak up on me every now and then – come off for a while, and slowly but surely return. Three years ago, I came to a point of near despair, when I was feeling much too heavy and yet, somehow, powerless to do anything about it. Hashem guided me to a book called, “I Can Make You Thin” by Paul McKenna, a world-famous hypnotist who began his career as an entertainer, but now has veered almost totally (?) into the therapeutic field. “You can?”, I thought to myself, “well, do it then, buddy, because I sure as helicopter can’t!” And he did.

The book contains a few simple, sensible rules for eating, but the accompanying CD is what does the trick. Most of us know how, or what, to eat – it is the desire and will-power to keep doing so that is lacking. The CD, which one listens to once a day, is what provides that missing link between theory and implementation. In short, Mr. McKenna hypnotizes you and your body into doing the right thing. Thirty-five pounds melted away over six months without the slightest deprivation or difficulty. At 5’8” tall I was a size 10; life was a happy operetta, and heavenly choirs were doing their thing.

But it gets tiresome to listen to any CD, however excellent, every single day of your entire lifetime, and this summer I realized, to my unmitigated horror, that about half of that lost weight was back on again. Insidiously, the pounds had crept up on me, behind my back, one by one, probably under the cover of darkness. Enough already.

The hypnotist (Jewish, not religious) came well recommended, with many certificates and awards to his name. I figured that what Mr. McKenna could do with a generic, sue-proof CD, this magician should be able to accomplish in a more targeted, “once-and-for-all” manner. The hypnotist himself was very confident. He’s the guy.

For reasons of yichud regulations (the laws that prohibit a man and a woman from being alone together), plus a general queasiness at the thought of visiting a hypnotist in his lair and placing myself under his influence without an ally at my side, I asked my Trusty Friend to accompany me. (Yes, I know – strictly speaking, one female chaperone is insufficient to nullify the yichud situation, but we also left the front door open. What do you want from my life?!) When I called my TF I said that I had a request of her that was a little bit unusual, and that I would understand if she balked. Then I explained what I needed. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” was her eager reply.

To make a long story only marginally shorter, the hypnotist turned out to be one chatty chap, certainly not queasiness-provoking, and he finally got down to business. First there was The Test, to determine if I was a receptive subject. At his prompting, one arm was supposed to become heavy and sink down; the other to float up in the air. I failed miserably – nothing moved either way – but he comforted me and said we could still achieve excellent results.

• You are very highly motivated to become slimmer – much, much slimmer
• You will get full after only a very small amount of food
• The less you eat, the happier you will be
• Junk food and sugar will make you very, very nauseous
• You have a very strong will-power, and a tremendous amount of self-control       

These were some of the main messages that were transmitted to my subconscious personality, against a background of new-age music which I assume was there to drown out any other distracting noises. I was also informed that henceforth, I would remove the skin from all poultry. Good stuff, all of it, but I was waiting in vain for that “altered state of consciousness” that you hear so much about. I didn’t think I was going to get all in a trance and start to levitate, but I had also not expected to feel as normal as if I had been sitting in a staff meeting.

It was over almost before it had begun – I don’t think it could have been more than fifteen minutes – and then the chatting took over again. By now TF was rolling her eyes at me. The hypnotist said that one, or possibly two, more sessions should fix what needed fixing, and that I should give him a call in a week. As TF and I got in the car again, I think we both had a sense of anti-climax. "Who is he to tell you to take the skin off the poultry?", she asked, with a bit of an edge in her voice. Then again, I have never experienced live hypnosis before, and my expectations may have been unrealistic. We shall see what happens – and I will surely keep you posted.

I am sorry to say that I had some chocolate today, and it didn’t make me nauseous. I felt great! But maybe I will lose – and keep off – those pounds anyway, because I have a tremendous amount of self-control.

Shalom Uv’racha!

Shulamit 

Remembering Bubbie

One day in the early 1990’s there was an ad in the newspaper, under Furnished Apartments. “No rent for the right person”, it said. To me, newly arrived from Europe, in need of a home, it sounded like the answer to my prayers. And so it was – to an extent I could never have dreamed of. Within a few days I was accepted and installed as a companion to a certain elderly Rebbetzin – Bubbie, as I was told to call her. Thus began a transforming period of my life; living with Bubbie in what was almost a small commune of family and caregivers. It wasn’t always an easy existence, but it was one filled with meaning, interest and emotion; lots of laughter – and some tears. What I gained in the process was infinitely more than a home; I met a woman whom I could truly take as a role model.

