By
Anonymous, as told to Chaim Walder
It happened at
the beginning of their marriage — and it was a doozy. She suffered
terribly. Then came the truth. Our wedding took place twenty years ago.
Two weeks
before our nuptials, my chosson (groom) took me to his grandmother's —
a visit that, he explained, was a family tradition.
As we sat on
her porch, she handed me a beautifully wrapped box containing a huge
diamond ring. I didn't have to be a diamond expert to realize it must
have cost a small fortune.
Everyone
gasped. Bubby (Grandma) Chava simply said: "This is my gift to
you."
I soon learned
that Bubby Chava gives each new kallah (bride) in the family a very
expensive piece of jewelry so that she will always be remembered.
Actually, Bubby
Chava was so sweet and such a darling, that it would be impossible for
anybody to forget her.
My father
thought that it unspeakable to go outside wearing such a ring when so
many children in the country are starving. I, too, felt awkward about
wearing the ring.
But a custom is
a custom, and who was I to dispute its significance, especially when the
ring cost $5000?
Yes, that is
what it cost. How do I know? You'll soon find out.
It sounds petty
to say this, but the ring was a bit big on me. Every woman knows how
nerve-wracking it is when a ring is too wide and there's space between
the ring and her finger. It drives you batty, like a mouth sore, and you
walk around all day feeling your finger to see if the ring's still
there.
And that's
precisely what I did — throughout the entire wedding.
I spent the
entire night worrying about the ring and making sure that it hadn't
fallen off. But because I also had a wedding band, I had two rings to
toy with for the same price — actually not for the same price.
The wedding
passed. The sheva brochos celebratory week was fantastic. Both families
came for the entire Shabbes (Sabbath), and the meals were accompanied by
joyous zemiros songs. The droshos (speeches) were great.
We live in the
coastal town of Netanya. And after the main Sabbath day meal, my new
husband and I took a leisurely stroll on the boardwalk.
Shortly after
the havdoloh ceremony, my new mother-in-law asked: "Where's the
ring?"
I looked at my
finger and, to my horror, the ring was gone.
I turned pale.
A
mini-commotion erupted and my husband said: "I'll take a look in
our room. Maybe you forgot it there."
I was very
tense and began to bite my fingernails. Something in my heart told me
that he might not find it. After all, the ring was a bit too large for
me and I hadn't fingered it for quite a while.
Then the
dreaded moment arrived. My husband returned — empty-handed.
"Did you look in the closet?" I asked.
"Yes."
"In the
drawers?"
"Yes."
To make a long
story short, he had looked everywhere. It had disappeared.
At that point,
there wasn't a soul in the entire extended family who didn't know that I
had lost a $5000 ring, except for Bubby Chava, who had gone home
directly after havdoloh. (Now you know how I knew its price. When things
are lost, you find out how much they are worth very quickly. This is
true not only with respect to jewelry, but also with respect to people.)
My
mother-in-law, with a number of well-meaning aunts, began turning over
our bedroom and, believe it or not, opening every drawer.
Yes, every
drawer. The search lasted more than an hour. Each would-be Sherlock
Holmes was certain he knew where the ring might be. When I finally dared
to hint that it had been a bit big on me, one of the sleuths
remonstrated: "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"
"I
did!!" I replied.
Then the
tension began to mount, without hope of its subsiding.
After listing
all of the people and places we had spent the day visiting, we concluded
that ring must have fallen off on the beach.
It's hard to
pinpoint the precise moment that the seeds of resentment began to
sprout. But when my husband and I finally went downstairs to the car,
everyone looked a bit sour. Nobody tried to console me or to say that I
wasn't to blame. And I understood them. It really was an expensive ring,
and they should be commended for not having shouted: "Dunce, are
you a baby who loses things!?" But they didn't have to yell. Their
facial expressions said it all.
My husband and
I returned home crestfallen. Trying to make light of the situation, my
husband said: "Great! Now the ceiling price for my losing things is
$5000."
He paid dearly
for that joke, because I didn't see it as an attempt to dispel the
tension. Rather, I perceived it as an attempt to needle me. And so I let
out all the anger I felt against myself — on him.
He apologized
and apologized, but to no avail. I was very hurt by both the loss of the
ring and the accusations hurled against me.
My husband
behaved like a tzaddik (saint). He consoled me and explained:
"You're not to blame. The person who insisted that you wear the
ring even though it was too big is at fault." He basically blamed
himself. He was so sympathetic too. By the end of the evening, I
concluded that if this had been a nisoyon, a Divine test, he had passed
with flying colors.
