The Matter Comes from Hashem

Shabbat shalom.

There’s a famous story in the Midrash. A Roman noblewoman once asked Rabbi Yossi bar Chalafta, “In how many days did your G-d create the world?”

“Six days,” he answered.

“And what has He been doing ever since?”

Rabbi Yossi replied, “He sits and makes matches” (Bereishit Rabbah 68:4).

She laughed. “That’s all? Even I can do that. I have many servants, and in one hour I can pair them all off.”

So she lined up a thousand men and a thousand women and paired them. By the next morning, the results were chaos. Some had black eyes, others bruises, and every one of them wanted out. Then she came back to Rabbi Yossi and admitted, “There is no G-d like your G-d.”

Our sages put it this way:

“It is as difficult to pair them as the splitting of the Sea of Reeds.” (Sotah 2a)

Think about that. Bringing two people together in a lasting, holy marriage is compared to one of the greatest miracles in our history.

The search for Rivkah

In Parashat Ḥayei Sarah, Avraham sends his trusted servant on one of the most important missions in the Torah: to find a wife for Yitzḥak.

The servant doesn’t rely on his own wisdom. He stands by the well and prays. He asks Hashem for a sign, but it’s a very wise one. He doesn’t ask for the most beautiful woman or the richest family. He asks for the woman who will say, “Drink, and I will water your camels also” (Genesis 24:14).

Then Rivkah comes. Before he even finishes praying, she gives him water and says, “I will draw for your camels also, until they have finished drinking” (Genesis 24:19).

A thirsty camel can drink a huge amount of water. Rivkah wasn’t doing the bare minimum. She was showing chesed, lovingkindness that goes beyond what’s expected and asks for nothing back.

When the servant tells the whole story to Rivkah’s family, even Lavan and Betuel recognize what has happened:

מֵה׳ יָצָא הַדָּבָר Mei-Hashem yatza hadavar, “The matter comes from Hashem.” (Genesis 24:50)

The Talmud uses this very verse as proof that “a woman is designated for a man by the Holy One, blessed be He” (Moed Katan 18b). This is what we call the bashert, the one destined for us.

Notice something, though. The servant prayed, but he also watched. He paid attention to character. Hashem’s guidance and our discernment weren’t competing with each other. They worked together.

The Torah ends the story with these words:

“Yitzḥak brought her into the tent of Sarah his mother, and she became his wife, and he loved her; and Yitzḥak was comforted after his mother.” (Genesis 24:67)

Rashi explains, based on the Midrash, that while Sarah was alive, her Shabbat candle burned from one Erev Shabbat to the next, there was a blessing in her dough, and a cloud of the Divine Presence rested over her tent. When Sarah died, these things stopped. When Rivkah entered the tent, they all returned (Rashi on Genesis 24:67; Bereishit Rabbah 60:16).

Yitzḥak looked at Rivkah and saw his mother’s qualities: her light, her generosity, her faith. The right spouse doesn’t just make us happy. The right spouse brings light back into the tent.

Two searches

I want to share how Hashem worked in my own life.

Many years ago, I was serving as a helper at a prophecy seminar. I was very involved in my church and wanted the event to succeed. I was also at a point in my life where I genuinely wanted to find a wife. The trouble was that I was shy and cautious, and I wanted someone who shared my values and convictions. That isn’t easy to find when you’re too shy to look very hard.

Meanwhile, a young woman named Coralyn came to that seminar for a completely different reason.

She wasn’t looking for a husband. She was looking for truth.

She had been praying that Hashem would show her a day of rest. Through that seminar, He answered her by teaching her about Shabbat.

In the reception area of that building, our two searches crossed paths.

A friend introduced us. My first thought, I’ll be honest, was: She’s cute.

But what really caught my attention was what happened when she started talking. She asked deep, thoughtful questions about what was being taught. I mostly listened, and I answered when I could. I realized very quickly that she wasn’t there casually. She wanted to know what Scripture really said, and if she became convinced something was true, she intended to live it.

I knew right away that she was different, and I wanted to get to know her.

We talked that evening and every evening that week. Soon she started attending my church. I got her phone number and called her every day.

As I got to know her, my first impression proved right. She had a servant’s heart. She volunteered for whatever needed to be done. She cared for the helpless and those in need, and she always made sure everyone was included. Even before she came to our church, she had been president of the Christian club at her college.

When she learned about Shabbat, she wanted to keep it. When she learned about the moedim, she wanted to celebrate them. Knowing what Scripture said was never enough for her. She wanted to live it.