Of course, I never had the privilege of knowing Bubbie in her days of strength. When I came to her, the decline had already begun. Even so, I would often catch a glimpse of what she had once been – an expressive look, an astute comment, a vivid sense of humor, would reveal her true personality. Even when overpowered by illness, she still carried herself with the dignity of a great lady. And she was not one to let herself be held back by a bit of old age – her indomitable spirit, restless energy and iron willpower kept her going long after we younger people had collapsed from fatigue.

When I first moved in with Bubbie I thought of it as a part-time job, a temporary arrangement, suitable for the time being – I would stay as long as I needed to. But gradually, as I got to know Bubbie, things began to change – or rather, I began to change. The very process of taking care of a person for a long time creates love and attachment; living closely together forges a bond. As my knick-knacks became intermingled with her furniture, Bubbie’s house became “our” home, and as her helplessness increased, so did my tenderness for her. What had started as a job turned into a life, and I began to think, “I shall stay as long as I am needed”.

Bubbie’s most remarkable trait may have been her extraordinary ability to evoke respect and affection in everyone who came into contact with her. As the years passed, I came to love her deeply. My youngest son, who lived with us periodically, and who became a care assistant in his own right, also became very devoted to her, and now says, whenever Bubbie’s name is mentioned, “She was so sweet – I miss her very, very much!”

So, there we were, settling down to our life together. In the day I would go to school or work, while a home attendant stayed with Bubbie; evenings and nights were my responsibility. The overall responsibility though, was assumed by her youngest son, our next door neighbor, who was in charge of the whole operation, and who would visit several times every day to make sure that everything was in order. I learned something very important from witnessing this act of kibud em, which was carried out with great love. I learned from the interaction between them, and from seeing him perform the most menial tasks for his mother with unfaltering respect, humility and dignity.

When Bubbie and I were together in the evenings we would often sit and chat, and she would tell me stories about her childhood and youth, about schooldays, work and shopping, about her beloved little sister, and about her adored and revered father, the great Rabbi. We would sit by her old dining room table and she would discuss whatever was at hand – the fleishige dishes in the “shuffe”, or the rose painting that a grateful woman artist had given her. Once she was watching while I was sewing trimmings onto a hat. Deeply interested, commenting on every detail, eyes positively shining, she suddenly asked, “Do you have a boy-friend?” “No, Bubbie, I don’t”, I replied. With great conviction she said to me, “This will get you some!” (But it took a while…)

Erev Shabbos was always special in our house – even beyond the normal degree of anticipation. Even though Bubbie was no longer bothered with clock or calendar, it was as if she felt in her bones that Shabbos was approaching. Licht bentchen was the great event of the week, and she worried constantly, lest she forget to light on time, and whether, once performed, it had really been properly done. When everything was finally to her satisfaction, we would sit in the living room and wait “for the men to come from shul”. That in itself was quite an event, and there would be much impatience until, eventually, the men – son and grandsons – would show up and bring her next door for Kiddush. Then her happiness would be complete! Licht bentchen was such an ingrained part of her personality, that even though illness had cruelly robbed her of so many perceptions, it could not touch her holiest mitzvah. I was told that one of the home attendants, a non-observant Jewish woman who had worked for Bubbie some time before I came, had been so impressed that she had begun to light Shabbos candles herself. She said, “If this is what lighting candles means to her, then I want that for myself too”.

As Bubbie’s horizons shrank, her concern with her immediate material surroundings expanded. Candlesticks and tablecloths in particular, were intensely cherished and valued symbols of her one-time glorious reign over a prestigious household. Therefore, when suddenly one day during our last year together, she said to me, “I’m leaving you my tablecloths”, this was probably the greatest honor that had ever befallen me. Those tablecloths are now among my most precious possessions. But, make no mistake; Bubbie’s reign was not entirely over – she still ruled like the queen mother. She had very pronounced opinions, and if she thought anyone of us behaved unsatisfactorily, she didn’t mind letting us know.

