In honor of Tu B'Av: Golden advice from an amateur matchmaker

Once every few months I suddenly meet A. or B. — real letters, and I cannot help but be overwhelmed with supreme happiness. 33 years ago I introduced them and they got married. The result: a select group of children and grandchildren who took his humor and her wisdom, a thriving business, and generations of descendants.

I believe it would have happened even without me, for there are many ways to the destination, but on the face of it, I had to be there. He is from Jerusalem, she is from the North, there are no natural points of contact. Kobi came along — and boom.

At my table every two weeks dine my beloved nephew and niece A. and T. — real letters, whom my wife and I set up. What a happy couple. How sweet and successful they are. And what a noise the children make. Wow. Let them eat desserts already and leave.

Here is another story about me, the amateur matchmaker: once a month I talk to my friend whose perfect daughter, a recent divorcee, is looking for a partner, and I suggest someone who seems to me suitable. Okay, the word suitable is a bit silly, let's say logical. And he yells at me. And gets a little offended. And loses patience. And why this one specifically? And don't you see it doesn't fit? And she will eat him without salt. And how can a person not finish a degree for eight years already? And why do you only bring short ones? Because she is short? And countless other nonsense and foolishness, and I, with spectacular and uncharacteristic courage, gracefully hang up and two weeks later suggest another one.

His evasion only strengthens me and tells me that I am on the right track. And I also know that he and his daughter are happy that I am a nuisance. I don't relate to his nonsense at all, but add and suggest more and more. Eventually it will catch. That is how her match will come.

Today is Tu B'Av. A time for strengthening in one of the greatest commandments in the world, the commandment of matchmaking (shidduch). How easy the commandment is: "Hi Tamar, meet, this is Yinon. He lives right across. Hi Yinon. Meet. This is Tamar. A daughter of my cousin. And don't come again in this shirt, you look like an idiot" (the latter not when she hears). And that's it. Four children, a house in Karkur.

And how hard the commandment is: suddenly, into this pleasant spontaneity, a numbing weakness of hands is pushed:

"Wow, this doesn't fit. Surely she has already been offered two hundred times. He will be offended. She will be offended. What do I have to do with matchmaking? What am I, Aunt Adina?"

And this is the evil inclination (yetzer hara) speaking. Truly the evil inclination that comes to weaken the hands. And there is also the evil inclination of religious people that says: "If it is meant to happen, it will happen." Well, no. It needs to happen right now. Through you. Move yourself and write to her.

There are other important commandments that seem negligible and that need to be promoted. The commandment of job offers. The commandment of the white lie compliment and the commandment of passing on phone numbers. The most important of all is the commandment of suggesting a match.

And today is Tu B'Av. So let us strengthen ourselves in it. At this moment sits someone whose only need in life is a message that says: "Hi Haim. Tell me, what happened with that guy? Maybe I'll give him your number?"