Mysterious Memento from Mexico
A certain young man once visited me and left me with a unique gift. It was a metal plate, shaped like a scroll, with his name engraved on it. I took it from him and put it into a drawer. I generally do not save gifts which people bestow upon me as tokens of their thanks, or any other souvenirs. Either I pass them on to others who could enjoy them, or I simply discard them. But every time I took this plate out of the drawer and looked at his name, for some reason, I put it back there.
For approximately eight years, whenever I thought of trashing it, I ended up keeping it. Why was I saving a piece of metal with someone’s name written on it? And especially since I had long forgotten what the boy looked like.
Moreover, whenever I did manage to throw it out, my secretary would invariably return it to my drawer, assuming I had deposited it in the wastebasket by mistake. Most mysteriously, this hunk of metal sat in my desk drawer for years upon end, seemingly a keepsake of no worth.
Meanwhile, my daughter, Sara, reached marriageable age. Many shidduch prospects came in, but I discounted all of them, for various reasons. The name on the metal plate kept flashing before my eyes. But I didn’t pay attention to it. A delegation from Mexico once visited me, suggesting this very bachur from Argentina, as a fitting shidduch for my daughter.
It was then that I remembered the incident of a few years earlier. During the Purim feast, when I was in a most joyous state, and slightly inebriated, my wife asked, “From where will Sara find her happiness? Will it come from France? From Eretz Yisrael?”
To which I responded, “From Mexico.”
“From Mexico?” my wife asked, aghast. “What is in Mexico?”
“I have no idea,” I replied, in all honesty. “That is what came out of my mouth.”
Now, when these men came from Mexico, suggesting a match with an Argentinean, the story came to my mind. I shared the incident with my wife. “But you said her intended would come from Mexico, not Argentina. Did you perhaps make a mistake? Is this Sara’s intended?”
“You are right,” I replied. “This point is what is holding back the shidduch. On the other hand, I strongly feel Hashem’s hand playing a role here. For eight years straight, I have kept a memento with this boy’s name on it. Whenever I decided to get rid of it, for some reason, I put it back in the drawer. Maybe it is a Heavenly sign that this boy is Sara’s shidduch. But, as you pointed out, he is not from Mexico. That is enough reason to nix it.”
- With his son-in-law, Rabbi Yitzchak Saban, shlita
When R’ Chaim Kurson of Mexico also suggested it, I told him of my hesitations. But he settled the entire matter with one statement. “Honored Rav, the boy was born in Mexico! His parents moved to Argentina only later. He is the one referred to in your words that Sara would find a shidduch from Mexico.”
“Give thanks to Hashem, for He is good!” I declared. “May He be blessed. I have not been mistaken. Baruch Hashem, Who has led me in the right direction. This is His Divine intervention, leading my daughter to her truly intended.”
My daughter married the young man from Mexico and merited establishing a fine Jewish home with him.
