Ah, vacation… Relaxation, fun, recreation, and… the shadchan.
I invited a friend over to my house and reassured her that she need not change for the occasion. “There are no shadchanim here,” I said.
“Phew!” she replied, only half in jest. “You know you can’t go around the corner without visiting a shadchan anymore. Or on vacation. It’s crazy.”
She’s not the only one. Friends heading to Florida, Israel, England, or California all casually mention the shadchan as one of their stops, between Disneyland and the beach, or Amuka and the kosel. So, between their long slinky skirts and t-shirts (if they still have any) they pack a short pleated skirt and sweater. And under the baseball cap and between the sneakers they tuck their hair iron.