"Just" Sign Your Name

His hand shuddered tremulously as the magnitude of what he was about to do sunk in. He wiped his clammy palms on his pants and grabbed his hand, forcibly holding it in place to stop the shaking. Letting go after a few minutes, the hand started its routine all over again, shaking violently as, again, he considered what a few strokes of his pen would, or would not, do. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he thought to himself, “this is most definitely not something I signed up for! Why did I say yes? Why? What was I thinking?!”

He was shaken from his reverie as the man to his right spoke. “Did you understand everything you just read?”

“Um, ya, absolutely, sure! It’s just like you said it would be, right?” he stammered, blushing at having been caught unawares of the proceedings at hand.

The disapproving glances by the others at the table further convinced him that he should not have accepted this responsibility. “Since when does someone like me, my age, have this kind of responsibility placed on his shoulders?!” his thoughts screamed to those around him. “Opening many doors, but closing another! Life and death lie in my hands!”

“It’s your turn to sign,” the man on the right informed him. “Just write your name here. Do you know for sure the proper way to spell it?”

With a gulp, he nodded as time and time again he spelled his name in his head. Hands still shaking, he slowly penned his name, letter by letter. As he spelled the second half of his name, he froze. “Is that how it’s spelled?! Oh no, please don’t tell me I messed up! I can’t mess up! That will ruin EVERYTHING!!!! That guy will be furious, that one will be annoyed, she’ll want to kill me, and they’ll have to start virtually from scratch… This is not good.”

Looking over the name a few more times, he explosively let out his breath as he realized that he had successfully remembered how to spell his full name.

With his part done, the rest of it went smoothly.

“I can’t believe I did that and I pray that I’m never asked to do it again,” he told one of the men as they walked together out of the room.

It was over. The woman had her Get.

I was one of 3 men in a beis din who handed over a woman her get. I was petrified that I’d mess it up somehow (even though it was a relatively simple process) and this woman would go get married with a non-kosher get. How’s that for a scary thought?

The other day I was asked to take part in this process. No one explained to me what I would be doing, or if I’d be do anything at all. Like with hataras nedarim I assumed that I would maybe say some words, space out while others did their parts and just sit there with the appropriate, serious expression on my face. Little did I know…

I had to sign my name! My name is now on an official, halachically binding document that permits a woman to get married. If she ever decides to get remarried, I’m the one who signed off on it! My hands are clammy as I write this!

Now, signing a name isn’t a big deal, I know. But how often can the misspelling of a name make something muttar or assur? My father’s Hebrew name is not one that I spell very often. It’s also not one I have ever spelled for anything that would make a difference. I think I spell it consistently, but who says consistent means its right?!

There are many Jewish names that don’t require much imagination on how to spell them. But part of the problem is that whenever I get called up for an aliyah, the gabbai always, and I do mean always, asks me to repeat one of his two names, the name that I blanked on naturally.

But, with all of the queasiness, concerns and sweating that occurred, the smile that lit up on that woman’s face when she received that get, went a long way towards setting me on the path to recovery. I wasn’t privy to the circumstances of the divorce, but judging by the contented sigh and ear-to-ear smile, it was something that was a long time in the coming.

This incident was also a bit of a homecoming for me with regards to myself and marriage. I can’t wait to get married and have a woman to share my life with, but having been active in divorcing a woman I was reminded that marriage isn’t as simple as finding a woman I get along with (disclaimer: anyone reading this who knows me personally, I’m not referring to anyone I know or have ever known… at all), and placing a ring on her finger. I never viewed in quite that light, but this was an additional reinforcement to the idea that, “if I’m going to do it, I’d better do it right.”