I was the star of the cutest shidduch story — until it all came crashing down 

As told to C. Saphir

MY

shidduch story, everyone agreed, was a phenomenal tale of Hashgachah pratis.

I’m the third of five girls in my family, all born in a row, and while I’m close with all my sisters, I have an especially close relationship with my sister Rina, who’s a mere 14 months younger than I am. For as long as I can remember, people have been commenting to my parents about how challenging it’s going to be to marry off five daughters close in age, but my parents didn’t worry, and neither did we sisters.

After I returned home from seminary, my oldest sister Perri got married, and my second sister, Avigail, got married a year later. I danced especially joyously at Avigail’s wedding, as I now had the “green light” to start shidduchim. At her l’chayim I acknowledged plenty of times, “Yes, I know I’m next. Thank you.” At the wedding, I smiled politely — and rolled my eyes inwardly — at the many people who told me, “Now it’s your turn, Ruchama!”

My family, being home to a bunch of girls, was a magnet for a girl named Chava who hailed from a small, distant community and had come to our East Coast town for high school. Chava boarded with us for 11th and 12th grade, and then, when she returned from seminary, she moved back to our home so she could look for a shidduch.

Chava’s first date was from our house, with a boy named Shalom. She quickly realized that it wasn’t a match, but she suggested to the shadchan — who’s a family friend of ours — that I go out with him instead.

I met Shalom a few times, and we both realized that the shidduch wasn’t going to work, but he suggested that the shadchan set me up with his roommate, Dov Sommers.

After meeting Dov a few times, I struggled to explain to my parents that he was a great guy, but he wasn’t for me. “He’d be perfect for Rina, though,” I reflected.