Our Gemara on Amud Aleph discusses a scenario where somebody sends a messenger to choose for him a woman to marry. This is not merely sending him to marry a specific woman, but actually trusting him to discern who would be a fitting wife and being empowered to enact the marriage on his behalf. This is the precise scenario that Avraham proposed to his trusted servant, Eliezer (see Bereishis 24).

The Gemara rules that if the messenger dies, or we lose contact with him, the sender is now forbidden to marry "every woman in the world." This is because we presume that somehow or another the messenger fulfilled his function prior to his disappearance or death, and then whichever woman the man might marry could be a forbidden relative of the unknown and mysterious person whom the messenger might have married him off to. Why do we not follow the majority and declare it unlikely that the messenger married him off to an unknown relative of the person he wants to marry now? This has to do with the halakhic concept of when we use the majority to cancel out other choices and possibilities, and when we look at each article that is in front of us, of unknown status, as a standalone item that cannot be subsumed in the majority. In other words, for halakhic reasons beyond the scope of this article, we do not take all this woman's relatives and nullify them in the majority of other women in the world, to assume that one of her forbidden relatives was not actually married to him by the agent before he died.

Tosafos asks a number of questions on the logic of this, including this one: Why not believe the relatives who would say, "We did not accept marriage from anybody"? Therefore, this woman should only be forbidden if she has unknown relatives who are not able to come forth and testify about not having received marriage from the messenger. Because of this and many other questions, Tosafos concludes that from a strict legal point of view, the person is permitted to marry, and we could follow the majority and other leniencies, such as the uncertainty of whether the messenger found somebody to marry for him. Tosafos holds that this ruling forbidding him to marry other women is actually a penalty because the rabbis wanted to discourage what could be described as a careless and disrespectful attitude toward the institution of marriage.

Ramban rejects this idea, wondering why the rabbis would impose such a penalty. First of all, is it really so careless to assume that a messenger would not die? People send messengers all the time to accomplish complex tasks, trusting them with major financial and legal concerns. Secondly, in the majority of cases, the messenger does not die. So what kind of penalty is this that is imposed only on the "unlucky guy" whose messenger actually dies? All the others playing marriage roulette get away unscathed. How does this discourage behavior? Therefore, Ramban offers a lomdishe explanation for Tosafos' various questions, drawing a distinction between situations that rely on the majority and those that do not. We will not go into those details here.

However, what is clear is that Ramban sees no wrongdoing in a person who sends out a messenger to choose a wife for him. I find it interesting that Ramban doesn't consider the possibility that Tosafos saw this as worthy of penalty not because he was being cavalier and not considering that the messenger might die, but rather because sending somebody off to marry another person that he will choose sight unseen seems like a recipe for disaster. We can say that Tosafos was referring to this careless behavior, and this is what the rabbis sought to penalize. The answer probably is that Ramban did not consider this to be disrespectful, as after all, he has a compelling proof for this from the fact that the Torah gives tacit approval of such a strategy when Avraham employed it to seek a wife for Yitzchak.

Tosafos might disagree on this point. Tosafos might argue that there are other instances where, strictly speaking, behavior was considered moral, and then later on, it became less moral. Not because morality changes, but because there is less ability to perform the task with the right intentions. We find that originally, one of the legal ways to accomplish marriage was via having sexual relations with the intent of creating a bond of marriage, with witnesses knowing that they cohabited (Kiddushin 2a). Yet, at a certain point in time, the rabbis felt that such behavior could not be conducted with proper decorum and would be, or at least perceived, if not performed, with a promiscuous attitude. Rav would give lashes to one who performed Kiddushin via sexual relations (Kiddushin 12b). Here, too, Tosafos can argue that Eliezer was of such a stature that he could be relied upon to know the heart and mind of his master and master's son, and choose the correct and proper wife. For that matter, Yitzchak was on the spiritual level to accept Eliezer's choice of wife for him as a providential one, and would have no regrets or second thoughts. Precisely because such an act requires faith and refinement of character, the rabbis did not see the average folk capable in this regard and therefore sought to actively discourage any attempt to model Avraham's behavior. They needed to impose a penalty because people would be tempted to rationalize and follow this procedure since it was described in the Torah.

Another possible answer is that the situation of Eliezer is not comparable to our situation because Avraham directed Eliezer to choose from his family members and not the daughters of Canaan. If so, perhaps even Tosafos would say that there is no penalty in such a situation because you are not sending somebody out to marry somebody random, but rather a much more select group. Secondly, even Ramban, who does not hold there is a penalty here, and the real problem of the messenger dying is not knowing if you are marrying a relative of somebody to whom the messenger already married you, might hold that Avraham's case is different. Since Eliezer was sent to marry only inside the family (Bereishis 24:3-4), if Eliezer died, Avraham and Yitzchak would still have options to find a wife outside of Besuel's family.

It is foreign to us to even consider the idea of recruiting somebody else to choose a wife and to trust them to fully execute the marriage before even meeting the woman first. It is clear that in ancient times, the idea of romantic love was assumed to be developed over time after the woman is chosen, based on overall family compatibility. Some might argue that romantic love itself was not a particular value, and if marriages were treated more like business arrangements or treaties between families, the needs of the individual and the particular experience of attraction and love were not paramount. However, I reject that idea because love is love. No matter how many metaphors we might apply to the language of Shir Hashirim, the very use of romantic love as a metaphor for the love of God shows the intrinsic value of the basic human experience of romantic love. (Also, as we saw in Psychology of the Daf, Gittin 62, human processes are the physical tip of the iceberg for more spiritual manifestations of the same universal pattern or process in the world.) The ancients may have followed a different process in order to develop love in their relationships, but I believe they did have it and value it.

As we reflect on these ancient perspectives, it is crucial to approach the topic with sensitivity and cultural understanding. Our contemporary values and individual autonomy in choosing a spouse should be respected, but we should also recognize that different societies throughout history have developed their own approaches to building relationships and families.

The dynamics of love, attraction, and compatibility have always played a role in human relationships, regardless of the specific methods employed to initiate them. While the process may differ across cultures and eras, the underlying human desire for connection and companionship remains universal.