What could be better? A piece on marriage counseling
AND Erev Pesach in ONE!
It was chilly this morning, the day after Shushan
Purim. The windshield was covered with condensation.
Shmuel pulled the choke and flipped on the defogger,
waiting for the car to warm up. Reuven, twenty years
his senior, sat next to him. He seemed uncomfortable.
Shmuel smiled at him. "Are you trying to warm up along
with this old jalopy?" Reuven twisted, pulled the
shoulder strap down over himself, and locked the seat
belt buckle into place. Shmuel knew that Reuven would
open up soon. "Everything in the right time," he
thought to himself.
They rattled along in companionable silence for a
while. At an intersection, Shmuel shifted into neutral,
waiting for the light to turn green.
Reuven, sitting in the passenger seat, rolled down the
window. The interior of the car was instantly
penetrated by the heavy scent of Jerusalem jasmine. The
air was warming. He inhaled deeply and turned to
Shmuel.
"Forty-two years of marriage! I can't beieve I've been
married THAT LONG!" Reuven chuckled.
Shmuel glanced at Reuven. A loud honk from behind him
propelled his attention forward. The light was green.
Shmuel shifted into first gear and putted onward. "Your
parents have been married a lot longer than that, may
they live to 120 years."
Reuven laughed. "That's true. Still... forty-two years!
That's over four decades."
Shmuel glanced at Reuven more closely for a second,
then focused back on the road. He and Reuven had been
carpooling from Kiryat Sefer to Jerusalem for three
years now to the warehouse where they both worked.
"You've never mentioned anything like this before,
Reuven. Why all of a sudden? Is everything O.K.?"
He glanced at Reuven once again and saw his cheeks turn
pink. "Didn't mean to pry..." Shmuel said, focusing on
the road in front of him. He shifted into second gear,
the car jerking forward, and began to accelerate.
"Well," Reuven hesitated, "I really should have told
you already."
They were entering downtown Jerusalem now. Traffic was
picking up.
"Motti, our youngest, became a chosson three
nights ago!"
"But I thought he was learning in Lakewood!" Shmuel
blurted out.
"He has been. My first cousin, Gershon, lives there and
has had Motti over several times for Shabbos. He was
really impressed by our boy and of course, their next-
door neighbor has a daughter... You know how these
things go."
"That's why you went to America for ten days?
That's really wonderful! A big Mazel Tov!"
"Shmuel, don't tell anyone, O.K.? My wife wants to tell
the whole world herself," he chuckled, then shook his
head from side to side in sudden seriousness. "I didn't
do this with my other children but all of a sudden, I
feel so protective of Motti. I've been giving him so
much advice on how to be a good husband. I didn't even
know I HAD so much advice IN me! Marriage is so
important! I don't want him to make any of the silly
mistakes I've made. I want everything, from beginning
until... forever, to go just right for him."
"With you as his father, I'm sure Motti will have a
terrific marriage."
At the next red light, Shmuel turned to face Reuven
fully. "So that's why you're shocked to suddenly
realize that you're married forty-two years?"
The light turned green and Shmuel shifted into first
gear once again. Another twenty minutes and they would
be at the warehouse.
Reuven closed his window against the big city noises.
"Well, I've been talking to Motti almost every night.
He's been very good about enduring my endless advice
but last night, I began to wonder if I do all the
grandiose things that I'm advising him to do."
Shmuel nodded. "Do you?"
Reuven tilted his head this way, then that way. "I try
to, but especially now that Shula's started cleaning
for Pesach, I keep thinking that there must be ways I
can help her more!"
"Hmmm," Shmuel said. The car revved up. "I'd like to
hear some of your terrific advice, myself."
Without even looking, Shmuel knew that Reuven was
blushing. "Nu?"
"Well," Reuven began, "like never having an important
discussion until both spouses have eaten."
"That's a good point. What else?"
"People don't usually drink enough, especially when
they're very busy, so I give Shula a big cup of juice
or coffee whenever I can. It's simple enough and she
really appreciates it."
"Nice."
They pulled into the parking lot with a slight skid.
Shmuel turned off the ignition and said, "We have a
couple more minutes. Tell me a few more things. It's
always helpful to hear good ideas."
"I told Motti that the six most beautiful words that a
wife wants to hear before Pesach are: What can I do to
help?"
Now it was Shmuel's turn to chuckle.
"I told him..." Reuven was really blushing red now,
"how I hid a fifty shekel note in the closet that I
knew Shula would be cleaning today for Pesach. She's
working so hard to find chometz but she keeps the
house so clean, I figured let her at least find
something! Hopefully, it'll make her feel better about
working so hard."
"I hope Motti bought a notebook," Shmuel offered.
"A LARGE notebook," Reuven retorted.
They both laughed.
"Okay, Shmuel," Reuven said emphatically, "now YOU tell
me YOUR great ideas!"
Shmuel thought for a moment. "Well, every year we stop
eating real chometz like noodles, cake and even
bread the week before we turn the kitchen over. We eat
kitniyos only. You know: rice, chickpeas, corn,
beans. That way, there's less tension in the house
since there is no actual chometz around and the
kids are none the worse for it, either."
"That's a good one!" Reuven pulled a small note pad
from his shirt pocket and began to write. "I have to
tell Motti that one..."
