Chapter 21: The Matchmaker
In the summer of 1918, I was 12 years old. My parents told me, “It’s time to consider who you would have as a future husband.”
In Feodosia, there were many matchmakers. In the Jewish community, there were three considerations. One I couldn’t stand! She was terrifying with claws for her spotted gnarled hands; she had warts on her nose and wore ragged, patched clothes. Her name was Zeide. She bent over when she walked, moving stiffly, and needed a cane. She was slow in all her movements, but she knew all the families in Feodosia for generations. She admitted to being over 80 years old, but I think she was lying. She had to be older. Others said she must have been over a hundred. Mamá begged me to see her.
Mamá explained, “Zeide is very clever. When others couldn’t live so long, this woman knew how to survive. She came with the first people who came here. She knew the original people of our synagogue. She matched up our Rabbi and his wife.”
Because of that, I knew I had to honor her with a visit. I had to listen to her and be kind. I had to mind Mamá. And then I exacted a promise from Mamá, just like in the negotiations my parents had with our customers, that once I met her and was polite, Mamá would bring the matchmaker I wanted.
Mamá told me, “You have a mind of your own. You’ll meet two matchmakers. Then you’ll decide.”
I don’t know how Mamá did it. She made the arrangements for both matchmakers to come, but not on the same day or time. I met Zeide first. When she spoke, she had the sweetest honied voice and speech! She spoke in pure Yiddish. No Russian accent. I thought I knew Yiddish, but both my mother and I heard words from her that we were new to us.
Zeide told me she knew me. She said I was hard-working, caring, intelligent, and talented. I thought, “How could she know so much?” Then she told me she already had a young man she’d like to set me up with, but she wouldn’t tell me about him until I decided to have her be my matchmaker. Then she asked me what I wanted in a husband.
I told her, “I want someone like Papá, who works hard and loves my mother.”
She said, “I tell you, you don’t just want a hard-working man. You want someone who will keep you warm in the winter and food on your table. You want this too, nu?”
“I do?” I wondered what she was talking about.
“Yes, you do, dearie,” she said with satisfaction. She slowly got up without having touched Mamá’s best tea and spoke, “Thank you, Rahel, for the hospitality. When Miriam’s ready, tell me, and I’ll be back.”
The next day, we received the other matchmaker I asked for. She wore a splendid outfit. She had a velvet skirt that looked like it could have fed a whole family for a month. She wore fancy shoes. Papá said not to trust someone who wore fancy-styled shoes. She spoke Russian and broken Yiddish, if any. I looked at Mamá and realized we weren’t going to be happy. She looked at Mamá’s cupboard, staring closely at the samovar and dishes as if considering how much she might charge for her services.
“Would you like some tea?” asked Mamá.
“Yes, that would be nice,” she answered.
I spoke up, “I’m sorry we asked you here today. We aren’t ready for any guests.” Mamá’s eyebrows went up.
I pushed, “We don’t have any tea to offer.”
“No?” said the matchmaker. She looked at Mamá, who pointed her head towards the door. “I see. If you change your mind, you know how to find me. My fee is 3% of your dowry.”
“Thank you for coming,” I said. Mamá said nothing but held the door open. That was the last we saw of her again.
The next day, Zeide returned. She said, “I can see you are a reasonable and decisive young woman. So is the young man I have in mind for you. And he would be very proud to have such a wife as you. His name is Yasha Kajia. He’s a teacher at the Yeshiva, one of the few chosen for such a life. That means he’s smart and comes from a good family. He’s well-connected to one of the Rabbis. He’s 21 years old, and soon he should marry.”
I did the math. She chose someone who was nine years older than I was. I couldn’t believe the age difference!
She continued, “His father’s a tradesman like your father, but Yasha will become something more than that. He’s faithful, hardworking, and studious. I know his parents. They are good people. Your brother Morris knows him. Have your brother take you tomorrow to stand at the corner of the Yeshiva and watch as the students go in. You’ll see Yasha there. Don’t talk to him. That’s forbidden. I want you to look at him and go home. Tell your Mamá and Papá what you see. Then, listen to your brother speak.”
This all sounded very exciting!
My mother asked, “My daughter is still young.”
“That’s true,” said Zeide, “I am not wrong. It will be a good match. He will be Miriam’s beshert. That means the one she is destined to be with. They will be true to each other. Soulmates.” She said that last word with a kiss to her fingers and cast the kiss into the air. She closed her eyes momentarily like the grownups when they tasted fine wine.
I looked from Zeide to my mother. And they both turned to me and smiled broadly.
I repeated, “He’s my beshert?”
Zeide leaned into my face and said confidently, “Yes, Yasha’s the one.”
She leaned back and said to my mother, “Now I have to ask Yasha if he’ll wait for your daughter to grow some more. Your daughter will know when the time’s right.”
“Yes, she will,” said Mamá.
We sat in silence while we drank our tea together. Mamá put the best Sabbath china on the table. We could see Zeide appreciated it. I heard her slurping through a space where a tooth was missing. She drank so slowly! But we waited for her to enjoy the tea.
1 - Nathan Lombrozo - Son of Yehuda, lying in the casket, husband of (tiny) Rachel Cocos and father to Moishe, Schmuel, Yosef, Miriam, and Perl.
