The Matchmaker's Gift(71)

“She is too young.”

“She is not qualified.”

“She has lied to all of us for years.”

“She takes the bread from our children’s mouths.”

“She steals the matches from behind our backs.”

“She is an unmarried woman who has no shame.”

“She defiles our customs and spits on our ways.”

“She is a witch!”

In an attempt to make their condemnation appear more thoughtful, some of the men asked questions instead.

“Does the law not say she must be wed before she can practice our profession?”

“Who is she to hold herself out as a better matchmaker than any of us?”

“With no proper teacher or mentor for the trade, how can she be trusted with her task?”

Others preferred to use their time to petition for the consequences they felt should be imposed upon her.

“She should be banned from making any further matches.”

“She must submit her records and be made to reimburse us for the money we have lost.”

“Our rabbis should refuse to marry any of her future matches.”

There was more, of course. So much more. Voices were raised in a furious chorus of insults and curses, exaggerations and lies. Hour after hour, she was forced to endure the storm of vitriol.

And yet, this time Sara was not frightened. She was no longer a child hiding in the balcony. She was a woman facing her accusers head-on. She had not yet decided how much she would say about the nature of her gift, but she would not allow these men to demean her. When she was finally called upon to speak, her cheeks did not flush and her knees did not quake. She was barely over five feet tall, but she stood straight and firm and unafraid.

“There have been many things said about me today, but I would like to begin with what is true. Of everyone here, I am the youngest. I am also the only woman. These are facts I cannot change. It is also true that as a shadchanteh, I have certain talents that the men in this room do not have.”

Her assertions were met with a series of grumblings from the other side of the room.

“As for the claim that I am unqualified, I have been making matches since I was ten years old.”

“There—you see?” Shternberg spat. “Now she admits it! For years, she claimed she made no matches. Do you see how she lies?”

Sara waited until Shternberg finished his outburst. When he was done, she began again. “You and your colleagues spoke for five hours, Mr. Shternberg, and I did not interrupt any of you. Now that it is my time to speak, I expect you to extend the same courtesy to me.”

A few of the men raised their voices again. “What impertinence!” “What gall!”

The prune-faced elder, Rabbi Pearl, brought down his cane on the floor again. “Silence!” he shouted. “She is right. The beis din is a sacred institution, bound by halacha, by Jewish law. The law demands integrity and civility. There will be no more outbursts. Is that understood?”

The men quieted down, but they did not look pleased.

“Thank you,” Sara said calmly. She pulled three journals from her bag and carried them to the judges’ table. “These are my private records,” she said. “Records I have kept for the past eleven years. In them, I have detailed all of my matches, including any amounts I was paid. Before the wedding of Beryl Klein, I received no personal payment for any match I made.”

Grossman snorted. “‘No personal payment,’ she says,” he mumbled under his breath.

Sara ignored his whisperings. “My first match was for my sister, Hindel. By now, many of you have heard the story. I did not make another match until I turned thirteen years old. That was when I met Jacob Tunchel and his wife, Miryam Nachman. There was no contract for that match. Indeed, I have never used a contract.”

“You don’t use contracts, even now?” Rabbi Kaufman interrupted.

“I do not pair people in the usual way, so I do not find it necessary. I only advocate for a match when I am certain it will be a success.”

Rabbi Kaufman looked skeptical. “How can a shadchan ever be certain? Surely, you must have made many introductions that failed to result in marriage proposals.”

Sara shook her head. “With all due respect, I have not.”

The shadchanim grumbled on their side of the aisle, and Rabbi Pearl banged his cane a third time.

Because Sara had no idea how long she would be allowed to speak, she thought it best to forge ahead. “In any event, it was the Tunchel match that first brought the shadchanim to my father. The Lewis Street matchmaker came to our home and demanded to know what I had been paid. I was brought into the room to be questioned, and I swore that I had received no money.” She hesitated. “I later learned that the father of the bride gave my father a gold bracelet as a token of his appreciation.”

The bearded men were on their feet as the sanctuary erupted. Shternberg screamed louder than all the others. “This proves she is a liar!” he said. “This proves that we have always been right!” He turned to his grim-faced colleagues. “What do I always say? When a thief kisses you, count your teeth!”

Rabbi Sheinkopf stood from his chair. “The next man who speaks out of turn will be ejected from these proceedings! All of you—take a seat or leave!” He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. “Miss Glikman has revealed this new information regardless of how harmful it is to her case. I would argue that this admission proves her intentions to be honest and fair. Furthermore, the gift was made over eight years ago. This panel will draw no conclusions until the proceeding is complete.” He turned to Sara. “You may continue.”