Blog: 
Apr
Feb
Nov
Oct
Sep
Wearing Hats in Church
Jun
Apr
Feb
Jan 2009
In the few minutes before the procession, I studied the worship space.
Rows of pews flanked a long central aisle. Bold architectural lines
culminated above a raised corner, forming a radiant starburst. Soon,
a groom in a black suit and a bride in a white gown would appear
and advance. Only the sea of heads in front of me seemed irregular.
Each one was slightly obscured by a spiral of fabric: a kippah,
or yarmulke.
Headgear for a traditional Jewish wedding.
Same but Different
A Jewish synagogue is unlike a Christian church in ways we forget to
remember. Pull a prayer book from a cubbyhole and it is printed in
English, yet its pages are assembled from right to left. Admire the shawls
draped over the holy men*, yet instead of embroidered crosses they end in
a waterfall of tassels. Hear the perky rhythms of haunting hymns,
opening with bright tones and then suddenly switching to a new key
mid-measure, like an old rabbi interrupting himself. For a goy
like me, the temple is a place on the edge of familiar.
A Jewish wedding feels like an unpublished adaptation of your favorite
bedtime story. There are lines with ancient words but a modern cadence,
characters with human expressions but alien attire. The ghost in the
ceremony comes from our common heritage, but I imagine every union
in every religious and secular tradition tugs at our souls in a common
way. This is the public trailhead of one life for two people.
Beginnings on Beginnings
As with the rituals of my own tradition, this wedding day began separately
for men and women. The groom and his entourage of male well-wishers headed
to a private space. Whereas us New Testament types tend to have our hometown
pals and college roommates ambling around in monkey suits, a
traditional Jewish ceremony includes a hoson’s tish. This translates
as “groom’s table.” All male guests are invited (and in
these modern times, womenfolk too) to hear the lucky man share his
viewpoint on the Torah. As the typical husband-to-be is neither learned nor
calm, those assembled are supposed to interrupt with jokes and songs
to shield him from embarrassment. Also: there is liquor.
He who has no idea what he is talking about or getting into.
While the groom is being roasted and plied with alcohol, the bride sits on a
large throne in another room. Guests fawn over her with wishes and
congratulations. Soon the couple retreat to sign the ketubah,
or marriage contract. This is more than a flowery affirmation of love—each
partner swears to honor precise matrimonial requirements. Among these are his
duty to provide her with shelter, food, clothing and, quite specifically,
sexual satisfaction. Tradition (and reason) insists that the bride retains the
ketubah for safekeeping.
The Approach
Just as my bride and I took turns approaching the altar on our own special
day, our friends Duncan and Eve walked purposely toward the chuppah,
or wedding canopy. They glided past us, pausing for various traditions,
beaming with the happiness of one of life’s few perfect moments.
The thin fabric above was an ancestral tablecloth passed down from a
distant generation. This tent is the newlyweds first house: devoid of
furniture to remind the couple that possessions do not make a home;
open on all sides to reinforce a commitment to hospitality. It is
where they shall speak vows and forge an inseparable union.
The minutes that follow are a rush of traditions. There is singing and
chanting in Hebrew, there are prayers and intonations. There is
circling—but in a modern twist, instead of bride parading for seven
full laps around her husband, Duncan and Eve made three loops each. The
final turn they shared, beginning their journey of marriage as equals.
Some time later, a glass was wrapped in a cloth and placed on the ground.
A stomp and cheers of mazeltov followed from the crowd. The
two were wed.
Celebration and Reflection
A great wedding is followed by a great reception. We crossed a hallway within
Adat Shalom Synagogue
to a beautifully catered dinner. For many, the practice of Judaism
requires strict adherence to the Torah, and thus our food was prepared
kosher. These laws are myriad and complex, but in general:
only certain animals, only foodstuffs prepared according to rabbinical
traditions and never milk and meat at the same time. Constraints
inspire innovation. Our meal was delicious.
Signage which promotes order yet encourages culinary brilliance.
Embarrassing, heartfelt speeches and skits warmed the souls of all
assembled. The band played on. We danced and sang. We listened as others
belted out songs we did not know. The newlyweds were tumbled into chairs
and lifted high by the crowd. Wine flowed late into the evening, well
past the stamina of those of us merely visiting the Jewish tradition.
We gave our farewells and headed home.
Parachuting into a foreign culture recalls the words of Moses: “I am
a stranger in a strange land.” Yet this enchanted evening, with
its unfamiliar customs and ancient vocabulary, is no alien environment.
There is love, commitment and joy. No person nor tradition is odd or
out of place. All are welcome. Shalom.
Further Reading:
Would you like to leave a comment?
Read this.
###
The ketubah was downright progressive when it appeared
in 200 BCE, as it guaranteed the wife would receive compensation in the
event her husband died or sought a divorce. The document also
time-shifted a major life expense: bride price. Young men
could barely scrape together 50 zuz to buy a house. Saving up
200 zuz to purchase a girl from her parents was often infeasible.
The marriage offered a way to promise to pay later, if necessary.
Of course, suitors wary of legal bindings could always pursue
a widow or a divorceé for half the going rate of a virgin.
