The Show Must Go On

The ShowMustGo On

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Shoshie!! Mazel tov!” “Can’t believe you’re a kallah!” “I heard the chassan’s family is just incredible…” Blissfully, I greeted one well-wisher after the next, smiling until my cheeks ached. I could hardly wrap my head around the fact that I was engaged, let alone to the boy of my dreams.

I was so glad that we hadn’t waited to announce our engagement; initially my chassan, Betzalel, was thinking of holding off a bit until his sister—who lived in my hometown of Detroit—had a baby so that his family wouldn’t have to fly in from New York twice. As it turned out, she was admitted to the hospital the night of my vort, so my in-laws were able to celebrate both simchos simultaneously.

The next day, I called my mother-inlaw to reminisce about the vort.

“I really must apologize,” I told her. “There were so many people pouring in, I hardly got a chance to shmooze with you.” “Please, Shoshie,” she laughed, in her warm and easygoing way. “We’ll have plenty of time for that down the road.” Ahhh, if only… Since my sister-in-law had given birth to a boy, my in-laws decided to remain in Detroit until after the bris. During that week, we managed to take care of many wedding arrangements. The details fell into place so naturally and flawlessly; we felt a special siyata d’Shmaya guiding all our decisions. Each encounter with my in-laws made me aware of what an exceptionally gracious family I’d been zocheh to join. I was amazed at how comfortable I felt in my

mother-in-law’s presence. That week will be etched in my memory forever. My in-laws returned to New York and I resumed my hectic teaching and tutoring schedule. My days were a juggling act of lesson planning, sheitel appointments, and gown fittings. I reveled in it. And then came the monstrous tidal wave that threatened to destroy happiness as we knew it. One brisk morning in December, my mother-in-law stood waiting at the corner for her ride to take her to work. A veteran director of a renowned chessed organization, she’d been the mainstay for countless individuals, and her commitment had only strengthened throughout the years. That day was no different. As she waited, a shuttle bus suddenly swerved into the corner of the street. The driver never saw her. In an instant, she crumpled to the ground. Hatzolah whisked her to the hospital in a blaze of lights and sirens. Her prognosis was grim: heavy internal bleeding. The family was summoned frantically. Meanwhile, I’d gotten a message from the school office that my mother-in-law had been struck by a bus and was now hospitalized. Shakily, I dialed the number to the hospital; I could not get through to any family member. Then I tried my in-laws’ house—no answer either. (This was in the era before cell phones.) I spent the most nerve-wracking day of my life trying to call, with no success. While murmuring Tehillim, I attempted to console myself with the thought that she had to be all right in the end. Having survived a horrendous car accident myself as a child, I knew that it would be a long haul—but there was hope. Finally, I asked my mother to call the hospital, hoping she would somehow make headway. “Hello, I’m calling to speak to the family of Toba Jacobowitz,” my mother said hesitantly. There was a moment’s pause on the line, and then the receptionist said, “Hold on, I will transfer you to the morgue…” My mother looked at me, ashen-faced. An icy needle of grief pierced my heart and the bubble of joy that had enveloped me for the past three weeks. This morning, my sweet, unassuming mother-inlaw had been walking, talking, and breathing—and now she was…gone? Betzalel would not have his mother walk him down to the chuppah? Hashem, please wake me up from this nightmare! My dear kallah, life was never meant to be a gently flowing brook… Before our numbed minds could absorb this shocking blow, decisions had to be made. Our rav ruled that I should not attend the le-

“Please, vayah; instead I should fly in to be menachem avel. Shoshie,” she In hindsight, I was so grateful to have da’as Torah—witneslaughed, in her warm and sing Betzalel’s raw pain would have been too much. As it were, walking into a beis avel hearing, easygoing way. “Oh, there’s the kallah…” was a most awkward situation. I had

“We’ll have no idea how to provide comfort to my chassan of less than plenty of time a month. I don’t remember what I said, or for that down whether I said anything at all. the road.” People spoke in hushed tones about my mother-in-law’s extraordinary chessed and stellar middos; I felt a double sense of loss—at not having had the opportunity to cultivate a real relationship with her. If there was some measure of consolation to glean, it was that she had met me and given her wholehearted approval to the shidduch. And that everyone else in the family was already married. After the shivah, the family slowly returned to routine. Gone was all the drama and excitement over our upcoming wedding, to be replaced with a throbbing, ever-present pain. But if I thought all the preparations would fall to my side now, I was mistaken. With incredible strength, Betzalel directed his energy and interest toward finalizing arrangements and tending to the million details that cropped up. Rather than wallowing in justifiable misery, he stepped forward to begin a new stage in life with all its responsibilities.

