One plus one doesn’t always equal two

S

ometimes simple math fails.

We slip into a taxi, glowing newlyweds. As he drives off, the taxi driver turns a swarthy face in our direction. We live in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood, filled with large families.

“Where’s the best place to buy a stroller?” he inquires, sure we’re the perfect address. His math is simple: Frum husband + wife = children. We laugh sheepishly. Our wedding was just five days prior. We’re soon involved in a heated debate — Bugaboo versus Doona.

But one plus one doesn’t always equal two.

I’m widowed suddenly. I move back into my parents’ house, waiting for the storm to pass. One week, I’m doing the Shabbos shopping with my mother. One snood, and then another. Our features are similar, so we’re clearly mother and daughter. We look like a typical pair, a generous mother giving her married daughter a lift to the store.

I trail after my mother as we fill our wagon. We throw in green beans, foil pans, and challos. We’re almost at the checkout counter when a man turns to me, asking, “Are you looking for a little boy?” His hand draws the approximate height midair. He sees a young lady in a snood. He’s sure I have children.

But two plus two doesn’t always equal four. Especially with me.

“No.” I shake my head.

I spin around to my mother. “Yes,” I say, bobbing my head up and down, grinning with mirth. “I’m looking for a boy.” We laugh.

“I should ask him where I can find ‘my’ boy….”

Another week, another supermarket trip.

I walk alongside my mother as she juggles her keys, phone, and purse in one hand. I stride casually in a freshly done sheitel and crisp white skirt, untouched by sticky little hands. Once again, I dawdle through the aisles as she chooses meat and vegetables. We’re next in line waiting for the cashier, when my mother turns to me and says, “Do you mind grabbing a milk?”

I arrive back, milk in hand as the cashier begins ringing up our purchases. Meat, more meat, ice cream. Then, he gets to the milk. “I should do this separately, right?”

We stare at him blankly. “No.”

Suddenly, I realize. The mother taking out her married daughter scene; he thinks I picked up the milk for my own household. One + one = zero.

I’m sitting in an office, fingers racing across the keyboard. My forehead creases as I reconcile the books. My new officemate slides into the seat beside me. Her sheitel is still fresh, the scent of conditioner tickling my nose. Her ring gleams, a brand-new white gold sheen. She flashes a pearly white smile in my direction.

“Hey, what’s your name?” We start with standard Jewish geography before it gets more personal. Her math is simple, sheitel + ring = marriage. “Where does your husband learn?” she queries, her tone eager.

I throw out a neighborhood quickly, trying to think of a new topic.

“Well, my husband told me….” The words dance off her tongue; there’s a clear delight every time she mentions her husband of just six weeks. “Most men learn in…” and she goes on to mention a kollel I’ve never heard of. I don’t even try to argue with her new hero. “Which kollel is your husband in?” she tries again.

I swallow, trying to figure out the right answer. I wonder why there’s an assumption that everyone’s husbands are in kollel. I wonder why she’s sure I have a husband. I wonder if I can send her back to math class. My smile wobbles. Bravery, honesty, and a touch of self-righteousness battle fiercely. Finally, I half-mutter, “I don’t know. Yeshivah shel Maaleh? He was niftar two months ago.”

I’ve started seeing sums everywhere. I meet someone on a flight to Israel, I tell them, “Enjoy.” I wonder what the real purpose of their trip is when they grimace. My friend is pregnant with her first, surely her life is perfect, so why the long face then? I ask a friend which seminary her sister is in — she isn’t in any.

Who created the math curriculum anyway? Sheitels and rings don’t equal married. A snood and a husband don’t equal children. “Perfect” life circumstances don’t equal happiness.

I’m dropping out of math class.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 960)