This story looks to the Hassidic world for ritual nuances which can benefit the spirit and bear consideration during wedding planning.
The Hurvah Synagogue in Jerusalem is to be the site of a dear friend's wedding held in the style of the Carliner Hassidim from which he learned late in life his family descends. During yeshiva studies in Israel he was assisted in becoming engaged to another baal teshuvah, "master of return", the phrase used for a Jewish person who has newly decided to fully enter the rigorous practices of a given orthodox community.
The day before the wedding I walk with the two of them on the cobbled streets of Jerusalem's old city. They are escorted by two of his friends, since they are not allowed to be alone before the marriage and have courted according to strict protocol: three meetings in the lobby of a hotel with a chaperone present. His friends call out to passers by, "behold those who are about to be married, come and wish them well." Blessings are called out, it is a very festive walk.
The next day, I arrive at the wedding properly clad in modest long sleeves, long skirt; not wanting not to create a scene, I've even clapped a matching hat over my kippah. Despite the fact that the Hurvah Synagogue is an ancient ruin without a roof, the women are escorted to the top level, a balcony of sorts. The men flow by below us, in full Hassidic dress, walking through the streets of Jerusalem's Jewish quarter bearing tall, lit candles. My friend is surrounded with the sound of their sweet chanting, walking along deep within their midst.
I watch for another friend who flew in for the wedding who has been given the honor of holding one of the four poles of the huppah. In this part of the spectrum of Judaism, for most legal matters only men are considered capable of being witnesses. Looking down I see four men bearing the huppah (wedding canopy) poles, I’m surprised to see that he is not there. Later I learn that being a male is not sufficient for such ritual roles, only men who are observant of the full religious standards of this community can sign as witnesses to the ketubah or hold a huppah pole. My friend was disqualified by the rabbi on these grounds.
Up in the balcony the bride enters guided by two friends and is given a seat. Her full-length dress also rises high up on her neck, fully covering her arms, as well. Nothing intimate is revealed except widening stains of perspiration in the hot summer night. Women take turns kissing the bride and offering blessings for fertility and happiness. When it is my turn to approach and bless her, I notice that her shoes are unlaced, I bend to tie them and a matron stops me. "No, that is the custom, it makes her walk to the huppah more humble." I take a big swallow at the thought of those thick, wobbly high heels on the Old City cobblestones. I don't feel angry, the bride has chosen this way of life, she is well aware of her options.
It is time for bedekken, which in their community means a thick lace drape is placed over her head as her veil. The candlelight parade approaches, the veil is lifted and our friend looks for a second upon his bride's flash of blue eyes, long golden hair, and lovely smile, then quickly, says "yes, it is she" and the veil is lowered. They turn and without touching, proceed very gradually down the stairs toward the the candle-lit courtyard below.
The groom is holding a book of tehillim, "psalms" and reading from it furiously. I see his anxiety in how it bends in his tightly clenched hands. There is a tradition that this is a time when the prayer of bride and groom has great power, I seem to recall that they each were holding an index card list of those who are ill, they are to pray for them to merit healing while approaching the huppah. [After the ceremony, for the rest of the day, in some communities the bride and groom are said to have an enhanced power to bless others and it is customary to approach one or both of them and request a desired blessing.]
The groom is wearing a kittel over his wedding suit. A white karate-like garment, it will later in life be his burial shroud. Metaphors of death and rebirth abound in this wedding ritual, the kittel illustrates that they are walking to their rebirth into a new life as a couple. "Til death do us part" is not a Jewish wedding expression, I wonder though, could it have derived from the wearing of the kittel?
Rebirth. New beginnings. Despite all the high drama of romance, at their root weddings initiate the complexities of life transformed from a world of personal independence to one negotiated in relationship. He is an orphan, she the child of divorce. Watching these two comparative strangers commit to each other, I wonder, will each be able to step out of a challenging past as easily a new chick from its shell? I refocus my thoughts on prayers for them to discover how to keep bringing light, vitality and sustainability into their relationship.
