This time of year brings different reactions from people. Some of my friends start discussing their Purim themes by Cheshvan and use the lights of Zos Chanukah (the eighth day) as a reminder to start cleaning their bedrooms for Pesach. Then I have a friend who responds with a sharp intake of breath if I ever mention Purim or Pesach before Rosh Chodesh Adar. Once, I mentioned the “P” word in Teves, and she didn’t talk to me for a month. I’m never sure when is too early or too late to start talking about Purim and Pesach. Since Purim is this week, I think I’m pretty safe.

When thinking about Purim, Pesach and chinuch (Jewish education), I know I need to get a handle on how I approach these Yomim Tovim myself. Adar and Nissan are the time of geula (redemption) and boundless simcha (joy), yet Purim and Pesach make my heart beat fast. One night, I’ll have a nightmare that I need to deliver all my shalach manos to people who live on one-way streets that are all getting BGE repairs. Another night I’ll wake up in a panic that the Megillah readings overlap and that visiting hours for the rebbeim are at different times, each a half hour apart, so there is not enough time to make other deliveries but too little time to go home and be productive.

I read an interesting article recently, entitled “Democrats Have Abandoned Israel – Jews Should Abandon the Democrat Party,” by Andrew Stein, a former New York Democrat politician. His article pointed out the pervasive and glaring anti-Semitism that has now infected the Democrat Party. This strong anti-Israel hatred was first openly manifested when the issue of Jerusalem came up during the 2012 Democrat Convention. The members at the convention jeered and booed when support for Israel and Jerusalem were to be inserted into the Democrat Platform.

Witnessing this disgusting display on TV, I became livid and sickened by a party I was once affiliated with, which could express hostility to another democratic country. And not just any country. Israel is the symbol of Judaism and home to the largest number of Jews in the world. So, yes, if a political party or a person defames Israel, it is an attack on all Jews. 

It was about 30 years ago, but I still remember the enthusiasm of my son and his friend as they prepared a beautiful mishloach manos to give to their fourth-grade rebbe. It was not an obligation; it was a labor of love that drove them to prepare their own basket and walk over to present it to their rebbe.

I have another memory of a knock on the door during the Purim seudah at my parents’ house many years ago. It was the mother of one of my mother’s kindergarten students, who brought over many containers of homemade food to show her hakaras hatov (appreciation) to her daughter’s beloved kindergarten teacher.

Purim and the mitzva of mishloach manos has become a time to show our appreciation to the moros and rebbeim who teach our children. Many mechanchim prepare unique mishloach manos to give out to their students and set aside special times for them to stop by. And the children enjoy wearing their costumes and showing them off to their teachers.

We have two Adars this year, so we need two Purim issues, right? Of course! So this column will continue the Purim surprise dishes we presented last month. The theme? All is not as it seems, just as the Megillah teaches us! If my readers remember, each dish, last month, had some element of concealment; it was more than it appeared to be. I love this theme. It’s like people. Each of us has so much potential. When called upon to do so, we somehow find ourselves able to tap into resources we did not even know we had. We all have hidden depths that we just need to mine and – voila! – the world becomes a better place through our efforts.  

So, too, do these foods contain more culinary potential than was expected. (Watch out. I might have to start singing the Transformers song: “Transformers, more than meets the eye...” What? You do not have five- to nine-year-old boys? Hmmm... You’re missing out.) Speaking of children, as my children decide which costumes they want – the latest idea is Black Flash. Is Black Flash even a thing? Where am I going to find a Black Flash? They were Red Flash last year, but that’s “so last year, Mom.” Ninjas, astronauts, and more are being suggested. What will they be in the end? I guess we’ll all find out when Purim rolls around. 

I am a parent of an extremely strong-willed ten-year-old boy. While he has many strengths, including organization, persistence, entrepreneurial spirit, and excellent executive functioning skills, his behavior both at home and in school is challenging to deal with. He cannot tolerate being told what to do. When he gets an idea in his mind, he follows through no matter what and hates hearing the word “no.” He thrives on engaging my husband and me in power struggles in order to achieve whatever result he wants at that given time.

Our main concern is his disrespectful way of speaking to me and my husband. The other challenging factors in raising a strong-willed child, we can deal with and manage appropriately. However, we have zero tolerance for the disrespect. We as parents have made that very clear to our son. It continues to be a big problem, though, which doesn’t seem to be getting any better no matter how much we try to work on this issue. It’s also becoming more of an issue in school, and his teachers are complaining that he is chutzpadik to them as well.

“Rivka Blackson” is a shadchan who lives and works in the Baltimore community. She has chosen to remain anonymous so as not to risk hurting the feelings of singles whom she has been unable to help. The insights and ideas she expresses can help us understand the world of a shadchan whose goal is to set up as many happy couples as possible.

Q: How did you get into making shidduchim?

A: When I first got married, more years ago than I care to admit, my Shabbos table was full of single boys and girls. I can say that out loud now because, b”H, all my children are married! The world was a different place, and it was acceptable to have a mixed Shabbos table; in fact, it was the norm, at least in my circles.

