“Now if you can just give the secretary your credit card details on the way out. I look forward to seeing you at the start of the semester! I will be personally instructing you in the Networking course.”

The women lining the classroom were a less homogenous crowd than Adina had expected. One mother didn’t look much older than Chaya — surely she wasn’t old enough to have a child of marriageable age? And when a woman in the front row stood up, Adina stifled a gasp. She thought of herself as open-minded, but really, those clothes, that woman didn’t look religious at all.

“She’s the family maid,” the woman sitting to Adina’s left murmured softly.

“I’m sorry?”

“Apparently the mother has some kind of high-powered career, so she sent her maid to SHAM, for training. Then Maria can do the main work — all the cold calling, reference checking. It’s quite brilliant, really. Nobody sees who’s on the other end of the phone line. I’m Leah, by the way.”

Before Adina had time to introduce herself the teacher stood up. She wore a black pillbox hat and spoke with a faint Russian accent. “Welcome to Interrogation. This semester we will be studying Interrogation 1, which will include an introduction to interrogation techniques, and how to perform the preliminary Reference Checking for a Potential Match. Questions?”

“Isn’t interrogation too strong a word? I mean before my son goes out, all I do is make a few phone calls, ask some questions…”

“And do you always hear the truth?”

“Well, more or less, I guess. I mean there was the one time that nobody told us—”

“Nobody told us. Exactly. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that line? Omission of details. I will also teach you how to recognize evasion and white lies. This course is about getting to the truth. There are proven techniques such as Suggestibility, and the Reid method, which can be successfully applied. You will question gently, you will be subtle, but you will get to the truth!”

Adina thought of Chaya’s last date. That boy definitely didn’t have good middos, no matter what his references said. Had she been a victim of a cover-up? She opened up her looseleaf, and carefully wrote: “Interrogation 1. Lesson 1.”

“Are you part of the MOB?” Leah asked her during the break.

“I beg your pardon?”

Leah laughed. “Sorry, this is my second semester, I forgot you’re new here. Are you a Mother of a Boy? We call ourselves the MOB.”

“I do have some sons, but it’s my daughter Chaya who’s in the Parshah.”

“So let me introduce you to some Mothers of Girls.” Leah waved at the impossibly young girl Adina had noticed at the beginning of class. “Miriam, come meet a freshman MOG.”

Miriam walked over with a shy smile. “Hi. How old is your daughter?”

“Twenty-two,” Adina said.

“Oh, mine are three and five.”

Leah laughed. “Miriam believes in starting young, right?”

“Well, I quit my job when Ruchi, that’s my oldest, was born, I believe in being there for my kids. But now they’re both in playgroup, Suri too. She was bored at home, she needed the stimulation. And I heard about SHAM, and obviously I want to be a good mother, and I already finished Rebbetzin Bina’s parenting class, and they wouldn’t accept me to the Adolescent Crisis Intervention program because Ruchi isn’t a teenager, they weren’t very nice at all. But Mrs. Greenfeld was much more encouraging, she said the earlier I start preparing for my daughters’ shidduchim the better.” Miriam blushed suddenly. “Not that I’m saying 22 is too old, not at all.”

Adina dropped her briefcase as soon as she walked through the front door. She’d forgotten how tiring studying was. She’d expected to enjoy Interior Design, but it had proven stressful. Adina examined the patterned wallpaper in the hallway, and the flowery lampshade. She knew now that the house was all wrong, and wasn’t conveying the right messages. A lot had changed from when she and Shlomo had moved in, a young couple with two children, thrilled to own a home. The patterns Adina chose so lovingly then were now faded, and, worse, out of style. Yeshivah boys weren’t what they once were; they noticed these things. A complete overhaul was needed.

But what message should their home be conveying? Balabatish, or understated elegance? She could always go with the “Yeshivish and disdainful of material possessions” look, that was a valid Interior Design approach, too, the instructor had told them. But Shlomo liked to keep all his seforim in the study, near at hand when he was learning; would he agree to move them to a more visible position, for Chaya’s sake? Besides, Adina enjoyed seeing the watercolors hanging on the walls, she didn’t want to replace them with photographs of gedolim.

“Mommy, where were you? And what’s for dinner?”

“I told you, Yosef, I began a course today. I won’t be home when you get back from school, for the next few weeks.”

