by Carol Blatter (Tucson, AZ)
“Isn’t Carol married yet?”
Gossipy women whispered to my mother thinking I didn’t hear them. But I did, and it hurt. Obsessive thoughts stuck in my head unabated. I was worried. Would I ever find a Jewish husband?
How I wanted to be married! As early as my young twenties I knew that I wanted to marry a Jewish man and carry on the Jewish traditions for our family (to be). But finding such a spouse was challenging. And waiting felt like an eternity.
Painfully, I waited, and life felt like a travesty. Imagine! I had graduated from college without an engagement ring when the pressure for a young Jewish woman to marry was common (even though my parents tried to be subtle in their messaging).
My mother, a college graduate in 1931, expected me to get a college degree, become a teacher (although I was not interested in teaching), and find a suitable mate. Education, first. Marriage, second. “Suitable” meant a Jewish professional young man with a good future who would earn well and provide for me and a future family. A mensch.
Dad, who was still wedded to Old World thinking, wanted to see me married, but his criteria were what the prospective suitor’s father did for a living. Mom would say, “Albert, it doesn’t matter what his father does, I want to know what he does. That’s more important. She’s not marrying his father!”
Years later, on a wintry night at Shabbat services in January, 1966, I met Harold for the first time at the Highland Park (NJ) Conservative Synagogue. Mom was with me. During the Oneg Shabbat, she noticed Harold standing alone. Knowing Mom, I could read her thoughts. Perhaps he was single?
Never one to miss an opportunity to make sure I would meet the right man, Mom encouraged me to start a conversation with him. But that wasn’t something I wanted to do. I was polite, but distant. It felt awkward. And, sadly, there were no sparks.
It wasn’t until a year later, after I had forgotten about Harold, when my husband-to-be met Mom in synagogue, and Mom invited him to dinner on a Sunday when I would be home from graduate school in Baltimore.
I still remember when Harold arrived at Mom’s apartment. He was handsome, tall, with hazel eyes and a kind smile. He had loving hands and a soft, sweet face. I sensed a mensch, and was mesmerized. On the three-hour drive from New Jersey back to school in Baltimore, I kept thinking about him.
A year and a half later, after asking Mom for permission to marry me, Harold put a ring on my finger. (Dad had died a few years before our engagement.) Our wedding ceremony was held at the Princeton Jewish Center in Princeton NJ on March 30, 1969. This date was chosen so we could marry before the prohibition of marrying between Passover and Shavuot.
Harold and I signed the Ketubah, my new husband broke the glass, and all in attendance cried, Mazel tov!
Now, following the traditions that my husband grew up with, we keep a Kosher kitchen. His parents changed dishes, pots, and pans for Passover, and so do we. They attended Shabbat services, and so do we. They observed the High Holidays, Chanukah, and the festivals, and so do we.
My fears of never finding a Jewish spouse or having a Jewish family of my own have melted away over the years. But I remember how painful it was when I was younger to wonder what the future might hold if I never married…
Carol J. Wechsler Blatter has contributed writings to the 2024 Birren Collection The Gift of A Long Life, Chaleur Press, Story Circle Network Anthologies, Writing it Real anthologies, The Jewish Writing Project, the Jewish Literary Journal, True Stories Well Told, Writer’s Advice, New Millennium Writings, and 101words.org. She has contributed poems to Story Circle Network’s Real Women Write, Growing/ Older, and Covenant of the Generations by Women of Reform Judaism. Ms. Blatter is a recently retired psychotherapist, she is also a wife, mother, and grandmother of her very special granddaughter who already writes her own stories.
The Jewish Writing Project 