The DMC
A Column for Teens (of all Ages)
When my oldest aunt got engaged, I was over-the-moon excited – not just because I felt like I had a hand in it, having found out she was engaged exactly an hour after I had been fervently davening for her on a family trip to the Kosel, but because my Aunt Shira is simply the best aunt in the entire universe. She’s the kind of aunt who actually stops everything to babysit if my parents are in a bind and cleans the house while they’re away. She cooks up a storm for Yom Tov so none of her married siblings with kids have to work too hard. Her gooey delicious challah, delivered fresh every Friday from her oven, is the highlight of our week. She’s always been like this, Shira Leah. She is easy to please, the give-the-coat-off-her-back-for-someone-in-need kinda gal. Which is why, as the years went by and Shira remained single, we simply could not understand it. All her friends kept getting married, but Shira Leah seemed to be the only one still babysitting her nieces and nephews instead of driving her own kids’ carpools.
I overheard my
parents on speaker phone with her mother a year
ago. Being privy to only half of the conversation while my parents thought I
was sleeping was hard, but I did my best to fill in the gaps.
“I hear. So, she overthinks, gets down on
herself. She gets anxious, over analyzes, and when it comes down to the wire,
she freezes, can’t be herself, and seems to self sabotage. The whole
relationship comes crashing down, and it happened again. I’m so sorry.”
Silence. Sniffles.
Reassuring fillers,
such as, “I understand…you’re right…it
must be so hard,” followed.
Then my mother
listened while my aunt continued:
“It’s a lot easier for her to stay in her
comfort zone of routine; she feels safe where she does not have to make any
tremendous life-altering decisions. Decisions have always been hard for her….”
“Tell me,” my mother said,“Have you ever suggested she speak to
someone?”
*
* *
That was the last
I heard on the topic until a year later when I found out Shira was engaged to
an amazing bachur named Aaron. Having
put that conversation far in the back corner of my head, I replaced it with
details and wedding preparations.
I don’t know why
all my siblings seemed to handle the preparations so much easier than I did.
Take Mindy, for example, she decided on the first dress she tried on. Ahuva was
decisive as ever when it came to the princess style of the gown she wanted, and
all she needed was to find one in the maroon color theme. For me, on the other
hand, preparations were a nightmare. After spending weeks scouting for the
perfect gown at Liylah, the gemachs of Lakewood, and the rentals in New York, I
was exhausted.
“Rina,” my sister
Ahuva constantly said, “This is not even your
wedding! Stop obsessing. You’re going to look gorgeous no matter what. Just
make a decision already!”
I actually lost
sleep over the details. If I did not look
great at the wedding, how awful would the video be? I would never want to watch
it and would be left out when we sat in front of the extended family premier
because I would be too mortified to look at myself. And what if my future chassan
was there? What if he sees Shira’s nerdy niece and makes a mental note to stay
away from this family? Would it ruin my sister’s shidduchim?
More thoughts
ensued: Do I want a more straight fitted
style or mermaid cut? Princess cut with a thick petticoat on the bottom is
gorgeous, but does it look frufru? Do I wear my hair in an up-do, or is that so
yesterday? Maybe I should do the stiff-part-in-the-middle with low pony curled,
but if I wear it down, I’ll be way too sweaty.
In the end, I
asked my sisters to decide and took their word for it, which is generally what
I do when I can’t decide. Taking others’ opinions and making them my own has
saved me from hours of debating different menu options in all my years of
eating out.
*
* *
After the longest
two months of deliberation, it was finally Shira’s Shabbos kallah. We sat around the dining room table
noshing, laughing, and singing – it was amazing. Even though I’m over a decade
younger, Shira made me and my sibs feel like one of her gang. Shortly before havdalah, Shira’s friends gathered us
all in the living room and taught us a special six-step dance we were to break
out into as soon as the band started to play her and Aaron’s favorite song.
This was the best. I loved dancing, and I loved being
part of the chevrah, but when I went
to sleep that night, I felt an endless pit in my stomach. What if I couldn’t
remember the dance moves? What if I was that one awkward person who messed up the flow? Everyone would be
watching and the camera would be rolling; I had to make sure I knew the dance
cold.
*
* *
On Sunday, we got
to the hall early for makeup and pre-chupa pictures, but all I could think
about was the special dance. I found a bathroom on the other side of the hall
that nobody knew about, and it became yours truly, Rina’s, official pre-wedding
dance studio. Kick in, out, sidestep, grapevine, turn around, clap clap, up
down. Repeat. I got this.
I ran back into
the hall right on time for the end of the bedeken.
The chupa, pictures, and first course all passed by in a blur, but all I could
do in-between was to run back to Rina’s Private Dance Studio to remind myself of
the dance steps.
The first dance
finally came, and as I held hands with my sisters, aunts, and cousins, dresses were
swaying and shtick was flying, sisters were jumping, and kids were crying.
Through it all, my heart kept racing as I anticipated the song that would soon
stop the dance floor, and all the friends plus I would break out into our
special secret dance.
But that song
never played. The dance never happened!
Everyone around me
seemed so happy, so why did I feel so anxious? Did everyone forget about the
dance? What was wrong with me? Couldn’t I just calm down and enjoy? Couldn’t I
just roll with the punches and, for once, not think of what might happen or
what others might think of me?
*
* *
When it was my
turn to dance with Shira amidst the circle, she embraced me with a tremendous
hug that completely healed the pit in my stomach. She hugged me tightly and
whispered, “I missed you at the bedeken!
I was trying to find you but didn’t see you anywhere. Thank you so much for
making my wedding so special.” We danced around for a minute more as her
friends shrieked and the band played. We danced some more before she embraced
me again and said the following line that changed my life.
“Rina, because you’re
the cousin who’s most similar to me, I prepared a special bracha for you.”
We embraced in a
dance, and while everything around us was wild, time for us seemed to stand
still.
She continued,
“Rina, I give you a bracha that when
it’s your turn, you should be given the gift of being able to bask in the good
of the present, in the gifts of life you’re given, rather than the scary
unknown of the future. Hashem should always give you clarity to enjoy the good
instead of ruminating about worst case scenarios that may lie ahead. I give you
a bracha that you should always be
present and have the right people guide you.”
*
* *
I gave Shira a
huge kiss and spent the rest of the wedding dancing up a storm, thinking about
nothing but the moment. I didn’t care if my hair was sweaty, if the bottom of
my dress ripped, or if I looked crazy in the video. When the chocolate fondue
ended up on my sleeves, I smiled for pictures anyway.
I hoped Shira’s bracha would carry me through life.
After all, if I couldn’t decide on a gown for my aunt’s wedding or prepare a
dance without a panic attack, how on earth did I expect to make truly important
life decisions? My sisters won’t always be there to answer for me. Sometimes in life, we prepare for a dance
that never happens, and sometimes we have to make up a dance as we go along. I
realized today that it is often the ones we make up as we go along that are the
absolute best.
Oh, and if my
future bashert happened to be at the
wedding or saw the video, I hope he’s the type to like chocolate fondue-stained
sleeves.
