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BOOK EXCERPT #1- "Splitting the Sea" by Tamar Ansh
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Dear JEMSEM Readers,

I would like to share with you the inside scoop of a book that I have just written. It is called "splitting the Sea" and yes, you guessed it, it is about shidduchim.

Ok - before you groan and say, "No! Not another do-what-I-say-or-you-wont-get-married book", read on, because this book is totally different. Its not about advice, its about chizuk.

"Splitting the Sea" has over THIRTY real life stories of how different people, from different walks of life, and different places around the globe, all met their soul mates, and how Hashem helped them in their search. It is also filled with divrei Torah, divrei chizuk, relevant articles from Torah sources and inspirational pieces from selected Rabbonim, Rebbetzins and therapists who deal with the singles public. There are tons of true stories of real people, just like you and me, who searched and searched -- some longer, some shorter --- but in the end all felt and saw clearly Yad Hashem in their lives from their journey in 'crossing the sea of shidduchim'. I really hope that you too, will be strengthened with the feeling that if so many others were helped by Hashem, then there is every reason that you will be too.

With best wishes for "easy sailing", 
Tamar Ansh

For More Iinformation see http://www.targum.com

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AT THE RIGHT TIME...

"There is a time for everything..." (Koheles 3:1)

Often people search and search for their life's partner, far and wide, and for years that partner seems to just elude them. The truth of the matter is that when Hashem decrees that someone has to wait, their zivug could be literally in their backyard, but they will nonetheless wait...

SHABBOS SHIDDUCH

"You're too picky," the shadchan told me. "Not enough makeup," said my friends.

And so the advice went on, year after year. After almost ten years of dating I was ready to throw in the towel. I felt as if I had met them all, and nine times out of ten I knew on the first date that this wasn't the one. After searching in Israel for nearly seven years, I returned to the States at the age of twenty-five. Meshaneh makom meshaneh mazel, I was told. Maybe I would have more luck in New York. And so the pattern continued. More wasted afternoons and evenings exchanging pleasantries and going nowhere.

One fine Shabbos a friend of mine took me to meet a family who might know someone for me. (Yeah, sure.) The young man in question had all the maalos (best qualities). He was religious from birth, came from a fine family, really knew how to learn, had a great parnassah, and was good-looking as well. Obviously something had to be wrong. Otherwise, why would he consider me, an old maid (in my eyes) and a baalas teshuvah with no yichus (lineage) and no money?

It turned out that he didn't consider me at all. How could he when he hadn't even heard about me? The family was his regular family where he ate every week. (His own family was living in Eretz Yisrael.) They were always on the alert for any shidduch opportunity that came their way.

After hearing more about him, I had to admit that there was one thing about him that bothered me, and therefore I had no interest in meeting him either. It may seem like a trivial detail, but to me it was a major issue: his age. They claimed he was twenty-four, but he looked much younger. I didn't want to marry someone younger than me.

Although he wasn't suitable for me, at least in my eyes, the family he ate by was another story. We really hit it off. They became my family, and I, too, ate with them practically every Shabbos. In fact, we were their only regular Shabbos guests.

And so for the next two years we both sat at their Shabbos table, looking high and low for our bashert, but not looking at each other. I never spoke a word to him, and he never spoke to me (except once, when I answered the door and it was him; he said, Good Shabbos, and I answered, Good Shabbos). For two long years I dated and dated and never even came close. At the age of twenty-seven I was already making calculations, figuring out how many years I had left for childbearing. It was scary. Not only that, I can't even describe the shame I felt. Being so old and still single in a family-oriented society was enough to make me want to disappear.

Then a miracle occurred. One fine day, out of the blue, my family informed me that he wanted to go out with me. My first reaction was NO. I was sure they were twisting his arm, and I would certainly not agree. After much convincing that the idea came from him and not them, I agreed to go out with him, but not without reservations. If this did not work out, one of us would have to find a new family. It would be too awkward to sit at the same table again with him, week after week, after having actually gone out with him.

And now let me mention a very interesting phenomenon. They arranged our first date for motzaei Shabbos. The Shabbos before we met, I knew that he was him. I had never spoken a word to him (other than that good Shabbos), and yet my bones told me that my destiny was about to change forever.

And so it was.

After our first date on motzaei Shabbos I wasn't sure if he was interested in me, but I was prepared to see this thing through to the end. When I heard he wanted to go out again, the following day, Sunday, I was surprised. He was actually interested in me?

The rest is history. On our third date, Monday night, he proposed. Afterward we went back to the family's house to drink a l'chaim. While we were sitting around the table talking, it suddenly dawned on me that I didn't even know his telephone number. Would it be proper to ask him for it? I'd never asked a guy for his phone number and didn't feel comfortable doing so. Then again, this wasn't just any guy. This was my chasan! And so I mustered up the courage and asked him for it. He was happy to oblige and jotted his number down on a small slip of paper.

The hour was late and I still had to get up early for work the following morning. I don't think I got to sleep before 4:00 a.m. When my alarm went off at six, I mechanically shut it off, wishing I could sleep in for a few hours, like any other day. As I lay there half asleep, waiting for the first of many snooze alarms to go off, I slowly woke up to reality and, as usual, started thinking of all the things I had to accomplish that day, totally forgetting that I was engaged. All of a sudden the memories started coming back. They were such vivid memories that they actually seemed real. But they couldn't possibly be real. After all those years of being single, I really believed that I was never going to get engaged. And I am honestly telling you that I couldn't decide if I actually got engaged or if it was a figment of my imagination! Then I saw the slip of paper on my nightstand that had my chasan's number on it. I rubbed my eyes, and it was still there --tangible and real. That's when I knew it was not just a dream.

Five weeks later we were married. Obviously there are many aspects of hashgachah pratis one can learn from our story, but the main thing everyone can clearly see is that when the time comes to meet one's bashert, that is the time. It will not happen a second before or later, and only Hashem knows when that right time will be. We sat at the same Shabbos table for two years, and yet the time wasn't right for us to marry until Hashem decreed it so.

So here I am, fifteen years later, bringing up eight beautiful children and still marveling at the ways of Hashem, ever thankful that I didn't give up or give in to the pressure. When the time is right, Hashem comes through.

P.S. While waiting on line for our civil marriage certificate I caught a glimpse of my chasan's passport. To my utter surprise, he was six months older than me!