An Unorthodox Match

by Naomi Ragen

  He held his face in his hands, rocking gently in grief.

  She stared at him, stunned. “Yaakov, what are you saying?”

  “My Zissele didn’t die because of an illness. She killed herself.”

  Leah’s mouth fell open in horror. “Oh, Yaakov.”

  Tears streamed down his face, unheeded. “It started right after our first child was born. Everyone said she was tired. But it was more than that. She wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t get dressed. And her mother and her friends would spend hours by her, helping her to take care of the baby, helping her to get dressed, spoon-feeding her, taking her out for walks. It took months. And then the depression passed. She became my Zissele again. But with every baby, it came back, and every time, it was worse, until finally, with Mordechai Shalom, there was no Zissele left. I didn’t know her anymore. She didn’t know herself. Like always, we tried at home. But this time, nothing helped. She needed a doctor, a hospital. My mother-in-law, I begged her…”

  “What did your mother-in-law say?”

  “She, too, finally agreed. Together, we took Zissele to the doctor, the psychiatrist. Right away, he told us it was serious. She needed to be in a hospital. ‘Committed,’ he told us. Even if she didn’t want, even by force. He warned us she could hurt herself. But Zissele swore to her mother she was getting better, that she just needed time. We should give her more time, she begged. My mother-in-law sided with her. She said it would ruin the family’s yichus to have a mother in a mental hospital. Our children would never get decent shidduchim and that by itself would destroy her Zissele. She’d be even more depressed. How could I argue? All of it was true, every word! No one wants to marry into a family with mental illness. Even having Moshe Rabeinu in your yichus would be worthless in such a case.

  “My mother-in-law said she would move in by us. She would take care of Zissele, like before. She said we should ask the rabbis, get permission to stop having babies, at least for a while. We should let her rest and then, for sure, Zissele would come back to herself, just like before. I wanted so much to believe that! And so I did nothing. Are you listening to me, Leah? I didn’t do anything. And then … and then … my Zissele…” He covered his face with both his hands and sobbed, his big shoulders shaking with uncontrolled grief.

  Now it will be over, he thought. All over between him and this young woman, this woman he loved for bringing joy back to his heart and happiness back to his children. The young woman who had just admitted she loved him. But all by herself, she had figured out the dark truth about the community of which he was a part. Now she would realize he wasn’t any better than the people she had spoken about. He was the same, one of them. That terrible secret kept imprisoned so long in the locked chambers of his heart had escaped. Like the fumes of a poisonous gas, there was no way to contain it now. It would be out there, enveloping and polluting their relationship, isolating him forever.

  In the darkness of despair, he felt something touch him. Her fingers, he realized, shocked, as he felt his hands gently peeled from his face. He looked at her as she reached out, taking his trembling hands in hers, holding them gently. According to all the laws of modesty, it was forbidden. He must not touch her. She must not touch him. He was stupefied, too shocked to move or protest. He watched, fascinated, as she lifted his hands to her lips, kissing his knuckles one by one.

  “You should find somebody better. I am a broken man.”

  This is the truth, she thought. His heart is broken. He was a man with a broken heart. And she, who was she? A woman whose heart had long ago rolled off a mountain in one of the most beautiful places on earth, shattering into a million shards.

  So many mistakes. So many bad choices. So many tragedies and hurts brought to innocent people with the best of intentions or with no intention at all. It was so hard to be human. It was so hard to be alive.

  “How could you love such a man, Leah?”

  She did not let go of his hands. “I could. I do.”

  28

  Yaakov gathered his family around him: Shaindele, Chasya, Mordechai Shalom, and his tall, shy, teenage yeshiva boys, Elchanon Yehoshua and Dovid Yitzchak. In the big easy chair sat his mother-in-law, Fruma Esther.

  He told those standing to sit down around the dining room table. There, with Mordechai Shalom in his lap, and his arm draped gently around Chasya, he began to speak.

  “My dear family,” he said, smiling, “ever since the terrible nesoyon of losing our saintly Zissele, our family has been in mourning. But HaShem, may His name be blessed, has decreed an end to our suffering! He, in His enormous chesed, has granted me a new ezer k’negdo, an eshes chayil, to help me and our family make a new beginning.”

