“I won’t say anything. I’ll trust that just as Hashem hears my tefillos, He’ll hear my silence”
The chuppah had ended, and I headed out to begin the grueling 75-mile trip back home. Before I reached the parking lot, I was stopped by a man I didn’t recognize, who said his wife was waiting for me in the lobby.
The woman introduced herself and added her maiden name. I remembered Sorah G. from her time in Passaic 20 years ago, when she was a single woman just back from seminary.
She had secured a position as a second-grade morah and would occasionally ask me questions. Although we had lost touch, I recalled her situation.
She had rented an apartment with Leah H., and they became good friends. They only had one issue: Leah was obsessively and compulsively insistent that “everything had its place.”
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