Sotah (10 page)

“Dvorah, Dina!” A familiar voice broke her reverie.

It was Mrs Schwarzberg, a neighbor. “I understand a mazel tov should be coming soon!” Both sisters looked up, appalled.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have said anything?” She gave herself a mock slap on the mouth. “But a few times I have seen him come to get you. Such a fine young man! It should be in a good hour! Such lovely girls, all of you. And your parents, the most wonderful people, they deserve only the best …” She went on and on.

Dvorah exhaled a small sigh of relief. Of course, Dina’s going out was the only thing anyone could know about, she thought, her hand going instinctively to her stomach. But her relief was short-lived. How many people knew about Dina and Abraham? she calculated with sudden panic. The neighbors, Dina’s friends, relatives? The conversation with Yaakov flashed through her mind like a steel blade:

“Of course, he’ll be going on to
kollel
, so there’s the matter of support. There has to be an income,” Yaakov had said offhandedly.

“Dina will work. She’ll teach, as I do,” she’d answered comfortably.

“It won’t be enough. For a scholar like Abraham, the parents have been led to believe they can demand and get the four keys from any prospective bride.”

“The four keys?”

“House keys, car keys, safe keys, and office keys!”

“Oh, so why didn’t you get this settled before they met! What can be done now?”

“I am not a
shadchen!
What did I know?” he’d replied with what was lately becoming a very familiar look: abused, peevish.

“But surely the Breitmans are good people. If the match is
beshert,
ordained from heaven, then certainly they will make some compromises. Leave that to
Aba
and
Ima
,” she’d placated.

His only reply before returning to his reading had been a helpless shrug.

Dvorah looked at her sister smiling shyly at Mrs Schwarzberg. She was blushing at the woman’s compliments, feeling herself just a fraction away from being able to lift her face to the sun and accept the mazel tovs and good wishes that would sprinkle magic over her life like a delightful summer shower.

Dvorah felt her face grow hot, then ice cold as she considered the other possibilities.

Chapter seven

T
he door opened slowly. “Come in, please, a great honor!” Abraham Breitman’s father told the Reichs. Rabbi Reich extended his hand, and the two heavily bearded men shook with real warmth. The women were more formal.

“Rebbetzin Reich.” Rebbetzin Brindel Breitman nodded correctly.

“Rebbetzin Breitman,” came Faigie Reich’s mild reply.

Dina and Abraham were not present. Rebbetzin Breitman especially had thought this wise.

The house smelled of furniture polish and cookies baking in the oven. The living room was dominated by a twelve-foot-long bookcase that held hundreds of volumes of
sifrey kodesh
, holy books, and silver ritual objects: heavy silver candlesticks, spice boxes for
havdalah
, wine cups, heavily inlaid silver ethrog holders, Chanukah menorahs, silver knives to cut the challah bread, and even a little silver box to hold matches just for lighting the Sabbath candles.

The table, however, held only a few ordinary glasses and a plain pitcher of juice. It was a boardroom table, set for serious business negotiations. They had hardly been seated when Brindel Breitman, her hand at her throat, said plaintively: “I must say this is all most irregular. Most disturbing. That the children have met and, as I understand from Abraham, formed some kind of connection, before any of the
siddurim
, the arrangements, have been discussed between us …”

Rabbi Breitman held up his hand, silencing his wife. “We have heard only wonderful things about Dina. We know she would make a fine, G-d-fearing
baleboosteh
for any Torah scholar. We know the Reich family, and it would be an honor to join our two families together.”

The Reichs relaxed a little, Rebbetzin Reich adjusting her wig, which suddenly felt like a tourniquet around her sweating brow, Rabbi Reich smoothing his fingers nervously through his beard.

“But my wife is right. Yaakov, your son-in-law, is a wonderful
talmid.
But a
shadchen
he’s not. This discussion between us was delayed too long. We should have settled all this long before the children even met.”

“To settle, to settle,” Rabbi Reich said cheerfully. “Is it not all in G-d’s hands? Is it not a
chesed
, an act of divine compassion, that two wonderful people, my daughter and your blessed son—may he grow great in Torah!—have met and decided to marry!”

