We walk down that narrow corridor we’ve taken countless times before when a wooden plaque catches my eye. “Game Closet,” it reads. Never seen that before. Relly and I have a long history of Shabbos afternoon game marathons, and I’m still waiting to beat her on a couple of them.

“Rells, let’s check this out!”

I yank the brown wooden handle, and the door creaks open. The smell of mothballs overwhelms my senses as I take in the overabundance of game boxes. Where to start? And then I spot it. It has all the markings of Monopoly, but if my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me, it says “Shidduchopoly.” As we remove the cover, a yellow paper flutters to the ground. “DO NOT PLAY UNLESS YOU INTEND TO FINISH,” the words tease ominously.

“Well, looks like we ain’t leaving here too fast,” sighs Relly. But there’s a twinkle in her eye, and she’s finally talking of her own free will. I must be doing something right.

I smile broadly. We make our way back to our cozy booth, game in hand, and as we sink into those trademark green cushions, I fargin myself to kick off my heels. Relly quickly follows suit. Ahh.

We spread the board over the table and begin dividing up the money and pieces. I take the hat, my role tonight, and Relly picks up the heel.

“We play this like Monopoly, Sary, no?”

I nod. I don’t read instructions on new game versions.

Ladies first. Relly picks up the dice, ready to roll, when the background ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room suddenly quickens its pace and tingling shivers run down my spine. Before I can utter a word, the room begins to spin and dozens of green and red houses and hotels swarm like a tornado around us. I grab Relly’s hand, and we sit, huddled and shaking, as the wind picks up speed and the Sheraton slowly fades from view.

Thump. My eyes open, we’re still sitting in the corner booth, but ooooh Toto, we’re definitely not in Kansas anymore. The room is white and bare, except for a huge, light-green sign hanging from a beam on the ceiling. I make out the words “GO” on the top with a red arrow pointing forward. This is seriously strange. And I’ve been around the block, if you know what I mean. I’ve seen strange.

“Rells, where are we? Any clue?”

Relly is equally alarmed. That’s bad. One of us has to keep our cool. She slowly releases her grip from my now white hand, and my blood starts to flow again.

Go. Go. Go. Where do I recognize that from?

Getting up from her seat, Relly takes a few tentative steps forward to get a better view.

“Well, there’s a red arrow near GO, and I can make out the words, ‘Please collect…’.”

We stare at each other, deep in thought, when our eyes lock. “We’re in the game!” we shriek simultaneously.

T

he two humongous white dice that fall from the ceiling almost hit me on the head.

“Relly, this is crazy, we gotta get out of this room!” I yell.

Leaving doesn’t seem to be an option, though, we realize. We jiggle the handle to the only set of doors in the room. Locked. I turn around frantically, weighing our options, until I spot the small red lettering on the GO sign: Please spin the dice to start.

“Ladies first, Relly, remember?”

She’s not convinced.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

I pick up the dice, spin a six, and freeze — unsure of what to do next. The LED sign above the doors suddenly flashes to life as it registers my spin. It takes a minute until the lights turn from red to green and the double doors slowly glide their way open.

Relly lightly pushes me, beaming. “Best foot forward!” she yells out.

I walk out the doors anxiously as an arrow points me to spot number six: The One Hotel. Before I have a chance to figure out where I am, I hear a voice behind me.

“Are you Sary Stein?”

“Ummm, do I know you?”

He blushes.

“We have a date tonight? Mrs. K. said I was supposed to meet you here?”

Whoaaaa — this is so not happening. Like so. Not. How do I explain to him that this is all a game? For lack of better options, I choose to behave. Good thing I’m dressed for a date.

“Can I offer you a drink?” No sir, you cannot, I don’t know you or this Mrs. K. lady.

“Sure, I’ll take a Diet Coke.” My mind starts to race. Umm… Where is Relly??

My thoughts are interrupted by an echoing click, click, click. I’m trying to pay attention to Mr. Anonymous as he figures out where we should sit, but the sound of heels nearby is too tempting. Please Hashem, a familiar face or something? The sounds are getting closer, and through the window I spot Relly gracefully gliding by, a huge orange card in her hand.

“Bashert?” it says. Squinting, I make out the small words underneath. “Advance to Proposal at the Boardwalk.”

UM HELLO????? IS SHE GETTING ENGAGED????? What is happening???? I want — no, need — to run and stop her.

“This looks like a really nice spot,” a male voice interrupts. “Shall we?”

I look up. Oh right, I forgot I’m on a date.

Two hours later, I’m trying to stifle another yawn. This is almost as bad as my mock date with Relly, except that I’m the one tuning out this time. Relly is taking up 98.7 percent of my brain capacity, and all I can think about is how she’s leaving me in this game by myself. As I try to decide whether to apologize for my lack of participation, he stands up. Date over. We walk out, and he bids me farewell. I think about getting this Mrs. K.’s phone number, but that goes hand in hand with explaining how I have no idea how I got here, and it’s just too awkward.

