Why was my sister shutting me out of her life?
Esther: My personal life is private, and I didn’t want you sharing it with your social circle.
Tzivi: I just wanted to help you and be there for you. How could you leave me out of it all?
My sister Esther was born two days after I turned one. Which means I can never forget her birthday. I dialed Suri while whipping up brownies for Shabbos.
“It’s Esther’s birthday tonight.”
Suri mm-hmmed down the phone. “I know. Texted her happy birthday earlier. Don’t tell me you want to make a surprise party or something? I think 21 is a bit old for that.”
“Nope.” Oil, sugar, flour. A white cloud rose out of the bowl. “But you were married by 21, I was engaged, and Esther needs a shidduch. Miri’s going to be coming home from seminary in June and she’ll be waiting too. C’mon, doesn’t Yaakov know anyone?”
“How about Eli?” My older sister countered. I could hear noise in the background, it sounded like she was baking, too.
“Eli’s chevreh isn’t Esther’s type. That boy she went out with... Moshe what’s-his-name, didn’t he learn in the same yeshivah that Yaakov went to?”
“Yeah. Six years ago. Yaakov doesn’t know the bochurim there now.”
I sighed. “Okay, okay, forget Yaakov. Maybe we can think of someone. I mean, what about Mrs. Goldberg’s son, the one who went to Israel really young? Isn’t he a real masmid or something?”
“I think he’s married already.”
I aimed my oil spray at a 9x13, squeezed the nozzle. “Okay... so who else do we know? I mean, my friend Laykie just went out with someone. He was a little older, maybe 26, 27, would Esther mind that? She said no in the end, I think she wanted someone a little more with-it, but it could work. Should I get his résumé?”
“Maybe,” Suri said vaguely. “Listen, Tzivi, you know how it is with these ideas, we talk and talk and then forget half of them. If you think this guy is a good idea, then speak to a shadchan, get a yes from the boy’s side... let’s not get all carried away before it’s even relevant.”
“Carried away?” I was hurt. “Don’t you care about Esther? If we can help out by brainstorming, I think it’s only right that we should.”
“Brainstorming only goes so far,” Suri said. “Let’s not argue. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying, if you think it’s a good idea, follow up, okay?”
“Of course,” I said stiffly, closing the oven door. “Oops, need to run. Good to talk.”
“Brownies... nice.” Eli walked in, washed his hands, and headed for the cooling rack. Halfway there, he stopped. “Wait, special occasion or something?”
“No, they’re for Shabbos. Mostly. Go ahead,” I said, tossing him two plastic plates. “I’ll have, too. Um, in honor of Esther’s birthday.”
I switched on the kettle. Eating brownies without a cup of coffee is missing out on half the experience. “We need to find her a shidduch already,” I said.
We had this conversation around once a week. Eli tried not to roll his eyes. “I’m thinking... Hey, how about that guy, Horowitz... Avi, Ari — yeah, Aryeh, that was it. He was in the dorm with me, we were chavrusas at some point...”
“Horowitz from 38th Street?” I couldn’t help giggling. “Omigosh, you have no idea how many times his name came up for me. I think maybe seven people suggested it. But they said no. I wonder if they’d say yes to Esther...”
“What, they turned you down?” Eli raised his eyebrows and mock-glared. “How could they?”
“They knew I could do better,” I kidded. He laughed.
“Seriously, though, maybe it’s worth a try for Esther?” I persisted. She was such a great girl, we really needed to do something.
“Maybe I’ll give him a call,” Eli said. “Or better, I’ll ask Motty Reich... they were good friends.”
He made good on his promise, Eli, but Horowitz said no to Esther too, and the boy Laykie had dated was busy, and his mother said something vague about putting Esther’s name on her list, which meant nothing.
A couple of weeks went by, life was busy, and the next time I remembered Esther’s shidduchim was when my friend Avigail texted me. Hey, want to join shidduch meeting in my house next Wed evening? Bring names and we’ll brainstorm.
I didn’t even stop to think. I’m in.
“This meeting,” Michal said, “is just an excuse to get together with each other and sample goodies. Yum.” She motioned at the laden table, and we laughed.
“Pecan chocolate chip bars? Almond biscotti?” Chaya Pessy asked. “Even popping the popcorn was enough for me.”