We grew very close over the years, Bubbie and I. She never knew my name, but I was one of the people she recognized; she once referred to me as an “old-timer”. The last time she spoke to me will always stand out in my memory. One evening, about six weeks before that final morning, I came into her room where she was lying in bed, seemingly asleep. Suddenly, without opening her eyes, she said, “Come here, darling!” I didn’t know whom she was seeing, but I went up to her and kissed her. She looked up at me, took my face between her hands, kissed me and said, “I love you”. She had told me so many times before, but somehow, this time, I was more than usually moved. “I love you very much” I answered. She nodded, laughing gently, “I know”, she said, “I know”. In that moment I had a strong impression that I was connecting, not with a clouded mind, but with a very clear neshamah. She closed her eyes again and said, “you can go now” and drifted off to sleep again. It was as if everything was settled between us, as if she had given me her blessing. What I felt she was saying to me was, “I know you did your best – you can go in peace”. I cried as I left her room, and even now, fifteen years later, I have tears in my eyes as I am writing this.

As I said, Bubbie was, and still is, my role model. Her courage, integrity and strength of character, her intelligence and humor, her devotion to good deeds, her uncompromising Yiddishkeit – all that she stood for, I should like, some day, to stand for also. Those four years that I lived with Bubbie, learning directly and indirectly from her and from her son, have changed me forever.

It was the greatest good fortune of my life when I found that ad.

Posted in honor of the 15^th Yahrzeit of Leah bas Yosef on this 8^th day of Tishrei – may she be a Meilitza Yosheres for all of K’lal Yisroel! (In fact, I’m sure she is – she wouldn’t stand for any nonsense!)

Shalom Uv'racha!

Shulamit

Seltzer Patrol

Last week, Motzo’ei Shabbos (Saturday night, after the end of Shabbos), my husband forced me out on a Seltzer Patrol. There had been a rumor in shul that morning that the generic Shoprite seltzer no longer carried the OU kosher symbol. (No, no – take it easy! The rumor was false; the symbol is there.) We had started worrying. No hechsher symbol? Why not? Is it politico-financial, or only political? Anti-Semitism, of course. Is it one of the many, tiny, almost imperceptible signs that the “Jewish honeymoon” in this country is approaching its end? We were perturbed. The matter must be investigated.

The moment havdoloh was over, I was ordered into the car.

“We must check it out!”

Yes, but what are we going to do?

“We are going to keep watch, in case a Jew tries to buy seltzer.”

Nice. For how long?

“For as long as it takes.”                              

Surely we can’t stay all night? (Trembling voice.)

“We’ll find another Jew to take over the watch for an hour – then he can pass the torch to the next Jew. Like a relay! Signs must be posted.”

My husband sees it as his duty to supervise most of the kashrus issues in this world. He will happily accost people in airports and inform them that the candy they just bought with their last pennies might not be kosher after all. In the beginning of our marriage I, with my European nerves, used to cringe at this molesting of perfect strangers, but gradually I came to realize that maybe the strangers weren’t so perfect, and that my husband was the one with the mida of tzidkus – the trait of righteousness. Embarrassment should not stand in one's way, if one is called upon to safeguard the precepts of the Torah. (Greed, temptation – possibly, but not embarrassment.)

Having worked in the kosher business for several decades, he likes to frighten housewives with horror stories from weddings and other fine, fleishig events that he has come across in the line of duty; near-disasters that he caught in time:    

•         The cheerful kitchen workers who proudly spruced up the desserts with some swirls of chocolate syrup, and confidently announced “that’s the one we always use”. Really? What a shame it’s milchig!
•         The caterer who, displeased with the paltry display of the hors d’oeuvres as they passed him by, grabbed a few handfuls of shredded cheese that he quickly sprinkled over the trays, and then stood back to admire his handiwork: “There – that looks much better!”
•           Or - from the annals of a colleague - the wedding where they ran out of ice cream, sent out a non-Jewish kitchen worker to buy some more, and he came back with a dairy brand. It wasn’t detected until a woman with the radar of a severe milk allergy broke through the mechitza, screaming frantically to her husband: “Chaim, Chaim, spit it out – it’s milchig!” One can only imagine the havoc that ensued. 