T

he dice are waiting for me right in front of the hotel. It seems like the only way to move forward and out of this game is to just keep spinning. “Do not play unless you intend to finish” suddenly flashes through my head. I block it out; I’d rather not think about that part. I land a four as the ground starts to shake beneath me, opening to a narrow tunnel. This place is freaky. With no other option but to enter the epitome of claustrophobia, I proceed cautiously. One, two, three…. But before I have a chance to get to number four, my phone dings. I glance down — random number texting me. Please come save me, whoever you are.

“Hi Sary, it’s Mrs. K.,” it reads. “Effy had a nice time, but feels he needs someone a little more focused….”

No kidding.

I’m about to respond back when a rush of cold air hits me in the face, and the temperature in the tunnel drops. I look up and here it is, an overbearing black metal door with the word “freezer” on it.

Nonononononooooo! I just spent the last seven months there, and it was quite dreary, not one prospect in sight. With no other alternative, I slowly push the door open. Inhale and brace yourself, Sary.

The freezer is just as cold as expected. Bone numbing. I drag my feet as I enter the female division; the place is squashed. Is every girl in our society here?  My eyes scan the labels of waiting sections, and I spot my next-door neighbor in the corner, icicles forming at the tips of her burnt-out halo. The label above her head reads five months. Ouch. I look to the side to avoid eye contact. I must get out of here — and fast — before I’m frostbitten. I spot the dice and quickly make my way over, hoping I’ll be one of the lucky ones to spin a double and move on. Shew, it’s two fours! I’m out of here! I do a little victory dance, then glance over my shoulder to make sure no one’s looking. Beat that. I’ve never gotten out of the freezer so fast in my life.

On my way out, I peek into the boy’s division; I just can’t resist. The place is bare except for a group of boys shteiging away uninterrupted in the section labeled “Just Landed.” With the fiery enthusiasm they’re emanating, I’m positive they don’t notice the cold. I’m about to make my grand exit when I notice some movement in the far-right corner of the room. There’s a lone bochur silently swaying over his shtender, a checkered black-and-white scarf draped around his shivering shoulders. His nose is a scary shade of bright red; looks like he’s been in here for a few months. I don’t feel too bad. He’ll be out in no time.

L

ife out of the freezer is blissful because eight steps later, all hope has been restored as I spend the evening in Reserve Cut with Chaim Klein. I’m definitely starry eyed, and I’m noticing how empty my hand looks without a ring on it. I strain my ears. Is that wedding music or my imagination?!

“Think there’s a simchah nearby?” I ask him.

“Yup, my best friend just got engaged, his vort is tonight! He’s 30, but apparently the shidduch went 1-2-3. Do you know the girl? Ariella Rosen.”

Umm, hi. Do I know Ariella — Relly Rosen? I must get out of this game asap. Like, yesterday. I launch into an extensive inspirational speech about how life can be hard sometimes, and it’s frustrating that you can’t just be where you want to be when you want to be there. Chaim looks confused, but he just nods in agreement. What a gentleman.

I need to collect myself. I run from the table and nearly trip on the huge card in front of me. “Title Deed — Survivor” it says in bright green. The words on the last line are highlighted in yellow: “One Friend Left.” Well, looks like I get a fish tank now.

I

grab the card and race to the bathroom, praying the dice are there. I must find Relly. Thankfully, I see them. I can’t spin fast enough. It’s another four, and I land on “Bashert?” Ooh, couldn’t be better. The picture of Relly walking proudly with her Bashert card to Proposal at the Boardwalk flashes through my mind, and I’m hoping that Chaim and I will be just as fortunate. I reassure myself that I have no need to worry, since my 40-day machsom finished just last night. With that renewed confidence, I eagerly grab the top card of the stack, but before I have a chance to read my fate, the phone in my hand buzzes. It’s the Shadchan calling. The card flutters to the floor as I animatedly launch into a monologue listing all the mailos of my future husband, Chaim Klein. The phone is silent. I double check my screen to see if the call got lost.

“Are you there, Mrs. K.?”

“I’m still on Sary, darling. You’re just so special. But mameleh, sheifeleh….”

The tears start to flow before she has a chance to continue. I’ve heard those words too many times before. Choking out a thank you before she can continue, I snap my phone closed and put my head down. The words on the Bashert card lying at my feet glare at me. “BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, BACK TO SQUARE ONE.” Didn’t see that coming. There’s no dice anymore; a private helicopter sponsored by “Save Our Singles” zips me back to square one. Ughhhh.

T

hankfully the GO room is fuller this time, stocked with care packages and cinnamon buns and gift certificates to multiple jewelry stores. Some complimentary back pats, too. There’s even a Rebbetzin there to give me chizuk about how to move forward during this trying time.

“Just keep playing,” she tells me. “He’s out there. B’ezras Hashem you’ll get to the Boardwalk. Some people have to move more spaces, some people less, but everyone gets their Bashert card. I can’t tell you when, but just keep spinning.” I say Amen with as much fervor and concentration I can muster after this long round. The Rebbetzin shepherds me to a room for the night, and I finally rest my tired feet. Tomorrow is another day; the dice will just have to wait.

