Height

First, the existential question: If I am four feet eleven and three quarters of an inch and can pass for five feet if the examiner forgot her glasses, what do I write on my résumé?

Seriously, though, always be generous when calculating height differences. Heels and Borsalinos, or the lack of them, can do a lot to equalize things, and stilts make for great shtick at weddings.

Address

The obligatory address listing has always baffled me. Do I list where I actually live? What about all the wonderful homes situated in yeshivah hotspots along the East Coast that I frequent when dating? Shoutout to the N. and H. families — is it okay if I add your addresses to my résumé?

Family

After the necessary list of parents and siblings, can I add my nephew? He is without a question the cutest two-year-old on the planet — and it’s genetic.

References

I know that what you really want is a list of people who know me and who know you, have your best interests in mind, and are not listed on the résumé. It would be super convenient if I had a seminary roommate, camp friend, high school teacher, and school friend who all fit those criteria. If you want, I can list every camp I ever went to, every community I ever stepped foot in, and every friend’s friend’s friend from your town of residence. That may give you some context on where to start your search. Should I just open all my phone contacts? Don’t worry, I won’t warn them all in advance.

Skills

The very top of my professional résumé boasts an array (pun intended — I’m a computer programmer) of skills. Javascript! React! Vue! Git!

Come to think of it, why don’t I detail my skills on my shidduch résumé? I guess my future mother-in-law doesn’t care if I know how to resolve the most complicated of merge conflicts, but she should care that I know how to resolve human conflicts with grace, confidence, and kindness. And what about my mouthwatering cinnamon buns and knack for finding the best bargain in Costco? Just by reading my résumé, future mom-in-law would never have an inkling that I’m a fantastic basketball player.

This piece of paper may tell you facts about my life: where I went to school, and that I’m barely five feet tall. It may tell you that I’m a computer programmer, that I have three siblings, that I live in a quaint little house in a slightly out-of-town community.

But….

It doesn’t tell you that I live my life with a deep-seated passion for Torah and Yiddishkeit. It doesn’t tell you that I love my job, but my dream is to be a fifth-grade morah. It doesn’t tell you that I love people, that I love books, that I run two miles twice a week. It doesn’t tell you of my daily struggles and triumphs; it doesn’t tell you the middah I worked so hard on that now gives me so much pride.

Probably, it shouldn’t. Your son should find all this out for himself when he decides that I sound like a perfect match for him, based on what he sees on paper.

But maybe, if you want to get a real feel for me, make the trees happy and skip the résumé. I’ll send you a book about my life, or better yet, just give me a call.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 864)