There is no shidduch crisis.
There, I said it.
Now, calm down. It’s only partially true. Well, sort of. Let me explain.
Of course, there are many stellar young men and women who, regrettably, have a dickens of a time finding their life’s partner. I don’t question that this trend has reached crisis proportions, nor do I downplay the plight of the young men and women (and their heartsore parents) so affected.
So why do I say there is no shidduch crisis?
Because there is no shidduch crisis. It is a values crisis.
What changed in the last generation or two to create the so-called shidduch crisis? Are more females being born? Is it because people are getting married too early or too late? Is the age gap between eligible boys and girls any wider than it was before? Of course not.
It’s just that our values have changed—and not for the better.
Eliezer’s search for a wife for Yitzchak teaches us to seek a spouse based on substance. Avraham sent Eliezer to wicked people to find a wife for Yitzchak—but those wicked people possessed good character traits (Bereishis 24:3 and Kli Yakar and Rabbeinu Bachaye ad loc.). At every turn of his mission, Eliezer was focused on finding a woman who exhibited kindness, compassion, and character. In Rivka, of course, he found all these traits in ample supply.
When Rivka finally met Yitzchak, “Yitzchak brought her into the tent of Sara, his mother”—that is, “he saw that her deeds were as righteous as those of Sara, his mother” (Bereishis 24:67 and Targum Onkelos ad loc.). Only then would he marry her. It is little wonder that some are accustomed to read this Torah portion to a groom prior to his wedding (see e.g. Rabbeinu Bachya, Bereishis 24:1; Ritva, Yoma 70a; Abudraham, “Weddings”). For it reminds the groom of all the reasons—hopefully the right ones—he chose this woman to be his wife.
These days, however, too many people are focused on all the wrong things. Money. Power. Appearances. Social standing. Those lacking these “qualities” seem to be the ones affected most acutely by the shidduch crisis. Coincidence? I think not.
“One who marries for monetary benefit will have children who do not act properly” (Kiddushin 70a), and one who marries a woman who is not proper for him transgresses five prohibitions and is deemed to have made the world deaf and mute (Avos d’Rebbi Nosson 26; Kiddushin 70a). One should not look for beauty, financial gain, power, or influence because such things easily can dissipate, or, as Rabbeinu Bachaye put it, “grow wings and fly heavenward like an eagle” (Rabbeinu Bachaye, Bereishis 24:3; see also Meiri, Mishlei 14:1). Indeed, “Any love that is dependent upon on a [transient] thing vanishes with the passing of that thing; any love that is not dependent upon a [transient] thing, will never cease” (Avos 5:19). Those with even a smidgeon of life experience know how true that last statement is.
We know that superficial, transient attributes are not the ones to pursue, yet they are in higher-than-ever demand. Again, values crisis.
Most people do not hide their quest for superficiality; those who do are painfully transparent. Even such high-minded attributes as “intelligence” and “yichus”[1] (see “Shabbos Inbox,” Queens Jewish Link, Vol. III, No. 16) are often just proxies for rank shallowness.
My wife and I were once talking to a young woman about what she sought in a prospective husband. “My husband must be brilliant,” she said. But when asked, she could not articulate why her husband had to be brilliant. In the end, the young lady conceded that her husband “must” be brilliant so that those in her social circles would know that she married someone “brilliant.” This was nothing more than superficiality cloaked by a (very) thin veneer of substance.
A father once asked R’ Shmuel Rozovsky about a boy in the Ponovezh Yeshiva for his daughter who reached marriageable age. “Is he the smartest boy in his shiur? Is he highly-regarded by the other boys?”
R’ Shmuel responded favorably, but added, “Wouldn’t you also like to know if he is a mentch? How often does he brush his teeth? How does he behave in the dining room? What does he do when the pitcher is empty on the table—does he wait for someone else to fill it up or does he fill it up himself? Does he occasionally go into the kitchen to thank the staff for preparing the food?”
R’ Shmuel continued. “Will you daughter respect him despite his lack of manners and social skills just because he knows every K’tzos in Bava Basra?”
