“Babka?” Tamar’s eyes widened. “Did you make babka?”

“The new neighbors brought it over.”

“That was nice of them, maybe we should have them over,” Tamar suggested, pushing her chair out as Chani brought dinner to the table. “I guess you didn’t have time to make what I suggested,” she added.

“Tamar, tell me the definition of Milanese, and maybe I’ll entertain the idea.”

“A dish that is breaded and fried, originating from Milan.”

“Brava,” Chani said, pulling out her own chair. “Next time try googling behind your back instead of under the table. Much more discreet.”

Tamar laughed and poured water into two glasses. She ate with one eye on her phone, too old for Chani to reprimand her. After dinner, she’d retreat to her room to get some college work done, maybe go out with friends later in the night. Dinner was just a thing in her daughter’s schedule while for Chani, spending time with Tamar made everything worth it.

These moments were the engine that kept Chani going. Quiet conversation, words hanging overhead in a canopy of camaraderie instead of a storm of silence. Tamar would never know how much this time meant to Chani.

“What’s going on, Tamar?”

“I was just wondering,” Tamar answered, putting down her fork. “Did you hear back from Kleinerman? It’s been a few weeks since she asked for my résumé….” Tamar’s sentence ended limply.

Chani felt trapped. She’d been hoping Tamar had forgotten all about that Stern boy. The shidduch was exactly what Tamar was looking for, according to Mrs. Kleinerman.

Everything Tamar might have been looking for, but not what the Stern family was looking for. She should have told Tamar right away, but Tamar had come home that night triumphantly waving an exam she’d aced, and Chani hadn’t wanted to spoil the moment.

She looked at her daughter now, noting her manicured nails, the keratin she desperately wanted but didn’t necessarily need, the full face of makeup even though she was with girls her own age all day — all for the sake of shidduchim.

Was there ever a good time to crush your child’s spirit?

“The Sterns said no.” Chani tried to keep her voice matter of fact, like this rejection didn’t sting, didn’t reflect her life choices. Like they weren’t saying no to her, too.

“Oh, okay,” Tamar managed hoarsely.

Chani dared herself to look at her daughter, but Tamar’s head was down, fixed on her plate.

“Did they say why?”

Chani hated this aspect of shidduchim. Where strong, sophisticated, and rational girls were so beholden to other people that they literally turned into a whisper.

“I think Mrs. Stern felt the families were not aligned.”

“I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” Tamar’s smile was wobbly, but she recovered quickly. “Well, maybe something will come up at that shidduch meet next week.”

But if Chani thought her daughter was over it, she found out later that night that it was only a facade. She walked past Tamar’s room with some laundry and paused outside the door when she heard her daughter on the phone.

“Obviously they said no. Same reason the last four boys said no. My parents were in court for almost my entire childhood. Who wants their kid to marry into a broken home?”

Chani froze, Tamar’s late-night condemnation hitting her in the chest.

When she caught her breath, she turned around, laundry still in her arms, and made her way to her own room.

Two weeks after Chani turned down Penina, Tamar graciously accepted a Friday night invite. Which is how Chani found herself in Penina’s apartment, handing her an apple crumble.

“The men should be home from shul any minute,” Penina said, welcoming them in.

It was weird, being hosted by someone her daughter’s age, but Chani didn’t let that bother her. It wasn’t different than anything else she did for her daughter.

“What can we do to help?” Tamar asked.

As she brought out cabbage salad and salmon patties, Chani counted the settings. There were six; she’d expected four.

“Are you having more guests?”

“My father and sister. Shaindy likes to go to shul Friday nights, that’s why she’s not here yet.”

“Whoops, I totally forgot to tell my mother they’d be coming,” Tamar said as she emerged from the kitchen with dips. “That doesn’t make you uncomfortable, does it?” she whispered to Chani.

Chani’s answer was interrupted by the arrival of the “men.”

“Abba, this is Mrs. Norman, our neighbor in 2B,” Penina introduced Chani to her father.

