Okay, I am putting my blog on matrimony (matter o' money) leave. My daughter is actually getting married this evening, IY"H.
As I anticipated, I do not have time to do any serious blogging and I have to devise speeches for sheva brachos. I do not know if I will be able to post until after Yom Tov.
In the meantime, for good entertainment, there is a doozey post over at Emes Ve-Emunah where Harry bemoans the fact that Charedi'ism looks like it will trump "Centrism" and speculating why HKBH is letting it happen if, as we all know, "Centrism" is the "Derech emes" that HKBH really wants. It doesn't look like Harry caught on to my book, but, what is worse, I don't think that Harry ever really learned Maseches Brachos, specifically 35b.
In any case, back to the simcha at hand, I will leave the reader with a well known and amusing poem written by John G. Saxe in some time in the late 1800s. It tells of a young man asking his shidduch mentor for dating advice. The shidduch mentor is his own echo - and it comes back with some interesting answers. Here it is:
Echo - John G. Saxe
I asked of Echo, t'other day
(Whose words are often few and funny),
What to a novice she could say
Of courtship, love, and matrimony.
Quoth Echo plainly,--"Matter-o'-money!"
Whom should I marry? Should it be
A dashing damsel, gay and pert,
A pattern of inconstancy;
Or selfish, mercenary flirt?
Quoth Echo, sharply,--"Nary flirt!"
What if, aweary of the strife
That long has lured the dear deceiver,
She promise to amend her life,
And sin no more; can I believe her?
Quoth Echo, very promptly,--"Leave her!"
But if some maiden with a heart
On me should venture to bestow it,
Pray, should I act the wiser part
To take the treasure or forego it?
Quoth Echo, with decision,--"Go it!"
But what if, seemingly afraid
To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter,
She vow she means to die a maid,
In answer to my loving letter?
Quoth Echo, rather coolly,--"Let her!"
What if, in spite of her disdain,
I find my heart intwined about
With Cupid's dear delicious chain
So closely that I can't get out?
Quoth Echo, laughingly,--"Get out!"
But if some maid with beauty blest,
As pure and fair as Heaven can make her,
Will share my labor and my rest
Till envious Death shall overtake her?
Quoth Echo (sotto voce),--"Take her!"