  He saw Shaindele stiffen with shock as if struck; his mother-in-law’s eyes go wide with questioning. He hurried so that he wouldn’t lose courage. “I am, imyertza HaShem, getting married. The vort will be next Thursday night.”

  His mother-in-law rose, her face frozen except for a tiny, nervous tic just outside the corner of her eye. “Mazel tov, my choson. And now, maybe, you should be so kind and tell us—as we are all waiting to hear—who is the kallah?”

  He smiled even more broadly, patting an excited Chasya’s little head. “You all know her. Like Rivka, about whom it is written, ‘And Isaac was comforted after his mother’s death,’ she’s brought the shechinah back into our home. We could not have managed without her. Her name is Leah Howard.”

  Chasya gasped, then laughed, climbing up on her chair and reaching up around her father’s neck to hug him. Then she climbed down, taking Mordechai Shalom’s small hands in hers and pulling him to the floor. “Leah is going to be our mommy!” she told him. “Our Leah!” The two little ones danced around the living room floor as the older children sat in motionless, wordless silence, watching.

  Yaakov, happily watching the little ones, his vision blurred with tears of joy, did not immediately notice the older ones. Only when Shaindele rose unsteadily to her feet did he turn his attention to her and to the boys. “Never, never, never!” she screamed in hysteria, sobbing, as her grandmother jumped up and took her into her arms. The two little ones froze, their smiles turning to frightened sobs, while the older boys glanced at each other in embarrassment, high color rising in their cheeks as they lowered their gazes to the floor.

  Yaakov froze in wonderment and dismay, unable to comprehend what he was seeing and hearing. He got up and walked over to Shaindele.

  “My dear child,” he said gently. “I know this is a surprise by you. Also by me. But I believe that this is HaShem’s plan for us. In His kindness and hashgacha pratis, He has answered my prayers—all our prayers—and brought Leah to us. I hope that you will welcome her as she deserves to be welcomed and that you will bring no shame to our good name by not treating her as the precious gift from HaShem she is.”

  It was as if he’d poured oil on a fire. Shaindele wrenched herself out of her grandmother’s embrace, eyes blazing as she confronted her father. “We should bring no shame to our good name? Us? What about you? How can you do this? To Elchanon Yehoshua, to Dovid Yitzchak, to me? No shadchan will work with us! It’s bad enough that you are leaving the kollel to become a baal bayis, but how could you bring a woman like her into our family to replace our saintly mother? A woman who was born from an unclean niddah? A person who has tainted her soul by filling her stomach with terefah food, pig and shellfish, a person who was a mechalal Shabbos, who had a tattoo and who knows how many men—”

  “Enough!” Yaakov finally exploded. “And who are you, Shaindele? Are you not a Jew? Was not the forefather of all Jews the son of pagan idol worshippers who ate every forbidden thing? Have I not brought you all up to be God-fearing Jews? And yet you desecrate the Torah! Is it not written: Do not oppress or ill-treat the stranger? Our sages tell us that to oppress means to cheat him in business. But ill-treat means to use wounding words against him. Rabbi Yohonan said in the name of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai that to wound with words is much worse than to cheat in bus
iness, because you can give back the money you steal but you can never restore the pride of the person you hurt. And what about me, your father. Am I not owed respect? Is this kibood av? You should be ashamed of yourself!”

  Shaindele sobbed, running to her room and slamming the door with a loud crash.

  Fruma Esther got to her feet, her whole body shaking with rage. “Can I speak to you privately, Yaakov?”

  He hung his head, his hands gripping the table. “Whatever you want to say to me, you can say right here, in front of your grandchildren.” Then he raised his head, looking directly into her eyes with steely determination. “But then, I may also have some things to tell your grandchildren, things I have never spoken of before, Rebbitzen.”

  She stared at him, dumbfounded at the threat. She straightened her back with dignity. “So, I wish you and the children mazel tov again. It’s time for me to go home.”

  Devastated, she gathered her purse and the shopping bag filled with empty plastic containers from the last batch of food she had brought over, making her way unsteadily to the door. The older boys accompanied her.

