Sotah (19 page)
“Reb Chaim, don’t get excited. Here, some more tea?”
He allowed himself to be served, maintaining his dignity.
“All I meant was that I was surprised you suddenly want to talk about Judah Gutman. After all, weren’t you the one who said how much better the baker or the accountant would be for our Dina? So I can’t help but wonder what happened exactly to change your mind.”
Garfinkel coughed and took a long sip of the tea. “A question!” he said.
“And the answer?” Rebbetzin Reich persisted.
“The answer is, my dear rebbetzin, that I am just a messenger. G-d’s, errand boy. I think this, and then I think that. But what does it matter what the messenger thinks? What’s important is what the boss thinks. And the boss”—his long finger jabbed upward meaningfully—“thinks that Judah Gutman and Dina Reich would be happy and blessed if they married.”
“With all due respect, Reb Chaim,” Mrs Reich said mildly, “we know that the age of prophecy ended with the prophet Habakuk.”
Garfinkel looked her over more carefully. She and Gutman’s mother, now that was a
shiddach
, he thought painfully. What had he done to deserve this? Charity, he hadn’t given enough lately, he thought, vowing to correct the error of his ways. G-d’s punishments were fearsome and manifold. “My dear rebbetzin. The young man is good, pious, kind. He has a thriving business. And he has fallen in love with your daughter.”
“Love!” Rebbetzin Reich said in a shocked tone of mild outrage. “They went out once!”
“Who are we to question G-d’s ways?” he said piously, kicking himself. Of course, it was unacceptable. It was shocking. Why had he even brought it up? A vacation, he thought. A few days’ overeating in Safad, that’s what he needed. But there was no backtracking. The word had been spoken. It had to be defended.
“Love comes in many varieties. Just as the world is full of His manifold creatures, the thousands of species of birds and fish and animals …” He felt himself waxing poetic. He was charmed. “All living things, and different trees and vegetables and all the kinds of spices and fruits—” Rebbetzin Reich coughed, cutting him short, making him lose his concentration. “So I call Judah Gutman’s feeling for your daughter love. You might call it admiration for her good family, her fine reputation, her piety. You might say he can divine her good qualities as a housekeeper and a mother. Her thriftiness and her talent with a needle. So call it what you like. The man is interested in your daughter. Seriously interested.”
“And financially? We don’t want any more disappointments. We’ve told you what we can afford.”
“This is all negotiable, of course. But there won’t be a problem. They are reasonable. You are realistic and respectable. I give my personal word, no matter what the financial problems, I guarantee to work it out.” He patted his chest importantly, as if undertaking a dangerous and complicated mission. The fact that the Gutmans wanted nothing, not even that which was due them, was nobody’s business, certainly not the Reichs’.
“Well, then, perhaps … it’s entirely up to Dina. But we have no objection if you talk to her.”
Garfinkel nodded, noblesse oblige. “And when will I have the pleasure of seeing the young lady again?”
“I’m here.” Dina came in. She had been listening the whole time, and her face was bright pink, like spring roses. Love, she thought. The magic word had been spoken, touching her life with the powerful, transforming tap of a fairy’s wand in a children’s story. And then Garfinkel had ruined it all, explaining it away. She sat down at the table opposite the
shadchen
, noticing the pile of crumbs, the bad teeth, the tired, sagging eyes. He was never going to sprout wings and grow cherubic. What else could you expect from him?
“My dear child,” Garfinkel said heartily, happy to see her mother voluntarily withdraw. Charming, articulate little Dina Reich, he thought. And big, silent Judah Gutman! He shook his head, thinking the unthinkable. Perhaps, after all, he was just a messenger. For how else could one possibly explain how he had been responsible for getting two such opposites together! It went against all his instincts, it cried out in protest against all his long experience and talent and intuition. But on the opposite scale was Judah’s mother. The idea of having to see her again. Judah’s mother won.
“First, I have to ask you if you know why I’m here.”
“It’s about Mr Gutman,” she said.
He nodded. “He wants to continue. He asked me if you’re willing. I didn’t know what to tell him.”
She looked down at her hands, deciding.
