As told to Rivky Neuhaus

To the casual observer, I could have been mistaken for the mother of the chassan. My face was glowing, my makeup and sheitel done to perfection.

I truly was excited about the simchah, but the dazzling smile on my face hid the deep sadness festering in my heart. I was having a particularly rough day when I received the call from Monica that it was official. I’d wanted to spend the evening curled up with a book, losing myself in an alternative reality. But Aaron’s vort forced me to get dressed, get out, and face the world.

By the time we arrived at the small hall where the vort was taking place, my emotions were back in check. Aaron Siegel was a chassan! And there he was, standing beside his kallah, looking so joyous. I felt a deep surge of nachas.

I’d taught Aaron when he was in seventh grade. I was 25 then, still single, and living in Brooklyn. Aaron had come to our school from public school and he was an unforgettable student. From day one, I could tell that Aaron was a star. He was smart, popular, athletic — an all-around great guy. But he was also a kid with a strong desire to grow. And grow he did, throughout the two years in our school.

Scenes of Aaron flashed through my mind. The day he committed to start keeping Shabbos, the day he began laying tefillin, the day he turned down an invitation to a friend’s bar mitzvah because it wasn’t kosher….

During that year I became quite friendly with Aaron’s mother, Monica. Monica and her husband, Joel, were fine people, and though they weren’t ready to uproot their own lives, they supported their son as he moved toward observance. Monica called me frequently to get my perspective on things that seemed strange or behaviors that worried her. Time and again, I tried to reassure her and explain the often confusing aspects of frum life.

For high school, Aaron transferred to a regular yeshivah, and then he spent two years in a top yeshivah in Eretz Yisrael. Through my friendship with his mother, I received regular updates on Aaron’s progress, taking special pride in how he had evolved into a shtark yeshivah bochur.

By the time Aaron entered shidduchim, he’d made a great name for himself. He was suggested quality girls from excellent families.

With time, Aaron’s parents also became mitzvah observant, keeping Shabbos and kashrus, and attending an Orthodox shul. Although they had become more integrated into the frum community, many social nuances were lost on them. Monica and I had long conversations, in which we discussed the “system” and its acceptable norms. She had a hard time swallowing many of the unwritten social rules regarding appropriate styles and what she considered “excessive materialism.” Though I privately agreed with some of her views, I felt that it’s usually better to go along with expectations. She remained unconvinced.

The subject of shidduchim was particularly befuddling for Monica. She found the information-gathering overwhelming, the dating process odd, and she couldn’t fathom how two people could decide to get married after just a few meetings. I talked her through the process, holding her hand every step of the way.

And now Aaron was engaged, soon to build a beautiful Jewish home of his own.

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 609)