“Aww, you have a tiny baby and you’re probably already back at work, right?” Shiffy countered. Chaya Pessy, our chevreh’s resident superwoman, shrugged and tried to look modest.
“Tachlis, shidduchim,” Avigail said. “Tzivi, you want to start?”
“Sure,” I said. My friends all knew Esther, at least a little, but I launched into a detailed description anyway.
“She’s looking for a long-term learner, right?” Shiffy asked.
“Totally, for sure. She’s the type to go live in Eretz Yisrael forever. Or not. You know, whatever her husband wants. She’s not, like, set on any particular location. Lakewood, Israel, wherever he wants to learn.” I laugh a little self-consciously. “We’re pretty different. You know, she’s not the one who’s all into designer brands and the latest fashion — not that she doesn’t dress well, I just mean—”
“We get it,” Michal said drily.
“You’re a good sister,” Avigail smiled.
I shrugged. “It’s nothing. I mean, I really want her to be happy. She went on a shidduch recently, the boy was Stern from Toronto — any of you know? He’s learning here. Well, anyway, they went out a bunch of times… it went pretty far. I think she really thought he was the one. And it was exactly what she was looking for, top learner, serious, deep, but still outgoing and like, people skills… and then last minute, he called it off. She was literally devastated. And my mother? Don’t ask.”
“Oy, that’s tough,” Chaya Pessy said, making a sad face.
“It really was. But basically, that’s the type she’s looking for… not the pulling out last minute, but the type of boy,” I clarified.
We tossed around a few ideas, and heard the names that the others had brought. Nothing sounded exactly right, though.
“Let’s think it over, meet up again next month, maybe,” Avigail said brightly. “Besuros tovos, everyone!”
I told Suri about the shidduch meeting, the next time we spoke.
“I don’t know if anything will come of it, but hishtadlus, you know?”
Suri murmured something.
I meandered down the supermarket aisle, looking for the canned goods. Why were they always moving things around?
“Anyway, no one thought of anything major right then, but you know what they say, nowadays it’s often the friends or neighbors who come up with something, not the official shadchanim. So now she’ll be on everyone’s minds, next time they hear of a great boy, you never know, right?”
“Right,” Suri agreed. She sounded half-hearted. “Um, listen, Tzivi, I gotta go, okay? It’s really nice of you to work so hard on Esther’s behalf.”
Wow. That was… patronizing.
I looked down at the phone, completely missing the shelf full of canned products on my right. Did she just hang up on me? And why wasn’t she more enthusiastic about the efforts I was putting in for our sister?
“Weird,” I muttered.
I completely forgot about Suri’s strange behavior until we were at Ma’s one Shabbos. My brother Yanky was home from yeshivah, and Suri and her family walked over for the meals, so we were all together — aside from Miri in Israel. Esther looked great, new dress, new shoes — the picture of a kallah meidel.
“Anything new with Esther?” I asked Ma, as I helped her plate the fish.
Ma hesitated. “Oh, you know, things come up, baruch Hashem… we’ll see…” she said vaguely.
“I wonder if anything came of the names I suggested,” I remarked. “You know we had a shidduch meeting the other day by Avigail? Most of our chevreh got together. Maybe one of them will think of something.”
Ma opened the fridge and moved things around. A moment later, she closed it. “Forgot what I was looking for,” she said. “Must be getting old.” But I had the feeling that she was avoiding my eyes.
Suri’s Shaya toddled in, diaper sagging. “Hey, cutie,” I cooed, tickling him under the chin. “Let’s go find your mommy.”
Just as I left the room, I glanced back at Ma. Was that relief in her eyes?
Shabbos with the family was nice. Really nice. After Havdalah, I lounged on the couch, flipping through magazines and listening with half an ear as my husband and brother argued about politics.
“I’m telling you, if Biden wouldn’t have…”
I stifled a snicker. Men.
Ma bustled in and out with the silverware. “Yanky, please do the dishes and sweep the floor!” she called.
I stared. Ma sounded… tense. Not like herself. Motzaei Shabbos was chilled by us. The dishes, the floors… yes, okay, they got done, eventually. But there was usually music, schmoozing, pizza, and one of the boys randomly skipping the pizza and heating up leftover cholent.
Eli slapped Yanky on the back, argument clearly over. “So, are you heading back to the dorm tonight?”
