I was distraught. I knew Esti, and I knew Simi. How could two quality girls have this kind of unresolved history?

Shani Leiman with Zivia Reischer

They were sitting in a lounge, ice cubes slowly melting in their drinks — the classic shidduch scenario. It was a comfortable lounge and the conversation was comfortable too, it was already their fourth date. But something was wrong.

Avi couldn’t figure it out. Esti was distracted and withdrawn. What had happened?

He decided to ask her directly. “Is everything okay?”

“What?” Esti looked back at him, trying to focus. “Sorry,” she stammered. But then she averted her gaze again.

Avi stood up. “Should we go for a walk?”

Outside, Esti seemed to relax. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I just saw someone I know.”

“Oh, that’s awkward.”

Esti shook her head. “It’s worse than awkward. It…” She searched for the words. “There’s a lot of history there,” she said finally. “I don’t want to think about it right now.”

She needed space, and Avi gave it to her (he really was a great guy — she ended up marrying him), turning the conversation to lighter topics. But that night Esti’s mother called me.

“Esti met someone she knew tonight,” she said without introduction. “Simi Shapiro, do you know her?”

“Sure,” I said. I hadn’t realized they knew each other. “Great girl.”

“We know the Shapiros well,” Esti’s mother said. “Actually, we’re neighbors.”

“Oh, that’s so…” I was about to say cute, but something in her tone told me that would be the wrong word.