I meet NMF #7, her mini-me, and mindy at Bonkers to do some catching up. (“My how you’ve grown since I last saw you.” “Gee thanks.”) Afterwards we go pick up a mended bracelet from a gift shop for the NMF. (Really I think she’s an MF by now, but since she’s co-opted the title for her blogger name, she’s going to remain in shana rishona forever.)Naturally, we struck up a conversation and naturally it turned to aliya, and the woman said she had an American nephew who was in yeshiva now and wanted to stay in Israel, and I said that was typical – doesn’t everyone fall in love with Israel? And doesn’t everyone say they want to live there? And doesn’t everyone subsequently go back to the USA and develop a myriad reasons why they can’t make the leap? Which, naturally, brought everyone round to staring at me, since I was the only person in the shop who didn’t actually live in Israel.
“You can have my nephew,” the storekeeper offered. “He’s learning in the Mir.” Sounds like every other guy I go out with. I handed her a ridiculously priced postcard, automatically asking for a discount and was automatically refused as easy, American, prey. But in with the postcard she slipped a business card with her nephews name, some details, and a phone number. And here’s the best part: she’s the third person to try to set me up since I landed. Matchmaking is the national sport, eh? I can see it.