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Message: <br /><br /> If you are having trouble reading this email, you may view this article online at: http://www.jweekly.com/20137/full/20137/festivity-and-confusion-mingle-at-frum-wedding/ <br /><br /> <b>Festivity and confusion mingle at frum wedding</b> <br /> Friday, June 20, 2003 | by <p>SORIYA DANIELS </p> <br /><br /><p>After only two hours of sleep, I woke up on Aug. 13, 2000 to the sounds of drizzle hitting my hotel window. With a pit in my stomach, I got out of bed, terrified and excited all at once. It was my wedding day, the culmination of three months of harried planning. I desperately wanted everything about this day to be perfect, to reflect the perfect love that Brad and I shared.<br /><br /> I scanned the piles around my room: my veil, bridesmaids' gifts, personal belongings I would need for the few days following the wedding, and lavender wedding guides I composed explaining to my guests all the traditional customs and rites they would be a part of that day. That last item made me a bit uptight. "Will my family and friends be utterly lost?" I wondered. After all, I had not become Orthodox until I was 20, and my parents, three sisters, relatives and friends could not believe the transformation. They just soothed themselves with the old adage "Live and let live." Brad, who also became religious in his 20s, comes from a similar background. Actually, his mother is vehemently Reform and loudly voices her objections to everything we do (in a sweet way, of course).<br /><br /> Fast-forward three hours and two hairstyles later. The guests arrive. There is a lot of excitement on two floors. Brad and the men are at the chattan's tisch (groom's table), where a great deal of legal business is being transacted—the tnaim (legal terms of the engagement) are agreed upon and signed by two witnesses; ditto for the ketubah. And in between, Chassidic Lubavitchers that Brad studied with are toasting jubilant l'chaims, while his college and medical school buddies were trying to make sense of what was going on and what they were supposed to do.<br /><br /> Suddenly, the moment I dreamed of! Accompanied by spirited music, Brad arrived upstairs for the bedecken (veiling of the bride). This was no ordinary arrival. It was more like a parade of cheering fans extending far behind him, singing jubilant wedding melodies and clapping. The excitement was palpable, as Brad approached my throne, whispered in my ear, blessed me in the verses of the Kohanim and draped my veil over my head. With that, he was gone.<br /><br /> This was exactly how I wanted my wedding—imbued with meaning and tradition.<br /><br /> The chuppah was the most remarkable part of our wedding. Luckily, our rabbi was hysterically funny and made everyone feel comfortable, inspired and entertained all at once. We also added some unique customs to the service, such as calling up all the Kohanim from the crowd to bless us in the same verses they traditionally bless the congregation during the holidays. This was quite humorous because Brad is a Kohen, as are his father, brothers, uncles, cousins and so forth. They are not religious, however, and had no advance knowledge this would be sprung upon them. We wanted it to be a surprise, and I purposely omitted it from the wedding guide. I did, however, photocopy sheets with the transliteration of the verses. It was still a struggle, nonetheless, but it looked great on the wedding<br /><br /> video.<br /><br /> "That was the best part," recalled my former co-worker and friend Henry. "You want to know something funny?" he added, "Sotoko [his Japanese wife who had just arrived in America and barely spoke English] just assumed this was what an American wedding was like."<br /><br /> Not everyone was pleased with the separate dancing, and my parents even tried to sneak in a dance together, which quickly got broken up. "What's the big deal?" my mother protested, "It's not like your dad and I are not married."<br /><br /> I can recall being lowered in my seat from high in the air and being placed side by side with Brad. Next came the performances and out came the wedding shtick, accoutrements to enhance the performance. Suddenly, the Orthodox guests among us were in costume and juggling; others did solo dance performances. Some women passed out party hats and streamers, and our short rabbi was dancing on a taller guest's shoulders. Then, a few young guys stepped forward and the celebration was in full swing, literally. One guy swung another by his arms, as a third jumped over his flying legs, which served as a jump rope.<br /><br /> "It was so crazy, I have never seen anything like it," recalled my sister Shanna. "I liked the Israeli songs, but it would have been nice to have some English dance songs, too" my bubbly 20-year-old sister said on the phone.<br /><br /> My father felt awkward dancing with only guys, so aside from trying to sneak in a dance with my mother, he just shmoozed and ate to his heart's delight. "The wedding was lovely," he told me the other day, "and filled with spirit and energy. That was really special."<br /><br /> As our party favor, we gave out wedding benchers, which were all in Hebrew since the version with the English translation was too expensive. To our dismay, and reflecting the demographic of our bunch, two-thirds of the benchers were left behind on the table at the end of the wedding. Poor Uncle Lenny had been assigned the task of collecting them. We had so many left over that we donated them to a struggling kosher pizza parlor in Maryland.<br /><br /> Unfortunately, our guests bid us adieu after the dessert. In other words, hardly anyone, save for our immediate families, stayed for the Birkat HaMazon (the blessing after meals, hence, the benchers on the table). This ritual included reciting the Sheva Brachot, the special marital blessings recited under the chuppah, and every day for a week thereafter. You need a minyan of 10 men, and we didn't meet our quorum. It was so embarrassing—we had to pull the men from the band! So, the music stopped, the Sheva Brachot were recited and the wedding ended anti-climatically.<br /><br /> I was too happy to care. After all, each ending marks a new beginning. For us, it is parenthood.<br /><br /> There must be something to those Sheva Brachot!</p> <p> </p>

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