over 500 Orthodox men and women on his
lists, looking for suitable husbands and
wives. He even has a 90-year old man in
search of a mate. While attracting business
is rarely a problem, even traditional, old
fashioned matchmakers need to advertise.
In the classified section of the newspaper,
his simple ad appears under "matri-
monial:" "Matchmaking for religious, once
a week, Tel Aviv, call Ardheim. 02-810825."
Every Wednesday evening, Ardheim
travels from his modest home in Jerusalem
to bustling downtown Tel Aviv. He comes
for one reason — to try to arrange another
mitzvah. This Wednesday night, in one of
lel Aviv's beachfront hotels, three women
are waiting to see him, to reveal what they
want and don't want in a man.
"I want someone nice looking, with a
good job and a good character," 30-year old
Leah tells the matchmaker. "I would like
him to be religious like me and not too old."
Leah and her younger sister, who is also
single, mustered enough courage to come
to a matchmaker after their own search for
the right mate proved unsuccessful. They
worry about getting too old to have
children.
"It's hard to meet religious men," Leah
explains. "We can't meet them on the bus,
or go to a bar, or meet them on the street.
Years ago, there was a nightclub where
religious singles could get together, but it
closed. We would much rather meet in a
more natural setting like that than have to
come to a matchmaker. But we don't have
much choice." Ardheim doesn't make Leah
any promises, but he says he will do his
best.
His next client is a 54-year old widow, an
attractive woman whose husband died sud-
denly 10 years ago. She enjoys her grand-
children and keeps busy, but when she
comes home at night she is alone. "I always
feel like a fifth wheel," the widow says. "My
family told me it's about time I try to meet
someone again, and my brother heard
about Mr. Ardheim. It's a lot easier to have
someone else do the looking, especially at
my age."
For only $30, Ardheim gives his clients
two years' service. If he succeeds in arrang-
ing a marriage, he charges a mere $120, a
price both bride and groom are more than
willing to pay.
Ardheim's meager income barely allows
him to afford more than a small, crowded
apartment in an Orthodox neighborhood
of Jerusalem. He lives alone and rarely
goes out, other than to pray or make his
weekly trips to Tel Aviv to see his out-of-
town clients. He never went to college, but
he loves helping people and can find no bet-
ter profession to achieve such a goal.
len years ago, he told a woman friend
that if she gave him 100 lirot he would open
up a matchmaking service. "She gave me
the 100 lirot," he recalls, "and I opened up
shop. I was single at the time and I
thought it couldn't hurt."
Ardheim is still single. He was married
once but soon got divorced. So far, his own
business hasn't helped him find a wife, but
at age 48 he seems resigned to remaining
alone. He has enough work trying to find
mates for others, he says. At home, next
to his desk where he conducts most of his
interviews, he keeps eight thick notebooks
filled with the names and personal details
of all his clients. He records not only a per-
son's height, weight and age, but also their
likes and dislikes. After each interview, he
searches through his books for the perfect
match.
"Most of the men want a woman who is
nice looking, intelligent, and slim. And
they don't want a woman who talks too
much," Ardheim says. "The more Orthodox
boys want a girl who doesn't wear pants
Yitzhak
Ardheim
says there
is no magic formula for
finding the proper match.
He lets his experience
and intuition guide him.
and who dresses 'properly.' As for the
women, they want a man with a good
education and a good job. They don't want
factory workers. The very religious ones
don't want a man who watches TV."
Ardheim's work can be difficult, and
sometimes distressing, since it's not possi-
ble to please everyone. Some people are so
anxious they never leave him alone. "I have
some real nudniks. They call me every day
and say, 'Nu, nu, nu?' One guy comes to
my house and sits for hours hoping I'll get
a call from his future wife. I have another
man who wants me to find him an Ameri-
can girl who should also be a rich doctor.
There are some things I just can't do."
There is no magic formula for finding the
proper match. Ardheim lets his experience
and intuition guide him, but he admits
that some cases are more difficult than
others. "I never tell people that they're
unattractive or undesirable or anything
like that. If I truly can't find someone a
possible mate, I may refer him to one of my
competitors."
Sometimes, even the matchmaker makes
mistakes. Ardheim once arranged a
meeting between two ultra-Orthodox teen-
agers which was wrong from the beginn-
ing. "The owner of a large factory wanted
me to find a husband for his daughter. She
was a nice, sweet girl. I fixed her up with
a boy who was only interested in the fami-
ly's money. The girl really cared for him but
whatever her parents wanted to give him
it wasn't enough. They offered him a Ren-
ault, he wanted a BMW. They offered him
a three-room apartment, he wanted five. I
told her parents that this was a match that
wasn't meant to be."
For the ultra-Orthodox, a matchmaker is
often the first person a family turns to
when a son or daughter "comes of age."
The days are gone, though, when children
must abide by their parents' decision and
have no say in the matter.
Making matches for the ultra-Orthodox
is a complicated, delicate process. The girl
and boy involved are usually very young
and quite shy. - 'Po ease the stress, the cou-
ple sometimes meets for the first time at
the matchmaker's home. If not, the boy
visits the girl's home under the watchful
eye of her parents.
When things do work out, there is hard-
ly a happier man than Yitzhak Ardheim.
His efforts may take weeks, months, even
years, before he finds the right match. His
ultimate joy is attending the wedding of
a couple he introduced.
Three years ago, an Orthodox boy named
David reluctantly decided to see the mat-
chmaker. "I was against the idea," David
says, "but there comes a certain point in
your life when you realize that in your own
close circle of friends there is not always
someone you might want to marry. I saw
an ad in the paper and I decided to see who
this Mr. Ardheim was."
The visit paid off. Three years later, after
going out with some 20 girls he met
through the matchmaker, David found his
future wife. They were married last year,
thanks, David feels, to the patient match-
maker who worked so hard for him for so
many years.
Now, in the wintertime, business slows
down, as it does for most matchmakers in
Israel. But things usually pick up in the
summer. The warm weather brings out the
warmth in people, Ardheim believes, and
looking for love becomes more popular. In
both winter and summer, though, the
matchmaker always hopes for more calls
and more meetings and more marriages.
But he feels blessed even if he is able to ar-
range just one happy union.
Janet Agassi is a writer living in Israel.
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