“The chassan and kallah are waiting outside. Let me know when you’re ready!”

The Background

As heard from my old friend, the drummer in the story.

I

’ve been in the music business for many years, playing drums and producing. People may think musicians just sit around our living rooms when we’re not playing a gig, but many musicians, especially frum ones, have other jobs as well.

One evening, a bandleader I know called with a musical emergency.

“I’m at Ateres Nechama in Boro Park,” he said. “The chassan and kallah are coming out of the yichud room any minute, the band is ready to go, but my drummer never showed. I’ve been calling and calling him, but I can’t reach him. I know how busy you are — I didn’t even expect you to answer the phone — but can you save us and come now?”

Honestly, it wasn’t so simple for me right then to just drop everything and run over, but Yidden should always be happy to help each other. I told him I’d be there as soon as I could.

After fighting Boro Park traffic and finding parking, I finally ran into the hall. The relief on his face was worth all the trouble.

“The chassan and kallah are waiting outside. Let me know when you’re ready!”

“You got it.”

I took my seat at the drums — someone else had set them up for me — counted the band in, and then the keyboard player called in the chassan and kallah. The music started blasting, and hundreds of guests who’d been waiting a very long time swarmed the young couple.

We had a great singer, everyone was in the mood to dance, and everything was leibedig. We played a long first set to make up for starting late. When we took our first break, I noticed a few people talking among themselves and giving me the side-eye. I made eye contact with one of them and asked what the problem was.

“You tell me.” His tone had a bite.

I stared at him.

“It’s a little hard to understand how you could accept this job and show up so late.”

“Maybe be dan l’chaf zechus,” I suggested mildly. “I wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. I was busy when my friend called and begged me to sit in for his drummer, who never showed up. So I did, because I felt bad for him. I’m here doing a favor for someone who needed my help.”

The man had the grace to look ashamed, mumble an apology, and report the real story to his friends.

The whole exchange brought me a few months back to another simchah I had worked at, a bar mitzvah. The band was going to play this incredibly grand entrance for the bochur and his family that would lead in to the dancing.

We were all set up and ready to go, but there was one problem — the videographer hadn’t showed. Obviously, we couldn’t start without the guy who was supposed to film the whole thing. And so we waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally, the videographer came rushing in. Without apologizing or explaining, he set up, and we were finally able to get started.

When all the guests sat down to eat, I turned to him and asked what happened. He could see people shaking their heads.

“I know what they’re thinking,” he said flatly, “but I wasn’t even supposed be here tonight. Someone else was hired to do the video. He never showed up. I got a call begging me to drop everything and come over.”

Hashem clearly wanted to teach me a lesson in the art of being dan l’chaf zechus. Maybe He sent me to play at that wedding because He felt I needed a personal reminder….

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1095)