Timing is everything

Recently, I read a true story of a man who, enjoying a quiet moment alone with his wife ("yichud") after their wedding ceremony, finally told her that he'd actually been in love with her for over a decade.

Pragmatic soul that she is, she responded, "What took you so long?"

Odd as this may sound, I think there's actually an answer to that question.

When I was 21, I was no prize. With benefit of 20/20 hindsight, I think I was probably strikingly immature for my age. (Was??? For years, I've harbored the opinion that immaturity is a family trait. Oy, I could tell you tales . . . but I won't.)

I was also still going through my rebelling-against-Judaism phase. It wasn't until I was a few months shy of 24 that I set foot in a synagogue service again voluntarily for the first time in several years.

My husband was, likewise, working out the details.

The story goes like this: We met in synagogue. Period. That's all there is, there ain't no more. 'Cause the truth of the matter is that we'd known each other for so long before we started dating that we have absolutely no idea when we actually met for the first time.

"What took you so long?"

The timing wasn't right.

It's not enough for two people to be in the same place at the same time: Each of you has to have something worthwhile to offer. At 21, I had nothing to offer that would have been of interest to my now-husband. It could only have happened when it happened. For a relationship to succeed, each person has to be ready for the other.

Each of us brought a newly-rediscovered love of synagogue-going to the relationship, he with his knowledge of the siddur (prayer book), me with my knowledge of home ritual. And he brought me to folk dancing at a point at which I was interested in learning it.

That's how it came to pass that we've been married 29 years as of today. Happy Anniversary, sweets.