Her parents had picked up on that early in the shidduch process— every neighbor, every relative, every rebbi or roommate seemed to get a light in their eye when asked about Chaim Hirsch
“S
o I was talking to Motty last night. He was saying that Duvy Glatzman, that’s the guy who runs the choir, could use another singer to do some high harmonies.”
Bruchi looked up from the ironing board. She had another four shirts waiting and then she wanted to clean the chicken and peel the potatoes for tomorrow night’s supper. What was this about a choir?
Chaim’s face was flushed. “So he already spoke to Duvy about me, and I’m supposed to send over a recording of myself singing two songs — one fast, one slow. I was thinking that for the fast one, maybe I would do ‘Davenen,’ just it doesn’t go so high, so I’m not sure it shows what I can do. But if for the slow one I picked ‘Nafshi,’ that will probably work. You think you can turn the ringer off while I record?”
“You’re recording yourself singing here? Right now? In the living room?” Bruchi said.
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