Today they’re household names, but it started with a leap of faith: "I’d go over to one or two guys a night, introduce myself, and just say, 'Hi, I’m a shadchan, can I help you?' ”

In 1994, about three years after I got married, a friend of mine, Ezriel Munk, came over to me and said, “You have to get more people involved in doing shidduchim.” We decided to put together a few guys, take on the title “shadchan,” and meet every two weeks for a shidduch meeting, although initially, we didn’t even know what we were meeting about. I don’t think that any of the others from that original group remained active in shidduchim.

Beth Medrash Govoha was much smaller then, and I used to come to Maariv in yeshivah, in the simchah room of the Rivington, at 10:45, and try to guess who was a bochur. I’d go over to one or two guys a night, introduce myself, and just say, “Hi, I’m a shadchan, can I help you?” I’m a people person — I’ve never been afraid of people. If a guy was there for a few nights in a row, I understood that he didn’t have a date, and was probably available. If I had an idea after I’d spoken to him, I’d reach out to his parents and introduce myself, explain that I’d just gotten involved in shidduchim, and when the mother would say, “Why do you think, of all the girls in the world, that this one is right for my son?” I would always try to answer with humor. “Well,” I’d say, “I just stood outside in the dark and threw a dart across the entire world, and it fell on this house…”