After a strictly traditional commitment ritual everyone walks down to the neighborhood reception hall which has a thick lattice erected to create separate seating for women and men. The band is on the men's side with their backs to us. On our side the many women from the yeshiva where the bride is studying bring out masks and noisemakers and entertain the her with spontaneous skits and joyful dancing.
The lattice is moved at one point and some men come through bearing the groom aloft, and carrying a chair to hold the bride aloft. With a cloth napkin for modesty held between them, the couple are lifted and danced. Men and women dance in separate circles. As quickly as it had happened, the lattice is restored and the men are gone.
Most of the women are now plastered up against the lattice screen watching something through the cracks. I wander over to check it out. They are discussing the single men who are dancing together in a passionate, tight circle. Who wants whom, what seems attractive about him, will he make good babies, and is he a serious student, are the general topics of conversation. Elsewhere in the room are many pregnant women and women with small children who meet their husbands in the hallway to take turns exchanging those who need attention or rocking. These couples gradually leave as the evening grows long.
I'm having trouble finding things to talk about with those on my side of the screen, babies and making matches being the major subject at hand. And I am abashed at my own projections regarding who they may be when I learn one was a high level corporate lawyer in America, another an epidemiologist, another a broker. All have come to the yeshiva to study and finally find a Jewish life partner.
The music changes after midnight from frenetic dancing mode to the most graceful and rich of Hassidic melodies. Again everyone is up at the lattice.The time the sight is very memorable.The tables have been pushed together, the Maggid of Jerusalem has arrived to honor the groom. He is standing atop the tables dancing in classic Hassidic style. It is like being in a movie. He must be in his nineties, wearing the striemel, "large round fur hat", and kappoteh, "elegant medieval coat." He lifts two large silver serving trays and clangs them together in perfect time as he dances. Maggid means "teller" and later he tells stories in Yiddish, for this he's quite famous, published even. Although it is very difficult to hear from our side and my Yiddish is extremely limited, one story was clearly about the marriage counseling prowess of Elijah the Prophet.
The next day I have invited the newly married couple to our hotel, we are traveling with a United Jewish Appeal mission group from the groom's home community, and will offer a sheva brachot, "seven blessings" ritual for them. Every night of the week following the wedding the couple are to be hosted at the homes of friends and the seven wedding blessings are again sung for them over a kiddush "cup of blessing" full of wine, symbolizing their role in uniting masculine and feminine, Shechinah (feminine) qualities and Kodesh Baruch Hu (masculine) on this plane of being. Often a different person chants each of the blessings. In preparation we all dine festively at the Jerusalem Hilton.
Five sons of the Carliner Rebbe have come along as an honorary escort for the newly weds. Eventually I rise to begin the first blessing. To my shock, my friend calls out to me, "NO! KOL ISHAH! You must not!!" Kol ishah, means "the voice of a woman". From head to foot I turn red with embarrassment and shock, it spreads like a great heat, as though the blood was pouring out of my body onto its surface. I did not know that in very orthodox communities a woman's voice is not allowed to be heard in song by men. (Later the rebbetzin,"rabbi's wife explains to me that in this community and many orthodox communities, men are trained for women's voices to be pure seduction. They can't focus on prayer if they hear us. Oy vey iz mir! (which is Yiddish for OMH) I was a Jewish Federation assistant director at the time and not a rabbi conversant with the range of religious practices, it was my intention to bless, not cause a stir.)
The young Hassidim who accompanied the couple look incredibly distressed, but not for the reason one might imagine. Quickly they come over and explain that he must never publicly embarrass a person in such a way, the Talmud says to cause a person's face to redden in embarrassment is as though you have killed the person. They proposed that they would step out of the room and that he let the ritual commence as planned in accord with the practices of his home town. And, we did.