This comment was a dagger to my heart. Boring? How could my own husband find me boring?

As told to Roizy Baum

I was just 18 when I began shidduchim. To my joy and relief, it was a super smooth process — my husband Shua was the first boy I met.

When it came to doing homework on shidduch prospects, my parents always relied on information from people they knew rather than people who knew the boy well. As the youngest, I felt very comfortable leaving all the “background checks” to them. They’d done it successfully ten times. Why should the 11th be any different? I knew the boy must be a stellar talmid chacham with great middos, because only boys of that caliber passed my parents' thorough inspection.

Shua's mother insisted that she meet me before I met her son. From the first second, I was enamored by his mother’s infectious smile and easygoing personality. I’m going to love visiting my mother-in-law, was my first thought.

When I met Shua, I was on a high. He was so open-minded. Free-spirited and expressive, I always knew I’d marry someone less conservative than my siblings’ spouses. The way he made easy eye contact with me, so unlike the way my brothers-in-law did, didn’t bother me in the slightest. On the contrary, I felt relieved that he wasn’t this timid bochur who’d been in a protective cocoon since birth. I didn’t realize that the fact he was so different from other boys in our circles was a red flag.

After we’d met three times, the shadchan began pressuring us. “If you don’t have a reason to say no, then it’s a yes.”.

My sisters had lots of comments after the l’chayim about the way Shua posed with me for pictures. Their disapproval was scathing. “Look how close the two of you are standing!” one chided me. I shrugged. “You know I always wanted someone a bit more open,” I reminded them.

Our engagement was short. I spoke to Shua regularly and maintained a close relationship with my mother-in-law — we were close enough in age to be sisters!

Things took a slight downward turn towards the end of our engagement, when Shua stopped calling my father every Friday to wish him a gut Shabbos.

“Shua didn’t even call after he got our gifts,” I overheard my father tell my mother. Honestly, I was a bit disappointed by his behavior as well, but my mother dismissed it as “typical of a clueless bochur,” making me feel better.

During one of our conversations, my mother-in-law dropped a few comments about Shua feeling pressured by his new brothers-in-law. “You know he’s not planning to stay in learning for long after the wedding, Devorah, right?” she asked me, her voice anxious.

“Don’t worry, Ma. Shua and I already discussed it in great detail. And come on! Who’s comparing him to my brothers and brothers-in-law? He’s marrying me and nobody else.”