I wake up at seven a.m. with renewed energy. My mother would faint. It usually takes me a couple of hours to make my grand exit from my bedroom after a night like last night. The white dice roll in just as I do. Okay, here we go. I give it all I’ve got and spin a two. Snake eyes! I wish Relly would be here to do the snake-eyes dance with me. The ceiling splits open, revealing a whirlwind of cash. I collect as much as I can, dreaming of the necklace I’ve been eyeing. It didn’t fit with the kollel budget standard I’m preparing for, but now…. Dreamily, I waltz down two spaces to Pick a Friend when a semi-familiar voice interrupts me.

“Sary, is that you?” I spin around.

“Tova, what are you doing here?”

T

ova was Relly’s friend’s friend’s friend. She became friends with Relly after all her friends got married. Lucky me, I get to inherit her now.

“It’s been so lonely.”

“Here,” Tova says, handing me some Kind Bars. “I think I’m supposed to be sharing with you.”

I collect the snack. Making my next batch of friends has never been easier. Coming from me, that’s not something to be taken lightly. With batch one from high school all sporting double strollers, and Relly’s leaving making me the last of batch six, at least the loser’s prize is batch seven. Tova and I spin the next round together. It’s a three. Israel Getaway!

Two thousand dollars later, and I’m on both a spiritual and waistline high. The Kosel, Kever Rochel, Amukah, Tzfas and of course, daily Mitz Pri. The dice are ever faithfully waiting for me as I step off the plane at JFK. I don’t want to spin them, but in the back of my head, I hear my mother telling me to be responsible. Anyway, it sure is better than taking an Uber.

I

spin the dice with loads of kavanah this time, landing a seven. I davened so hard the past two weeks, so when I advance to “Hello, I found your husband,” it doesn’t bother me at all.

They call me together. My starry-eyed 19-year-old cousin and her husband of two days. “Sary, you don’t even have to date him. He. Is. The. One.” Good thing I do though, because after I spin a 12, I find myself in someone’s basement, trying to string conversation for three hours. He. Is. NOT. The. One. And anyway, Covid was three years ago, why are we doing the basement thing??

I don’t even wait to see what the dice reads. I just know it has to be a four. The tears start trickling down my face as I drag myself to Waterworks. They steadily increase their flow with each step, leaving a salty river behind me. Coming closer, eyes a blur, all I can see are what resembles orange hazard signs. As I wait to be admitted, a puddle forms at my toes, and the hustling janitor puts out yet another slippery caution sign. Finally, it’s my turn to enter. The consolation prize is stuffed into my hands. Ice cream. This only makes me cry harder; the salty waterflow washes the treat into the stream that’s now flowing by my ankles.

After letting it all out, it seems like the sun will possibly shine again. I spin the dice. Twelve. Back to square one. Again. Hashem, I can’t believe this is happening! I have no interest in waiting for the helicopter this time. I make the long trek by foot, collecting heartfelt chizuk along the way.

This time, the Rebbetzin’s husband is monitoring the GO room from his recliner in the corner. His face is shining. “Next round will im yirtzeh Hashem be it,” he says softly, slowly getting up from his seat. “Just remember that sometimes you need to think out of the game.” I try to take his words to heart. Okay, I’m giving this one more chance. And then I quit.

T

he dice lands on a funny angle, and for some reason the doors open even though there was no number to indicate what my next move should be. The board is open, and I can go wherever I’d like this time. The choice is mine, but I’m too tired to think about playing anymore. The only decision I can make right now is to quit Shidduchim. It’s official. My parents will find out, word of mouth. I guess from the neighbors….

I walk out wearily. Past Bellworks. Past the Sheraton. Past the TWA Hotel. And there it is, a nondescript dirt path. The Rebbi’s brachah reverberates in my mind as I decide to go for the unconventional. I make my way down the path and….

I’ve managed to walk right out of the game, back to the Sheraton parking lot, my black Camry still in the same spot I left it.

Just like that, I’m back home, back to my apartment, back to my bed, back to my thoughts — but minus a very best friend.

My phone rings. Not her.

“Sary, sweetie!! I’ve been trying to reach you for a while!”

“Oh, hi Ma.”

“Sweetheart. It’s so hard for us to deal with your shidduchim when you’re boarding thousands of miles away, but listen—”

“Ma, I’m taking a break.”

“A break? sheifeleh! You haven’t dated in seven months!”

Mhhm. I’m not about to tell my mother about what I’ve just been through.

“Anyway, Sary dear, hear me out. I got a call from a shadchan named Mrs. K. Not sure where she heard about you, but she said a boy named Chaim Klein thought of an idea for you. I don’t remember him — I hardly remember the last guy you dated — but this boy he’s mentioning sounds like everything you’re looking for.”

I sigh.

“Okay Ma, I’m trusting you. Just this once.”

“Great! Because I already have a yes, and he’s picking you up tonight at 7:30. Gotta go pick up groceries and — the boys! Yeshivah! Where are the keys — and PTA….” The phone line goes dead.

Gotta hand it to her.

I’m already dressed, so I just freshen up my makeup. Heels by the door, and — it’s 7:30. I hear a quiet knock, right on time.

He’s wearing a black-and-white checkered scarf that looks all too familiar, but it’s the fading red nose that’s the dead giveaway.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 838)