“I’m worried about his ability to be empathetic,” Raizy says slowly, still reading through the résumé. “To be caring, to anticipate someone else’s needs”

“I

’m wondering if we should consult with a professional,” Raizy says. It’s the third time she’s brought this up.

“Tell me what I’m missing here. Everything is fine for 22 years and suddenly you’re looking to slap a label on the boy five minutes before he starts shidduchim?” Dovi presses his fingers down on the kitchen table. “I’d say — and Raizy, I mean this in the nicest way possible — I’d say you’re the one with the problem.”

Raizy lets the dig slide. Maybe he’s right. Maybe she’s the one who is damaged? Pulling her laptop closer, she clicks on the file named “Yossi Suggestions.”

“Do you need him to stay your little yingele?” Dovi continues his barrage, pacing now. “Is that what this is about? You don’t want him to move on?”

“Chas víshalom,” Raizy mumbles.

Chaya Leah Blumenberger. 19. BJJ. She scrolls through the résumé. Enjoys reading and nature. Also loves spending time with friends. Just like every other résumé in the file. Every girl hitting the same spot on the map: somewhere between an extrovert and introvert. Perfectly balanced. Perfect grades, perfect families, perfect hobbies. All searching for that perfect masmid. Not a flaw in the lot.

“We have an achrayus, Dovi.”

“Of course we have an achrayus. To not blow our son’s future to smithereens by creating problems where they don’t exist. You know what the Rosh Yeshivah said to me last time I popped in. Remember?”

“That Yossi’s one of the brightest minds that ever came through the yeshivah. I know, Dovi. I never questioned his intellect. In fact—”

“You know how many girls would be thrilled to do a shidduch with a boy who is well on his way to finishing Shas?”

“Dovi—”

“And don’t get me started on his middos. The only one of our kids who never leaves a mess, makes his bed every day. A dream roommate, that’s what his roommates all report. A dream, Raizy.”

“Roommates aren’t wives,” Raizy snaps back. “And let’s not pretend this is the first time I’ve worried.”

“Because he hated sports?” Dovi’s face turns dark. “Because he wasn’t the most popular kid in fifth grade? You wanted to make mountains out of molehills. You wanted to package shy and eidel as some sort of fad disorder. Twenty years ago boys were allowed to be quiet and a little nerdy. Now? You have a boy who likes to read and build model airplanes and boom — he’s got a disorder.”

Raizy opens another file.

Bracha Blima (Gittel Shaindel) Rosenshterner. She blinks. Did someone really name their child that? She keeps scrolling. Ah. She’s the youngest. Eight boys on top of her.

“I’m worried about his ability to be empathetic,” Raizy says slowly, still reading through the résumé? “To be caring, to anticipate someone else’s needs. You know after Devorah gave birth to Chanie he never even called to say mazel tov. Can you imagine? His own sister!”

“He’s a boy, Raizy! Boys don’t make post-birth mazel tov calls.”

“And that time my father bought him a sefer last Pesach and instead of saying thank you like a mensch, he said, ‘Oh, I have a copy of this already.’ I was mortified! It’s like, he has no idea how to answer sensitively!”

“Men are not women — they aren’t sensitive. He was just being honest.” Dovi shrugs. “Give me ten yeshivish yeshivah guys and I guarantee every one of them will be rude in some way. It’s the way it is. Not being polished doesn’t make someone a bad person.”