Open Writing

It was February, and it had been snowing for at least a week before we arrived in Toronto. We were there to attend the wedding, an orthodox Jewish affair, of our friends’ daughter, Allison.

Outdoor temperatures were around minus nineteen degrees Celsius, with a vicious wind taking them down to an effective minus twenty-six. Wrapped in a fur-trimmed coat with an under layer of Inuit-made blanketing and an outer layer described as a ‘parka’, my hands in gloves lined with space-age ‘down’ and my feet snug in boots, I rushed from the house to the warm car. Leon, similarly clad, followed.

When we arrived at the conference centre there was a second rush from the car, idling under the covered entrance, into the first reception room. Like exotic butterflies leaving their pupas, we struggled out of our coats, slipped on smart indoor shoes and handed our outdoor clothing to the cloak-room attendant. We walked through into a crowded room, lit by massive windows, brightened by the snow-scape outside, and framed by tall trees growing indoors in pots.

Allison, the bride, sat with her back to this window, surrounded by her family. Her heart-shaped face was framed by jet-black hair, her shining dark eyes were over-arched by graceful brows, her lips were full and red. In her simple white dress, she was exquisite. Her parents, our good friends Roland and Marion, called us over to take our places behind them, and so we found our way into the photograph album.

We joined the throng, feasted on summer melons and drank fruit-juice. Then the wedding co-ordinator came to us, and in a heavy Eastern-European accent, told Leon to ‘please go to the next room. Men must be separate, it is the rules.’

I joined our hostess, Chips, who told me that during this time just before the wedding ceremony, the bride is closer to God than she ever has been or will be, and may intercede with Him on behalf of others. Thus, anyone can approach the bride with their petitions, and she will pray for them. Allison was ‘approached’ by an endless stream of beautiful young ladies, gorgeously dressed in designer dresses. They chatted, laughed and kissed her, and posed for photos with her. Older women spoke to Ally, and one strange young man returned several times. No-one was turned away. Ally remained calm, radiant and regal in the knowledge that she was indeed a queen for this day.

Marion, mother of the bride, with the groom’s mother, Sue, left the gathering of women and went to the next room where the groom, Eric, and the rest of the men were gathered. The two women carried with them a plate, which they broke to remind those present of their grief over the destruction of the Holy Temple. They also carried with them the betrothal agreement, to be read publicly and signed by two witnesses.

Then it was time for Eric to be escorted by family and friends to Ally for the bedekin ceremony. The men, all dressed in dark suits, many with wide-brimmed black hats, all the others wearing yarmulkes of many styles and colours, moved into Ally’s ‘throne-room’, singing joyously, accompanied by a clarinet which wailed the melody, high and pure, over the rumbling men’s voices. It was a sound to raise goose-bumps, intense yet primitive.

The bedekin is a ceremony which recalls the biblical tale of how Jacob was tricked into marrying Leah, who was heavily veiled throughout the ceremony, when he really wanted to marry Leah’s younger and more beautiful sister, Rebecca. Jacob then, in those days of multiple marriages, was made to wait a further seven years before he could marry his true love. In the bedekin, the groom firstly assures himself that the bride is the woman he wants to marry. He then places the veil over her face himself. The veil recalls Rebecca’s modesty, characterizing the virtue of Jewish womanhood. It also symbolises the groom’s intention to marry not only her physical beauty, but the entire woman.

Singing and chanting, the men returned to their reception room. The great hall was opened to reveal the simple chuppah, decked in white satin, surrounded by chairs for more than three hundred guests. Once again, men and women were separated throughout the touching and beautiful ceremony. Allison circled Eric seven times, a difficult process in the confined space with her full wedding dress and train. Blessings were sung, wine was sipped, rings exchanged, the marriage document signed and read aloud, then handed to Allison for safe-keeping. The Seven Blessings – Sheva Brachos – were sung, each by a different male member of Allison’s and Eric’s families. Finally, the glass was broken to the sound of singing, a further reminder of the destruction of the Holy Temple, and to remind Eric and Allison that no matter what the occasion of personal joy, the memory of Jerusalem must always be borne in mind.

