“And maybe he has found new truths?” Raizele heard herself say. She blushed. Never before in her life had she spoken directly to her brothers-in-law.

Nochumku and Meir boggled for a few seconds when they saw Raizele in the room, but then they figured it wasn’t all that surprising that she should be here. What could be more natural than a wife wanting her husband to continue in the tradition of his ancestors (and hers too)?

So rather than backing off, they glanced at each other and decided to remain in the room and put up a united front. Nochumku nodded in Raizele’s direction, introduced himself to the rav, and plunged into the speech he’d rehearsed on the way.

“I think we need to explain, first of all, how highly regarded Yanky is in our kehillah. He’s an outstanding avreich, a masmid and yarei Shamayim, and full of charisma too. People are drawn to him. B’kitzur, he’s a real gem. During the summer our mosdos sent a fundraising delegation to Europe, and they took Yanky with them to speak to the young people. And he made such a strong impression that we’re still hearing about it now.”

“He has a big future in our chassidus,” Meir jumped in. “It’s not like you’re rescuing some poor fellow from hanging out on the streets. Yanky has a place of honor by us, a paying position in the yeshivah, and excellent prospects for growth.”

Raizele kept silent. She didn’t want to talk about her husband’s spiritual state in front of his brothers, but in her heart, she could only scoff at what they were saying. A place of honor, indeed….

You don’t care about Yanky at all! she wanted to scream. You don’t care what he thinks or feels. All that matters is that he should stay in the pigeonhole you’ve put him in. He should look like you, dress like you, come to the same events as you, and sing the same songs as the rest of you. He should recite the same vertelach, say all the same predictable things that everyone else has been saying for generations — just be a good boy and do what he’s supposed to do. What does he feel? What does he need? What’s going on in his soul? What do you care? You just want him to look right on the outside.

“We’re concerned about him,” Nochumku was saying now, as if reading her thoughts. “He’s young now and a bit impulsive, he wants to explore and find new truths that he thinks no one has ever thought of before.”

“And maybe he has found new truths?” Raizele heard herself say. She blushed. Never before in her life had she spoken directly to her brothers-in-law.

Nochumku whirled around in shock, while keeping his gaze averted. “What new truths? What truths can’t he find by us? Do you know how many sifrei machshavah and mussar our rebbes have written — seforim that are known and learned all over the Jewish world? Seforim packed full of everything any Jew could want! And who am I to talk about our Rebbe — everyone knows he’s a true oveid Hashem, and people come from all over Yerushalayim to hear him at the tishen.”

Meir, cool and controlled, added quietly, “Our father is mashgiach in the yeshivah, and a master of chinuch. People in chinuch positions come to him all the time for advice.”

“There’s also the fact that it’s an embarrassment to the family when one of our own starts grazing in other pastures,” Nochumku pointed out bluntly. “Right now, it’s not common knowledge that Yanky is thinking of leaving us, because he still tries to show up at the beis medrash for davening, and on Shabbos… but things like this can’t be kept secret. I’ve already heard from a few people who saw him on Rechov Ridbaz and were wondering why.”

“What, in fact, did you come to ask of me?” the rav inquired.

“That the rav should send him away,” Meir said.

“That the rav should hold on to him, and not let him go,” Raizele retorted.

Meir sighed inaudibly. They never had been enthusiastic about this shidduch. What had their father been thinking, making a shidduch with Leib Schlossman? Leib was a good, erlicher Yid, with a good head, too, but he was a balabus, and he didn’t have enough chassidishe bren.

Meir and Nochumku had still been young avreichim at that time, and they’d wished that Tatty would choose the daughter of someone more chassidish, more sharf, more involved with the kehillah. They’d had some good offers for Yanky, but Tatty wasn’t excited about them. He and Mamme both said they’d heard very good things about Schlossman’s daughter.

“Leib Schlossman hardly ever comes to the beis medrash on Shabbos,” Nochumku had grumbled.

“He lives in Har Nof, what do you want from him?” Tatty had said.

“There are people who walk over from Har Nof.”

“So he doesn’t. That’s not a reason to say no to a good shidduch,” Tatte had said.

Nochumku and Meir just couldn’t see it that way. The last shidduch they’d made in the family was with the Rebbe himself, when their Chana Miriam had gotten engaged to Feivele, and that meant their family was almost royalty.

(Excerpted from Mishpacha, Issue 791)