  She touched their faces. Such fine boys. She was so proud of them. But it was as if she were on the far shore watching them struggle against monster waves, their heads slowly going under. She was helpless. “HaShem yishmor.” She sighed, kissing the mezuzah and walking down the steps. Like Hagar deserting her son Ishmael in the desert, she thought, because she could not bear to witness what would happen to him without food and drink in the desert sun.

  “Boys, sit down,” Yaakov said gently, putting his arms around his sons. “I know this must be a great surprise. You haven’t had the chance to meet Leah the way the younger children have.”

  The boys did not look at their father, their gazes lowered. Obviously, Shaindele had met the bride-to-be. Her reaction frightened them. They, too, would soon be in the shidduch market. Their entire futures depended on a good match to a fine family with the means to support them so they could continue their Torah learning until one day they themselves could become the heads of Talmudic academies. This was their dream. And now, if what Shaindele said was true, that dream was in jeopardy. There was a short silence.

  Finally, Elchanon Yehoshua spoke up. “Tateh, is it true what Shaindele said?”

  “By us, we don’t discuss loshon hara,” Yaakov answered with uncharacteristic sharpness.

  “But, Tateh, why would Shaindele—” Elchanon Yehoshua began.

  “Your sister has suffered more than anyone since Mameh left us,” Yaakov cut him off. “Her life is filled with nesyonos. She is sometimes nichshal. We must pray for her.”

  “And Bubbee? What about Bubbee? What did she want to talk to you about?”

  “This was a surprise for her also. She had different shidduchim in mind. But God, blessed be He, had other plans. I am sure that once Bubbee has a chance to think about it, she will also see that we have been blessed.”

  “But what things were you going to tell us that we never heard before?” Elchanon Yehoshua pressed.

  Yaakov laid a gentle hand on his son’s. “This is not the time, Elchanon Yehoshua. But one day we will talk about it,” he said gently. “About your mameh.”

  “Leah is going to be our mommy!” Chasya sang again, released now from the shadow of her older sister. The term mommy she had learned from Leah. Her mameh was gone, but Leah would be her mommy. She danced with the baby. Yaakov lifted them both into his arms, waltzing through the living room. “Yes, little Icy, little Cheeky, you will have a mameh again. We will all have a wonderful mameh again to light our Shabbos candles, to bake our challah, to read to us.” And to lie beside us in the cold, dark night.

  * * *

  “So, how did it go?” Leah asked him later that night.

  “Baruch HaShem,” he hedged.

  “Okay, so now tell me what really happened.”

  He hesitated. You weren’t allowed to lie, except to prevent hurting someone’s feelings. “Chasya and Mordechai Shalom jumped up and down. Chasya kept saying, ‘Leah is going to be our mommy!’ like it was a song.”

  Leah wiped away the quick flash of tears that welled up in her eyes. “I love them so much. And what about the others?”

  “The boys were mamash surprised, but I know they are happy for me. They are good boys.”

  “And Shaindele?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t know what’s wrong with that girl.”

  “But you let her talk, right? Like we discussed?”

  “Such a mistake.” He looked down, ashamed, shaking his head.

  “That bad?” She felt her pulse quicken. She wasn’t surprised, but still, it dampened her joy. “She’s worried about her shidduch; you know that. She’s not wrong.”

  “I don’t care how much yichus and how much learning a boy has, if he cannot show respect to a wonderful person like you, he is not a good shidduch for any child of mine.”

  “It’s not the boys; it’s the shadchanim. They’re the ones you’ll have to deal with.”

  “Any shadchan who doesn’t respect a woman like you is not a God-fearing Jew and not fit to find a shidduch for my daughter or my sons.”

  “Yaakov, Yaakov…” She shook her head sorrowfully. She hated that she was going to be the cause of any difficulty for him or his children, but she loved him for his uncompromising stance. “Maybe I could talk to Shaindele?”

  “Absolutely not!”

  She was taken aback. It wasn’t a tone Yaakov Lehman used.

