Sotah by Naomi Ragen

in his long, slow, yet oddly determined way. “Thank you for being honest with us. So that there shouldn’t, G-d forbid, be any bad feeling between us, let us be honest with you. Our son, Abraham, as you must know, or have probably learned, is a very promising scholar. He is also quite young yet.”
    “Twenty-two is he, Brindel?” Rebbetzin Reich interjected with eyebrows raised. “Eighteen is still young. Not twenty-two.”
    “Among very promising scholars, age is not important,” Rebbetzin Breitman said with a dismissive wave of the hand.
    “Still, as it is written, ‘Eighteen to the marriage canopy,’” Rabbi Reich pointed out, his back turned away from the women, addressing his remarks to Rabbi Breitman.
    “Yes, well … truthfully, we have had many other offers for Abraham. A girl whose father owns a plastic bag factory who has an apartment already furnished,” Rabbi Breitman admitted a bit reluctantly.
    “An apartment facing south, so sunny you don’t need heat in the winter, where diapers would dry on the porch in ten minutes!” Rebbetzin Breitman interrupted her husband.
    Rabbi Breitman pointedly ignored his wife’s shocking lack of etiquette. “This girl’s father, a G-d-fearing man, wants to support them for seven years, and then bring Abraham into the business.”
    “With a turnover of thousands and thousands a year!” Rebbetzin Breitman interjected excitedly.
    “Not to mention all the plastic bags you can use,” Faigie Reich muttered under her breath.
    “What was that?” Brindel Breitman inquired.
    “Nothing important.” Faigie Reich smiled wanly.
    “Does Abraham want to marry this girl?” Rabbi Reich asked.
    “Well, actually, he hasn’t actually, gone … that is … he hasn’t met her yet. He refuses, until we can settle this, of course,” Rabbi Breitman went on, his discomfort growing.
    “One way or the other,” Brindel Breitman concluded ominously.
    “One way or the other,” Faigie Reich repeated painfully.
    “One way or the other?” Rabbi Reich questioned. “My dear, wonderful righteous Jews! The children are happy together. We are both G-d-fearing, bnai Torah . How could it end other than in marriage? How could we mar this G-d-given happiness that is such a precious gift? And for what, for a few shekels here, a few there? My wife, a true tzdakis , a rare pearl, may she live until a hundred and twenty, had no dowry at all when we married. Times were hard in Jerusalem. There was all the destruction from the wars. There were our brethren pouring in from Yemen and Morocco. We lived off the stipend from the yeshiva. My wife knitted sweaters and sold them. She began to sell wool on the street, and then the city let her set up a little wooden shack which finally became a little store. We lived in one rented room. We had four children before we took out loans and bought a place of our own. Two and a half rooms. We asked for nothing from anyone. We put not our faith in the generosity of anyone. He”—Rabbi Reich pointed heavenward—“fed us from His kind, broad, generous hand. We didn’t live a good life? G-d didn’t bless us? Our children will have a good life together. No one has the right to destroy that. ”
    The delicate porcelain teacups rattled in their saucers.
    Brindel Breitman’s hand fluttered protectively at her throat. “Things are different now, Rebbetzin. We don’t want our son to suffer the way we did, or you did.”
    “Suffer? To marry a wonderful girl whose parents will make the whole wedding? Whose parents will pay off half a mortgage for their apartment?!” Rabbi Reich told Rabbi Breitman.
    Rabbi Breitman felt sharp tears of shame sting his eyes. “All right, all right, then, Rabbi Reich. But what about parnosa? Who will support them? How will they live?”
    “We could help them a little,” Rebbetzin Reich said, feeling renewed hope. “But as I said, we are already paying off our own mortgage, half our married daughter’s mortgage, and