We pulled up in front of Shoprite, where the post-Shabbos shopping frenzy was only in its early stages. We practically ran to the seltzer department. My husband - who likes nothing as much as a bit of drama - cavorted about, grabbing bottles left and right, declaring it to be a difficult case. I on the other hand, again with the European nerves, was able to calmly and competently establish that the OU symbol was in place. Maybe not quite as big as it could have been, and maybe not placed in the most conspicuous location on the label, but definitely there. Definitely. Somebody in shul needed new glasses. And we knew who. He must be enlightened – immediately.

“We are the Seltzer Patrol”, we yelled, as we barged into his parlor, where the Rabbi in question was enjoying a quiet interlude with his Rebbetzin. It took them a moment to recover, but naturally they were delighted with the findings of the Patrol. They couldn't be more pleased. The flavored seltzer as well? Fancy that! They congratulated us warmly on our vigilance, and wished us much success in our future endeavors. (But now that I think about it, they never asked us to sit down…)

Some days later, I had cause to call their household in another matter. The Rabbi picked up the phone and we exchanged a few brief pleasantries before his wife took over. “Keep up the Seltzer Patrol!”, he roared as the phone was snatched from his hand.

Shalom Uv'racha!

Shulamit - who wishes all her readers a Kesivah V'chasimah Tovah!

See you next year!

Mother of Life

As we all know, when we daven for somebody who is suffering in ill-health or in other trouble, we refer to the person as son or daughter of the mother’s name – Yoseph ben Rochel, or Dinah bas Leah – not using the father’s name, which is what a person is normally called. The reason is that we want to evoke G-d’s maternal side, as it were, to “remind” Him of the particular trait of rachamim – mercy – that is a mother’s territory. The word rachamim derives from rechem, the word for womb, which is of course the most uniquely maternal of all bodily organs, and the seat of the emotion of mercy.

If I have carried you in my womb, you are for all eternity connected to me by ties stronger than death, and nothing that ever happens to either you or me can erase the loving, tender mercy that I feel for you; your helpless cry as you emerged from my womb will for all eternity resonate in my ears and my heart, and make me want to clasp you to my breast at your slightest sigh; as long as there is breath in my body I will care for you, child of my womb, and love you and happily give up anything in the world, including that breath, that you should live and be happy.

That is the feeling of a mother. That is the feeling we want Hashem to remember. He is our Mother and we need His rachamim, His rechem-ness. Interestingly, the word for womb in my mother tongue would literally translate to English as “life-mother” – which very vividly describes what the rechem is - in a sense, it is a description of Hashem Himself.

And now comes what I believe to be my very own little newsflash. (Of course I can’t be sure that nobody else has ever had this thought, but I have never read it or heard it said.)

It goes like this: Whenever a person is, G-d forbid, ill or in distress – in the normal scope of things, who suffers the most? Usually the mother; at least I know all you mothers out there will agree with me! However pained or frightened or anguished the person might be, it is hard to imagine that the pain, the fear, and the anguish of the mother is not exponentially worse. After all, do we not extrapolate the sobbing sounds of the Teruah (the ninefold staccato blasts of the Shofar) from the heart-rending sobs of the mother of Sisera*; not from the sobs of the man himself; nor from those of his wife, or his child.

My point is that when we mention in our prayer the mother of a sufferer, we are including her, and consequently davening for her as well; praying that the patient, or the prisoner, or the victim, together with the one who suffers with him, and for him, should receive from the Mother of All Life, the King of Rachamim, a healing balm for all their agony.

And may we all, in the words of the Navi Yeshayah – the prophet Isaiah – be “carried on a shoulder and dandled on knees; like a man whose mother consoled him...”.

Shalom Uv'racha!

Shulamit

The Mother of Sisera Looking Out the Window 
By Albert Joseph Moore, English painter,1841-1893

* Through the window she gazed; Sisera's mother peered through the window. "Why is his chariot delayed in coming? Why are the hoofbeats of his carriages so late?" 

