Gravel crunches under my feet obnoxiously as I walk down the path of the Kleinfeld property. A couple of hundred feet in front of me, I see the three daughters of Mr. Kleinfeld—Mary, Chaya, and Sara—going about their daily chores, dressed in their usual traditional clothing. In addition, I can see Mrs. Kleinfeld in the kitchen window. Unlike her daughters, she wears a tichel [טיכל‎‎], which Mary explained to me as a sort of cloth to cover her hair. It’s required that married women wear them to conform with Jewish laws surrounding basheydnkeyt [באשיידנקייט‎].  

Over the years, I have gained a quite wide vocabulary in the Yiddish language, having talked with Mary for so long now. At first, it started out as curiosity; I couldn’t ignore the differences in our cultures, and I found it fascinating. I would ask all kinds of questions, and she’d answer to the best of her abilities. If she didn’t know how to respond or how to properly explain something, she’d go ask her father and report back to me the next day. These routine interactions led me to develop feelings for her when we grew older. As a result, our conversation morphed into something different. It became less of inquiries and informative relays and more of prompts to inspire her passions. I stopped interrogating her for only my benefit and started asking more thought-provoking questions—questions that would have her talking for hours about things that made her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. She is most beautiful when she’s happy—when she’s enjoying herself. 

I venture farther into the estate, and my loud footsteps announce my presence. The first person to look up from their work is the middle child, Chaya. At first, she hesitates as if she can’t really believe it’s me. Then she taps her older sister on the shoulder. Mary tries to shrug her off, but Chaya is insistent. Finally, Mary takes notice of me, and only a second later she runs over to me, stopping me from going any farther.  

“Gunther, what are you doing here?” she cries, almost fearfully. “My father told you to never return.” 

“I’m here for your hand in marriage,” I state, moving around her toward the house, but she throws herself in my path again. 

“Gunther,” she says, her green eyes glassy with worry. 

“You said if I promised conversion, he might possibly consider letting us marry, so that’s what I plan to do.” 

“Oh, but I was being hopeful, just saying things. I didn’t think you’d actually … I have not had the time to discuss it with him.” 

I place my hand on the side of her cheek, my fingers dipping into her hair. “Then I will be the one to propose it, but I am not ever giving up.” 

“I suppose this means you won’t let me stop you.” 

I shake my head slowly. “I don’t believe you could.” 

She leans into my touch for only a moment before stepping away from me carefully. “I wish you good luck then,” she whispers. 

I nod at Mary then glance behind her at her sisters, also giving them a subtle greeting to which they smile. Then I take a nervous breath in and walk to the door of the Kleinfeld home, feeling the eyes of all three girls on the back of my neck, each of them equally apprehensive as I am to see the result of my proposition.  

I knock on the door with a firm fist, and a few seconds later it swings open to reveal a man just a little shorter than me. His dark brown hair is cut short aside from his side locks and beard, and on top of his heads sits the traditional koppel [קאפל‎]. On his face, though, is a scowl, an obvious sign that I am far from welcome here.  

“Mark, you’re here,” he says, his brown eyes narrowing. “Why?” 

“I’m here to ask for your eldest daughter’s hand in marriage … again.” 

“And I told you to get out of my house. I stand by that,” he scolds me and starts closing the door, but I put my hands out to stop it. 

“Sir, please, can you hear me out?” I beg, and the door opens again. 

“What more could you say?” 

I choke on my words at first but manage to spit them out despite my nervousness. “If I convert, would you let me marry your daughter?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“If I convert to your religion, would you let me have Mary’s hand?” 

There’s a subsequent pause in which Mr. Kleinfeld takes the time to just stare at me like I’ve come to him with the most ridiculous request. Then, after a few seconds, he seems to snap out of it, and he pushes me aside to step out of the home. He squints through the sunlight and turns his head toward his oldest.  

Mary nods and mutters something under her breath before following her father back into the house. I step in after them and close the door behind us. Mary stops there with me, standing at my side, but her father walks around to the kitchen table and takes a seat facing us. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and keeps his attention fixated on the unfinished table, picking at a splinter.  

“This boy, Gunther, tells me he will convert to Judaism to marry you,” he directs toward his daughter, but he still doesn’t bring his focus away from the wood. 

I feel her latch onto my arm and watch her nod out of my peripheral vision.  

“Yes, sir,” she answers.  

“And this is what you want?” 

“I love Gunther very much, and he feels the same for me. He is willing to do anything in order to marry me, and I’d like nothing more as well.” 

Mr. Kleinfeld turns his head up slightly and examines me out of the corner of his eye. I hold my breath under his gaze. 

“Do you know what you’re getting into, boy?” he asks me now. 

“Yes, sir,” I respond. “Mary has already informed me of the extensive customs of Jewish law and religion. I am well aware of what I am saying.” 

“And you are this certain that you love my daughter?” 

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life,” I tell him honestly.  

Mary’s father falls silent once more, and the quiet is filled with agony. My heartbeat is in my throat, and I hang onto every second before the verdict. My life teeters on the edge of oblivion. All it would take is one word to send me over. All it would take is one word to save me. 

I hear him sigh deeply before he slaps his hands onto his knees and stands up, turning toward me. He looks me directly in the eyes and then says the most glorious thing: “Okay.” 

A smile as wide as the moon breaks across my face, and I am filled with so much energy that I feel as if I could scream or run or maybe dance. I feel the need to … maybe pump my arms in the air. It’s not really like me to feel this way, but all of my anxiety transformed into such pure childish excitement that, with it, I have no idea what to do. I haven’t felt this since I was young. 

Mary seems more relieved than anything. She peeks up at me with a tender smile and gives my arm a joyful squeeze. That’s all it takes for me to understand how ecstatic she is. I believe that, secretly, she is a simpler person than me. 

Her father continues, “Okay under the condition that you convert. You will become like us, traditional. You will learn Hebrew and Yiddish alike, and if you can show me that you are truly dedicated to this and that you are faithful, maybe I’ll let you marry my daughter. Do you understand?” 

I nod quickly and rush forward to take his hand in mine, shaking it eagerly. “Thank you, sir. Thank you. I won’t let you down.” 

I won’t let her down.