To the Shadchan: I am a 21-year-old, typical Bais Yaakov girl from a stable and happy home. I am going out with a boy. I like him, and everything seems to be going very well; we will be having our seventh date soon. This would seem to be an ideal situation, except that I am very nervous. Twice before, I was in the same situation. I went out with each boy for a long time, and it was going smoothly, with the next step to get engaged. Then, for some reason that I can’t explain, I just couldn’t go on. I want to stress that I liked both boys. But I felt something was not right – I couldn’t even put a finger on what was bothering me – and I couldn’t continue. So, I see from my experience that even if I like the boy, it doesn’t mean anything. I’m very scared that the same thing could happen with this relationship. If I do end up breaking it off, I am worried about all the emotions involved – both his and mine – as well as the reputation I will get. I am also concerned that something might be wrong with me. (I don’t think I am afraid of marriage, but how would I know if I am?) What do you think?

Worried

I remember the feeling well, although it has been a while – that feeling of being torn, as a young mother, between wanting to go to shul on Rosh Hashanah but not knowing when I should, or even if I should. Although I am not much of a shul goer, it just didn’t feel like Rosh Hashanah if I couldn’t hear shofar blowing in a shul setting or the heartfelt Musaf melodies of my youth. Some years, a neighbor and I would take turns watching each other’s children, giving us both a chance to daven in shul for a short while. To shed light for those women who feel conflicted, as I did, I turned to some of the inspirational rebbetzins with whom Baltimore is blessed for their valued opinions.

You may be thinking that I, as a man, am not the right person to be writing about how to be married to one. After all, I clearly have no experience. However, it so happens that I have a very close connection to someone who does have lots of experience in this area, and together we have collected some relevant psychological data.

The points I will share are grounded in the assumption that men and women have dissimilar ways of doing many things. (I know that not all men do it “the man way” and not all women do it “the woman way.” We’re talking in general.) Here, then, are a few tips for wives who are trying to survive and thrive through the experience of being married to a man.

July 24

Sarah, an Ethiopian mom, and Shimon, her youngest son, are driving with me to Petach Tikva. Sarah is pretty religious as far as the Ethiopian women are concerned. She even covers her hair. But her children, influenced by the street and disturbed by their father’s abusive behavior, have left religious observance, one by one. Shimon, an eighth grader, has one foot out the door. He wants to leave his Bnei Akiva middle school – he has been playing hooky for a few weeks already – and go to a secular school.

We arrived at the AMIT dormitory school in Petach Tikva, a religious, coed school set in a beautifully landscaped garden enclosed with walls – a village in itself. There are many counselors, and most of the youth come from troubled or disadvantaged homes. This is Sarah’s last hope for her son to remain religious. A school any more religious would be totally unacceptable to her son. He seemed positive about the place, for now.

While the kid is taking some tests, the siren goes off. People stream from different buildings towards the central school shelter. Right before I enter, I see the exhaust trail of a Gazan missile overhead. Suddenly, a second exhaust trail going almost vertically intercepts the missile. The two trails suddenly spiral downwards. Two minutes later – a BOOM. We go into the shelter and wait; ten minutes later, we are told it is okay to leave. The missile remnants landed nearby, in Rosh Ha’ayin.

Walking down the aisle in the grocery store, a little girl nudges her mother and whispers, “Look, there’s Zaidy Arnold.” Her mother is surprised. She only knows about two zaidies in the family, and neither one is named Arnold.

“Who is that?” she whispers back.

“He reads stories to us,” the little girl replies, “and it is the best part of Funday!”

In “real life,” Zaidy Arnold is Mr. Arnold Shear, who moved to Baltimore five years ago. “I love children,” says Mr. Shear, “and had been reading to them when I lived in Boston. Each week, I choose books at the library to read to the Bais Yaakov nursery and pre-nursery classes. I make it a lot of fun, wearing different hats and fun costumes, which makes every Monday into a fun day! I don’t know who enjoys it more,” says Mr. Shear, “me or the children.”

Reuven was a frum teenager who tried to follow the halacha correctly. Whenever he recited the Shema, he got nervous that he might not have pronounced every single letter properly. In order to alleviate his concerns, he repeated words numerous times until he felt confident that he pronounced it just right. As time went on, it took longer and longer to complete the Shema, until it reached the point that Reuven could not get through the Shema in less than one hour, and due to his frustration, he stopped reciting the Shema. Reuven then felt very depressed, because he was not fulfilling the mitzva of Shema. Reuven has obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). Did Reuven’s religion give him a mental illness?

(The authors are members of the board of the Religious Zionists of America. This is the twenty-fourth in a series. To view previous installments, please visit http://www.phillyreligiouszionists.org/lessons-from-the-gaza-war/.)
 Much has been said and written about the terror tunnels that Hamas built in Gaza. But too little has been said about who it was that put the cement into Hamas’ hands, thus making the construction of the tunnels possible in the first place.
 Until now.
 In a bombshell revelation, Dennis Ross, the senior Mideast policy adviser to Secretary of State Hillary Clinton from 2009 to 2011, has admitted that it was he who was assigned the task of pressuring Israel to ease up on its military blockade of Gaza, in the events after Israel's withdrawal from that region in 2005.

To the Shadchan:

A shidduch was suggested to me with an American boy who has made aliyah. He sounds like just what I am looking for, and he is interested in meeting me. The problem is that he presumably wants to live in Israel forever, while I am not so sure. I do love Eretz Yisrael and really enjoyed my year there, but I see a few obstacles to making a permanent move. First, I have a hard time with the divisions among different types of Jews and having to choose one derech. Second, I don’t think I would be happy with the school system. In addition, I would miss my family, who would not be able to afford visiting often or sending us tickets to visit them. And finally, I am not fluent in Hebrew, and would probably have a hard time finding a job. I would love to live in Eretz Yisrael for a few years but would most likely want to return to the States eventually. If I’m not sure I can commit to living in Eretz Yisrael long term, should I give up on this shidduch?

As many of you know, our beloved son Yoni served in the Israel Defense Force, in the religious unit, Netzach Yehudah. He finished his service but was called back for the Gaza Campaign. He was assigned to Yechidat Tzrikat Rabbanut, which he explained to me is that part of the army that goes out after someone is killed and retrieves his remains. It is a very big mitzva and requires bravery under fire, when enemies are still out there. They comb an area to bring the kedoshim to kever Yisrael and to save women from being agunot.

To pray for his safety, my family divided up Sefer Tehilim and undertook to finish the sefer daily. But Hashem gave me the zechus to do something else, which I will cherish forever and take with me to the Kisai Hakovod as a malitz yosher on the Yom Hadin. It all began with a phone call from Rabbi Yissocher Dov Eichenstein, asking me to come to his shul, Mercaz Torah U’Tfilah, and lead tehilim after Maariv. He said that since I have a son in Tzahal (Israeli army), I should lead the tehilim. I only knew the Rebbe casually, and this was the first time I had ever entered his shul.

In the book The Maggid at the Podium, Rabbi Paysach Krohn tells the story of a slaughterhouse in Argentina that opened every day at 5:00 a.m. and closed at 6:00 in the evening. The owner, Zev, stayed until 8:00, when he would turn off the lights, drive to the guardhouse, say good-night to Pedro, the security officer. Then he and Pedro would leave, each in his own car. One night, Zev stopped at the guardhouse as usual and said, “Time to go home, Pedro.”

“We can’t go,” Pedro replied. “Rabbi Berkowitz, one of the shochtim, hasn’t left yet.”