Rebbetzin Breitman stood up abruptly from the table, almost knocking over her chair. “To marry! We are very far from any such talk! Why, nothing has been settled! Who will provide the wedding? And the apartment? Who will furnish it? And who will provide a monthly income so that Abraham can go on learning? Weddings! Weddings we talk about at the end, not at the beginning. It’s … it’s … too much!” She sank back onto her seat.

“I know that everything that is said here, in the home of such wonderful, G-d-fearing people, about which it is written, ‘Blessed are you, O tents of my people Israel,’ comes from goodness, from fear of heaven.” Rabbi Reich spoke softly, addressing his remarks directly to Rabbi Breitman, not even allowing his eyes to stray in the direction of Rebbetzin Breitman. Anything else would have been an unforgivable breach of modesty. He stroked his beard meditatively. “It is so wonderful how you tremble for Abraham’s welfare, wanting to make sure he continues to learn Torah. May all the fathers and mothers of Israel be blessed with sons like yours, and may they all be comforted by seeing the days of the Messiah speedily upon us.”

This calmed everyone down slightly.

“Now,” Rabbi Reich continued in his same kind, gentle, unworldly tone, “of course plans must be discussed, decisions made on how our children can be joined into a life of Torah and mitzvahs. You know, it’s written that forty days before conception a
bas kol
goes out from heaven and says, ‘This man for this woman.’ But not only that is written and ordained. It is also ordained on what day and hour the wedding will take place. Who the wedding guests will be, and who will play the music. Where the bread, fish, meat, and wine will come from. If we have the
zchus
, the merit, then G-d will help us to see our children completed in life.”

“Of course, Rabbi Reich.” Rabbi Breitman nodded approvingly. Then he slapped his hand on the table. “But now,
tachlis
, to the purpose.”

“Why, weren’t we talking
tachlis
all along?” Rabbi Reich said, puzzled. “What could be more to the purpose than what I’ve said?”

Rebbetzin Reich looked at her husband with pity and undiluted love.

“Let’s begin at the beginning. The wedding,” Rebbetzin Breitman said firmly.

“It is customary nowadays for both families to share the costs,” Rebbetzin Reich said. “This is what we did for my first daughter.”

“This isn’t the way it’s done among our people. We intend to pay for our daughters’ entire wedding and to ask nothing from the groom’s family,” Rebbetzin Breitman said haughtily.

“We’ll pay for the wedding. This is not important,” Rabbi Reich said with a dismissive wave that made his wife go pale. “For a few shekels, let there be peace between us.” In response to his wife’s sharp intake of breath, he merely closed his eyes in her direction and nodded.

“Would you like a cup of tea, perhaps, Rabbi Reich, Rebbetzin?” Rebbetzin Breitman offered suddenly.

“Very kind of you,” Rebbetzin Reich muttered in a strangled voice.

“
Eshet chayil mi yimtzah!
A woman of valor, who will find!” Rabbi Reich said to Rabbi Breitman, who accepted the compliment on his wife’s behalf.

Brindel Breitman’s long, cold face seemed to defrost slightly, the mouth melting into a tentative smile as she excused herself and went into the kitchen.

An elaborate silver tea service on a silver tray was brought in along with a plate of cakes.

“Now, I think we should go on. It would be so wonderful if we could settle everything tonight and have the
tena’im
by the end of the month,” Rabbi Breitman urged.

“Once the decision is made, the best thing is speed,” Rabbi Reich agreed.

Rebbetzin Breitman smiled at Rebbetzin Reich. “Now, the question of the apartment … ? Do you have one purchased for your daughter, set aside?”

“Rebbetzin Breitman,” Rebbetzin Reich began earnestly.

“Brindel. Please.”

“Brindel, let us be honest right from the start. My husband and I are not rich people. I have a little wool store in Meah Shearim, my husband is a teacher. We have eight children, including another daughter who will soon be of marriageable age. Our resources are limited.”

“What did you have planned, then, for your daughter?”

“Well, our eldest married a boy whose parents bought half an apartment. The couple took out a mortgage for the second half, which we are helping them to pay.”

“So you expect us to give half an apartment?” It was not a question. It was a cry of outrage.

“Rabbi Reich,” Rabbi Breitman began in his long, slow, yet oddly determined way. “Thank you for being honest with us. So that there shouldn’t, G-d forbid, be any bad feeling between us, let us be honest with you. Our son, Abraham, as you must know, or have probably learned, is a very promising scholar. He is also quite young yet.”