Luckily, Yosef didn’t ask her what she was studying, like the other kids had. Adina and Shlomo had decided not to let on that Adina was attending the Shidduch Academy. The children were already complaining about the number of hours Adina spent on the phone; they would definitely be jealous of Chaya’s shidduchim getting even more “attention.” And how Chaya would feel about her mother’s full-time pursuit was best not found out.

Adina was surprised when Leah took a seat beside her in Resume Writing class.

“Yes, I know I’m a MOB,” Leah said, as if she could read her mind. “But I don’t think it’s fair, having girls send me their resumes, without getting any information in return. I’ve always been makpid to send back Dov’s resume. Besides, my Dovi, well, he’s a bit… unusual. His talents do need… explaining…”

The instructor cleared her throat. “Did you all get the memo asking you to bring your children’s current resumes with you?”

Miriam raised her hand. “My daughter’s five, and well, I didn’t know what to write in her resume. Should I describe her playgroup? Does it matter at what age she started to talk? She was a very early developer.”

“We’ll speak about what to include shortly. But first we’ll cover the principles.”

The instructor turned to the whiteboard and wrote in large letters: Marketing Our Children.

“Now, the common mistake that people make in writing a shidduch resume is to sound the same as everyone else. You need to ask: What makes my daughter stand out from the competition? First study the competition — get hold of your daughter’s friends’ resumes, read those resumes, and then think how your resume can be better, think what makes your daughter unique.”

One woman raised her hand. “I thought different was bad?”

“Good point. You don’t want to sound weird or strange. You want to sound standard. But you still need to find your unique selling point. It’s a fine line. I like to suggest playing up some skill or character trait that will always be considered desirable, and really expanding on that. For instance, cupcake icing. Everyone loves a beautifully iced fondant cupcake, but what if your daughter is actually icing cupcakes for the chesed committee banquet? That’s impressive!”

“Which brings us to another lesson in writing.” The teacher wrote on the board: Show don’t Tell!

“I don’t want to see words like ‘sweet’, ‘kind,’ and ‘loves to do chesed’ in your resume. They don’t mean anything. Instead of saying your daughter loves to do chesed, give examples. Not only will it prove her credentials, the details stick in the reader’s mind. You want to be the resume that the shadchanit remembers and comes back to.”

Adina bit her fingernail. Chaya’s resume described her as kind and as sweet.

“Now for today’s assignment. I want you to go over your current resumes and see what needs fixing. But since mothers are always biased, please trade resumes with your neighbor. You are going to review each other’s resumes.”

Leah slid over her son’s resume. Adina fished out a folded and slightly dog-eared paper from her purse and passed it back to Leah. (Adina had forgotten about the memo, but she always carried a copy of Chaya’s resume with her anyway.)

“Dov Halperin.” Adina began to read.

He was 25. He learned in a yeshivah out of state. Adina circled his elementary school education in a red pen. Should that appear? They hadn’t been taught that yet. Oh, how cute, she and Leah had gone to the same seminary. “We must have just missed each other,” Adina said, turning to Leah. But Leah didn’t hear, she was reading with a look of astonishment. Surely Chaya’s resume wasn’t that bad?

Yeshivah in Israel, Summer Experience, Adina carried on reading. “Puppet making: creates puppets and gives puppet show performances in local day camps.”

Adina let out a gasp. She turned to Leah.

“I said he was unusual,” Leah said with a smile.

“Puppet making isn’t so unusual,” Adina said, trying to keep her voice from sounding defensive.

“It is for a boy.”

“There’s a lot of creativity needed for making puppets. And skill. Designing them, crafting them, there’s more to it than people realize.”

“There is,” Leah agreed. Her voice was gentle. “Dov is very talented, and has an amazing imagination. But it’s still unusual, for a boy. I’m sure it’s easier for your Chaya.”

“She teaches first grade, too. The puppet shows are only a side job.” Adina was so used to downplaying Chaya’s hobby slash passion, that it was second nature now.

“Sounds like our kids have a lot in common,” said Leah. “How funny. It’s kind of…” Her voice trailed off.

“Time’s up,” the instructor announced.

The class may have been filled with grown women, and not teenage girls, but usually it still took a couple of minutes and some shushing for a teacher to get them to be quiet.

Networking was different. The class instinctively fell silent as the founder and principal of the Shidduch Academy appeared in the doorway.

“Networking,” began Rebbetzin Greenfeld — not bothering to take attendance, for which mother would miss this class, the core of the academy’s training — “is not only about who you know, but about what message you convey to them, what they think about you.”