“Moshe Elias. Lovely for you 2B joining us tonight.” Everyone groaned. Mr. Elias’s eyes gleamed, and Chani tittered despite herself.

They sat down to a lovely meal. Tamar was getting along with Penina and Shaindy, Chani noted happily. It was definitely the right thing to come here. She couldn’t help but note, too, the respect this family accorded their father, who in turn made them laugh, regaled them with stories, and cradled them in compliments.

Over the soup, Mr. Elias turned to her, asking her about herself.

“I grew up on the East Side,” Chani found herself saying. “My parents were members of the Bialystoker shul.”

Mr. Elias’s eyes widened. “No kidding. My parents grew up on the East Side. They would always tell me stories about it. Do you know the Zuckerbergs?”

“Debbie and Shalom Zuckerberg? Of course! Debbie’s father was the baal korei. My Shabbosim were incomplete without hearing him lein.”

“And how about Jeff Edelstein? I used to sit next to him when we visited—”

“I’m going to stop you there,” Chani said, raising her hand. “The Lower East Side is smaller than my apartment. Everybody knows everybody there. It’s even smaller now, with the rent quadrupling.”

“How long have you been living at Brownstone?” Penina asked.

“About twenty years. Since my divorce.”

There was a lull, and then Mr. Elias smiled at Chani.

“Penina is lucky to have a neighbor like you. I almost didn’t want her to take the apartment despite the price and location, until she found out that you and your daughter were not just in the building but on her floor!”

Chani smiled back. Mr. Elias sounded sincere; not an ounce of the pity she was so hyperaware of traced his voice. Maybe making friends with Penina didn’t only have to be about Tamar, she thought, as Mr. Elias and his son-in-law began a beautiful “Kah Ribon.”

Chani followed Tamar into the apartment, still energized from the meal. It wasn’t like Chani didn’t have friends, people she and Tamar went to for meals, but there was something refreshing about the Grosses.

“That was really special, Tamar. Thank you for making me go, I had such a great time.”

Chani moved to the end of the couch, waiting for Tamar to take a seat, but Tamar was leaning against the wall, an impish grin fixed on her face.

“It was nice, wasn’t it? What do you think of Mr. Elias?”

Chani’s fingers circled the couch cushion reserved for her daughter. What? She hadn’t meant…. Her cheeks burned. Tamar couldn’t expect anything more than good company from the Grosses Shabbos meal… could she?

“Whatever, you just seemed to be enjoying yourself.” Tamar sounded giddy. “And I thought Mr. Elias was a very nice man.”

Chani recalled her daughter’s conversation on the phone. My parents were in court for almost my entire childhood. Who would want their kid to marry into a broken home? Did Tamar think the only way she would find a shidduch was for her mother to be married first?

“I—” Chani’s voice wavered. How could she explain to Tamar that every single thing she did was with her best interest in mind?

Tamar moved to the game closet and took out a board game. “Forget I said anything, Mommy. Let’s play Settlers of Catan, it’s fun being the reigning champ.”

“Tamar, I—”

“Is this because last game I cheated? Fine, I’ll admit it. But it’s a long game, and you were going to lose regardless. I was just speeding up the process.”

Dinner without Tamar was often depressing, but today Chani embraced it. She needed to think.

She kept rewinding to the Shabbos meal at the Grosses. Tamar was right. She had been this close to putting herself before her daughter. What kind of mother does that?

Mr. Elias seemed nice, and Chani appreciated that. But of course she couldn’t entertain a second chance until Tamar had someone in her life.

She needed to do something for Tamar. Chani pulled out her phone and started drafting reminder texts for the shadchanim Tamar had seen. She wrote a small blurb, attached Tamar’s résumé and picture and waited for the whooshing sound.

A ping sounded a few minutes later.

Thanks for the reminder, I still have your daughter in mind, always looking out for her.

Her eyes blurred. She put down her phone and cleared the table, washing the cutlery and plates, her head feeling lighter. Clearer space, clearer mind.

She looked for something else to clean, and noticed the garbage bag, almost full. She tied it up, hitched the bag past her shoulders, and walked into the hallway.

