The Matchmaker's Gift(72)

“Thank you.” Sara nodded. “After the Tunchel wedding, I hid my efforts. If I sensed that a man and a woman should meet, I put them in each other’s path, but I did so without anyone’s knowledge. In order to avoid the issue of payment, I made sure no one knew of my endeavors.”

Rabbi Kaufman strummed his fingers on the table in front of him. “Although you reaped no financial benefit from those matches, there is, nonetheless, an argument to be made that you deprived the shadchanim of the money they would have earned if they had matched the parties themselves.”

“Perhaps,” Sara said. “But I would assert that had I not intervened, most of those people—especially the women—would have remained unmarried to this day. When I matched my teacher, Miss Perelman, for example, she was twenty-seven years old. The neighborhood had declared her a spinster, and the shadchanim had given up on her.”

Rabbi Sheinkopf interjected. “An excellent point.”

“It was the same with Ida Raskin,” Sara said. “After she broke off her first engagement, the shadchanim proclaimed her too difficult to match.”

“A very high-profile wedding,” Rabbi Pearl mused, stroking the long gray strands of his beard.

“For which you were paid handsomely,” said Rabbi Kaufman.

“The benefit my family received was not as simple as that,” Sara corrected him. “Moishe Raskin gave my family food. He gave my brothers jobs. He paid our rent. But he never discussed a fee with me. In fact, we never discussed money at all. He continued to pay my family’s bills—not out of any contractual obligation, but out of human decency and friendship. At the time, my family was about to be evicted. We did not have enough food to put on the table. Moishe Raskin was a generous man.”

“So generous that he paid for you to go to Barnard College.” Rabbi Kaufman did not hide his smirk.

“That is correct,” said Sara plainly. “Mr. Raskin knew that a college education was my father’s dying wish for me. I left Barnard after one year, however, and continued my education at Hunter College.”

Grossman and Shternberg rose from their seats. “If I may speak now?” Shternberg asked. Before Sara could object, Rabbi Kaufman bowed his head in agreement.

“I believe we have heard enough from Miss Glikman. She admits that she was paid for the Tunchel match. She admits that Moishe Raskin paid her family’s bills. She has lied—both outright and by omission. She has manipulated the truth for her own gain.” Shternberg paused for dramatic effect. “Can this young woman do what we do? Perhaps. But when Abraham wanted a wife for Isaac, he sent his servant Eliezer to find a match. He sent a man, not a woman, to carry out the sacred task. Miss Glikman wants us all to believe that she is singularly blessed with the gift of finding people love.” Shternberg gestured to the rows of men behind him. “But why should any of us believe her?”

The sudden sound of footsteps on stone echoed from the back of the sanctuary.

“Because all of what she says is true!”

Sara recognized the voice; she turned to see five familiar women marching up the center aisle. Together, they were an undaunted band—holding their graceful heads high and swishing their skirts shamelessly across the cold, hard floor. They came to a stop at the front of the room, taking their places beside Sara, whose heart swelled at the sight of them—Beryl Klein, Ida Raskin, Miryam Tunchel, Sophie Perelman, and Hindel Ambromovich, Sara’s sister.

Rabbi Kaufman stood to object. “This beis din is not open to the public. This is a private proceeding.”

Beryl Klein, who had already spoken, stepped forward and pointed to the rows of shadchanim. “Then what are all of those men doing here?”

“They are parties to the case. What happens here today is of personal interest to them.”

But Beryl would not be deterred. “Seeing as Sara was the matchmaker for all of us, what happens here is of personal interest to us as well.”

Rabbi Kaufman grimaced, but Rabbi Sheinkopf stood firm. “Let them speak,” he insisted. “We have listened to testimony from twenty-eight men. Surely, we can find the patience to listen to these five women.”

Rabbi Pearl pulled at his beard. “I agree. I would like to hear what they have to say.” He blinked his eyes. “Who will speak first?”

Beryl Klein crossed her arms over her chest. “I will begin. When I entered the sanctuary, you were debating Sara’s talent and character. I am here to vouch for both. When Sara first came into my knish shop to tell me she had found my bashert, I did not believe it was possible. I was certain there was no hope for me to marry the man I loved. When Sara spoke his name out loud, I thought she had lost her mind. She swore to me that no matter the complications, she would bring about a wedding. She made a match between two families at war—a match none of the men in this room would have attempted. She did not let the difficulty of the job dissuade her. I will owe her my happiness for the rest of my life.”

It was Ida Raskin who spoke next. Marriage had agreed with her—she carried herself with even greater confidence than Sara remembered. Well into the middle of her second pregnancy, Ida rested her hands on her rounded belly. “I am Ida Lipovsky,” she said. “Formerly Ida Raskin. I am sure my father has been the subject of much of your discussion today.”

“He has,” Rabbi Pearl admitted. “What can you tell us about the compensation he paid to Miss Glikman and her family? Was there a contract for her services?”