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Message: <br /><br /> If you are having trouble reading this email, you may view this article online at: http://www.jweekly.com/41365/full/41365/two-chairs-20-rabbis-and-a-february-story-of-true-romance/ <br /><br /> <b>Two chairs, 20 rabbis and a February story of true romance</b> <br /> Thursday, February 11, 2010 | by andy altman-ohr <br /><br /><p>In February, everyone’s thoughts are supposed to turn all warm and mushy. And mine actually do. But not because of Valentine’s Day. February is when I asked my wife to marry me — a proposal that somehow ended with us being hoisted up on chairs by 20 rabbis and serenaded with “siman tov u’mazel tov!” by more than a hundred Jews.</p> <p><img alt="andy altman-ohr" class="left" height="200" src="http://www.jweekly.com/images/uploads/column_pics/column/andy altman-ohr.jpg" title="andy altman-ohr" width="126" />As someone who barely knew what the Sh’ma was back then (1996), I never expected such a wild occurrence. Even now when I think of it, I can’t believe it happened.</p> <p>Let me set the stage.</p> <p>Stacey and I had been dating for a year and a half. She was the director of San Francisco State Hillel, and I was a sportswriter. But that’s beside the point. The main thing was that she was 29, I was 32, we were in love, and she was ready for me to pop the question.</p> <p>I had little to say on the topic other than “Mmm-hmm” and “Mmmph.”</p> <p>New Year’s Eve came and went, and then Stacey’s 30th birthday, both without a proposal. But with a trip to Zihuatanejo, Mexico, coming up, Stacey still held out hope.</p> <p>After all, what could be more romantic than a proposal during a candlelight dinner on a patio of a clifftop restaurant overlooking a moonlit bay? Pfft. Nothing. I was actually quite romantic back then, but I sure was a dunderhead when it came to a lot of things. Still am.</p> <p>Then, to add insult to her injured heart, I didn’t ask her on Valentine’s Day, either.</p> <p>A few days after that, Stacey left for a four-day conference at the Brandeis-Bardin Campus, 300 miles away in Simi Valley. It was the 1996 Western States Hillel Kallah, attended by a couple of hundred staff members and rabbis from college Hillels.</p> <p>This is where the story takes a turn toward happy February memories.</p> <p>After Stacey departed, it suddenly hit me: Why not drive down there and surprise her by popping the question?</p> <p>I knew nothing about Kallah, its location or anything, except that Stacey was to lead a workshop the morning of Feb. 18. So I made the long drive to Simi Valley and stayed in a hotel the night before — and stewed in utter nervousness: How would I find her? Would she be in a classroom? A lecture hall? Would I have to march to the front and propose in front of God knows how many people?</p> <p>A certified introvert, I was a nervous wreck. Even now, as I’m writing this 14 years later, there’s a huge knot in my stomach.</p> <p>After a restless night, I drove to campus and luckily found a co-director in the first building. He told me Stacey’s workshop was outdoors, and now I was worried she’d see the car. I drove in carefully, surreptitiously parking behind a big tree. My head awhirl, I crept toward the group of about 15.</p> <p>Luckily, I was able to approach on Stacey’s blind side; when I got close, I steeled myself and said, “Excuse me. I have a question.” Hearing my voice, Stacey twirled around, confused. Then, with tears in my eyes, in front of everybody, I said, “Will you marry me?” I gave Stacey the ring — a green plastic skull’s-head ring I had bought from a gumball machine.</p> <p>Slowly, the weight of the moment dawned on the group. Shouts of “mazel tov” and applause rang out as we hugged and kissed, both with tears in our eyes. Then someone said, “What’s your answer?” Somehow 30 seconds had passed. Stacey shouted, “Yes!”</p> <p>We took a break, sitting on a stoop and going over all that had happened. Then Stacey actually led the workshop! Next was lunch, and I was invited.</p> <p>With the cafeteria abuzz that there had just been a proposal, about 20 rabbis suddenly hoisted us in our chairs. Two hundred or so people got out of their seats, and we traveled all over the big room, people dancing and singing all around us. It was surreal, and completely unexpected. I mean, who could have planned such a thing, such a festive, Jewish proposal celebration?</p> <p>It certainly has made for a tremendously romantic February memory — even if it’s not Valentine’s Day.</p> <p><br /><strong>Andy Altman-Ohr</strong> lives in Oakland. Reach him at <a href="mailto:andy@jweekly.com">andy@jweekly.com</a>.</p>

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