Where What When

I am a frum young woman who is looking to find my bashert as you are

The secular world defines beauty as the way someone looks on the outside. As Jews, we believe in looking deeper

Dear Bachur

Dear Bachur,

I’m writing this letter because my previous attempts at contact have been unsuccessful.

I am a frum young woman who is looking to find my bashert – as you are. I have good yichus, my parents have adequate means, and I attended a good high school and seminary. I have a degree and a good job. I have a good sense of humor, like to do chesed, and love children. I am very busy with my job and helping my parents, but I try to find time to go to an occasional shiur.

The shadchan relayed all this information to your parents, who, presumably, shared it with you. He told us that you would be happy to consider meeting me – but you wanted to see a photo first.

It was soon after we sent the photo that we received your reply: “No, thank you.”

Yes, I know I’m overweight. But I’m not ugly – in fact, most people think I’m reasonably pretty.

I’m trying to lose weight. I consider carefully what I eat, and I exercise regularly. But it isn’t easy. And it doesn’t yield immediate results. My friend lost a lot of weight really quickly – and she nearly died of anorexia. I don’t want to be like that. I want to stay healthy.

You might note that the fact that I have this problem in the first place may be a sign of a chisaron (lack) in my middos (character). But are you perfect, dear Bachur? Is anyone? You doubtless have a mussar seder (ethics class) in yeshiva. Isn’t the primary principle of mussar that life is a constant struggle to improve ourselves? This is my struggle. What is yours? I suppose I shall never know.

You sit in yeshiva and study the holy Torah from morning to night. Indeed, your teachers count you among their most promising students. Do you feel that the kavod (honor) of the Torah – which you embody – requires that you have a wife whose beauty is lauded by all who see her? Or do you feel that, after a long day of laboring over a difficult sugya (text), you want to come home to a wife who is exceedingly pleasant to look at?

Regarding the former, dear Bachur, you of all people should know by now that true kavod hatorah is living its precepts. The Torah enjoins us to respect all people, as each of us harbors within a cheilek Elokah mima’al, a precious neshama (soul) – and we are all created betzelem Elokim (in the image of G-d). A wife is not a status symbol to be displayed as proof of her husband’s standing within his social circle.

Am I wrong to feel slighted at your rejection after only one glance at my earthly shell?

Let me remind you of the maxim that Shlomo Hamelech (King Solomon) wore inscribed on a ring, so that he should remember it all of his days: Gam zeh ya’avor – this, too, shall pass. Physical beauty is transitory. Household work, pregnancy, birth, and age leave their mark on even the most attractive woman.

Inner beauty, be’ezras Hashem, lasts forever.

I’ll be dan lechaf zechus (give the benefit of the doubt). Perhaps my name was rejected by your caring parents, who screen all of your prospects, before it even reached your awareness. This next part of the letter is addressed to them.

* * *

Dear Parents of the Bachur,

I know that you want only the best for your son; what parents would desire less? But – if I may be so bold – I’m a bit confused about your priorities. You proudly send your son off to yeshiva so that he can immerse himself in an environment that is pure kedusha (holiness), without worldly influences. Why is it, then, that you use secular criteria to determine the eligibility of a potential shidduch?

The secular world defines beauty as the way someone looks on the outside. As Jews, we believe in looking deeper. Let your son get to know me. Though my appearance may seem unremarkable at first, he will soon begin to see my inner beauty – the radiance of my neshama – shine through.

And so will you.

* * *

Dear Bachur and your loving parents:

What if I’m the right one? If you don’t agree to meet me, you’ll never find out. I don’t know for sure if our meeting will bear fruit – but then again, who ever really knows anything? Won’t you at least give me a chance?

Sincerely,

A Bas Yisrael

The author, baruch Hashem, happily married, is writing from experience.

Top

Article List - September 2008