Rabbi Fischel Schachter
Worrying about Marriage
אל תירא כי אתך אנכי
“Do not fear, for I am with you” (Bereishit 26:24)
When I was nineteen years old learning in the Yeshiva Torah V’Daas, there was at one point three different boys expected to get married within a short time of each other. However, much to the chagrin of everyone, two of the marriages never came to fruition. In one instance, the kallah dropped the shidduch; in the other case, the boy went for a routine doctor exam only to be told that something suspicious was discovered. That as well caused enough worry to call off the wedding. Now there only remained one more boy scheduled to be married. His name was Shlomi, and he was my chavrusa (study partner).
After hearing how these two other boys experienced such a heartbreaking reality of their future marriages disintegrating, he was extremely worried. “I am certain I will not get married,” he said to me. “The Gemara (Shabbos 106a) says that if one person amidst a group dies, everyone in the group should worry. Here, two boys had their weddings called off. The same is bound to happen to me.” Trying to calm him down, I said, “Shlomi, tell me what you are worried about.” And so, hesitantly, he began.
“The wedding is scheduled to be in Connecticut. What if on the way to the wedding I will get a flat tire?” “That is what you’re worried about?” I exclaimed. “Don’t worry; we’ll drive behind you.” What if you get a flat tire,” he continued to say. “We’ll make sure to have a pickup truck full of tires.” Still burdened with fears of the unexpected, he said, “What if there is a storm? “So we’ll get umbrellas.” “What if they close the highways? What if there is a terrorist attack?” I didn’t know how long the list was going to be, but he continued on. “What if my kallah drops the shidduch?” “Listen Shlomi,” I said interrupting him, “I hate to tell you this, but if your kallah hears what you are worried about, she may have good reason to call off the wedding.” I knew Shlomi was always a sensible boy, but here he was going off the deep end.
Sitting there trying to help Shlomi, I wasn’t getting too far. As we continued to attempt to work matters out, a man walked into the room. Fortunately, he was a mental health professional. Walking over to him, I said, “If you don’t mind helping, Shlomi is really worried about his wedding. I do not know what to do.” “Don’t worry,” the man replied, “it’s completely normal. It is the pre-trauma period before married life. Just tell him to come over to me.”
As Shlomi headed over to the man and began speaking to him, somehow I was privy to sit in on the private session. “Take a piece of paper and fold it in half,” he said to Shlomi. “On one side of the page write the word ‘probability,’ and on the other side write ‘non-probability.’ Now, what are you worried about?” he asked. “I am embarrassed to tell you,” Shlomi shyly muttered. “Don’t be ashamed; just go ahead.”
“Well, I am worried about getting a flat tire. “Okay, Shlomi, what are the chances of getting a flat tire?” “2%” he answered. “Fine,” the man considered. “Let’s say 2%. Now write on the other side of the paper that there is 98% non-probability that you will not get a flat tire.” “Well,” continued Shlomi, “I am also worried about a terrorist attack.” “Okay, how likely is that to happen?” “1%,” answered Shlomi. “So write 99% non-probability on the other side.” With each of the concerns raised, it was always more than a ninety percent non-probability chance.
Concluding the talk with Shlomi, the man said, “Whenever you are worried, look at the paper and calculate what the statistics are.” After this conversation, it seemed that Shlomi felt better. As Shlomi went home that night, however, he began to fret again. What happened? His list of every possible consideration of what could go wrong grew and grew until he had a nice long list. It was close to an encyclopedia.
But that wasn’t it. He started adding up the statistics as follows: 2% chance of a flat tire plus 1% chance of a terrorist attack plus 3% of a storm plus 1% that I may not be well plus 1% that the kallah will not be well. At the end of the count, there was a sum total of close to a three hundred percent chance that he was not getting married. I didn’t know how to help him any longer. But finally, one day while we were in yeshiva, that all changed.
As I was talking to Shlomi about his laundry list of worries, a gentleman entered the room. He was selling raffle tickets for a menorah. It was then that the idea occurred to me. I am going to buy him a raffle ticket. And so I did. I then went to Shlomi and said, “Shlomi, you know what? I bought you a raffle ticket for a menorah.” He looked at me strangely. “What do you mean a raffle ticket for a menorah?” “You should call your future father-in-law,” I told Shlomi,” and tell him that if he plans on buying you a menorah for Chanukah he shouldn’t, because you are going to win this raffle.” “Are you out of your mind?” Shlomi shouted. “I never win these things!” “Look,” I said trying to calm him down. “What are the chances of you winning this menorah? It is the same as all these other worries you have. If you are so sure that these unfortunate incidents are going to happen, how come you are unsure if you are going to win the menorah?” After saying that, Shlomi calmed down a bit. I finally felt that I had done well. And indeed, for the next two weeks, Shlomi was at peace.
But then the fateful day arrived. As I walked into the yeshiva one morning, Shlomi was not there. And that wasn’t good news because he was known for his punctuality. It was then that I was notified that a phone call awaited me. “It’s Shlomi’s father,” the boys told me. Uneasy and nervous, I slowly approached the payphone hanging on the wall. With shaky hands, I picked up the phone. “Hello?” “Hi, it’s Shlomi’s father. She called. It’s not good; come over to the house.” When I heard those words, my heart sank. His kallah must have broken off the shidduch. As I hung up the phone, all that could be heard amongst the boys standing nearby was, “She called, she called…”
Walking to the house, my knees were shaking and I felt terrible. I opened the door and headed upstairs to Shlomi’s room. The room was dark and I knew that I was in for the worst news. Turning to Shlomi, I quietly asked, “When did she call?” Shlomi said, “I don’t know; about an hour ago.” “What did she say?” As I asked this question, Shlomi immediately picked up his head in bewilderment. “What do you mean ‘What did she say?’ She said that she works as a secretary in a school and she found out that I just won a menorah. Do you know what this means?”
It then hit me. “She called” had nothing to do with breaking the shidduch, but rather Shlomi’s kallah congratulating him on winning the menorah. Yet Shlomi could not deal with the unexpected results of him winning. If he could oddly enough win the lottery, the chances of something wrong occurring for his wedding were that much more real. When I finally understood this, I wasn’t sure if I should cry or laugh. “What do we learn from this?” Shlomi said with a crack in his voice. “What do we learn from this?” I sighed in exasperation. “You know what we learn from this? Next time you don’t ask me for advice.” Yet, despite this incident, it was not long before matters improved.
After discussing the issue with the Mashgiach (dean) of the yeshiva and being reassured that Hashem ultimately runs the world, Shlomi finally came to terms with handling his upcoming marriage. And baruch Hashem, without the flat tires, terrorist attacks and turbulent storms, Shlomi finally happily married.
In life, we tend to worry and worry and worry some more. But sometimes we would be much better off readjusting our perspective and instead of considering everything that could go wrong, placing our trust in Hashem. While we may be led to believe that matters will go awry and the worst is inevitable, those statistics only say so much. When we are informed that we in fact won the menorah, our response should be to say to ourselves, “I know Hashem, You are running the show. You created the world and You determine who wins the lottery.”