Okay. He
passed, but his family didn't.
Every time we
visited his family, the incident of the ring hovered in the air. Their
sarcastic questions about how I felt about the loss made me squirm. I
don't blame them. But apparently when one loses an item worth more
than a hundred dollars, he pays a price that far exceeds that of the
lost item.
Along with the
ring, I lost my new family's love and esteem. I felt disliked and
loathsome. After all, how can one hold in high regard a person who
thoughtlessly discards a $5000 ring?
The beginning
of my marriage was very gloomy. I felt that I could never regain my
former esteem. The loss of the $5000 ring seemed to brand me as
irresponsible and unreliable, as well as a pain-in-the-neck.
The situation
peaked, when we bought an expensive vase and one of my brothers-in-law
told my husband: "You'd better carry it, you know." He said
that in front of everyone. Well, all I can say is that I exploded and
screamed that I wouldn't set foot in his house again.
Then the
fighting period, during which my poor husband tried to bring about a
reconciliation between them and me, began. He didn't actually include me
in these efforts, but I understood that he had argued with his brothers,
telling them that if they continued to pick on me, he would sever all
ties with the family. Actually, we did sever the ties for about a
week-and-a-half. But Bubby Chava intervened, and eventually confirmed
that she did indeed know the entire story.
Then came the
appeasement, which was very unpleasant. My mother-in-law apologized and
claimed that of all her daughters-in-law, she loved me best. I, in turn,
made a number of gooey statements such as: "I always felt that you
loved me."
But the whole
affair had tired me out. While peace supposedly prevailed, it was a
chilly peace. I felt crushed and sensed that my husband's family would
never love me and never appreciate me — and certainly would never
entrust me with an item worth more than a few dollars.
The turnabout
came four months later. We had gotten married two days after the holiday
of Shavuos. At the wedding and during sheva brochos week, my husband
wore a frock (Prince Albert). He also wears one on yomim tovim
(religious festivals).
It was nearly
Rosh Hashanah. My husband took his frock out of the closet, put it on,
and asked me if it still fit, or whether he had gained weight. I told
him that he looked pretty thin.
Suddenly he
thrust his hand into the pocket of his frock — and what do you think
he fished out? My ring, of course.
We stared at
the ring for a number of moments without saying a word. Then he said:
"I'm in a state of shock. Apparently I placed the ring in my
frock."
We sat opposite
each other for a while — and then I burst into tears, releasing all of
my pent-up emotions. My husband called his mother immediately and told
her that he had found the ring. Shortly afterwards, everyone came over
— his parents and his brothers, who examined the ring, and then Bubby
and Zeidy (Grandpa). All were overjoyed that the ring had been found.
All heaved sighs of relief and asked me to forgive them for the pain
they had caused me.
Then all
wondered why, in the first place, they hadn't thought to check my
husband's pocket.
From then on, I was the family's queen. All realized that they had erred
and that I was a responsible person who never loses a thing. Quips like
Poor lady. But what can she do if she was destined to marry a
scatterbrain who happens to be our son/brother? and It was so kind of
her to have agreed to marry such a fellow were repeated regularly.
Even though my
husband was slightly offended by the insults, he was still happy for me.
In addition, he now had a happy wife, peace of mind and everlasting
shalom bayis, marital harmony.
I was in
seventh heaven. Suddenly, I was being showered with tons of love and
attention. But the story doesn't end here.
From that day
on, I bore my husband a slight grudge for having caused me so much
anguish during the first few months of our marriage. Funny, but during
the early months when everyone thought that it was I who was to blame
for the loss of the ring, my husband never used the incident as
ammunition against me — and never needled me about it. But once the
ring was found and he was considered the irresponsible one, I would use
that point as a springboard to needle him whenever I could.
If we had
money, I would tell him that I preferred to hold onto it myself, lest he
lose it. When a package or a document had to be delivered, I would say:
"Let someone else take it, so that it won't get lost in the
sandbox." Soon the phrase "in the sandbox" became an
idiom I would use in order to hint that he was unreliable.
Many people
take advantage of the foibles of those dearest to them in order to
ridicule them. This is a form of ona'as devorim which is forbidden by
the Torah. But that is precisely what I did.
My husband
suffered in silence and didn't complain. There were times when I saw his
pained expression when I spoke that way and I would feel sorry and
placate him. But beyond the pained expression, he never complained.
Actually, we
were very happy and our life proceeded smoothly. We had seven adorable
children who loved their parents. They, too, knew the story about
the ring in which all thought that Mommy had lost it on the beach and
which, in fact, absentminded Daddy had actually forgotten in his frock.