“Me? Oh — no, I think I’ll go back tomorrow. Ma’s got babka in the freezer, you know.”
My feeling that something was up intensified.
“Ma? Where’s Ma?” Esther swept into the room, looking distressed.
“I’m here, Esther, laundry room,” Ma called.
Esther rushed out. I looked after her, eyes widening.
A few minutes later, Ma herself came back. “So, Tzivi, what are your plans this evening?” she asked, would-be casual.
I tried to catch Eli’s eye, but he was scrolling through something on his phone, oblivious.
“No special plans,” I said. “Why?”
“Just, if you and Eli are ready to leave, Ta can drive you on his way to his chavrusa,” Ma said.
Our car was at the mechanic; we’d gotten a ride over on Friday.
“Are you sure? We’re pretty out of his way.”
“Yes, he said it’s not a problem. He’ll be leaving in — ten, fifteen minutes.”
“Oo-kay, we’ll get our stuff together,” I said, standing up and stretching. I hadn’t been expecting to leave so soon. Eli and I usually hung out at Ma’s for Melaveh Malkah. But, hey, it seemed we weren’t wanted tonight.
“I bet Esther has a first date,” I told Eli, as soon as we had closed the door of our apartment behind us. “Did you see how stressed she was? And Ma, busy making everything perfect and clean…”
I trailed off. Could it be? Esther going on a date and my family hiding it from me? Why didn’t she say anything? Why didn’t Ma?
“Could be,” Eli said, yawning. “Want pizza? I can run out and get.”
Pizza? He totally didn’t get it.
Later that night, when I was engrossed in a novel, the phone started to ring.
“Tziv? Want to pick up?” Eli held up the phone. The screen read Esther.
Oh, so now she’ll tell me about her date, I thought.
“Nah, I’m tired. I’ll speak to her tomorrow,” I said. For goodness’ sake, it was 11 p.m.
The ringing stopped, and started again.
“Looks like she really wants to get hold of you,” Eli commented. I shrugged. Don’t keep things all secret the whole Shabbos, kick me out of the house, and then sweetly call to update me.
When she rang for the third time, though, curiosity overcame the hurt feelings. I answered the call just as she hung up. When I returned the call, the line was busy.
“Oh, well, I guess we really will wait for the morning, then,” I said. But I couldn’t focus on what I was reading anymore.
The next morning, I saw that I’d missed another call from Esther. At 2 a.m., no less.
“Esther called you at two in the morning?” Eli parked his tallis bag on the shelf. “Do you think everything’s okay?”
“No one else called besides her. And I didn’t get any messages. So I’m assuming everything’s fine.”
My mind was working furiously. Esther calling repeatedly — and calling back so late — could only be good news. Right? But her date last night — if she had had a date — would have only been a first, and good first dates don’t mean very much. Besides, Esther and I weren’t exactly close. She’d be much more likely to call Suri. Or just talk it over with Ma.
I dialed Esther’s number before even drinking my coffee. There was no answer.
“I guess we’ll wait and see,” I said out loud.
We spent a leisurely morning at home. Usually, Sunday was the day for errands, but with our car out of action, we had more time to relax. I put up a challah dough, doubling my usual recipe. I figured I’d use the time to stock the freezer.
Just when I was hunting through the freezer for bagels for lunch, Esther called again. She sounded… different, though I couldn’t put my finger on what or why.
“Tzivi… I have news for you,” she said, drawing out the words. “I — it’s a bit of a surprise, I know, but… I’m getting engaged tonight.”
I actually felt my heart momentarily stop. “Wh-whaaaaat?” I asked. “You’re getting engaged? But— when, how, who to…”
“I know, Tziv… I didn’t expect it to happen already, to be honest. We were just dating… and then the shadchan called late last night and said he wants to propose.” She gave a very un-Esther-like giggle.
I didn’t know what to think first. My mind was spinning. I probably should’ve been overjoyed, and maybe I was, deep down, but my first reaction was deep, stabbing hurt. How could she have hidden this from me? I was her sister.
“You — you didn’t say a thing,” I said, finally.
“I know… I’m sorry, Tzivi. I just really wanted to keep it private at the beginning. And then it all happened really fast…”
She wanted to keep it private. From her sister! We always shared when we were dating, us girls. When Suri went out, Esther, Miri, and I knew about every boy from the get-go. How could we not? We’re four sisters, all pretty close in age, for goodness’ sake. Suri and I shared a bedroom, and when I dated, I kept Suri clued in so she would be in the know when I actually got engaged. Of course, Esther and Miri knew, too.
