It was too much for Michoel. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said abruptly. “Let’s leave.” He stood up. Shocked, Penina followed him to the car. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Michoel reached over and turned on the sound system. A parshah shiur began to play. They drove home without exchanging a word.

Penina told me this while trying to hold back her tears. She was humiliated and hurt. “How could he do that?” she choked out the words. “If he didn’t want to go out again, fine. But to just get up and leave? And ignore me the whole way home?”

“That sounds so hurtful,” I said. “No one should ever be treated that way.” I was at a loss. What had happened to Michoel? “I’m going to call him right now.”

I heard her breathing deeply. In a steadier voice she said, “Thanks, but please don’t. It was embarrassing, but I’m glad this happened. There’s obviously something wrong here, and I’m better off finding it out now than when it’s too late.”

But I was troubled. I knew Michoel well, I had watched him grow up. He was a consistently kind and considerate person. This just made no sense.

I called Michoel, but he didn’t answer. He finally called me much later that evening, sounding subdued. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was sleeping when you called. I just woke up.”

“How was your date?” I asked.

Michoel sighed. “I majorly messed up. I feel terrible. She probably doesn’t want to hear my name ever again.” I didn’t deny it. “I just couldn’t do it anymore,” he admitted. “Carrying the conversation with this excruciating headache. Why does it always fall on the boy to lead the date? Couldn’t she have stepped up to the plate and started a conversation? She just sat there and did nothing. Couldn’t she have been a little more involved?”

“Did you tell her you had a headache?”

“No,” he said slowly, thinking back. “I just said ‘I can’t do this anymore.’”

“So let’s play this back from her point of view. You’re having a conversation, which you seem to be leading, as usual. Without communicating anything about how you’re feeling, you suddenly check out of the conversation and exclaim, ‘I can’t do this anymore!’” I paused. “And then in the car you turn on a shiur?! How does that look to Penina?”

I heard him suck in a breath. “No,” he said urgently. “I didn’t mean it like that at all. I wasn’t thinking. I couldn’t think! I could barely see straight! Of course I didn’t mean it that way!”

I stayed quiet for a minute while he processed everything.

“What should I do?” he asked finally. “Can I call her? Even if she refuses to see me again, I want to apologize. I feel terrible.”

“I don’t think she wants to hear from you right now,” I told him candidly. “Wait a day, I’ll get back to you.”

An hour later, Penina’s mother called. “What’s the matter with this guy?” she demanded. “Talk about a red flag! This shidduch is over.”

I listened as they rehashed the experience from Penina’s perspective. “I hear you,” I replied. “I’m disappointed in his behavior and I understand why Penina is reluctant to continue.

“But,” I continued, “hear me out. I’ve known Michoel for years. He’s gentle, caring, and considerate. How many guys do you know who are capable of working with the elderly? And he excels in his field. That says a lot about him. On all their other dates, Penina was impressed with his sensitivity. He really is a very caring and nurturing person.

“This past date he had a migraine. And he handled it wrong. He should have told her. He should have communicated. But he didn’t.” I took a deep breath. “People make mistakes. Everyone does. It’s not so much about the mistake but about what happens after the mistake ─ that’s the true test of personality. Michoel feels terrible about how he treated Penina. He’s desperate to apologize.”

There was silence on the line.

“I know you want to end the shidduch, but that would be a loss. They liked each other very much. Isn’t it worth a few more dates? If it’s a personality flaw, it’ll definitely come up again. And if it doesn’t come up, you’ll know it was an innocent mistake. You’ll know this relationship is resilient. They experienced a bump and survived it. That’s a great sign for the future.”

“You really shouldn’t be a shadchan,” Penina’s mother said.

“Oh?” I managed.

“You should be a marriage counselor,” she continued. “I’ll tell you what. You speak to Penina. If she’s willing to continue, we’re on board.”

Later that week, Michoel and Penina had an open and serious discussion about their unfortunate date. That conversation cleared the air and brought them closer, and four weeks later, they got engaged.

I don’t think I’m ever going to become a marriage counselor, but that’s fine. Michoel and Penina aren’t going to need one.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 704)