I was weeks from my wedding — and then came the diagnosis

As told to Rivky Neuhaus by Miriam and Gaby Feldman

Miriam

IN the summer of 2015, I traveled from my home in Mexico to Miami to visit my friend, Chana Koskas. The last thing I expected was for her father, Rabbi Koskas, to redt me a shidduch.

“Uh,” I stammered, “my parents don’t want me to start shidduchim before I turn nineteen....”

“I understand,” he said, waving his hand. “But an opportunity like this doesn’t present itself often. I have an amazing boy. I think he would be perfect for you. How about I call your parents and ask them? If they agree, would you like to meet him?”

“Um. Yes, I guess….” I said.

“Okay,” said Rabbi Koskas. “I’ll call your parents. What’s your father’s number?”

I gave it to him, but I was certain there was no way my parents would agree. They believed in doing extensive research on every shidduch prospect, and they would want to meet the boy first. I also highly doubted they would let me date away from home.  My parents wanted me to marry a local boy and live nearby after I got married; my older sister had moved to Eretz Yisrael after her marriage, and my parents missed her terribly.

Rabbi Koskas went into his study and closed the door, but not before assuring me it was basically a done deal. As far as he was concerned, getting my parents to agree was a small technicality.

He emerged a little while later with a big smile.

“Okay, Miriam, you have a date for tomorrow evening with Gaby Feldman. He’ll pick you up at seven.”

“What?” I squealed. “My father agreed?”

“Of course,” Rabbi Koskas said, as if this was a really silly question. “Why not? Gaby is one in a million. A real diamond.”

My parents had attached a condition: If both of us wanted to continue, Gaby would have to fly to Mexico to meet my parents and continue the shidduch in my hometown.

That seemed reasonable. I allowed myself to get excited. I was going on my first shidduch date!