  “But why, Yaakov? Maybe, if I talked to her, woman to woman…”

  He took a deep breath. “I can forgive many things, but not deliberate lying. Especially since I already warned her about it.”

  “What did she lie about?”

  “The tattoo. She keeps talking about your tattoo.”

  Leah froze. “Yaakov, I had a tattoo.”

  He was amazed. “But I never—”

  “It was on my wrist, and it was very important to me. I got it with my late fiancé, just before he died.”

  “But I never noticed.”

  “Because before we met I had an accident, and burned my hand. The skin just peeled off. No more tattoo. Would it have a made a difference?”

  He hesitated. The truth was, he couldn’t be sure. “I might not have allowed myself to get to know you. I also have my blindspots and prejudices.”

  You can never know if something that happens to you is a good thing or a bad thing, she thought in wonder, remembering the prayer in which she had beseeched God for help. And as painful and horrible as it had been, her accident had been His answer. It had brought this wonderful man into her life.

  “Your daughter isn’t a liar, Yaakov.”

  “God be blessed, at least that!” he murmured in relief. “Still, her behavior, her language, is unacceptable for a religious girl.”

  “Don’t be too hard on her. I’m sure if I could just—”

  He raised his hand. “For everything, there is a time. Once you are her stepmother, you will have all the time in the world to talk to her. But until then, you need to leave her alone. Let her get used to the idea. Pushing her now will only make things worse.”

  She thought about it. Sadly, it was true. “All right, but it goes against my nature. I so much want to be her mother, too.”

  “In time, all in good time.” He tried to smile reassuringly, even though he felt no such confidence in time as a healing agent for this particular wound. Shaindele could hold a grudge forever. He changed the subject.

  “Have you told your family yet?”

  “I’m going to call my mother tonight. I wanted to wait, to see how it went with you first.”

  “Oh, so you were afraid I’m changing my mind?” He grinned, wagging a finger at her. “When will you learn that what HaShem decides, no person can change? He has brought us together. It’s a blessing.”

  It was. It is, she thought, dreading the phone call she had to make.

  * * *

  She decid
ed instead of a phone call, she would use Skype so she could see her mother’s face and her mother could see hers.

  The app rang, and suddenly there she was, Cheryl Howard in the flesh. She had a new haircut, short and spiky, the color a light platinum over dark roots. Her mouth was painted a bright red. She was wearing one of those off-the-shoulder blouses that made her look almost naked.

  “Oh my God!” Cheryl shouted. “Ravi, come here quick! Look who’s on Skype!”

  So Ravi was back. He poked his head into view. His dark hair had grown. It was shoulder length now, Leah noted, wondering if that had significance.

  “Hello, Lola. How are you? Your mother has been very worried about you.”

  “Hi, Ravi. She was worried about you, too. How was your trip?”

  He hesitated, then shrugged.

  She swallowed. “Well, I’m glad you are both here together. I have some news.” She took a deep breath. “I’m getting married.”

  “Oh my God!” Cheryl shouted, moving off frame. The screen filled with Ravi, who turned, gesticulating wildly. Then he, too, moved off camera. In the background, she heard him shouting at her mother to come back.

  “Hello? Are you still there?” Leah said into the screen.

  Cheryl’s head bobbed back into view, her blue eyes wide and shell-shocked, her red lips tightly stretched. “So tell me about him.”

  “His name is Jacob—Yaakov, actually.”

  “Oh my God! He is one of those, isn’t he?” She said it with a combination of horror and mockery.

  “He is a religious Jew, as am I, Mom.”

  “He’s one of those! He’s one of those!” she shouted.

  “I’m going to hang up right this second if you don’t stop.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m stopping.” She took a deep breath. “Tell me about him.”

  “He’s forty. A widower. He has five kids—”

  “Oh my God! Oh my God! I can’t believe it! You know what’s going to happen to you, don’t you? You’re going to be his slave. He already killed one wife, and now you’re going to be number two! After you’ve popped out another five kids for him! You’re going to be his slave, work yourself to the bone taking care of his kids while he sits on his ass in some room reading, not earning a penny! You’re going to support him, right? That’s also part of this deal, isn’t it?”