As told to Faigy Schonfeld

DRESS FOR SUCCESS I didn’t need to look in the many mirrors. My mother’s and sister’s faces said it all. It wasn’t just that I’d put on a white dress; I’d been transformed into a kallah

M y heart fluttered with a million new feelings; shivering glee and hope a twinge of angst. I put a hand to my heart as if that would calm the frenetic buzz inside and wrote a list. First order of the day: a wedding dress.

There’s something about a bridal boutique a sort of magic reflecting off the mirrored walls glittering in the rows and rows of creamy white satin and lace and taffeta and tulle. My mother and sister pointed out different pieces beaded and beruffled and I nodded and kept looking noncommittal. Who finds a dress in the first shop they visit?

And then I saw it.

It was ivory taffeta ruffled delicately down the bodice. At the waist the fabric split to reveal embroidered lace gushing in layers and wrapping around the whole dress. Tiny buttons marched all the way down the back; sleeves ended in a bell of textured lace.

I tried it on fastening every single last button and then swept out of the dressing room into the store. I didn’t need to look in the many mirrors. My mother’s and sister’s faces said it all. It wasn’t just that I’d put on a white dress; I’d been transformed into a kallah. It was vintage and elegant and majestic — and I knew that this was the dress that had been waiting for me.

We chose a veil and shoes and deliberated over headpieces. I was measured and the dress altered and finally finally the ensemble was complete. We picked it up from the store and ceremoniously installed it in my bedroom closet.

But gradually my euphoria started to trickle away. The dress was beautiful and ready... but I was not. My concerns about my upcoming marriage kept growing; a brash comment hashkafah conflicts personality clashes. Whenever I’d look at my gown bobbing prettily in my closet I felt a prickle of dread. Fear and unease took root festered and clawed their way through my veins until in place of anticipation there was only heartache. Finally I spoke to a rav. He heard me out and acknowledged my fears; it was then that I realized I must break the engagement.

With the engagement over I was left feeling hollow. Not sad not really... just empty aching. No longer a kallah with a ring on my finger and stars in my eyes I suddenly felt so small unadorned and unwanted. I wrapped up my dress and brought it upstairs to the spare room in the attic.

At the doorway I paused; soft carpet and yellow-and-pink walls pine furniture sun spilling through the windows. This spare room was home to a collection of bits and bolts from the whole family. It was cold there now. I sighed and hung my gown in the closet the chill creeping into my bones. (Excerpted from Family First Issue 547)