"Come along; I want him to give you a bracha."
I dutifully follow. I've mellowed towards brachos. A bracha, from anyone, has value, providing the motivations are kind and true. I don't put my faith in them, yet they grant a measure of comfort and community.
I stand demurely, hands clasped, eyes downcast, in a state of staged meek humility. He begins to speak. I become confused, then walloped with disbelief.
He was asked to give me a bracha. No skin off his nose. Yet what he was gently saying instead was that I needed to find someone to talk to, and this person, in turn, will be able to tell me, in essence, what "I am doing wrong."
I stared at him wordlessly.
He continued, providing examples of his talmidim who were cluelessly misbehaving on dates. Once they were set straight, they promptly wed.
As my smile froze and my glare became icy, he finally concluded with a bracha.
"Baruch tihiyeh," I said coldly. I don't think I was sincere.
Let's play a little game of logic:
1) If someone who was ill, or had difficulty with parnossah or with family, would they have gotten this lecture? "Blame the victim" lines kick singles in the teeth.
2) If, say, there were boys that he knew who had issues, what does that have to do with me? He knows the boys. He does not know me.
3) Every date is viable? A guy dates and no joy. He has an intervention, and gets married to the next girl. Meaning he could have been married earlier to ten different ones? Girls are all the same? Boys are all the same? We're not even pretending to shoot for bashert?
4) The wackiest folks with the most eccentric quirks marry, even without interventions.
5) (Sing song) Biiiiiite me.