“This is Shani Leiman,” I said when he picked up. “Yosef may have mentioned my name, I’m the one who set him up with the girl he’s dating?”

“Oh.” The one syllable was loaded with hostility. “What do you want?”

“Well, it seems that Yosef and Leora really like each other, so I wanted to check in with you before they—”

He interrupted me. “How many times did they go out? Six? Are you normal?

“There is no way that my son is making a decision like this after six dates. I want them to date for six months, minimum, and then we’ll see.”

I breathed deeply. “I understand. Of course, as a parent you want your child to make a careful and thought-out decision about something so important. The thing is that Yosef has chosen to do shidduchim similarly to the yeshivah community, and—”

“And nothing!” he barked. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m his father, and I’ll decide who he dates and for how long.”

Maybe he’s just hurt, I told myself. There’s a lot of water under the bridge, he feels left out, he’s unfamiliar with the process. But the longer I spoke and the more I tried to explain, the angrier he became. He actually raised his voice.

“You better listen to me,” he threatened, “and do what I say, or you won’t see a dime of my money!”

I’ve dealt with difficult parents before — sometimes a father, often a mother, who has a vision for their child’s future that they’re very set on. But this was something else entirely.

“I’m happy to continue this conversation,” I said, “so we can work things out for Yosef’s benefit, but I can only do that if we can maintain a respectful dialogue.”

He continued ranting. “Who do you think you are? You think you’ll marry him off to some girl and make a buck… Well let me tell you, if you don’t listen to me, I’ll never give you a penny!”

“I’m going to hang up now,” I said when he paused for air. “I’ll continue to help Yosef and the girl he’s dating, but don’t worry, I won’t take a dime of your money.”

I hung up and called the rav of Mr. Berheim’s community. I repeated the conversation to him. He didn’t seem surprised, but he was concerned that there should be no adverse effect on the shidduch, and he asked me to keep him updated. He also told me not to call Yosef’s father again.

When Yosef and Leora decided to get engaged, Yosef shared the news, and the rav called Yosef’s father to fill him in on the technical details.

A week after the l’chayim, Yosef called. “I have a problem,” he said. He sounded tense. “The vort is next week and I really want to give Leora her ring before then.”

“These things can take time…” I began.

“That’s not the problem,” he interrupted me. “She picked a setting and we found a stone, but suddenly my father changed his mind about how much he’s willing to spend.” He named a sum. “There’s no way I can get a decent stone for that price! He did this when we were buying the bracelet also, first he sent us to a specific jeweler and told us what to buy, and then he changed his mind and said he’s not buying jewelry for someone else’s daughter.

“My mother paid for the bracelet and made the l’chayim, but I can’t expect her to pay for everything. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

“No problem,” I said. “I have money for the diamond, don’t worry.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it. How much do you need?”

“My grandmother gave me some money,” he said. “I can use that. But I would need another $1,250.”

I maintain a small fund for such scenarios, and I mailed Yosef a check the same day. “Don’t tell my father,” Yosef said, worried. I assured him that no one would ever find out.

***

“So, you were worried you were never going to get married, right?” I teased Leora when I greeted her at the wedding. She was glowing. I peeked at the men’s side, Yosef was glowing too.

As we waited for the badeken, a tall man approached. “Mrs. Leiman?” he asked curtly. I nodded. “I’m Mr. Berheim,” he said. He extended an envelope toward me.

It wasn’t the time or place for a conversation, and I didn’t want to make a scene. I took the envelope, feeling it burn my fingers. I had clearly said I wouldn’t take any money from him, and I didn’t want to. What should I do with this envelope? Give it to tzedakah?

When I returned home from the wedding, I kicked off my heels and sank onto the couch. When I couldn’t avoid it anymore, I took the envelope and slit it open. There was a card inside. “Please accept this as shadchanus,” it read. “Thank you, the Berheims.”

I unfolded the check.

In every shidduch, the true shadchan is Hashem, and He’s involved in every last detail. I had said that I wouldn’t accept any money as shadchanus, and in fact I wouldn’t. The money was an exact repayment of the funds I had given Yosef to purchase the ring.

The check was for exactly $1,250.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 703)