“So Suri also didn’t know a thing? Even yesterday?”
Esther hesitated. “Suri… was involved in suggesting the idea. She sort of knew by default.”
Pieces started falling into place in my mind. Suri’s lackluster reaction to my suggestions. The undercurrent of excitement and tension over Shabbos. Ma’s eagerness for us to get out of the house once Shabbos was out.
“And Yanky — he didn’t go back to yeshivah last night, did he? So, he knew too?”
“He stayed,” Esther admitted.
“Oh, so you kept it private — from me.” Something caught in my throat. I felt deceived, betrayed, mortified.
As soon as I finished speaking to Esther, I dialed Suri.
“When did you know?” I demanded, as soon as she picked up the phone.
“When— oh, about Esther, you mean,” she said, stalling for time. “I mean… honestly, Tzivi, it hasn’t been going on very long… and I only knew because Yaakov knew the boy…”
I was sick and tired of the excuses. “So you knew she was dating. You knew she was dating seriously. And instead of letting me know something was up, you let me work so hard, trying to set up ideas, making a fool of myself getting busy with her shidduchim when meanwhile she’s a step away from engagement.”
“I wanted to say something, Tziv, I really did,” Suri said. She was softer-spoken than me; Esther was, also. She hated confrontation. I would’ve felt sorry for putting her on the spot, if I hadn’t been so angry. “But I couldn’t say anything — Esther wanted it completely private.”
“Yeah, so private that her five siblings all knew except for me.”
“I’m sorry,” Suri said again. “I really am… I think Esther, you know, was hurt last time she dated. And she wasn’t sure if this time would be the same thing… so she just didn’t want to say anything. She wanted to keep it quiet until the last minute.”
“It really is the last minute. I have nothing to wear. My sheitel is a disaster, and Eli’s Shabbos suit needs dry cleaning. I can’t believe she did this to me.”
Suri sighed. “Look, Tzivi, I’m really sorry, I know it must be really hard on your end… but what’s done is done, whether it was right or not. Let’s just try put it behind us and enjoy the simchah. You— you’ll come over for the l’chayim, right?”
“What do you take me for?” I asked. “Of course I’ll be there. And Eli, even though he doesn’t actually know a thing yet.”
Of course I would go. I would paste on a smile, stand there accepting mazel tov wishes, and not do anything to ruin my sister’s special day.
Even though she’d ruined the entire simchah for me.
If I could tell Esther one thing, it would be: How could you exclude me from being part of your simchah, while I’m putting in so much effort and thought on your behalf?
When you’re a kid, birthdays are exciting. By 21, I’d kind of outgrown that.
Especially when I turned 21 just a short time after a draining dating saga, and with no prospects on the horizon, either.
I decided to walk to work instead of driving, hoping that half an hour in the fresh air would clear my head a little. No such luck, apparently. When I entered the brightly decorated building housing the special ed school where I worked, I was still feeling down.
“Hi, Esther, what’s up?” Michal Bander came over to me. “I was just thinking of you.”
I blinked. That was random. Michal was my sister Tzivi’s close friend since high school days, but we rarely spoke to each other. She worked in a different department than I, and our schedules were pretty different.
“You know, Tzivi is so worried about you, it’s adorable,” Michal continued, oblivious to my silence. “We had a shidduch meeting last night, did she tell you? And basically, after we finished, I was talking to my husband and I had an idea… have you heard the name Weiner? Ruvi Weiner? I’ll tell you why I thought of him — I mentioned to my husband about Moshe Stern, and he thinks this boy, Weiner, is in the same chevreh…”
Moshe Stern? My mind ground to a halt. What did my sister’s friends know about Moshe Stern? Did Tzivi share all my dating stories with them? Did they know how many times we met and how heartbroken I was when it fell through? What had she told them, anyway?
“What— Tzivi told you about, about—” I couldn’t bring myself to say the name.
Michal looked at me curiously. “Yeah, Tzivi told us. I mean, originally when we were brainstorming, someone mentioned him, I think, so she told us it wasn’t nogeia… Sounded like you had a bit of a story. But every guy is one step closer and all that. So how about my idea, what do you think?”