“Ouch.”

“I’m so sorry,” Chani switched the garbage to her left hand, revealing whom she had hit on her way down. She took an instinctive step back when she saw it was Penina.

“Oh, hey!” Penina said.

This woman was perennially perky. Did anything get under her skin?

“Hi,” she said a little too loudly.

“Shmuel and I were just talking about you. We had such a great time at the meal. We’d all love to have you again.”

The “we” was pitched so high, Chani would not have thought it possible. So it wasn’t just in Tamar’s mind. Chani had to end this. Now.

“Listen, Penina,” she said. “I really appreciate your inviting me over. It does get lonely sometimes when Tamar isn’t home.” Chani sighed. “But from here on out, I think it’s best that we come over when your father isn’t there.”

Penina’s face crumpled. “Oh. Okay, not a problem. I’m sorry if I— if I overstepped. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just, when we invited you, Tamar said it would be fine if my father came. Then at the meal you two were really getting along—”

“It’s sweet of you to think of me, Penina. And your father is great. But right now, my focus is on my daughter. It has to be. And she’s in shidduchim.”

“No, I totally get it,” Penina said, taking a step back. “We’d still love to have you guys.” She blushed.

“Thank you, we did have such a great time.”

“See you around, neighbor,” Penina said, apparently recovered. She continued on her way, leaving Chani free to take out her garbage.

“Let’s get this over with.” Tamar tugged at her pleated skirt and smoothed out her maroon cardigan. She turned to Chani, her face unsure. “Mom, is this cardigan too red?”

Chani looked at her daughter, whose face was a mask of anxiety. “It’s not too red.”

“Not too red?”

“Not too red to redt.”

Tamar laughed despite herself. They got into the car and drove to the meet, where they waited a half-hour until Tamar’s name was called.

The shadchan was seated at a six-foot folding table. A water bottle and stacks of résumés were at her side.

She seemed incredibly put together; her sheitel was glossy and she was one of those tied-neck-scarf wearing ladies. Chani wished she’d worn shoes instead of sneakers.

The shadchan was scrolling through her phone. “Tamar Norman, right? You sent me your résumé over email. Do you have a hard copy?” she said by way of introduction.

Tamar handed the shadchan her résumé.

“So tell me about yourself,” the shadchan said, scanning the résumé as Tamar spoke.

Hello? Chani wanted to shake the woman. The real-life version of that résumé — with feelings and emotions — is sitting in front of you! But she knew better than to get involved.

Tamar talked about school, work, seminary (“Yes but why did you choose that particular seminary?”), and her interests and hobbies. (Do people still have hobbies?)

Why was she here? Chani wondered. Tamar was answering so confidently despite the shadchan’s interrogations, she made Chani proud.

“I see on the résumé that you work for the JCC.” Chani nearly jumped when the shadchan addressed her.

“Yes, mostly secretarial work.”

“And I’m not trying to pry here,” the shadchan ignored Chani’s reply, “I just have been in this business for a while, and I know boys and particularly their mothers. How is Tamar going to be supported on a secretary’s salary?”

Chani bristled. Was this lady real? “Well,” she started.

“Realistically,” the shadchan continued, “mothers will see a secretary and tune out. You’re listed as taking care of your daughter’s shidduchim, but if your ex is supporting, that needs to be clear. Otherwise, it will be an automatic no. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen. It’s all about the support.” She turned back to Tamar. “Did you send a picture with your résumé?” she asked, scrolling again.

“Oh, I found it,” she said. “Nice. Very pretty. You might be for Menachem Pollack actually, you know the Pollacks from Flatbush? I can reach out to his mother….” The shadchan’s voice trailed off and then she shook her head.

“Actually, I don’t think it would work. I don’t think they’ll go for divorce.”

Chani felt red heat creeping from the nape of her neck to her cheeks.

Tamar stood up. “Mom, let’s go,” she said, grabbing her bag.

The shadchan looked up. “Where are you going? I think I have someone else.”

