Do you really expect to get a donor to commit to matching half a million dollars by calling him on the phone?

Dini gripped the phone in her hand. It was time to bite the bullet and reach out to her family.  She needed a matching donor to get this campaign off the ground. With any luck, her father would offer to be that person. Or, at the very least, suggest friends to contact.

She paced back and forth in her home office. These were her parents, for heaven’s sake. Why was she so nervous?

Because, once again, she’d be little Dini who couldn’t succeed without their help?

Sighing, she punched her father’s number.

He picked up on the first ring. “Dini, what a nice surprise.”

It was true, she usually called Ma. But that was because her father was generally too busy for phone calls. Three-word texts were more his communication style.

“Yes, I know, it’s been a while since we’ve actually spoken. How are you?”

“Baruch Hashem, can’t complain.” He paused for a millisecond. “Listen, I don’t mean to rush you, but I’m about to go into a meeting. Did you need something?”

So much for cozy small talk. Maybe that’s why she’d always had trouble relating to her father.  He could discuss a business deal for hours with Eliana and the boys, but the types of things that interested Dini were not topics he knew how to deal with intelligently — and he did not like conversations where he didn’t feel in control of the subject. Ever since she was young, he’d respond to her prattles about school, camp, friends, clothes, with a “very nice,” before passing the conversational baton over to her mother.

Okay, cut to the chase it is. “My organization, y’know, Chesed Tzirel, is planning a major fundraiser. It’s our first ever and I want it to be successful.” Success was a key word with her father.

“We’re looking for a matching donor and I, uh, wondered if—” She swallowed hard, but that didn’t help unstick the words in her throat.  She coughed. “If you have any friends who might be interested in supporting a medical organization that helps Anglo olim in Israel.”

 Coward.

She clenched her fist. Why hadn’t she been able to ask the question outright: Would you be willing to be our matching donor?

“I might know someone,” Ta said cautiously.

You can’t even ask your parents for money, and you think you’ll be able to approach strangers?

“Off the top of my head—” He paused, thinking.

You have no problem charging his credit card for tens of thousands of dollars. How is that different from asking him for a tzedakah donation of that amount?

“Shimon Reiss may be willing. He likes medical causes; he just donated an ambulance to Hatzalah.”

“Mmm.” And what will you do when—

She blinked. Wait, what had Ta said? Quickly grabbing her notepad, she asked, “Can you repeat the name?”

“Shimon Reiss. And Benny Tropp, he’s another one you might want to try. Between you and me, he’s an easy touch. He gives to everything.” It was clear from his tone of voice what Ta thought of people who give to everything but, personally, Dini was grateful for such people. She put a big star next to Tropp.

“Great!” she said. “Anyone else?” Like you, Ta?

“Or… Oh! Schiller. Yossi Schiller. Young fellow, must be around your age. He davens in our shul, approached me a while back for real estate advice. He recently closed a big deal, and threw a $50,000 kiddush to celebrate. That type.”