Given that she hadn’t told me a single thing about him aside from his name, I had no idea how she thought I’d answer.
“Get a yes from him, and then speak to my mother,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Anyway, Michal, I gotta run. See you around. Thanks for thinking of me.”
“I can’t believe she did that.”
I’d held in my anger all morning, but when I finally arrived home, just after 3 p.m., my mother received the full benefit of the minor explosion. “She told her friends about my shidduchim! She tells the entire world who I’ve been out with and how long for and the stories… Ma, how could she?”
My mother gave a sympathetic smile. “Listen, Est, I think you and Tzivi are very different. She’s just like that, she talked about her shidduchim too… not with the entire world, but with her friends, family, the people she trusts… She probably had no idea you’d be hurt by it.”
“Shidduchim are private,” I said tightly. “She wants to brainstorm, fine. But leave my personal dating history out of it!”
“So she made a mistake, we all do sometimes,” Ma said soothingly. “But meanwhile, this idea of your colleague’s, does it sound like anything to look into?”
Mothers! I rolled my eyes. “I told her to call you if it’s relevant. Don’t hold your breath. She hasn’t even gone to the boy’s side yet.”
Despite the rocky start, my 22nd year improved dramatically a couple of weeks later.
“Esther, the Feldstein boy said yes!” Ma told me, waving the phone in my direction one evening. “That’s the one that Yaakov knows… he looked into it for us, remember? And the boy’s side was taking forever with the inquiries… well, it looks like it’s a go! And he’s a great boy. I’m so excited about this one!”
My heart fluttered. Careful, Esther, don’t get too excited, I cautioned myself. But I couldn’t help the thrill of hope that blossomed inside me. After all, I’d been “in the parshah” for over a year — since Tzivi got married — and Suri, our oldest sister, was a kallah at 19. I was an old maid compared to the two of them.
Suri herself called me later. I thanked her for Yaakov’s input and she laughed.
“We’re so happy to help, Esther. And I’m excited for you… I have a good feeling about this.”
All at once, the butterflies were back. “Well, don’t get too excited. I’m not getting my hopes up this time around.” I frowned, remembering the many dates I’d been on with Moshe Stern, and how hard it had been when it fell through.
That reminded me. “Oh, and Suri?” I said, when we’d hashed out every detail we knew about The Feldstein Boy and had decided on a dress for the first date. “Would you mind… not to mention this to Tzivi? Just for now. Just until we see how it goes.”
The first date, despite my nerves, went well. And the second. And the next two. Before I knew it, we’d been out six times, things were proceeding beautifully, and I was cautiously daring to get optimistic about the outcome of the shidduch.
“He wants to go out Motzaei Shabbos, is that okay?” Ma asked me, poised to reply to the shadchan’s text.
I couldn’t help the smile that broke out on my face. “Yup!” Then I remembered something. “Isn’t Tzivi coming for Shabbos?”
Ma put down her phone. “Yes, she is. I think it’s time for you to tell her, Esther. It’s getting serious, and she’ll be hurt. Remember, everyone else knows, and it isn’t fair to her…”
Ma was right — the rest of the family were all in the know, except for Yanky, who was coming home from yeshivah for Shabbos. I’d tell him then. Suri, of course, had been involved from the start, Chaim was at home and couldn’t possibly have been kept in the dark, and even Miri in Israel knew — we were pretty close, and I’d shared what was going on last week already.
But Miri could keep a secret, and Tzivi… she just couldn’t.
“Ma, you know Tzivi,” I said, finally. “She talks to her friends. She talks to her sisters-in-law. She doesn’t — she won’t be able to keep it a secret. And I’m just not comfortable with it being public knowledge. Especially when it could go either way…”
“Why don’t you just ask her not to tell anyone?” Ma suggested, practically.
“It’s not that. It’s… like, what if this falls through? Then she’ll be telling her friends about the next shidduch saga, listing the boys I’ve dated, who is and isn’t my type, what they should be suggesting for me. I just feel… invaded.”
That was it. It wasn’t any individual case, it was Tzivi’s attitude toward shidduchim. I didn’t tell my own friends when I was dating — it just felt too private. Why should her friends know? I was close friends with Eliana, Tzivi’s friend Avigail’s sister, but she didn’t hear the names of the boys I went out with. Why should Avigail?