Who told them? You guessed it. Little ol' me!
Fifteen years
passed.
I still wore
the ring to important simchas, lifecycle events, and received many
compliments for it. One day, though, in order to surprise my husband, I
decided I'd get rid of the ring by exchanging it for some other pieces
of jewelry. I asked my mother-in-law where Bubby Chava bought her
jewelry and she replied: "At Yankel Cohen's. He's a fine
jeweler."
One afternoon,
I went to Mr. Cohen's store and showed him the ring. "My husband's
grandmother bought this here," I told him "and I want you to
appraise it for me."
"Wow,"
he shrieked after examining it. "It's gorgeous, and is worth a lot
of money — more than $6000. I don't mind exchanging it for whatever
you want. But I just want you to know that she didn't buy it here."
"What do
you mean by that?" I asked in surprise. Then I told him her name
and said that she always buys her jewelry from him.
"True,"
he replied. "She always buys her jewelry here. But I never sold
such a ring in my life. Apparently she bought it somewhere else."
I thought a bit and then figured that since the ring might be worth more
than $6000, I should really check with my husband before exchanging it.
When I came
home, I rummaged through my jewelry box for the ring's receipt. When I
found it, I learned that it really hadn't been bought in Mr. Cohen's
jewelry store, but at a very exclusive and famous jeweler in town. It
had indeed cost $5000, and its price had apparently risen over the
years. But then an additional detail, which I might have ignored under
normal conditions, caught my eye.
I waited until
my husband returned home, my heart beating like a sledgehammer all
along.
When he
arrived, I told him that I had wanted to exchange the ring for some
other pieces of jewelry, and that I had spoken with Mr. Cohen who said
it was worth $6000.
"Great,"
my husband replied. "We made a thousand dollars."
"Yes, but
Mr. Cohen said that Bubby bought the ring somewhere else," I
demurred.
"Could
be," he said.
"Do you
mean to say that Bubby Chava might have bought my gift somewhere
else?"
"What's
the problem?" he asked.
"I'll tell
you what's bothering me," I said as tears streamed down my cheeks.
"For fifteen years I didn't realize what a good-hearted and
wonderful husband you are — one I don't deserve. You pulled that one
over in the most amazing manner possible. I lost my ring, and you
quietly took a loan and bought me a new one. No, don't try to hide it.
You did that in the most elegant and polished manner possible. You found
exactly the same ring for the same price. But you forgot one thing —
to hide the purchase date."
Then I showed
him the receipt with the purchase date — the 14th of Elul. "Maybe
you've forgotten, but I still remember that we were married on the 9th
of Sivan. Bubby Chava gave me the ring before the wedding, so that this
ring was bought four months after I got the original one. The date gave
you away," I protested — and then burst into bitter tears.
It is difficult
to describe the thoughts that raced through my mind at that time.
Imagine that! A young man takes on a $5000 debt so that his family would
believe that he is to blame for the loss of a ring, and not his wife.
What a gift! I knew that I was the only woman in the world who had
received such a present. I am not referring to the ring, but to the
fifteen years during which the blame was shifted from me to him. Until
today, I shudder when I recall how I kicked him in what I thought was
his Achille's Heel, but which was really the area in which he so
excelled.
That evening,
he told me what he had gone through in order to secretly pay back that
debt, to make sure that I would never be the wiser. He then explained
that he couldn't have eliminated the resentment between me and his
family, unless they thought that I wasn't to blame. "They're good
people," he said. "But good people also have weaknesses. What
could I do? That was
their weakness."
It took him
years to repay that debt, and I had made things worse for him by my
digs. But even those digs reminded him of what he had gained — a happy
wife, peace of mind and marital harmony.
I am telling this story because I want to share the lesson I learned
with everyone. The lesson is: Never remind a person of his weakness, and
surely don't make it the subject of your digs. But most important: Clear
your hearts of all resentment and preconceived notions, because even if
you don't badger a person who erred, your anger at him will find ways to
project itself.
Nothing is
worth the anguish and pain we suffered over the loss of the ring. Gold
and diamonds come and go, and sometimes even get lost in sandboxes. So
be it, as long as human beings aren't hurt as a result. Learn from my
husband, too. For fifteen years he agreed to be blamed for a blunder he
hadn't committed — so that his wife would be happy. In that way he is
like Rabbi Akiva who said: "A person should throw himself into a
fiery furnace if only not to see the disgrace of his fellow."
This seems like
a story about a diamond ring, but it is really a story about a golden
heart!
