The Rocky Road to the Chuppah

Three dates with my future husband, and I knew he was my zivug. Yehoshua was thoughtful and considerate in a way I hadn’t experienced before. It was the little things. He always held the door for me. If he was going to be more than five minutes late, he would call to let me know. He asked what I’d like to do on our date, but had a plan in case I didn’t. He even kept a cup of ice and a can of seltzer in the cup holder of his car in case I got thirsty on the traffic-prone drive from Queens to Manhattan. I mean, who does that?

But it wasn’t just superficial things. Yehoshua had the combination of worldly knowledge and Torah learning that I had been having a hard time finding. He was interesting, artistic, and well-rounded.

It didn’t take me long to realize I was going to marry Yehoshua. In my mind, the only thing left to do was choose the caterer and book the hall.

Unfortunately, he had other ideas.

At the end of our fourth date, Yehoshua got serious. “I think we should take a break.” He explained that he wanted to take some time to think things over.