It was one of those small acts that in reality are giant leaps of chesed
I
t was the day of my daughter’s chasunah.
I know I was there. However, I cannot remember who else was there. There were envelopes being placed in my hand, which had to end up in my inside pocket. After an hour of receiving envelopes and depositing them automatically and robotically in my inner pocket, I was roused to consciousness by my brother when he asked me, “Why did you just put the mini-eggroll I gave you in your inside pocket?”
The chuppah was a blur of memory; was I really the mesader kiddushin? Was my daughter really married?
The dancing appeared to me like a hazy maze of men moving rapidly in concentric circles as people continued to place envelopes (but no more eggrolls) in my hand. And although most of the chasunah remains a warm, blurry reminiscence, there is one event from that night that will remain etched in my memory forever.
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