There was a brief interlude when Allison and Eric shared their first few moments of privacy since announcing their engagement four months earlier. There was a longer interlude while official photographs were taken. During this time, the guests gathered in yet another reception room, eating piping-hot snacks carried by waiters and waitresses who were almost mobbed as they appeared. We drank cocktails and cool drinks, chatted to friends and listened to a superb pianist playing everything from rag-time to swing to rock ‘n roll.

Finally, the doors to the great hall were opened, and we found our way to our table, where we were seated with friends. The band played gentle background music. Bride and groom entered the hall and moved to their table, where they sat enthroned together, King and Queen of the evening.

The band began playing traditional Jewish dance music. It was wild and wailing, joyously rhythmic. The women drifted past the men and behind the screens which divided the room. Holding hands, we danced in circles around Allison, in and out, in and out. Sometimes she joined us as the dancing grew wilder. At other times, she sat enthroned in our midst, while her younger friends entertained her with cheer-leader dances and pom-poms, bobbed around with parasols held high, or carried faces on long sticks held so as to ‘peer’ over the screens at the men’s even wilder cavorting.

Allison’s chair, where she was enthroned, was lifted to shoulder-height by four strong girls. They danced with her through a gap in the screens to the men’s section of the hall. There, Eric was raised on his throne, and bride and groom were danced close to each other holding a handkerchief between them. Then they were parted again, and the gap in the screens closed.

Between sessions of dancing, we ate a delicious meal. Chips told me that the circular dancing was part of the symbol of the circle, which has great significance throughout the Jewish marriage celebration. According to tradition, the meeting of soul-mates is merely confirmation of a relationship that is without beginning, interruption or end. Similarly, the wedding ring must be simple, with no engraving and no joints. The circling of the groom seven times during the ceremony, as well as symbolising the seven days of creation and the creation of a new home and family, continues the symbolism of the circle.

Another tradition is to entertain the bride and groom, to distract them from the possibly-dreaded, looming consummation of the marriage… Hence the pom-poms and other paraphernalia.

On their side of the screens, the men’s dancing became extremely wild. Some took off their jackets. All kept their hats or yarmulkes on their heads. They danced and pranced, whirled each other around, carried each other on their shoulders, performed Cossack style dancing, squatting and kicking. They laid down in pilchard-fashion while their fellows tried to leap across their ever-extending line. Some poured spirits into the high crowns of their hats, set them alight, and danced, kicking high while flames soared from their heads. One man tried to dance while balancing an open and full vodka bottle on his forehead. When it fell, he caught it, tipped back his head, and drank long and deep without spilling a drop.

Never had we seen so many people in one place have so much sheer fun.

There was only one speech. Eric welcomed everyone to the reception, thanked his and Ally’s parents, and hoped we would all enjoy ourselves. He sang to Ally, accompanied by the band. He sung in Hebrew, about a good woman being worth more than gold. The adoration in his eyes told us all of his devotion to his lovely bride.

This was the first night of seven days of blessings for the bride and groom. Each night for the remainder of the week, they were fêted and fed at the homes of various family members, yet another rich Jewish tradition. But that is another story for another time.

The depth of tradition in which this wedding was steeped was in itself a source both of comfort and deep joy, from which grew the delight with which every person present celebrated. More than the joy, however, the symbolism of the traditions promised for Ally and Eric a deep commitment from every member of their family to help them, to support them through good times and bad, and to be with them through every step of their lives together.

With such a deeply sincere beginning to their marriage, this young couple will surely succeed in building a happy and loving family, and a warm and loving relationship that will last for the rest of their lives.

Tradition is, indeed, powerful.

Until next time, ‘here comes Treble!’

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Isabel Bradley