“Ah, wait, before you answer, I forgot. This is for you. He said to give it to you no matter what you said. A gift.”
She looked at the clumsily wrapped package with a stab of disappointment. Reluctantly she peeled off the creased paper.
It was a little windmill carved in wood, a replica of the one in Yemin Moshe. She held it in her hand, feeling the polished, warm surface of the wood, examining the exquisite carving. There were tiny birds in it, and delicate flowers blossoming. And it had a fragrance, like lilacs or honeysuckle. Strong, real. Where was it coming from? she wondered. Then she found a tiny golden clasp and opened it. The top part fell back, and inside she saw the aromatic dried petals. The lovely smell swelled up against her, enveloping her with its potency. She felt transported.
“A spice box. Very practical. He has good hands, Judah. This is a good design. He could branch out. Spice boxes, dreidels, doorknobs …” Garfinkel’s mind was filled with infinite possibilities.
Would he never shut up? “Tell him yes, Reb Chaim. Tell Judah Gutman that Dina Reich would be happy to see him again.”
This caught the
shadchen
off guard. He had at least another half hour to an hour’s worth planned before they got to that point. He had the whole list of the usual things: “You’re not getting any younger,” “You’ll get a bad reputation for being too particular,” etc. etc., as well as a list tailor-made to this case: “Think of your parents’ financial situation.” He had even been prepared to bring up Sruyele, the wanton ancestor. But that he’d planned only as a last resort. Sruyele was best forgotten.
He’d only found out about it because of Dvorah. The parents of one of the boys had hired a private investigator before agreeing to the
shiddach
, and the man had done his job a little too thoroughly. The
shiddach
had been called off. Luckily Sruyele could now rest in peace. Still, like a ballet dancer who has been primed for a great performance only to be rained out, Garfinkel felt cheated somehow.
“It’s not good to be too hasty,” he cautioned her. “To make up your mind too quickly, even though, honestly, you have made the absolutely, one-hundred-percent right decision. Judah is a fine man. Why, you know how good he is to his widowed mother? Well, you can tell a lot about a man from how he treats his mother. He treats her like Esther the queen—”
“Someone who is too attached to his mother is not a good thing,” Rebbetzin Reich said, coming back into the room and sitting down.
“Of course. Not too attached …” The
shadchen
rose hastily. “But why should I waste your time? I asked a question, I got an answer. Now I have also a home to go to, a wife, thank G-d. I have my nightly Talmud
shiur
, a few more pages to learn …” He hurried to the door. “I’ll give Judah your answer. It should be with
mazel
.” And then he practically ran down the steps before anything else could happen.
T
he next time Judah Gutman saw Dina Reich, neither was fully prepared for the experience. For Judah, despite all the first impressions he had kept and embellished in his mind, was still overwhelmed by the reality of the lovely girl who stood before him, as fresh and blooming as a verdant spring morning. The moment he set eyes on her, he knew he was lost. All the self-control he needed to keep his big, clumsy movements in check and to untie his stricken tongue evaporated in the searing heat of his emotions.
For Dina, the meeting was no less difficult. In her imagination, she had succeeded brilliantly in editing out all the disturbing, painful realities of Judah Gutman. But now, faced with the real man, she felt her heart sink. He was very awkward. He was very quiet. Only the tangible evidence of the beautiful turn of his mind and heart of the spice box kept her from turning around and fleeing. She came home awash in disappointment. Yet she picked up the windmill. The polished wood was as smooth and warm as flesh. The engraved flowers that trellised up the sides were brilliantly rendered, so dazzlingly beautiful it made tears come to her eyes. She tried hard to reconcile the man’s work with the man. She found it almost impossible. His big hands, his heavy footsteps, his deep silences and awkward attempts at conversation, all defeated her attempts to form a picture consistent with the intelligence and sensitivity revealed in the little work of art.
What was to be done? She could give him up. She considered that. Seriously. But aside from all the problems it would bring down on her head—Garfinkel’s rage, her parents’ disappointment, and Judah’s distress—she wasn’t ready to give him up just yet. That little windmill revealed a man so sensitive, so loving, so full of rich, hidden possibilities, that she felt it would be like throwing away an unlocked treasure box. If she could only find some way to pry it open, to see clearly all she was convinced it contained. If she could only do that, she might find a man in a million, someone she could love and respect with all of her heart.
