"I had several shidduchim that were this close to happening and, boom, one party wants to follow the takanos plan, the other doesn’t, and it’s over"

Mina

"Chesky Sobel, I’m going to kill you.” I paced the hallway, clutching the cordless phone to my ear.

“Do I get a last wish?” Chesky asked.

“Very funny. Seriously, Chesky, you’re a shadchan, I’d expect you to be discreet. Who else did you tell that we’re not following the takanos plan? Is the whole world talking about us now?”

“Hey, no fair. I already got my scolding from Shlomo. You can’t punish me twice for the same crime.”

I swiped my finger across the rim of a picture frame on the wall, removing dust. “Tell me why you did it.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbled. “We were having a conversation, me and Rubinstein, and the topic came up. It didn’t dawn on me that he’s in the dark about this. I mean, he is the takanos plan, doesn’t he know its members?”

I couldn’t blame Chesky for making this assumption. But it so happened that while Rubinstein coordinated the whole project, he wasn’t the one registering its members.

“Why were you talking to Rubinstein in the first place?”

Slowly, the story came out. He’d met Rubinstein in shul and complained that the takanos plan was ruining his shidduch attempts. “Adding the complicated yes-takanos-no-takanos factor to the shidduch equation, plus all this ‘typing’ people.” Rubinstein had then started soapboxing how he specifically didn’t want the takanos plan to cater to a certain “type,” and he’d asked Chesky, “Would you ever think the Engels are the type to sign up?”

“I was confused,” Chesky said, “because I thought he knew you didn’t sign up. So I guess I messed up there. I’m sorry, seriously. I made him promise not to tell anyone.”

“He better not.”

“Bottom line,” Chesky stated, “I hope he changes those rules. I had several shidduchim that were this close to happening and, boom, one party wants to follow the takanos plan, the other doesn’t, and it’s over. This plan will never work if it’s all or nothing.”

I’ll be the first one to agree on that one.

I hung up, my mind reeling. Could it be that a plan designed to ease the burden of marrying off children was actually thwarting shidduchim? Would someone really walk away from a potential shidduch over some fresh flowers and a band?

What about Shabbos sheva brachos in a hotel? Would we have proceeded with the shidduch if we’d have known the Engels wanted that?

Wham!

I jolted. What was that? I poked my head into the dining room. “Did you hear that noise?”

“Yes, I think it came from the basement,” Shevy said. “I’ll go check what it was.”

Curiously, I followed her down the stairs. Everything seemed to be in place. But then Shevy pulled open the door to the bathroom — and gulped.

I peeked inside. “Oh, my goodness!”

Zeigler’s gown, which they’d dropped off earlier that day, lay in a heap on the floor. I’d hung it on the shower rod and it had succumbed to the gown’s weight. Petticoats and shower curtain were draped over the bathtub and toilet, and the shower rod jutted out of the mound of fabric.

So much for the debut of my consignment business.

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 670)