And there we sat, you and I, for the next six Yom Kippurim— a wonderful “table shidduch”
I remember the first time I davened next to you, at the same table. Six months prior, I had moved into an apartment in our out-of-town community. As an “older single” in my mid-twenties, I appreciated the opportunity to live on my own while remaining within driving distance of my parents. I remember that first Tishrei. My traditionally observant parents really wanted me to join their Rosh Hashanah dinners. Ever the dutiful daughter, I complied. But Yom Kippur? Yom Kippur was mine to do with what I pleased, and I knew exactly where I wanted to go: our local yeshivah minyan.
I walked in to the women’s section, unsure where to sit. Then I saw you come in.
I knew you were younger than I was, but I’d met you at community events and was always impressed by your middos and insights when we chatted. Was it weird for a 20-something to sit with a high schooler? I knew your mother would join the table as well, so I decided to give it a try. You had already started davening, but you smiled warmly to let me know that a seat was available.
And there we sat, you and I, for the next six Yom Kippurim — a wonderful “table shidduch.” Your kavanah was unattainable for me, but I’d like to say I tried. When I’d want to sit for a moment, I’d glance over at you and find renewed strength. Did you ever sit down? I would cry at times as the years went on and I was still single. And I saw you get emotional sometimes, though I wouldn’t guess what was on your mind. Year after year, there we sat, each of us feeding off of the other’s concentration. Whenever your mother joined us, I saw her watching you with pride.
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