How Two 10-Year-Olds Matchmakers Made Our Match

I come from a world of arranged dates. This is vastly different from the world of arranged marriages where boys and girls are told whom to marry. In my world, a matchmaker suggests a nice young man to a fine young lady — and then they decide whether or not they’d like to go on a date. The matchmaker’s job is to arrange that first date, and then the couple makes their own decision as to whether they’d like to continue dating.
Back to my story. Setting: Autumn of 1997
At the ripe old age of nineteen-and-a-half, my parents and I decided that the time was right to begin dating for the purpose of marriage. That’s the way it’s done in my Orthodox Jewish community, and that’s the way the vast majority of my friends began their journey to marriage and beyond.
I waited at the phone for weeks, willing it to ring with a suggested suitor for me to date. (I didn’t actually wait at the phone; I had a job in graphic design, but I sometimes felt like I was doing nothing but waiting at the phone!)
Mrs. K from down the blocks suggested her friend’s son, and I finally had my first date. It took me less than 5 minutes to realize that this guy was not destined to be my husband, however, I politely sat through the 2-hour date in the lobby of a nice hotel as we made small talk.

Fast-forward a few months. The phone rang occasionally, and I went out on more dates — some good, some less-than-good. Yet none of these fine gentlemen appeared to be the Prince Charming for whom I was waiting. I could not quite verbalize exactly what sort of gentleman I was looking for, but I know that when he rode up my driveway on his white horse, I’d know that he was the one!
Little did I know just how true my vision would be. (As long as I can substitute “1986 Toyota Corolla” for “white horse”.)
Allow me to introduce my 10-year-old cousin, Brocha Becker. Brocha’s mother, had bought her a new dress. But this was not just any new dress: This dress was so special that it must be reserved for a wedding. “But when am I going to go to a wedding?” Brocha wondered.
My aunt wisely replied, “When your cousin Chaya gets married.”
Note: My aunt was referring to me. Chaya is my Hebrew name. Ellen is my English name, and easier to pronounce. I respond to either one, plus ‘Late for Breakfast’ and others — which shall remain private for now.
Lacking the patience to wait for me to get married, Brocha took matters into her own hands. The very day she asked her classmate, Chana Braun, “Please tell me about your older brother”.
At my wedding in 1998, the videographer interviewed my cousin Brocha and my sister–in-law Chana. I’ll step aside now so that you can hear the story in their own words:
And then we all lived happily ever after! Seriously — here’s a photo of my family at my all-grown-up sister-in-law Chana’s wedding several years ago:


