“No thanks. You’ve offended my mother and all that she’s worked for, and you’ve offended me.”

“Offended? I’m just being honest. Your zivug is still out there, but he’s going to be hard to find based on your family situation. I don’t want to mislead you.”

“Well, since we’re speaking so candidly, I appreciate all you do. It’s not easy being the shaliach to make so many shidduchim. I just hope, if I’m lucky, that you won’t be that shaliach for me.”

Tamar walked quickly down the hall, heels clicking, and Chani followed behind her, mouth agape.

“Tamar, I’m so sorry,” Chani said as they settled in the car.

“Mom, why are you apologizing? That shadchan was awful. I was just counting the seconds before she told me I also needed to lose ten pounds.”

Chani slumped in the passenger seat. “Maybe there’s a truth to what she said,” she whispered.

Tamar shook her head. “There isn’t. You do your hishtadlus, Hashem does the rest. I’m not afraid of what she said. The right one will come along, and in the meantime, I know how to stick up for myself.”

That was true; Tamar had held her own in there while Chani was too busy fretting that she was ruining Tamar’s life to even consider that she was being humiliated.

Chani looked at her daughter, who was fiddling with the music settings on the steering wheel as she drove down Solomon Street. All this time she’d been trying to shield her daughter from painful realities, but Tamar had proved she could handle herself. Chani didn’t need to bend over backward for a daughter who could stand her ground.

When the door to Penina’s apartment opened, Chani almost bolted.

Moshe Elias seemed caught off guard, too. His eyes immediately fixated on the bottle of milk nestled in Chani’s hand. “Penina stepped out to run errands. I’m just in her apartment to fix her faucet. She should be back soon if you want me to let her know you were here.” His tone was affable, but there was a definite mist of discomfort clouding him.

Penina had obviously told him about their conversation. Chani didn’t know what was right, to stay or go. But her mind told her not to dither, and her feet remained rooted — whether from fear or courage, she was unsure.

She forged ahead. He was part of the reason she was at Penina’s door in the first place.

“Actually, it’s nice 2C you,” Chani said pointing to Penina’s apartment number taped to the door.

“Oooof, that was bad. I’m seeing it now. Shaindy was right to be embarrassed.” Mr. Elias laughed.

“I think it’s all about the delivery,” Chani said.

Mr. Elias cleared his throat. “So, uh, that isn’t for me, is it?” He gestured toward the red-capped milk.

“I mean it could be. I do need to return to Penina, but really, it’s an excuse to talk to her. I owe her an apology.” Chani paused. “I guess you have something to do with that,” she said quietly.

“Hmmm.”

“Yes.” It was time, finally, to do something for herself. Tamar had shown Chani that she was more than capable of handling whatever was thrown her way. Chani could lower the reins.

“I think I was a little curt with your daughter the last time we spoke.” Chani gripped the bottle of milk and made a little indentation on the handle. “When Penina and I last spoke, I told her that I enjoyed our meal together, and I was flattered that she thought of me, but it was just a little tricky, because I have a daughter in shidduchim.” Chani stopped. She looked at Mr. Elias and took a deep breath. “But the truth is, Tamar encouraged me to come here.”

“That is a remarkable daughter you have, she was raised well.”

Chani smiled tentatively.

Mr. Elias held out his hand. “Can I accept the milk on my daughter’s behalf? I assume it’s served its purpose now.”

Chani proffered the bottle.

“Apology accepted from the both of us.”

Chani turned to leave, but was stopped by Mr. Elias’s voice.

“Any chance you’d want to get coffee sometime?” Mr. Elias asked. He smiled at Chani. “I already have the milk.”

For a moment Chani thought of Tamar. How she deserves to be happy, how she deserves to be pursued. But Mr. Elias was right, Tamar is remarkable. When her turn came, it will be because someone sees the sun through the clouds. They’ll see what Chani should have always seen, a girl who can hold her own.

And, maybe it’s not just Tamar. Maybe it runs in the family.

Chani straightened her shoulders. “I’d love to.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 979)