Shofetim (Judges) 5:28

The whole story about how Sisera, the cruel commander of the Cana'anite army, was killed by our Jewish heroine Yael is found in Shofetim, chapter 4.

How I Got Married - Part 3

Some Shidduch Advice for Late Bloomers

And again - just to make sure you are aware of this IMPORTANT NOTE: Some of the comments below may seem uncomplimentary to my husband, but don’t let that fool you! He is a tzaddik and I greatly respect him. I have received his permission and blessing to publish this text, because he understands that any drastic expressions in this article were written only in the hope of being helpful to persons who are suffering. And also to get a few laughs.

5.      He’s Not Your Type? – So What!

A friend of mine once passed on to me some good advice that she had received, and I will now pass it on to you: Imagine that you are looking at a photo of your future dream zivug. Carefully study every detail of the picture. Really get into it – all the character traits of this person, all the special things that make this the most wonderful person in the world! Now, tear up that photo – because this person doesn’t exist, and that is not the one you will marry!

The thing is: you are not the expert on what you need – your Maker is! You may be attracted to a certain type – but that isn’t necessarily the type that’s good for you, or that will make you happy. You may think you need to get certain things from a spouse; or conversely, you may think that you can’t possibly put up with this or that. This is all very well – I’m not saying that you have bad judgment, but your judgment is human; your frame of reference is human, of this world, and therefore inherently limited. In your search for certain criteria, you may be completely overlooking the deeper, hidden, spiritual needs of your neshamah, your soul.

No, I’m not talking about anything that a therapist could help you figure out; this is not about psychology – it is about what takes place in the realm of the spirit. I am referring to what Hashem, your Creator, knows about you. He put you together; He knows what needs tinkering with; and He has the right mechanic for your soul – if only you will open the door when he – or He – knocks.

The first time I met my husband I knew he was not for me. I knew it! Not my type. Talks too much. Don’t like his looks (though it should be said that in wider circles he is considered quite the handsome guy!). Pleasant enough, maybe, but – no, not my type. But as I came to like the man, so I came to like his looks. The chattering I got used to. Who listens, anyway? Some of the traits I had davened for I didn’t get; instead I got other, more important traits that I hadn’t even thought to ask for! The funny thing is, he is still not my type – but I love him. And what’s more – over the years I have come to realize that he is my neshamah mechanic straight from Hashem’s Yellow Pages. Now, if I could only make him understand that I was sent to perfect his neshamah too…

May you be zoche to stand under the chuppah with your true zivug!
(Image from dexknows.com)

6.      Yes – You Must Be Desperate!

How many times have I heard – and said myself, in the past – “I’m not desperate; if the right one comes along I’ll get married”. If this is how you are thinking – then I’m sorry, but the right one will not come along, and you will not get married! You have to be desperate – how else to dare the plunge into something that might not be what you had anticipated? I also believe that many late bloomers carry within their hearts a measure of fear, acknowledged or not, as the case may be, and the desperation must be strong enough to overcome that fear! If you are not desperate, there is a risk you’ll become complacent. In constant pain, but complacent.

Another story: This young woman isn’t even so young anymore. For reasons that may have made sense initially, twenty years ago, she lives as a boarder with a large family. The first time I met her, nine years ago, I knew she would never get married as long as she remained in this situation, and so far, nebech, I have not been proven wrong. How do I know? Because many years ago, when I was a newcomer in this country, I lived for some time – not as a boarder, but as a caregiver – closely together with another family. I wasn’t exactly a family member but I was part of a larger context. There were people around; I wasn’t lonely. There were men coming from shul at the appointed times; they weren’t my men, but I still experienced that – vicarious! – sense of satisfaction you get when a man walks in the door and it’s time for Kiddush, or Havdoloh, or kashering the curtains, or something… There were many similar factors, which all contributed to giving me a false sense of belonging with somebody. It was very subtle, and I was barely aware of it at the time, but I know that it was so, and it prevented desperation.

