My husband and I have been married for 24 years, and not once since shanah rishonah have we ever taken a vacation without our children. We’d scheduled our very first two-day, kid-free getaway months before, and we were leaving the day before Rina and Yonatan’s l’chayim. But that night, Shifra called, frantic. Rina was freaking out, crying that she couldn’t go through with it.

The real hero of any shidduch story is the shadchan’s spouse. In most other professions you can set boundaries, schedule appointments, clock out. But a shadchan can’t just check out on a hysterical almost-kallah and say, “Sorry, wait until my vacation is over.”

I called Rina.

Just like I’d taught Rina how to date, now I taught her how to calm herself down. We made sure she was in a relaxed, stress-free environment, and did some deep breathing together. I helped her make a list of all the reasons she wanted to marry Yonatan. We reminisced together about the highlights of their dates. By the time I got off the phone two hours later, Rina was relaxed and happy. Everyone was thrilled when they got engaged the next day.

Four weeks before their wedding, I finished teaching to find four missed calls: two from Rina’s mother, one from her best friend, one from Yonatan’s father, and an urgent text from Yonatan himself. I pieced together the story: Yonatan wanted to spend time with Rina, but she wasn’t making herself available. Even when she went out with him, it was all business — check out apartments, choose furniture. Where was the girl he had dated? Was she still interested in him?

I called Rina. I found her near tears. She told me that aside from all the wedding preparations, she was under tremendous pressure to finish her degree and graduate before the wedding, so she could secure a job to support them. She had to write papers and study for tests, and she didn’t have a minute to breathe.

Yonatan felt like their relationship wasn’t important to Rina, and Rina thought he was being insensitive and demanding. Yonatan’s expectation to spend time together was reasonable, and Rina’s stress was also understandable. I spent hours on the phone with each of them, coaching them through the conversation they needed to have.

Together, I helped them figure it out — some things on Rina’s checklist could be done after the wedding, and she could be more aware of how she was communicating. Yonatan could make the effort to work around her college commitments and be more supportive. Mainly, they learned to communicate and work together. Whew! Being a shadchan can be very intense.

When I arrived at Rina and Yonatan’s wedding, I stopped for a minute and scanned the room. I’d never met the kallah, her mother, or Yonatan’s mother. I spotted Rina easily, of course, she was the one in the white dress. I picked out the two mothers too, and figured that the one on Rina’s right, with the same coloring as Rina, must be her mother. That meant Yonatan’s mother was the one on Rina’s left. Behind the kallah chair, a group of girls and women in gowns posed. One of them, in a peacock blue gown, looked familiar — I was sure I knew that face — but I couldn’t quite place her.

I walked over to Yonatan’s mother. “Mazel tov!”

She looked at me blankly.

“I’m Shani Leiman,” I said. This is the fun part.

She shrieked like a seminary girl. “Oh, my gosh, I can’t believe it!”

The explosion of excitement caused Rina’s mother to turn. “You’re Shani? Oh, my goodness!” She jumped up and hugged me. “Rina! Guess who this is!”

The chuppah was beautiful. As we clustered forward to wish the new couple mazel tov, I caught sight of her again — the woman in the blue gown. I looked closer. I’d seen that face before. Who was she?

It came to me suddenly during the second dance. Without even time to process the thought, I strode over to her, put a hand on each shoulder, and spun her around.

“Huvie!” I said.

She looked stunned. “Who are you?”

I laughed. “I’m Shani Leiman. The shadchan.”

Her face lit up. “I’ve heard so much about you. Yonatan’s mother is my older sister.”

“Huvie,” I said, “do you know who I am?”

She looked confused. “Um…”

“I know it’s 24 years and ten kids later and I look very different, but think back to your year in seminary.”

Her mouth opened. “Mrs. Leiman?” I watched as the realization sank in. “My seminary teacher and the shadchan are the same person?!” She reached for my hands. “Mrs. Leiman! I never got to thank you. What you did for me that year was a game changer. You have no idea how miserable I was. You changed everything. You made me believe in myself. I found myself that year and life opened up for me.”

She gestured wildly to her sister, Yonatan’s mother. “You’ll never believe this…”

I looked at Huvie — poised and confident, a mother and teacher. For a minute, I just stood there, overwhelmed. How often do you get to see the fruits of your labor? How often do you hear the end of the story?

I’d poured so much time and energy into this shidduch. I felt like Hashem was giving me a bonus, a special gift. Yesh sachar l’pe’ulasech! I felt like dancing. With tears in my eyes, I joined hands with Huvie, Rina, and Shifra, closing the circle.

to be continued…

Shani Leiman is a teacher and shadchan in Silver Spring, Maryland.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 699)