We all know that technology is remarkable and has completely changed the world from what it was 100 years ago, but few things have changed as much in my own lifetime as the telephone.

When I was a child, we had electricity, indoor plumbing, a refrigerator, and a washer and dryer (unlike my aunt, who told me that at one point she had three children in diapers and washed the diapers by boiling them on top of the stove!). My parents did not drive when I was young, but I certainly rode in cars. So, though today we may have fancier cars, more air-conditioning, and nicer refrigerators – and can’t imagine life without them – they serve the same function as in the past. The telephone, however, has metamorphosed so drastically that, while it is still called a telephone, I think it qualifies as a new phenomenon.

A bunch of children were playing tag outside on a long summer Shabbos afternoon. Suddenly, one of the boys started yelling, “No girls allowed.” Other boys joined the battle cry, and the girls stopped in their tracks, not sure whether to go on with the game. Some of them were close to tears. One boy called out loudly, “Why can’t the girls play?! He stopped the whole “revolution” in its tracks, and the game proceeded until dusk.

A high school girl made a nasty comment about her teacher’s clothing to her friend. She was trying to rile up the class to join her in making fun of the teacher. To her surprise, her friend refused to be horrified and instead said, “So what?” catching the instigator off guard. That comment stopped the joke and saved the teacher from an embarrassing situation.

Wouldn’t we all like to be able to claim these children as our own? Don’t we want to raise a child who is strong enough to do the right thing even when overruled by the majority? How can we teach ourselves and our children to be firm in their beliefs? To be kind when everyone else is being mean? This article will not answer these questions definitively but will give us food for thought.

As usual I started exploring this topic by asking friends, family, and acquaintances what they thought about peer pressure.

Driving on Park Heights Avenue towards Seven Mile Lane, I saw a familiar figure directing traffic around a stalled car in the middle of the street. Later, I asked my son-in-law, Yair Friedman, how he came to be standing there surrounded by orange cones and looking very official in a fluorescent yellow vest. I was fascinated to hear that this is part of his role as a “unit” for Chaverim. As a member of the Baltimore community I have heard about Chaverim, of course, but I was interested to hear how this organization really works and what it does. 

Yair joined the organization in January of this year and has already taken 155 calls. He was prepared for my interview with a list of statistics. Between January and April, he did 37 jump starts, 28 flat tires, eight pop-a-locks, four gas calls, six air in tires, five pull outs, and some shiva minyanim.

A well-known pasuk in Tehilim (89:3) says “Olam chesed yibaneh – The world is built on kindness.”in Pirkei Avos, gemilus chasadim, doing kind deeds, is considered one of the three pillars of the world. Indeed, it is man’s humanity to man, caring about others and reaching out to them that makes the world a good place to be.

True kindness doesn’t have to take a lot of time or effort. It does take empathy and caring: putting oneself in another’s place and thinking about how that person feels. True kindness is looking under the surface to understand the need of the other person and filling that need.

To write this article, I asked everyone I met about small kindnesses they had experienced. It was a great conversation topic; it was fascinating to hear what people remembered and what was important to them. Everyone I came in contact with was included in my quest to hear meaningful stories: from Shabbos guests to sons-in-law to walking partners to email correspondents. Their answers may surprise you.

It was about 30 years ago, but I still remember the enthusiasm of my son and his friend as they prepared a beautiful mishloach manos to give to their fourth-grade rebbe. It was not an obligation; it was a labor of love that drove them to prepare their own basket and walk over to present it to their rebbe.

I have another memory of a knock on the door during the Purim seudah at my parents’ house many years ago. It was the mother of one of my mother’s kindergarten students, who brought over many containers of homemade food to show her hakaras hatov (appreciation) to her daughter’s beloved kindergarten teacher.

Purim and the mitzva of mishloach manos has become a time to show our appreciation to the moros and rebbeim who teach our children. Many mechanchim prepare unique mishloach manos to give out to their students and set aside special times for them to stop by. And the children enjoy wearing their costumes and showing them off to their teachers.

“Rivka Blackson” is a shadchan who lives and works in the Baltimore community. She has chosen to remain anonymous so as not to risk hurting the feelings of singles whom she has been unable to help. The insights and ideas she expresses can help us understand the world of a shadchan whose goal is to set up as many happy couples as possible.

Q: How did you get into making shidduchim?

A: When I first got married, more years ago than I care to admit, my Shabbos table was full of single boys and girls. I can say that out loud now because, b”H, all my children are married! The world was a different place, and it was acceptable to have a mixed Shabbos table; in fact, it was the norm, at least in my circles.

At one of these meals, I thought that two of my single friends would be a good match. Even then, it took some doing to convince them to go out. They finally did, and the rest is history. Once I made that shidduch, I got the “bug” and wanted to help all my friends get married. I was young, idealistic, and proud to be thought of as “Yenta” from Fiddler on the Roof! People, again, in my circles weren’t paid for making a shidduch. I never thought of it as a profession or even dreamed that real people did this as a profession. It was a great feeling to help people and an honest thrill when they got engaged. Families would give (sometimes) a small gift as a thank you, like a candy dish or flowers. I would say that things have changed slowly and then drastically over the last 25 years.

Today, I am a shadchan simply because there is such a tremendous need, and I can’t let myself stop, even though I want to most days. I sometimes say that G-d is playing a game with me. Every time I say, “Okay, this is it, I am retiring from all this,” a shidduch comes through, and I know Hashem is telling me that, even though it is a hard and often thankless job, I must do my best to try and help.