“
Ima
, what should I do?” She had poured out her heart to her mother, telling her everything. Rebbetzin Reich had sat thoughtfully on her daughter’s bedside, listening wordlessly. She reached out and took Dina in her large, warm arms, pressing her to her soft, motherly breasts as she would a small child in need of comfort for a painful, small wound. She rocked her up and back. Then she put her at arm’s length and smiled into her face.
“You are much wiser than I thought, Dinaleh. Would it help you if some people you respected got to know Judah and told you their opinion? Perhaps he would be less awkward with another man.”
“Like who?”
“Well,
Aba
, of course. And then Yaakov Klein, and perhaps one or two rabbis you respect.”
Dina thought about it. It might just be the answer. Perhaps one of them held the secret key. Garfinkel, of course, had only good things to say, but that was to be expected. She just didn’t trust her own judgment. She was confused. She agreed with alacrity to her mother’s suggestion.
For the next two weeks Judah Gutman met the male relatives and respected acquaintances of Dina’s family. The conversations, which took place mostly in his shop, went easily, comfortably. Judah had no problem opening up to other men. They had so much in common: their love for Talmud, their exercise of the commandments, their discussions of Torah law. And those who spoke to his fellow carpenters got a very clear picture of the nature of the man who wanted to marry Dina. He was a pearl, a rare jewel of a fellow.
“Dina,” her father told her, his face alight with unrestrained joy, “this fellow is a tzadik. No one can say a bad word about him. He’s generous, compassionate, giving, kind. And he loves you. I think he’d make you very happy.”
“Dina,” Yaakov Klein told his sister-in-law, “Gutman has a beautiful nature and skillful hands. You’ll never want for anything. He’s special.”
“Dina,” Rabbi Krantz, the rabbi of their neighborhood, told her, “I have spoken to your young man, and I think he is not only a good lamden, very expert in the law, but also a very talented and pious
baal melacha
, a skilled craftsman. You have my blessing. I am very happy for you.”
She listened, almost trembling, to all of them. Yet it was just words. Nothing seemed to change. The secret key needed to turn the lock still eluded her. She lay awake all night, the words going through her head. And in the morning she got up, exhausted and depressed with indecision. Yet sometime during the course of the week, a decision began to take form. What do I know? she told herself. What am I looking for? Another Abraham Breitman? My parents can’t afford an Abraham Breitman? And remembering him was getting harder and harder. After all, she had only gone out with him a few times, months before. Even his image was no longer clear to her, nor was the feeling she had once possessed with such stunning clarity. Everything was faded, muddled. The only reality was Judah.
What bothered her about him? His awkwardness, his silences. Yet none of the men she respected had found that in him. With them he had been articulate, friendly, impressive. Of course, he was big, and people tended to smile when they were together. But his physical features didn’t bother her. Nor did they particularly attract her. She liked his face, the shape of his large, beautiful head. He was very manly, very strong. Only his extreme shyness had kept that powerful maleness from frightening her. Yet, truthfully, she had to tell herself, she did not love him.
“But that doesn’t mean you might not learn to, Dina,” Dvorah told her.
Dvorah was holding the baby. Already her stomach was bulging slightly beneath her cotton robe. She was three months pregnant. Her face was pale, with dark rings under her eyes. She looked tired, but not unhappy. “You can learn to love a man. Especially if you respect him and he is always good to you. Look, if you married someone you thought you loved and he never helped you and was always gone when you needed him, and he spoke to you harshly and disrespectfully, would your love continue? No. So starting out in love doesn’t really ensure anything, does it? What’s important is the man himself. Are you sure that he is a fine person, pious, good?”
Dina nodded.
“Are you sure he can support you and give you the material things you need?”
Dina nodded again.
“Well, then …” Dvorah shifted the baby on her lap, letting him suck from the other breast. “Well, you don’t dislike him, do you?”
Dina shook her head no.