At one of these meals, I thought that two of my single friends would be a good match. Even then, it took some doing to convince them to go out. They finally did, and the rest is history. Once I made that shidduch, I got the “bug” and wanted to help all my friends get married. I was young, idealistic, and proud to be thought of as “Yenta” from Fiddler on the Roof! People, again, in my circles weren’t paid for making a shidduch. I never thought of it as a profession or even dreamed that real people did this as a profession. It was a great feeling to help people and an honest thrill when they got engaged. Families would give (sometimes) a small gift as a thank you, like a candy dish or flowers. I would say that things have changed slowly and then drastically over the last 25 years.

Today, I am a shadchan simply because there is such a tremendous need, and I can’t let myself stop, even though I want to most days. I sometimes say that G-d is playing a game with me. Every time I say, “Okay, this is it, I am retiring from all this,” a shidduch comes through, and I know Hashem is telling me that, even though it is a hard and often thankless job, I must do my best to try and help.

It wasn’t the most stellar moment of my teaching career. It was after a winter break, and I asked the students to share what they did over the break. Some had flown to Florida, others had gone to the library, still others had gotten together with friends. Finally, I got to Sara who looked at me sadly and said, “My Mommy had a baby, and I couldn’t go out of the house.” A question that had been intended to be light and cheerful had caused a little child pain. I didn’t ask the question maliciously. Rather, I had made an assumption that, over winter break, children do things. I found out that assumptions are dangerous in a classroom.

* * *

I’ve been asking friends what topics I should write about in this column. While people had fantastic suggestions, which I hope to write about in future months (I’m always looking for more! Hint, hint), a few friends shared a similar idea, and it struck a nerve. My friends’ pain was so real that I needed to share it with you even as I am just as guilty as the next person of doing what I will now describe.

These friends have told me that they and their families are not what is considered the norm in frum Baltimore. Maybe they are leading a single-parent home, perhaps the husband or wife travels two weeks a month to make a living, maybe they have too few or too many children to fit into the average frum household. Their parents may be non-Orthodox or even non-Jewish, they may be of a different ethnicity than the majority. They may be affluent or poor. What all of them have in common is that they, and especially their children, are acutely aware that they are different and that being different is not okay.

I read a fascinating article recently in Tablet online magazine, entitled, “Baal Teshuva: The Next Generation,” by Israeli writer Dana Kessler. She tells of an interesting phenomenon that occurred in Israel in the 1970s: In the wake of the psychological upheavals of the Six Day War in 1967 (with its staggering victory) and the Yom Kippur War in 1973 (with its devastating near defeat), some secular Israeli celebrities turned “ultra-Orthodox,” to the shock of their friends. They include popular comedian and movie star Uri Zohar as well as a few prominent scientists, such as chemistry professor Doron Auerbach. The trickle became a flood. “Thousands of Israelis became chozrim beteshuva in the late 1970s and early ’80s,” writes Kessler, and “most of this first wave joined closed-off chareidi communities, believing that the light shines brightest in the world of the ultra-Orthodox.”

The Tablet article explores what happened to the children those newly chareidi Israelis who tried to integrate and become “real” chareidim. It found that the picture was not all rosy. “Now their oldest children are grown up and have children of their own, and they can testify to the fact that for many, their cultural, financial, and social assimilation into the chareidi world can be deemed a failure,” she writes. “Many of the children of the original chozrim beteshuva have since left the chareidi communities where they were raised. And while their parents have, by and large, not returned to the secular world, many have changed their relationship to the chareidi world.”

Rochel glanced at the posters on the wall while her daughter quietly played with the toys in the doctor’s office. One of the posters seemed to jump out at her. The poster, whose title was obscured, showed a path similar to the one found on the Candy Land game board. The path, which was separated into colorful rectangles, contained information that gave her the validation and peace of mind that she had been seeking.

The first box contained two statements: The first was “Turns his head when you call his name.” Now, although this didn’t always happen, it did happen sometimes.

This is for you, my fellow single Jewish women. Essentially, anyone may be able to relate to this article, but right now, I’m writing for you. All of you are in my mind. At times, it may feel like you’re alone. But you aren’t. Because we are all in this together. In the world of shidduchim, it’s easy for us to feel like we are just one of a million resumes. My intention in this article is to show that you are not one of a million, but one in a million. 

So here’s the thing: I thought about writing an article with all of the procedural tasks that may lead to getting more shidduch suggestions. The problem is that you probably know all of them. And I can say them in one sentence: Daven (pray), get a resume, meet shadchanim, email reminders to shadchanim regularly, and tell shadchanim who you are and what you want. Done. Finished. Good night ladies and gentlemen; you’ve been a magnificent audience!

Okay, so the procedural stuff is easy. But the dreaded burnout doesn’t come from these tasks alone. It comes from performing these tasks over and over again without results, or at least without the desired results. It comes from trying and trying, until you just want to give up. Let’s face it. We’ve all done what everyone has told us to do. Some of us have been going to events and meeting shadchanim for years. Whoever you are, and no matter how long you have been in the parsha, there was probably a time when you were frustrated. But here is what amazes me, and should amaze you as well: We always get up again. We keep trying. And with a strong mindset, no matter how long it takes, no matter how hard it becomes, we can do anything. So I started wondering, what if all of this was meant to make us into certain kinds of people? The types of people who don’t give up – not on ourselves and not on the future bayis ne’eman that we all want to build.