… the words that bubbled out of me toward the end of an exuberant evening, our friends’ daughter’s wedding in Modern Orthodox observance. Over-the-top hospitality, food buffets (yes, plural), drinks (yes, plural), joviality and more. Seeing old friends we hadn’t seen in a couple years. The wedding blessings-service was beautiful, of course. Mostly Hebrew then a smattering of English renditions of the blessings, lots of opportunities for family and friends to be involved. A rabbinic invitation and teaching. Singing of the ketubah (wedding covenant, engraved glass for the new home). The raucous singing and dancing at the end of the service. The carb-first-course to fuel the raucous dancing upon the arrival of bride and groom into the banquet hall–women in one swirling mass, men in another. I felt the tears welling up when the bride danced with both of her grandmothers at once–so powerful to witness. The drawing-close and swirling away of young women, hoping to get chosen by the bride to dance with her in the center. The sweetness of getting chosen to dance in the center. General hilarity then followed with bride and groom, some family members, sitting on chairs while various groups of guests came to dance and sing for them. A luscious dinner meal before more dancing, a serenade by the groom of the bridge, then more dancing, younger generations by then. Choices of babka on one side, heated cookies on the other side, as guests began to take their leave amidst the waning evening light. Such exuberant celebration of life, love, family. I always smile at the edge of triumph too, Jews saying in song and dance, "You've tried to kill us for centuries and we're still here..." Bravado necessary because of the ancestral-lineage wounds, I suppose, but satisfying in its exuberance all the same.
So it was an evening of blessings, too many to name well, and a complicated space for me, perhaps a bit more than usual given both my husband and I attended. The gender-presumptions of Modern Orthodoxy are louder and a bit more raw in my embodied experience when I am with him in these settings, softer and negligible when I am by myself. The previous daughter’s wedding which I had attended solo seemed to hold more opportunity for reflection, interaction with spirit-friends, and less-gender-ized space for me to participate, observe. Even so, it was important to me that Brian attend this wedding, for us both to participate in the longstanding spirit-friendship we share with both mother and father of the bride. It took my forcefulness, because his introversion and anxieties would have prevented him from attending otherwise. A bit of tenderizing irony there, given he benefits with relational connection because of me while I experience the costs of such gendered spaces because of him.
I became aware of the simmering complexities within me during the ‘service’ itself, jotting down notes into my phone trying to breathe in the sacred while also honoring my own internal screams. I wanted to see the liturgy–as I would call it–as only sacred, beautiful, cherished by all there. Except I could not un-see the scriptural groundings/bindings-for-women being sold off to a man. The bride circling the man for several rounds (7? Hints of Jericho? I have no idea…) which my seat-companion Matty seemed to find beautiful. Centering the man irked me. I returned to my breath, began to write in my phone, did my best to focus on the attentive, delighted faces of the elders–the parents Brian and I know, the family members of the groom–celebrating this rite-of-passage for their own children, their own dreams. I was genuinely able to enjoy the rousing communal song escorting the bride and groom down the aisle, capturing much of it in a video on my phone. I thanked the older-women who had taken me under their wings, Matty and Elaine, then went to find Brian, who had been sitting with the guys from Kiddish Club on the men’s side of the room.
I was ready to go home at that moment, though joined Brian in the line-up for the bar. A whiskey, two small ice-cubes, in hand then, we went out onto the balcony to take pictures of the city skyline behind us. We found our table, seated with folks from Kiddush Club, and mingled with others while awaiting the bride-groom’s entrance for the dancing to begin. I made sure to get a selfie with Brian and Brad. Then one with Becky and myself, knowing that once the dancing started, it would be hard to capture. Dancing. Loud music. Dinner course. Brian and I finding pockets of less-noise in between stints of dancing (for me–his arch/foot was not up to that level of activity). I startled to learn that my Whoop band registered a strain of 12.6 by the end of the night. Clearly I had danced a lot.
By the end of the evening, the complexities had lessened or spent themselves. It was good to sit with our friend Brad (the father of the bride) and Brian, reflecting on Brad’s words of hope in a really tumultuous and challenging time. He was giving more anecdotal context for his words, weaving Brian into his yearnings for peace, for more, which our world currently seems incapable. None of us can alter the course of large-scale events, we know, and I heard myself say, “We just need to keep showing up.”
“Just keep showing up.” Which is what this whole final-two-days-of-our-May-vacation was about for me, I guess.
Did I have fun? Of a sort.
Was it without cost? No.
Am I glad we spent the time and effort to be there? Definitely.
No less true: I am glad to be heading homeward, to my own family and friends, world(s), invitations into a new season…
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