Ma didn’t argue with me. “Okay, let’s see what happens. Obviously, when you’re ready to get engaged, you’ll tell her everything.”
“If,” I cautioned. “But I’m not getting her involved earlier. I’m just too nervous.”
Shabbos was a little awkward dance between Tzivi, who was oblivious, and the rest of the family, who were all winking at me and making these comments under their breath.
“C’mon, it’s not like I’m getting engaged tomorrow,” I finally snapped at Chaim — once Tzivi and Eli had left Motzaei Shabbos.
“Whooooo says?” he smirked, and darted out of the room before I could yell at him again.
“He’s right, you know,” Ma said. Her voice throbbed with suppressed excitement. “This is, what, the eighth date?”
“Seventh, eighth, whatever. The shadchan said he’s been very positive all along. Maybe he’ll want to get engaged tomorrow?”
“And maybe he’ll say no, and it’ll be over.” The words hurt. But I couldn’t afford to have my hopes dashed again.
“Esther! You need to think positive.”
I was a ball of tension, though. The Feldstein Boy — he had a name, by the way, Yisroel — was really everything I’d been looking for. I was comfortable with him in a way I hadn’t even been with the Stern boy. And I thought… I really thought that this might be it.
I just didn’t want to get let down again.
I shouldn’t have worried.
I’d barely taken off my heels when the shadchan called. Ma spoke to her briefly, and then turned to me, beaming.
“He’s ready. Yisroel wants to get engaged.”
First, my head was just spinning. Then, a million things came to me at once.
“Ready? Whaaat, really? Like, tomorrow? Oh, wow. Oh, my, I can’t believe it, what will I wear, how will we get ready in time…”
Ma was beaming from ear to ear. “Don’t worry about a thing, Esther. I’ve been preparing all week.”
I was giddy but shocked. I honestly hadn’t thought things would move so fast.
Suri called in just then, and of course, I had to tell her. I would have to tell Tzivi too, I realized. Regretfully, I cut the call with Suri short and tried Tzivi’s number. No answer.
I tried again, waited a few minutes, then called one more time. If she was awake, she’d definitely call me back. And if not… well, I’d done my part.
I was deep in conversation with Suri again when I noticed that Tzivi had tried returning my call.
“Whoops, Suri, remind me to call her back as soon as we’re done,” I said.
But the hours flew by, and somehow, by the time I got off the phone with Suri, I was stunned to discover that it was 2 a.m.
“Oh, my goodness, I need to tell Tzivi! She doesn’t know a thing!”
I tentatively rang her phone — you never know — but there was no answer. I’d have to call her first thing in the morning.
But in the morning, Ma wanted to take me shopping for a new dress (“Yes, I know you have that black one in the closet, but I want you to get something really special, you can save that one for sheva brachos”), and then we had to get matching shoes, and there were hair and makeup appointments to organize, and by the time I had a moment to call Tzivi back, it was creeping close to midday.
I took a deep breath before sharing the news. “Tzivi… I’m getting engaged tonight.”
“Whhhaaat?” she semi-shrieked down the phone line. “But— where, what, how, who to — you didn’t say a thing!”
Her voice was slightly accusatory. I winced. Ouch, this was going to be hard.
“I know… I’m sorry, Tziv,” I said. “I just really wanted to keep it private. And it went really fast, I had no idea it would be today until last night…”
“Did Suri know anything?” she demanded.
I didn’t know what to say. “Suri was, you know, involved in the idea from the beginning. So, she kind of knew because of that.”
“So basically, you kept it private from me,” she said flatly.
“Tzivi…” I said helplessly. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t on purpose that it was only you… and I didn’t plan to let you know so late. I was shocked, too…”
My excuses sounded lame even to my own ears. But what should I tell her? That she couldn’t be told because she just didn’t have the same boundaries of privacy that I did? That I couldn’t have all her friends and family hear about my personal life? That she was the only one I simply couldn’t trust to keep a secret?
“Forget it, Esther,” Tzivi said, voice clipped and business-like. “You’re getting engaged tonight, go take care of what you have to do. We’ll see you later. So happy for you.”
And she hung up the phone.
If I could tell Tzivi one thing, it would be: I wish I could have included you in every part of the simchah, but I just couldn’t trust that my personal life would remain private.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 885)
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