“This makes so much sense,” we told her. “You have the money. You’ll be able to settle down. You won’t regret this”

MY

best friend is a social worker, and I often tell her that she and I have nearly identical jobs: We both hear everyone’s problems. The only difference is that she has HIPAA laws governing her confidentiality, while I don’t — although obviously, I’m very discreet.

Real estate agents get to know a great deal about their clients’ lives — selling or purchasing a home is laden with emotion.

The details can be small. I was showing Raizy Wagner a house on a Thursday afternoon, and she told me how stressed and overwhelmed she was.

“My in-laws are coming for Shabbos,” she told me, “and I’m also hosting my husband’s three brothers. I really want it to be a nice Shabbos, but I’m the most boring cook on the planet. My kids are happy with potato kugel and duck sauce chicken, and that’s what I make every single week.”

I went to culinary school, and had a recipe column in several magazines — this was right up my alley. So, as we explored the bedrooms and discussed the paneling in the basement, I also helped her create an elegant Shabbos menu.

Then there are far bigger concerns. Yonason and Shevy Weiss* were looking to buy a house. Since their combined income was low, they were applying for a grant through a government assistance program. They qualified, but the amount of assistance was based upon family size. They only had three children, and the difference in assistance between three children and four was enormous.

Shevy and I were friendly, and I knew that she had struggled with fertility for years. Each of the children she did have had come with a lot of tefillah and effort.

“I’m already chalashing for a baby,” she confided in me as she finalized the sale, “and now I have yet another reason why it would be incredible.”

“I’ll put in a good word,” I told her, and I kept her in my tefillos.