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Naturally, because of the circumstances, our wedding had to be postponed by several months as so many matters had to be reconsidered. Originally, we’d planned to live in Brooklyn but now we were advised to settle in Detroit in order to have a fresh start. And so we began apartment hunting and applying to kollelim. Just when I thought everything was finally coming together, the yeshivah hall where we were to get married was struck by lightning—a mere week before our wedding! The hall was rendered unusable and we had to scramble around to find an affordable alternative. The local hotels were well beyond our budget. Finally, the school where I taught offered its hall and we all breathed a long sigh of relief. Deep in my heart, I davened that everything should go smoothly from that point on—I simply could not deal with one more setback, big or small! Chasdei Hashem, we were zocheh to a lively, uplifting wedding; everyone made a tremendous effort to be mesamei’ach chassan v’kallah. Though the joy was laced with sorrow, it was a heartfelt simchah.

Certainly my mother-in-law was beaming from above. To be quite honest, shanah rishonah in aveilus was no walk in the park. We were so grateful to have each other, but the constant shadow of my mother-inlaw’s passing filled every aspect of our lives. The halachos of aveilus were instituted by Chazal to honor the departed’s memory, and we felt the loss keenly. Even the seemingly trivial factor of not listening to music affected me; there was a somber atmosphere that hovered around us constantly and I couldn’t just chase it away by turning on the CD player. It was so tempting to slide into the slippery slope of self-pity— not only did I have a tumultuous engagement, but to be deprived of a normal shanah rishonah…!— yet I reminded myself dozens of times that it was an exercise in futility. What was the point of bemoaning my destiny when it was already sealed and stamped by the Author Himself? If I couldn’t rewrite my story, at least I could edit my reactions and tweak my thought processes. And so we embarked upon the delicate process of building a home upon the heels of a very vulnerable beginning. I had to learn how to be empathetic while allowing Betzalel the space and time to heal at his own pace. A carefree couple we weren’t, but we were both united in our determination to do it right—and make it last.

Our first touch of nechamah came with the birth of our first child, a girl, whom we named after my dear mother-in-law. Little Toby filled our home with giggles and sunshine, eliciting genuine smiles from the family at last. At times my friends would vent (l’to’eles, ostensibly) about their interfering or indifferent mothers-in-

law and I couldn’t help but think, So you feel slighted that your mother-in-law forgot to acknowledge your birthday, but do you realize what a gift it is for your children to have a relationship with their grandmother? Do you know how priceless that is?? And do you know how lost a man can feel without having a mother to celebrate his achievements in life?

But of course, I kept my mouth closed; each person to her nisyonos. I had been spared their challenge, though the irony never escaped me. Here I could’ve had a beautiful and rewarding connection with a wonderful woman—who was beloved by all those who knew her—yet she had been taken away too soon. While so many out there struggled for decades with difficult mothers-inlaw, who caused much friction with shalom bayis and chinuch…

I was fortunate to live near my parents, who provided much comfort and emotional support, especially throughout the early years. Indeed, living in my hometown proved to be magnificent hashgachah, as Betzalel was able to blossom in an out-of-town setting and carve a niche for himself in kollel.

My father-in-law had always been an extremely caring, selfless, and generous individual in his own right. He was not a man of means, but he lived to give. Meshulachim would surround him as though he was a major gvir. Once, he won a raffle for $25,000—which he promptly distributed among various tzedakos. Hashem repaid him: several years later he purchased a ticket for the same annual raffle of $25,000 and wrote our names on it. Astonishingly, he won again! When we called to tell him that his ticket had won, he told us happily, “Keep it—it’s all yours!” After my mother-in-law’s death, he was completely shattered. He could not even consider remarrying; my mother-in-law had been the light of his life. Gradually, his health deteriorated. We treasured his visits, knowing it wasn’t easy for him, and tried to go in as much as possible—though never as much as we would’ve liked.

Less than a decade later, he, too, passed on to a better World. And Betzalel, only thirty-two, was left truly bereft. Once again, we had to grapple with grief and try to make sense of suffering. Our children had questions. We had no answers. …And we still don’t.

Did Betzalel ever dream before his marriage that his parents wouldn’t be around to reap the nachas of our growing family? Do I know why I am the only one among my contemporaries who does not have in-laws?

All we know is that the only recourse is to move forward.

The effort is strenuous and the trek often lonely, but we cannot afford to spend our lives mourning our losses.

As I always tell my kids, the words “what if” are the most toxic in our vocabulary. For if we become submerged in the quagmire of the past—of what could’ve been, should’ve been—we risk losing all that is precious in the present and all the potential of the future.

Memories are there for us to cherish—and to use as a bridge to bond one generation to the next. Totty and Mommy, although you’ve been gone now for so many years, you will forever remain in our hearts. Your legacy is alive and thriving!

When we called to tell him that his ticket had won, he told us happily, “Keep it—it’s all yours!”