By the time the passengers were called to board, Rabbi Morgenstern knew he was in trouble. He could still make it to the wedding in time for the chuppah if he went straight to the hall from the airport. But the kesubah was in his home — 45 minutes from the airport, and then 45 minutes to the hall.

He called his son, Ephraim. “Did you leave the house yet?” he asked tensely.

“I’m leaving in a minute, Ta,” Ephraim said. “Everyone else is leaving later. But I’m going now, to help the chassan.” Ephraim and Yanky were the same age, and best friends.

“I’m about to board, it’s going to be tight,” his father said. “The kesubah is on my desk. Please, can you make sure to bring it with you the wedding?”

Still on the phone, Ephraim riffled through the papers. “I found it, Ta,” he said. “No problem.”

Rabbi Morgenstern landed in New York at 4 p.m. The chuppah was at 6:30 in Lakewood. As he dashed to the luggage claim, he called Ephraim.

No answer.

He called his wife.

No answer.

Finally, Rabbi Morgenstern managed to reach the kallah’s father. Quickly, he explained the delay and asked him to find his son and confirm that he’d brought the kesubah with him to the hall.

The photographer was in a bad mood. They were running late, and that was before the bride’s father had stopped everything to take a phone call. And now he wants to go off on a rescue mission in search of a missing kesubah? Did they want the wedding today, or what?

“You!” he said, pointing to Basya, who seemed to be organizing everything. “You go find out about the kesubah.”

Basya went.

When Ephraim heard Basya’s question, he turned white. “I forgot it,” he whispered. “What should I do? It’s not like they can just use any random kesubah!”

Basya didn’t blink. “No problem,” she said. “We’re going to figure this out. Worst-case scenario, we’ll run to the closest Judaica store and buy one of every kind of kesubah they have.”

“It has to be that specific kesubah,” Ephraim insisted. “Maybe we can Uber it?”

They discussed a few options, and ultimately Ephraim decided to drive back home to get it. “If I leave right now, I can still make it,” he said, and flew out of the hall. Basya told no one, just went back to the picture session and smiled for the camera.

It was time for the badeken. The music began to play, and the atmosphere instantly became charged. From her place on the platform, Basya watched the chassan approach her sister. When she saw Ephraim slip back into the hall and join the crowd, she smiled in relief. No one knew why she grinned so widely when the kesubah was read.

The next morning I got a phone call from Ephraim. I listened carefully to the story, then called Basya.

“He was so impressed with your middos, and how you handled such a sensitive event,” I told her. “Would you go out with him?”

She laughed incredulously. “He’s Yanky’s friend!” she said. “He’s probably five years younger than me!”

“Three,” I said. “And he doesn’t care about that.”

Ephraim was a serious learner, like Basya was hoping for, and his best friend, Basya’s brand-new brother-in-law, raved about him. Basya allowed herself to be talked into meeting him once. Then again. Then again.

Mazel tov — Basya Feldheim to Ephraim Morgenstern!

I stared at the text, a picture of the new couple beaming up at me from my phone. It seemed clear to me that Basya’s selflessness had brought about her own shidduch.

Good thing she didn’t make her sister wait, right?

to be continued…

Shani Leiman is a teacher and shadchan in Silver Spring, Maryland.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 702)