This may sound harsh, and please don’t be offended, but it is a reality: If you are a late bloomer, you may need to expose yourself to the full, unadulterated pain of your loneliness – only that way will you experience such a degree of desperation that you absolutely must get married, no matter what. You must be desperate enough to be able to give up all your pre-conceived notions of what marital happiness should look like. You must be desperate enough to be able to daven, like I finally did: “Please Hashem, I don’t care who my zivug is, I don’t care what he’s like, what he has or doesn’t have, or what he looks like – just bring him, whoever he may be!” Once I was able to say that, and mean it, things began to happen.

“But I don’t want to settle”, I hear you say, “I have waited so long and suffered so much I can’t take just ANYBODY after all this – I mean, THAT is what I have been waiting for all these years?! Look at the people I have said no to already - now I should say yes to this one?” Oh, the horrifying specter of “settling”! Let me tell you something: it feels good to be settled. Okay – I know that is not exactly what you meant, but that is how I think you should look at it. “Settling” means that you accept Hashem’s plan for you – and that is a good thing! And believe me – you may be very pleasantly surprised.

Let me say it again: as long as you insist on making up the rules for what kind of a zivug you should have, Hashem can’t help you. He has someone in store for you, but you must be prepared to accept THAT ONE – not the product of your own imagination. I’m not telling you to marry and be miserable, chas vesholom, I’m telling you that happiness is sometimes found in a different shape, and in a different place, than you would think possible.

After we had gotten engaged, my choson and I discovered that we had many contact points; my friends knew his friends, and theoretically there were many people who could have set us up with each other. Obviously nobody had thought it made sense – because “on paper” it didn’t (and still doesn’t) make sense. “Only Hashem could have put this shidduch together!”, one of my acquaintances burst out in spontaneous amazement. There were many issues to discover and deal with; in all honesty, there were difficulties, and there were days during our first married year that I feared I might have made a mistake. Would I have married this man if I hadn’t been desperate?! No, I certainly wouldn’t – and I would have missed out on great happiness and a good life with a good man who, strange as it may seem, has been tailor-made for me by our Creator. (And, obviously, I am his perfect ezer k'negdo - the helpmeet against him!)

Dear Late Bloomer, may Hashem bless you with success in your efforts at finding your true zivug!

And invite me to the wedding.

Shalom Uv'racha!
Shulamit

How I Got Married - Part 2

Some Shidduch Advice for Late Bloomers

The introduction to this article appeared in last week's post. If you want to skip it, just don't skip this IMPORTANT NOTE: Some of the comments below may seem uncomplimentary to my husband, but don’t let that fool you! He is a tzaddik and I greatly respect him. I have received his permission and blessing to publish this text, because he understands that any drastic expressions in this article were written only in the hope of being helpful to persons who are suffering. And also to get a few laughs.

3.      What You Are Doing Isn’t Working – So Do Something Different!

Do you insist on only going through a shadchan – or do you refuse to have anything to do with one? Are you determined to date only learners – or only earners? Won’t you give the time of day to anybody who isn’t at least 1” taller than you? Does she have to be a size 4? Do you demand to see a photo before agreeing to a date? Are you making yourself inaccessible? Or too accessible?

Whatever your dating procedure might be, it clearly isn’t working. You need to do something different; stretch yourself and go outside your comfort zone. NEVER, EVER, do anything immoral or self-destructive – or against the Torah in any way! – but don’t be afraid to go a bit against the grain, to reverse your usual order of things, to try another approach or different tactics, even if it feels uncomfortable and “wrong”.

For ten years I went on dates whenever I got an offer, I cried and davened, but nothing worked out.  A Rebbetzin friend of mine was pushing me to try internet dating, but I resisted for a long time. I didn’t want to expose myself to potential weirdoes; I didn’t think it was tznius, modest, for a woman to be in such a public forum – it just offended all my sensibilities. She kept insisting that today’s unusual shidduch crisis called for unusual measures; that what might have worked twenty years ago was not effective enough today. (And that was ten years ago!)

Finally, just to shut her up, I posted my profile on a reputable Orthodox dating site. “But that’s it,” I thought, “I’m there – let Mr. Right come and find me. I refuse to initiate anything – it is not derech nashim, the way of refined women, to pursue a partner.” (Not to mention that it would be totally against ‘The Rules’ to run after a man!) However, I was persuaded to change my attitude in this also. I made a search on the dating website, got some profiles and sent out a few emails. A couple of days later, emboldened and excited, I did a new search, widening my criteria (a crucially important factor for success!), and sent out a few more approaches. One of the replies came from the man who is now my husband.