“Twenty-two is he, Brindel?” Rebbetzin Reich interjected with eyebrows raised. “Eighteen is still young. Not twenty-two.”

“Among very promising scholars, age is not important,” Rebbetzin Breitman said with a dismissive wave of the hand.

“Still, as it is written, ‘Eighteen to the marriage canopy,’” Rabbi Reich pointed out, his back turned away from the women, addressing his remarks to Rabbi Breitman.

“Yes, well … truthfully, we have had many other offers for Abraham. A girl whose father owns a plastic bag factory who has an apartment already furnished,” Rabbi Breitman admitted a bit reluctantly.

“An apartment facing south, so sunny you don’t need heat in the winter, where diapers would dry on the porch in ten minutes!” Rebbetzin Breitman interrupted her husband.

Rabbi Breitman pointedly ignored his wife’s shocking lack of etiquette. “This girl’s father, a G-d-fearing man, wants to support them for seven years, and then bring Abraham into the business.”

“With a turnover of thousands and thousands a year!” Rebbetzin Breitman interjected excitedly.

“Not to mention all the plastic bags you can use,” Faigie Reich muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” Brindel Breitman inquired.

“Nothing important.” Faigie Reich smiled wanly.

“Does Abraham want to marry this girl?” Rabbi Reich asked.

“Well, actually, he hasn’t actually, gone … that is … he hasn’t met her yet. He refuses, until we can settle this, of course,” Rabbi Breitman went on, his discomfort growing.

“One way or the other,” Brindel Breitman concluded ominously.

“One way or the other,” Faigie Reich repeated painfully.

“One way or the other?” Rabbi Reich questioned. “My dear, wonderful righteous Jews! The children are happy together. We are both G-d-fearing,
bnai Torah
. How could it end other than in marriage? How could we mar this G-d-given happiness that is such a precious gift? And for what, for a few shekels here, a few there? My wife, a true
tzdakis
, a rare pearl, may she live until a hundred and twenty, had no dowry at all when we married. Times were hard in Jerusalem. There was all the destruction from the wars. There were our brethren pouring in from Yemen and Morocco. We lived off the stipend from the yeshiva. My wife knitted sweaters and sold them. She began to sell wool on the street, and then the city let her set up a little wooden shack which finally became a little store. We lived in one rented room. We had four children before we took out loans and bought a place of our own. Two and a half rooms. We asked for nothing from anyone. We put not our faith in the generosity of anyone. He”—Rabbi Reich pointed heavenward—“fed us from His kind, broad, generous hand. We didn’t live a good life? G-d didn’t bless us? Our children will have a good life together.
No one has the right to destroy that.
”

The delicate porcelain teacups rattled in their saucers.

Brindel Breitman’s hand fluttered protectively at her throat. “Things are different now, Rebbetzin. We don’t want our son to suffer the way we did, or you did.”

“Suffer? To marry a wonderful girl whose parents will make the whole wedding? Whose parents will pay off half a mortgage for their apartment?!” Rabbi Reich told Rabbi Breitman.

Rabbi Breitman felt sharp tears of shame sting his eyes. “All right, all right, then, Rabbi Reich. But what about
parnosa?
Who will support them? How will they live?”

“We could help them a little,” Rebbetzin Reich said, feeling renewed hope. “But as I said, we are already paying off our own mortgage, half our married daughter’s mortgage, and when”—not if … when, she insisted to herself—“Dina marries, half of her mortgage.”

Rabbi Breitman shook his head mournfully. “You have to understand. We are not asking for luxury. We just want to make it possible for our son to go on learning as long as he can.”

“Dina will work. She will teach,” Faigie Reich said eagerly. “She’s a bright girl, a hardworking girl. All of my daughters have been brought up to give much and take little. Another kind of wife, used to luxury, might be more of a burden in the long run to an ambitious, pious scholar like your son,” she pointed out shrewdly.

“A teacher’s salary,” Brindel Breitman scoffed, ignoring her. “A chicken a month and watered-down soup!”

“This is not it, not it at all,” Rabbi Breitman said, staring coldly at his wife. “We are not talking about luxury. Dina will work. But then comes, G-d willing, the children. Then what?”