Sometimes that challenged me.

The coffee

A couple of weeks after we met, Coralyn wanted to get coffee one Shabbat evening. She bought herself a cup. I didn’t buy anything.

I already understood that we shouldn’t buy and sell on Shabbat. But instead of explaining that to her, I just quietly didn’t buy anything.

Later she found out why, and she wasn’t happy. She wasn’t upset that I’d skipped coffee. She was upset because, in her words, “You knew this, and you didn’t tell me?”

That taught me something important very early. Coralyn didn’t want someone who would just stay quiet and go along. She wanted someone who would share the truth with her and grow alongside her. She was challenging me to become that man.

Our sages describe a wife as an ezer kenegdo, “a helper opposite him” (Genesis 2:18). Sometimes the help comes precisely through the opposition. She is outgoing and spontaneous; I am quiet, deliberate, and cautious. Those differences didn’t pull us apart. They completed us. To this day, she pushes me out of my comfort zone and helps me become a better husband, father, and man of faith.

Afraid to commit

Within a few months, I knew this was the woman I wanted to marry. But I hesitated.

My parents were divorced, and I didn’t want to make a mistake. I understood how serious marriage was, and honestly, I was afraid. So I took my time.

I prayed. Every night, Coralyn and I prayed together. I asked my mother for her advice and her blessing. She liked Coralyn right away and told me she especially loved how smart she was.

Gradually, my confidence grew.

Then, being the thoughtful and deliberate person I am, I couldn’t just ask her. I designed a scavenger hunt. It started at her house and sent her from one mutual friend’s home to another, solving clues along the way. Some of my clues were apparently a little too clever, so it took much longer than I expected.

Finally, the last clue led her to our church, the place that had become such a big part of both our lives. Waiting there were our friends and family. That’s where I asked Coralyn to marry me. She told me later she had a pretty good idea what was going on the whole time, but she enjoyed every minute of it.

We were married about two years after that first meeting.

Looking back

When I picture that day in the reception area, I realize I couldn’t see any of what was coming.

I couldn’t see seven children. I couldn’t see the blessings or the challenges we would face together. I couldn’t see how she would stretch a reserved young man beyond his comfort zone, or the strong leader and teacher she would become.

If Hashem had shown me all of it that day, I don’t think I would have believed it. I probably would have been overwhelmed.

I simply knew there was something different about her.

At the time, I didn’t recognize Hashem’s hand. Looking back, I see it everywhere. Our sages call this hashgachah pratit, Hashem’s personal providence over the details of our lives. It’s often hard to see while we’re living through it. It becomes clear when we look back.

Like Avraham’s servant, I was attracted to what I first saw. But her character confirmed what attraction alone never could: her willingness to serve, her concern for others, her courage, her love of Scripture, and the quality I still see in her today, a genuine hunger to know Hashem and His ways.

I thought I was looking for a wife. Coralyn was looking for truth. And Hashem brought those two searches together.

Mei-Hashem yatza hadavar. The matter came from Hashem.

A call to action

The Talmud teaches:

“One who loves his wife as himself, and honors her more than himself… of him the verse says, ‘You shall know that your tent is at peace.’” (Yevamot 62b)

This week, I want to give each of us something concrete to do.

• If you are single, look for Rivkah’s qualities, not only Rivkah’s appearance. Notice how someone treats the waiter, the stranger, the elderly, and the person nobody else includes. Ask whether this person wants to grow closer to Hashem. Then pray, as the servant did, for Hashem’s guidance, and be willing to wait for it.
• If you are married, look back and trace Hashem’s hand in how you met. Tonight, tell your spouse your story again, and thank Hashem out loud for it. Then name one way your spouse has made you better. If you don’t pray together, start this week. Five minutes before bed can change the atmosphere of your home.
• If you know something true, share it in love. Don’t be the one who quietly skips the coffee. The people we love deserve a partner who helps them grow.
• If you are a parent, pray for your children’s future spouses by name if you know them, or by faith if you don’t. Teach your children what to look for: chesed, faith, and a heart that wants to live what it learns.
• And for all of us: let’s be the kind of people Rivkah was. Draw water for the camels. Do more than what’s asked. Bring light back into the tent.

Because when two people who love Hashem build a home together, the candle keeps burning from Shabbat to Shabbat, the blessing stays in the dough, and Hashem’s presence rests over the tent.

May Hashem guide every search among us, and may each of us, looking back one day, be able to say with full hearts:

Mei-Hashem yatza hadavar. This came from Hashem.

Shabbat shalom.