“I’ll give you an example. Let’s discuss a MOG called Ruchi Levy. Ruchi runs a Pack ’n Play gemach. She knows most of the community, women often come round on Fridays to borrow a Pack ’n Play, when they’re having guests for Shabbos. Now, let me ask you, is this a good thing or a bad thing?”

Miriam raised her hand. “The gemach is a good thing,” she said confidently, “because she meets all the mothers of boys in the neighborhood.”

“Wrong,” said Rebbetzin Greenfeld. “Analyze the situation further. When is Ruchi meeting these women? On Erev Shabbos, when she’s in the middle of Shabbos preparations. How is she dressed then? Is she wearing a sheitel? And to get to the gemach, visitors troop through her house. Is the room tidy, is the silver polished? What sounds like a great networking opportunity is a catastrophe.

“Mothers of boys see Ruchi in a snood, peeling potatoes, laundry piled haphazardly on the table. What boy would want to marry a girl from such a family? The first thing Ruchi should do to network for her daughter is close her gemach, or at least not open it on Fridays, until she can be sure her home and her own appearance are immaculate. Networking correctly must be her first priority.”

“Rebbetzin Greenfeld, can I ask a question?” Adina raised her hand. This had been bothering her since Resume Writing class.

“If networking is so important, then why can’t daughters of MOGs marry sons of MOBs? Surely the Shidduch Academy is a great networking opportunity?”

Rebbetzin Greenfeld straightened her back. Her face suddenly looked sharper, more angular. “That is exactly the reason that shidduchim between MOG and MOB families are absolutely forbidden. The Shidduch Academy serves a higher purpose in educating mothers. Can you imagine what would go on here, if MOGs and MOBs were checking out each other’s shidduch credentials? Lessons would become fashion shows, seats beside eligible MOBs would be fought over by MOGs, mothers would become competitive instead of helpful, questions and answers in class would become a farce, instead of honest and open discussion. Matchmaking in the academy would taint the academic purity of the institution. It would ruin genuine camaraderie between students. Shidduchim would destroy us.”

Adina squirmed in her seat, trying not to meet Rebbetzin Greenfeld’s suddenly harsh gaze. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Leah scribbling on a piece of paper, folding it into a small square, and sliding it with a ruler across the table toward her….

Adina felt torn. She had never been a rule breaker. Shlomo didn’t even understand what the question was, to him it seemed so obvious. “Surely Chaya comes first?”

And of course, he was right.

Adina was risking her new friendships, her degree, her reputation. But what wouldn’t she sacrifice to see her daughter feeling happy, understood, accepted?

They stood side by side, in front of the principal’s desk.

Rebbetzin Greenfeld wasn’t smiling. She didn’t offer them a chair.

“It has come to my attention,” said Rebbetzin Greenfeld, “that your children — your daughter, Adina, and your son, Leah — have gone and gotten themselves—”

“Engaged,” said Adina. “Yes, did you see the ad in the paper? We haven’t settled on a date yet, but you’ll be the first person to get an invitation.”

“Are you aware?” began Rebbetzin Greenfeld, her voice becoming less genteel, higher and shriller, “that when you applied to the Shidduch Academy for Mothers, you agreed to abide by the Academy rules? Are you aware that no matches are to be made between the Mothers of Boys and the Mothers of Girls?”

Adina reminded herself that she was the mother of a kallah now, and no longer a schoolgirl. She sat down in one of the padded chairs with a relieved sigh. Leah followed her.

“We really do apologize,” said Leah. “You know what a devoted student I am, why this is my second semester here. I feel like I gained so much. We weren’t planning to break any rules, it just kind of… happened.”

“We’re hoping you can make an exception for us.” Adina interrupted. “Chaya and Dov were meant for each other, it was miShamayim. And when the wedding is behind us we will both need to start thinking of our next children’s shidduchim.”

“I don’t think you understand the severity of your actions,” said Rebbetzin Greenfeld. “We are an academic institution, not some common matchmaking service. We simply cannot condone this kind of behavior.” She took a deep breath and exhaled it in a whoosh. “Please collect your books and remove yourself from the premises at once.”

“Were we just expelled?” Adina asked Leah, once they were outside the office.

“Sure sounds that way.”

“I’ve never been expelled before.”

“Neither have I,” said Leah, with a giggle.

“So, since we’re both free, want to go look at gowns?”

(Originally Featured in Family First, Issue 531)