As told to Margie Pensak

D
ivorced mom, living alone in Lakewood, New Jersey. I’d gotten pretty used to that life by now, having divorced in 1974, and going on to build a very comfortable, satisfying life for myself. I had no real interest in remarrying — unless the right person came along.

Over the years, there were many offers of shidduchim, but if the shadchan told me the other side would want me to move, I’d always say, “The answer is no!” I love Lakewood and I wasn’t moving.

Shortly after Pesach 2017, I got a call from a friend who is also a shadchan.

Her husband’s cousin, Mendy, a widower for just under two years, had come to visit from Brooklyn. She thought he was perfect for me.

“Leave me alone!” I told her, as nicely as I could. My life was in good shape. I was financially comfortable, with a great job; I have wonderful adult children and grandchildren and a great-grandchild. I was not interested in complicating that. She understood and left me alone.

About two months later, Mendy returned to Lakewood. After he left, she called again. “Baila, he’s a really nice guy! Can I just give him your phone number?” A call couldn’t hurt, I figured, so I gave her permission. Well, that was the beginning of the beginning, I like to say.

Mendy and I spoke two or three times on the phone, and on Sunday of the Nine Days, we had our first date. I recognized his sensitivity right away. “You probably don’t want to be seen with me locally,” he said, “so why don’t we go somewhere where you’re comfortable?”

After driving 70 miles from Brooklyn to Lakewood, he drove another 30 minutes on the highway to Deal to take me out for lunch. He still had to drive me back, and then drive all the way home. He did all that extra driving just so I would be comfortable.

It was a pleasant, but pareve meeting; we didn’t discuss anything heavy. Mendy didn’t ask if he could call me again, but he told the shadchan he’d very much like to meet with me again. When she called me, I said, “You know, it was an okay meeting, why not?” That turned into eight or nine weeks of his driving to Lakewood every single Sunday, and us going out to different places — among them, a park for a picnic lunch, which he put together. That impressed me very much, since he’s a cook and I’m not.

Many things about him, and the two of us, made sense. We were very comfortable with each other. Our basic hashkafos lined up. After very careful consideration — because I do have children and certain things had to be put into place before I made any kind of commitment to anybody — I started dealing with the necessary logistics.

First, I had Mendy meet my sister and brother-in-law. (My parents were no longer alive.) Shortly after, Mendy asked me to meet two of his four grown children who live in New Jersey. We met along the highway for coffee. His daughter and I bonded immediately. After that, she and I communicated a few times on the phone. I also felt an instant closeness to his son, who is married to a close family friend’s sister.

I was glad Mendy suggested meeting his children. I know of a situation where the husband didn’t introduce his children to his new wife until after the chuppah; that seemed unfair and unjust to everyone. Of course, it was equally important to me that Mendy meet my children. Before they met him, I told them they didn’t have to love him, they just had to get to know him.

My two daughters and son-in-law, who are a plane ride away, came to Lakewood for Shabbos in early November. I arranged for Mendy to come on Thursday night, so we could all go out to dinner. Everybody enjoyed each other’s company, and they each gave me, individually, positive feedback. My daughter said, “He’s really a nice guy!” My son-in-law said, “He’s a gentleman.”

While I was making my decision to go forward, I had also arranged — over a two-month period — for several close married friends, whose opinions I value greatly, to invite Mendy and me to their homes for Shabbos meals. Their opinions regarding how they perceived him and us as a couple were important to me, to see if there was potential here. I knew they’d be honest and forthright.

One intriguing factor about Mendy: He was willing to uproot himself from Brooklyn, after 50 years, and move to Lakewood. He was retired and didn’t feel tied down. Plus, he knew a number of Brooklynites who now live in Lakewood. In fact, one of his many phone chavrusas lives here.

As dating became more serious, and the idea of remarrying became more of a reality, I scheduled appointments with experts to consult about my financial situation, the legal ramifications of remarrying, as well as my own personal readiness after 44 years. Mendy offered me a prenuptial agreement in the very beginning. “I don’t want anything of yours,” he told me. “I just want to be married to you!”

I also had to talk with my financial planner about how to cut back on my work hours so I could spend more time with my new husband. He showed me how best to do that. Signing our prenup allowed us to determine, ahead of time, everything from finances, to furnishings, to heirlooms.

In addition, a close friend suggested I see a social worker. For 44 years, I’d been living alone, making all my own decisions — conferring with nobody and asking no one for anything. If I made it, I made it, and if I blew it, I blew it! Getting married again meant I’d have to consult someone else before major decisions. The social worker and I used role-playing to work out specific scenarios that might come up in marriage, helping me re-learn how to be a wife and partner.

Another friend helped me get past my indecisiveness by suggesting that I pretend to be approaching a speed hump in the road. She had me envision being on the safe side of the hump — before going over it. While in the middle of the hump, she said, you can either go forward or backward. Thankfully, she, along with other friends and the professionals whose advice I sought, got me to the other side of the hump.

I finally allowed myself to become emotionally involved with Mendy, and in early January — approximately six months after we’d first met — he came to my door with a dozen red roses and proposed. We made numerous calls to share our wonderful news with family and friends before going out to an exquisite local restaurant for dinner. Afterwards, we called our shadchan to ask if we could stop by.

We got married shortly after Purim, on March 4. As happy as I thought I was before, I never imagined that life could be even sweeter. I still chuckle when I think back to when I so adamantly told our shadchan, “Leave me alone!

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 590)