The values crisis creates an atmosphere where throngs of terrific young men and women are nixed as prospective mates for the most trifling of reasons: “her sister married someone who works”; “they daven in the wrong shul”; “he went to the wrong yeshiva”; “she has a brother who is sick”; “he is too popular”; “she’s not popular enough”; “the grandparents don’t have enough money” (I’ve actually heard this!). The list is endless.
Yes, folks. We’ve reached the zenith—actually, the nadir—of self-absorption and superficiality.
So what do we expect? Of course there’s a shidduch crisis. It’s just rooted in the grotesque inequity of a far more troubling values crisis.
The Sanzer Rebbe (Divrei Chaim) was a brilliant Torah scholar and patriarch of great chassidic dynasties. The most esteemed families sought to have one of their own marry him. But he possessed a physical flaw that prospective wives did not dismiss as cavalierly as did their fathers: one of his legs was shorter than the other, resulting in a pronounced limp.
One day, his parents told him of yet another young lady who had declined a match with him because of his physical condition. But the young man destined to become the Sanzer Rebbe seemed particularly interested in this shidduch, and he arranged to meet the girl.
The Sanzer Rebbe described to the young lady how “forty days before the creation of a child, a Heavenly voice goes forth and declares, ‘the daughter of so-and-so will marry so-and-so’” (Sota 2a; Mo’ed Katan 18b).
“Before I was born,” he explained, “my soul asked to see my future wife. Seeing you, my soul was overjoyed because you were perfect. But there was a physical flaw.”
“What was that?” she asked.
“You had a noticeable limp. I was devastated that you would have to live with this impediment, so I beseeched the Heavens to let me be afflicted with this physical imperfection instead of you. I have a limp today, so that you would not.”
The young woman left the room abruptly and changed her mind a short while later—she now wanted to marry him. And the rest—including the illustrious Sanzer dynasty—is history.
So what should a person look for in a potential spouse?
A refined character is of paramount importance (see e.g. Meiri, Yevamos 63a; III Menoras HaMaor 2:6:3). Indeed, the Tchebiner Rov advised young men to seek three things in a prospective match: “Middos, Middos, Middos.”
The exact blend of desirable traits is a matter of personal preference best left to those involved directly. But, at the very least, seek qualities that have real meaning and import.
This is precisely what the “daughters of Jerusalem” conveyed to potential suitors on the happiest of days—the Fifteenth of Av and Yom Kippur—when they dressed in borrowed white clothing and danced in the vineyards, declaring, “Young man, consider who you choose (to be your wife)” (Ta’anis 4:8). They donned borrowed clothing to, so to speak, shed their shrouds of superficiality. And they told prospective suitors to give some thought to the real, important qualities of a potential spouse (but see Ta’anis 31a).
R’ Moshe Laib Sassover is reputed to have married a girl who was poor, lacked intelligence, and was ugly. “If I don’t marry her,” he explained, “who will?”
Don’t get me wrong: I don’t preach (or practice) the notion that one should marry an unintelligent, unattractive person. On the contrary, one is not permitted to marry someone without seeing and, presumably, approving of them (Kiddushin 41a). But superficial attributes should not be the only or even the most important considerations. And even when present, such features are of value only when accompanied by meaningful ones (see e.g. Mishlei 31).
* * * *
We’ve chosen, consciously or otherwise, to characterize the crisis as a “shidduch crisis” because it is easier to blame a collective predicament beyond our control—an unbridgeable age gap, for example—than it is to own up to the very real values crisis we’ve created and are transmitting to our children.
Ultimately, the qualities we seek in a spouse speak volumes about ourselves: “a person is paired up according to his deeds” (Sota 2a; see also Kiddushin 2b). Who we choose to marry, then, is a reflection of who we are.
Nothing I write here will solve the shidduch crisis or any portion of it. But until we identify and face the real problem—until we are prepared to confront some harsh realities about what we value, who we are, and what we’ve become—I fear not much will change.
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[1] Yichus as commonly used and as used here refers more to familial social standing than anything else. Of course, one should prefer a spouse from an upstanding family—not because it will impress friends and neighbors, but because character traits are heritable and are most often developed and reinforced by family (see e.g. Tosfos Yom Tov, Ta’anis 4:8; Bava Basra 110a; Pesachim 49a-b; Meiri, Kiddushin 70a).