Nowadays there are few people who would not wish that several decibels be lowered from the sound system while attending a wedding, especially during the dancing. I would imagine that only the friends of the chatan and kallah would advocate positively for the level of sound spewing forth from the band/DJ or whatever. In doing a very slight amount of research, I found from Mr Google that: “Noise above 70 dB over a prolonged period of time may start to damage your hearing. Loud noise above 120 dB can cause immediate harm to your ears.” I do not know what the average noise level is at a wedding but I would be curious to know. My Mordechai always kept ear plugs in his pockets to use as soon as the music began. That fact is especially funny since he was terribly hard of hearing.

I remember the days when our children would visit us in Montreal for a chag and would feel so worried that my Mordechai and I would be devastated by the emptiness of our house and the quiet that would take place once they left, that they would arrange to leave sporadically. One family would leave at 11 and another at 1 in order for it not to be too painful for us.

Little did they know that once everyone had driven away we looked at each other, relished the quiet and giggled.

Each day at this point in my life I am grateful for any sound, though I am not going so far as to say that wedding music is included in that thought. I wake up each morning to total silence and walk around in the evening being totally unaccustomed to the fact that I am alone.

No one to talk to. No one to share with. No one to cry with and no one to giggle with. That type of silence is overwhelmingly painful.

For us, getting into bed at night was an opportunity to share thoughts and ideas that we knew that we could only speak to each other about. Little things, some annoying, some comical, some ridiculous only for the ears of the person that we trusted the most. The person who knew every innuendo as we spoke. The person who best understood the hurt, comic relief, need to vent that no one else could understand because this partner is truly “an ezer knegdo,” which I would interpret as my other half.

I remember several months after we got engaged, my Mordechai gave me a gold watch which had engraved on its back “V’hayu L’vsar Achad” and we were just that.

Now my partner in everything is no longer here and I find myself devastated by the silence. The loss of hearing his voice, his laughter, and his constant listening ear.

Nothing bothered us about being left alone once our children moved on to their adult lives. There was always the knowledge that nothing could be better than being alone with each other. When there was silence in our home as we were each busy with our pursuits it was a holy silence. It was special because we felt each other’s presence no matter what part of the house we were in. The need to talk was not always there as long as we were in the same dwelling.

The only thing that breaks the silence in our home now is when I walk around talking to my beloved and sharing my thoughts with him. If you ever see me in the supermarket and I look slightly nutty to you it is because I walk along the aisles and bring items to my Mordechai’s attention when I notice something that he used to love to eat. I literally talk out loud to him as I go.

Thank you to Simon and Garfunkel for providing me with the lyrics of “The Sounds of Silence.” I find the tune comforting and walk around frequently humming it to myself and wishing that maybe, just maybe my beloved can hear me as I wish that I would hear him.

Nina Glick can be reached at [email protected].