[STORY] Damsel in Distress (Update #16 - 26 Iyar p. 23)

amother

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Sun, Oct 17 2021, 3:22 am

Bas Kol

Chava is enjoying the quiet apartment. Enjoying it so much, in fact, that she doesn't notice the passage of time.

When she hears loud footfalls outside the door and it is opened by a crowd of bochurim, she guiltily starts and tries to hide her injured hand behind her back.

It is too late. Eli notices and approaches her.

"Can I see that?" he asks politely.

Meekly, she surrenders her hand.

"Remember the elephant," Eli says, not looking at her, as he begins to remove the bandages. He winces when he sees the jagged cut, still oozing blood.

He carefully cleans her hand, and applies butterfly bandages to close the cut fully. When he is satisfied, he rewraps her hand securely.

"Thank you," Chava says quietly.

"It's important to clean and bandage a deep cut like that properly," Eli tells her. "That's called Seder Venikayon."

Chava finds herself grinning as Eli walks out of the kitchen.

----

Three couples are already engaged.

There's no pressure, the Rebbetzin reminds everyone. But who is she kidding? Of course there's pressure, Chava thinks. Nobody wants to be the poor last couple who have to get engaged by default.

What am I waiting for? she wonders.

"A Bas Kol," she admits unrealistically.

"But still," Chava thinks, "I want to really KNOW. Is that so bad?"

----

The next date, though pleasant, doesn't make Chava feel more confident. She is able to verify in her mind that Eli is smart and mentchlich, but she is still holding back.

Four more couples get engaged, and the tension increases exponentially.

----

It's the seventh date. That SHOULD be long enough to know if you want to continue with this person. But feelings don't always obey shoulds, and Chava is still uncertain.

"Where were you when you first found out you were drafted?" Chava asks, trying to make conversation.

"My mother found out before me. Our letter was delayed for some reason, and by the time she got it, she knew what that return address meant. She called the Rosh Yeshivah hysterical in the middle of seder and insisted I come home that minute.

"I still had no idea, and neither did the Rosh Yeshivah. He told me there seemed to be some kind of family emergency and offered to drive me home.

"Honestly, with all the scenarios playing out in my head, it was kind of a relief to find out that this is all it was."

"I doubt your mother felt the same way about it," Chava comments.

"Of course not! She was completely devastated."

"My mother was also beside herself," Chava recalls. "I'm the oldest in the family, and after getting through the teen years with me, she was really enjoying having a mature person to talk to."

"How mature?" Eli asks jokingly.

"Mature enough," Chava returns. "I actually opened the letter first, and had to figure out the gentlest way to break the news to my parents."

"What did you end up doing?" Eli inquires.

"I called my father's Rav. I decided that my parents would need some support when they found out. He told me he would wait outside the house, and I should call him in after I tell them."

"How did that work out?"

"It was actually kind of funny. My mother burst into tears, and my father turned white, and said that he has to call his Rav urgently. I escorted the Rav in then, and my father was so relieved. He really knew what to say to calm them down."

"Don't tell me they stayed calm."

"Of course not. The weeks before I left, my mother would run over to me randomly, hug me tightly and cry. I told her over and over that it was two years, not a lifetime. I don't think that was much comfort," Chava finishes regretfully.

"My mother didn't calm down either. As I was leaving, she was begging me to at least write her letters, if I couldn't call. It took her a minute to remember that I wouldn't be able to send letters either."

"In a way, this must be harder for our parents than it is for us," Chava muses.

"Yeah, I felt terrible at the way I left. I actually decided to write her a letter every Erev Shabbos, even though I obviously wouldn't be able to send them."

"Did you do it?" Chava asks curiously.

Eli's face reddens a bit. "Yes, every week so far."

"That's really special," Chava murmurs.

----

"Someone who treats his mother well will treat his wife well," an inner voice announces.

"And someone who is so connected to his mother might never be able to cut the apron strings," her inner cynic responds.

But Chava knows that based on all she has seen, Eli is genuinely writing for his mother's sake, not his own. And with what she knows of his character, he is the type to treat his wife well too.

Chava suddenly feels a strange sense of clarity. The feeling solidifies, and she realizes that she is completely, absolutely positive that Eli is the other half of her soul.

And she is instantaneously struck by a sense of urgency to get engaged already.

----

The conversation meanders on, and Chava plucks at the tablecloth nervously, mentally trying to figure out how to get Eli to propose.

"You could just ask yourself," she points out to herself sensibly.

"I don't want to," she petulantly responds mentally, with an imaginary stamp of her foot.

Eli also seems uncharacteristically nervous. He is fiddling with his jacket buttons and doesn't seem too focused on the conversation.

After an endless 15 minutes, Chava loses her patience.

"Don't you want to ask something?" she finally bursts out, her face turning pink.

Eli looks up, startled for a moment, then seems to understand. "Do you," he tentatively begins, a smile spreading over his face, "do you think that we should get married?"

Chava looks back shyly, her smile no less broad. "Yes, I do."

----

Chava and Eli sit grinning at each other for a few minutes, followed by some brief planning and discussion.

Then Chava suddenly bursts into tears.

Eli is surprised, then worried. "Is something wrong?" he asks.

Chava shakes her head no, then yes, trying to wipe away some of the tears.

"It's just... it's just..." she tries to explain. "I always dreamed about getting engaged, as a kid. But there was always my mother and my friends there to celebrate with me. And now…" she doesn't manage to finish.

But Eli seems to understand.

"I thought about that a lot when my grandfather passed away, a few weeks before my Bar Mitzvah.

"At first I was terribly sad that he wouldn't be at my Bar Mitzvah. He passed away suddenly, one day he was listening to me chazering my pilpul, and the next day was his Levaya.

"But then I realized that I had to stop thinking about myself and more about my Zeide."

"What do you mean?" Chava asks quizzically.

"Being sad was about me. I miss my Zeide, I am sad.

"But when I thought about how my Zeide would feel, I realized that his neshama was happy for me whether he was physically at the simcha or not.

"And even more, I realized that my Zeide would want me to be happy at my Bar Mitzvah. I knew how excited he was to see me get my first Aliyah, and even though part of me felt terrible that he wouldn't actually be standing next to me, I knew that his excitement was partially because he wanted to see MY joy and pride.

"And I decided that I would do that for him.

"I spoke about my Zeide in my speech, but it was still one of the happiest times in my life."

The two sit in comfortable silence while Chava digests Eli's words.

It's true. Her parents might not be there, her friends might not know about it, but they would certainly be thrilled for her, and would not want her to feel anything less than elated at this moment.

Chava dries her face, her eyelashes still a little sticky, and her smile returns.

"I can't wait to tell them."

----

When the Rebbetzin calls an end to the date, the look on Chava's face tells her all she needs to know.

"Mazel Tov Kallah!" Rebbetzin Cohen calls out joyfully, embracing Chava.

Back in the conference room, Chava joins the dancing as they celebrate yet another four engagements.

And back in the apartment, she enjoys watching the celebration continue.

Only later that night, alone in her room, does she start getting pre-wedding jitters.

To be continued...

ETA: Continues here