An additional, funny twist to the story is that his reply to me was full of spelling errors. (He is an excellent, creative, quirky writer, just not a great speller.) Normally, a mail with that kind of spelling would have sent its author straight into the “reject” pile, but I had decided to go against the grain, to do the opposite of my normal modus operandi, so I gave him a chance. (What luck!) That should demonstrate very clearly how important it is to Do Something Different.

The tent of romance is beckoning!
(Image from mazelmoments.com)

4.      Don’t Be Too Quick to Say No – Make a 3-Date-Minimum Rule

First impressions are not always right – or, they don’t tell the whole story. Nerves, fear of rejection, work stress, coming down with a cold – dozens of factors can get in the way of a person presenting himself in the right way. Unless you see something really off-putting in a date, don’t say no. (By off-putting, I would generally mean something like bad character, anger and/or violence, an abusive personality, addiction, meanness.) Good character in a potential shidduch is the only thing that is unequivocally non-negotiable. Most other things you can compromise about, but never that. And good character in itself can make up for many other things that might be missing. Even if you feel indifferent initially, it may be worth giving it a further try (obviously that indifference should begin to turn into interest at some point, otherwise it is no use), but as long as you are not repulsed, remember that there can be hidden treasures under the surface. Every diamond begins as a lump of coal.

I didn’t begin to be really interested in this guy who was pursuing me until we were on the fifth date. (But then!) I just accepted dates anyway, because, let’s face it – I was out to get married, no matter what! He seemed decent enough; I had nothing more important to do, so why not? (He told me later that he had been tearing his hair out, wondering what he was doing wrong.) Finally, pulling himself together, he switched on the charm full blast. Aha!

The last installment of this article will appear, IY"H, next week.

Shalom Uv'racha!
Shulamit

How I Got Married - Part 1

Some Shidduch Advice for Late Bloomers

Tragically, we are living in times when more and more men and women, young and not so young, are finding it difficult, or impossible, to get married, and are facing the prospect of a lifetime of involuntary solitude. For many years, I used to count myself among those women. After an early divorce I lived as a single mother for over twenty years – ten of them yearning; another ten actively seeking to get married.

With the help of Heaven I finally succeeded, and along the way I came to a few insights that I would like to offer here, in the hope that they might help other “late bloomers” to get married. It is a sensitive subject, fraught with anguish, and I must apologize in advance if even one word causes any reader pain, which is obviously not my intention. The intention is rather to shake you up a little, and possibly change the angle from which you are considering your predicament. The article is based on my own experiences and personal observations, and I would readily concede that there are many possible scenarios, obstacles and conditions that have not been addressed here. Therefore, I don’t pretend that these ideas are a cure-all for every situation. However, I believe that much of the below applies in many cases. (If I seem to be writing mainly for a female audience it is not intentionally so – I think all the principles apply equally to men.)

I offer these insights in all humility, knowing that ultimately all salvation comes from Hashem. Nevertheless, we are obligated to make every effort to allow Him to help us. We must hold out a vessel, into which He may pour out the blessing!

IMPORTANT NOTE: Some of the comments below may seem uncomplimentary to my husband, but don’t let that fool you! He is a tzaddik and I greatly respect him. I have received his permission and blessing to publish this text, because he understands that any drastic expressions in this article were written only in the hope of being helpful to persons who are suffering. And also to get a few laughs.

1.      Don’t (Just) Look for the Right Person – BE the Right Person!

Under this heading there are two aspects to consider. The first one is this: Even if you meet the right person you won’t realize, unless you are the right one for him. It could be that your zivug – your other half, the one Hashem has set aside for you – has a shortcoming of some kind, great or small. If you are not kind or patient or accepting enough to overlook this shortcoming you won’t be able to get married.

We have all heard the story of the young man who complained to his Rebbe that he couldn’t find the right girl, whereupon the Rebbe, gazing into the World of Truth replied: “Oh, you’ve already met her, but you thought her nose was too big.” This young man didn’t care about being the right person; to get married you must do so. Of course there are limits – I’m not saying you have to be ready to marry an unemployed, chain-smoking vegetarian with ADD, but you must be someone who is willing to overlook imperfection. Otherwise, how can you expect your spouse to overlook yours?

