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any people are familiar with the story of Dovid and Tamar Scheinberg. In the turbulent early days of the pandemic, their wedding had been aggressively disrupted by police, in spite of the fact that they had followed all guidelines at the time. They had moved to a smaller venue and invited only their immediate family members—yet someone had reported them. The guests were forcefully dispersed, and the chasan had to flag down strangers to form a minyan for the Sheva Brachos at the end of the evening. To add insult to injury, the chasan and kallah were fined 5,000 shekels each. Months later, the happiest night of their lives was still a source of trauma and pain.
Before Yom Kippur, the bachur who had reported them called Dovid’s father and apologized. He had been terrified of the raging pandemic, and, hearing music in the hall, thought people were violating guidelines and spreading disease. He had called the police to prevent that. Now he wanted to ask for mechilah.
Dovid and Tamar had to work hard, reliving the trauma and feeling all the hurt all over again. But on Erev Yom Kippur, they were able to tell the bachur that they had forgiven him. They went into Yom Kippur at peace.
Months went by. The people who had heard about the Scheinbergs’ experience had been inspired and had gone on with their lives. The story was over, or so I thought.
And then, just before Yom Kippur this year, I received a phone call from a man in Chicago who wished to remain anonymous. He had seen the Scheinbergs’ story, which had been featured in a video I had produced.
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