Marriage in a Time of Terror

Dedicated as an ilui neshamah to Yiftach Yefetz z"l, partner of Noya Taiber, one of over 1,300 killed al kiddush HaShem on Shabbat Simchat Torah 5784 in Eretz Israel, during the pogrom of October 7th, 2023.

What I want to do is tear the garments over my heart, put ashes on my head, and cry in the gutter of the city center.

What I must do is don my wedding dress, place a veil on my head, and step up on the dressmaker’s stage for my final fitting.

What I want to do is cut off my all hair as a sign of mourning.
What I must do is visit the stylist to prepare my curls for my wedding day.

What I want to do is fast day and night.
What I must do is eat and drink to strengthen myself to dance at my own wedding.

I want time to stop
I want creation to end,

But time flows forward and God has not yet destroyed the whole world: We must keep living.

I want to weep,
But my beloved brings me laughter.

What I want is to remain silent,
And yet I will tell my story.

In the moment before the world changed this past Shabbat Simchat Torah, I was sitting around the Shabbat table sharing words of Torah with my chatan (my groom to be) and his best man, as we counted down the days to our upcoming wedding day.

This is the story of how a random act of kindness brought us together.

A Kindness During Covid

Not so long ago, the world was fighting Covid. I was tired and lonely. I had bubbled alone during Covid in a dark basement apartment for 12 months while distance learning for my degree.

I missed singing around the Shabbat table. I missed meeting new people and turning strangers into friends. I missed being in the company of others, especially on Shabbat. When the world finally began to open again, I did not walk through my door. “Go slow but keep on going,” my rabbi told me gently. “Ask for help,” reprimanded my childhood friend bluntly. “You have to ask for people in the community to invite you for meals if you want to be invited! If you don’t ask, how will they know you need help?” my sister encouraged me.

So I did. Late one Thursday afternoon in August, I texted my friend Dal (who often hosted Shabbat meals) if she could have me over for Shabbat dinner.

“IT’S TOHU VAVOHU! ABSOLUTE CHAOS!” Dal replied and sent me a photo of an upside-down apartment in the midst of a move. “But I can ask the host for the Shabbat dinner I’m going to if he has room for one more…?”

I hesitated. I worried. A Shabbat dinner hosted by strangers? Who were they? What if I got sick?

I hemmed and hawed, thought and doubted. I yearned to go and yet I was abashed. I thought it would be easier to just say No.

But, in the end, I texted Dal, “Yes. Thank you so much for offering! Please see if your friends can host me, too.”

Dal texted her host, Shlomo. Shlomo said, “Yes! Of course! And out of courtesy let me ask my friend and roommate, Dan, since he is hosting this meal, too.” And Dan said, “Sure, I think we can squeeze in one more chair.”

And so it was that I went to share a warm and wonderful Shabbat dinner with strangers, hosted by Shlomo, Dan, and fellow guest Dal.

Shlomo and I became friends. We grew to care for one another. After a few months, he asked me out on a date.

Shlomo and I became friends. We grew to care for one another. After a few months, he asked me out on a date. Before we could meet, I contracted Covid and it hit me hard. Shlomo cooked up a giant pot of delicious chicken soup and hand delivered it to my door in an act of genuine kindness that surprised me, and was very welcome since I lived on the opposite coast from my family. Once I had recuperated, I reached out to him. “How about that date?”

He texted me that now he had fallen very sick. “Well, how would you like some soup?” I asked, and brought him his own pot back, refilled with fresh chicken soup.

Once we both recovered, we went on date after date after date. We viewed autumn leaves together, watched the first snowfall of the season while sipping hot cocoa. We lit Hanukkah candles together, visited antiquarian book fairs, hosted Shabbat and holiday meals together, went on hikes and nature walks. We supported each other through trials and challenges. We met for “work dates” together, spending long hours in the library, both of us working towards our respective degrees in Education and Jewish History. We even went on an adventure to Montana to excavate dinosaur bones together.

Late this past summer, Shlomo proposed to me in a rose garden with a ring in the form of a little house: the house we will build together.

One good deed leads to another so that the unexpected guest who walked through your door last year will walk through your door again this year as your bride.

When I told this story at our engagement party, Shlomo gently corrected me when I said that it was his hospitality and generosity that had brought us together.

“The only way I was able to give to you is because you asked to be my guest. Thank you for asking, Devorah.”

One never knows the impact a single act of kindness can have on the world.

Sometimes, acts of lovingkindness stand alone. Other times, one good deed leads to another so that the unexpected guest who walked through your door last year will walk through your door again this year, this time as your bride.

Sanctification of Life

When we heard the news of the attack on Israel, I called my Israeli grandmother, Malka, who is a spitfire at 91, and asked her what we should do about the wedding. So many innocent members of the Jewish people have been cut down, including our cousin Noya’s partner, Yiftach. There is so much pain, so much to mourn, so much ongoing terror. Should we postpone? Or even cancel?

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Malka shouted into the phone. And then, more gently, she said, “You must have the wedding. We must continue to live.”

We realized that our wedding is a kiddushat chayim: a sanctification of life. Not only must we hold it, as my grandmother ruled, my chatan (and my rabbi!) both told me that we must go out of our way to celebrate our Jewish wedding undimmed, undiminished, wholeheartedly, and with complete joy.

And so we will.

With swift blessings of peace over all Israel. May redemption come to the Jewish people in the blink of an eye. Until then, Chazak ve'Amatz Libechem, be strong and of good courage. And be kind.

A longer version of this article was previously published on Rosh Chodesh Marcheshvan 5784, October 16, 2023, on the author’s blog, Devorah Learns Masorah, under the title “The Doorway and the Ear”.

Photo credit: Tziporah Thompson