The second aspect is, of course, that you must be somebody that your zivug would want to be married to. You yourself have a desire to be married to somebody kind, generous, good-humored and adorable. Your zivug wants that too!

Whether you are a man or a woman, make yourself attractive and marriageable. Obviously, you need to address external things, like losing weight, updating your wardrobe or refining your grooming routines (ahem – gentlemen?!), but don’t forget to work ceaselessly on internal matters, such as your character, your mood and your midos. Do everything in your power to become clearly distinguishable as a “good catch”! Be cheerful and compassionate – try to be happy for your friends if they find their zivugim before you do. This can be extremely hard for a person who has been alone a long time. It hurts very much to be alone; repeated disappointments can erode one’s spirit, and it is easily done to slip into self-pity and bitterness. But fight against it! Remember that few things are more unattractive than bitterness.

I happen to know of a young woman, by now somewhat into her thirties, with a significantly younger sister who fell in love practically on her first date (“permission” to date had been grudgingly granted by the elder sister “but only to date; not to get engaged” if you can credit it), and got married very quickly and happily at barely twenty. The older girl now had a choice open to her: she could have rejoiced with her younger sister, and in the process gathered z’chus – spiritual merit – that would have put her alongside Rochel Imeinu. In so doing she would have made herself into an utterly lovable person – and into a most desirable marriage partner.  

Instead, she chose to give free reign to her pain, nourishing her bitterness and anger. During the sister’s engagement period, she virtually terrorized her family, freely releasing her envy, jealousy and resentment, forbidding them to mention the choson’s name in her presence, and going about with a permanent scowl on her face. Nobody says her pain wasn’t real and heartbreaking; nobody says it wasn’t a terrible tribulation for her – but frankly, what young man would want to marry a girl with such a personality?

Don’t be her. Join the Marines and “be all that you can be!”

2.      Do You Have Baggage? Believe in Your Own Worth!

Most people above the age of seven have baggage. It is called life. Sometimes the baggage can be a bit heavier than usual, and it is easy to believe that this will be an obstacle to marriage. Unfortunately there are many people who will try to make you think that because of your baggage you are not good marriage material. Don’t believe them – believe in you! (But of course, depending on what your story is, anything that can be rectified should be fixed, so that you can demonstrate an improved record!) It is important to maintain a conviction that you deserve to be happy, to be loved. That conviction alone – if it is based on a spiritual truth, not on arrogance – will greatly contribute to your attractiveness.

This is where you are going! 
The Chuppah represents the choson's home - 
his tent - into which he invites the kallah to 
come and live with him.
(Image from weddingbycolor.com)

One of the top-three messages of the entire Torah is this: it doesn’t matter where you are coming from – it only matters where you are going! As long as you are working on yourself with honesty, that is all Hashem requires of you. At a certain point you will be ready, and when you meet your true zivug the baggage will become insignificant, not because “you’ll discover that there is something a bit wrong with him also”, as a well-meaning, but stupid, former (!) friend once said to me, but because you will see that you are two pieces of a puzzle. “Our neuroses match perfectly”, as Woody Allen said. Not exactly so, but you may very well find that your own life experiences have given you a certain wisdom that makes you particularly qualified for this relationship; that everything you have gone through in your lifetime has led you to this moment.

This being said, it is important to consider the concept of correct timing. Don’t speak up too soon; the shidduch might not be right anyway – for other reasons – and you now have yet another person who knows a little too much about you, and who might spread it around in a way that is not productive for you. When you know that there is a real chance that this could lead in the right direction – then you may need to reveal yourself, step by step.

On our sixth date, when some mutual tender affections had become apparent, my future husband revealed a particularly juicy bit of baggage. Had he spoken sooner it would have been the end; as it was I staggered – but rallied. I told him about myself in stages, saving the best bit for the moment after he proposed to me. His reply was, “Do you think I hadn’t figured that out already?”...

More to follow next week...

Shalom Uv'racha!
Shulamit