Love and War

Our day started with a rather mediocre tour of the New City, from which I gleaned only this:

When there was a large demilitarized zone (1948-1967) between the Jordanian-controlled Old City and the Israeli-controlled suburbs, a nun lost her dentures in the DMZ and had to be escorted by a Jordanian, an Israeli, and a UN representative waving a white flag to get them back.

After over a week in Israel, we finally made it to the event that started it all: the wedding of our family friend Dana.  While I had been to a few Jewish weddings in the United States, they were completely different from the Orthodox Israeli marriage festival that unfolded before my eyes on Wednesday night. We boarded giant buses at the hotel and were whisked away to kibbutz just outside the city.  In case you haven't caught this from previous posts, gone are the days of shotguns and backbreaking farming on most of these kibbutzim.  This one specialized in event planning, providing both the space, staff, and catering services to make your event run smoothly.

As we disembarked, we added ourselves to the throng of happy wedding guests mingling on a wooden patio, frequenting the (kosher) appetizer stations serving small sausages, soft tacos, sushi, fruit smoothies, and a variety of other finger foods.  The drink was available for those who wanted something (much) stronger; drinks were poured strong and people loosened up quickly - especially the orthodox guests who self-segregated by gender on opposite sides of the patio.

We walked further back to a clearing where Dana sat on a small bench and blessed her guests.  Sitting in a flowing white lace dress among greenery and flowers, she looks like an Israeli Titania, tended by family members and supplicants.  But mostly she was just our beautiful friend, a giant, irrepressible smile stretching from ear to ear.  Meanwhile, back at the patio, her groom-to-be shared her grin and was enthusiastically greeting guests.

After about an hour, a group of Orthodox men gathered around the groom and danced in a circle, singing louder and louder, accompanied by an unlikely trio of saxophone, flute, and acoustic guitar.  The men escorted the groom in a parade of song down to where the bride sat, flanked by her mother and future mother-in-law.  The women crowded around Dana, and again it was a curious face-off of men and women.  In days past, this ritual is to allow the groom to confirm that he's got the right bride. Or perhaps it has present relevance, too - a large number of Orthodox weddings are still arranged, which perhaps isn't so surprising in a culture where men and women do not touch affectionately outside of the family.

Bride confirmed and grins still firmly in place, the couple was swept up on a tidal wave of guests, the milling crowd pressing onward to the chupah.  While the American guests meekly took their seats, the Israelis crowded right up their with the couple; their laughter could be heard in the background on the microphone as the evening's narrator/MC called people up to read or give blessings.

If nothing else, an orthodox wedding in Israel is a celebration.  People serenaded the couple with traditional songs, joining the chorus with gusto.  There were cheers; more people crowed the chupah. Then the couple was coming back down the aisle with people singing and dancing and again a tidal wave of celebration brought us back to the entrance.  

Here, the couple was ceremoniously dropped as the thirsty, hungry guests (it was now 9 or 10 pm) filed into the reception and the couple was left alone. Traditionally, this is where the couple "touches" for the first time and they were greeted with lusty cheers when they rejoined us in the reception hall.

The rest of the evening was spent alternating between numerous courses of (kosher) food and dancing in gender-separated areas.  The women were given pom poms, whipped into frenzied circles, thrown in tongue center to dance with Dana, and otherwise egged on by a single woman who I never managed to identify as anything other than "Stripes" (so called because of her dress pattern).  The men's side (which I snuck over to observe, having no reservations about seeing the other gender dance) needed no such invitation.  They were mad men - grinding, swiveling, flailing, jumping, squatting, springing, twirling, do-si-doing, clapping, waving napkins.  Several of their moves looked like poorly-executed amateur break-dancing, but they gave it their all.  And then the strangest part happened.  Dana and her groom were lifted on chairs, each on their respective side, as if teasing each other from opposite sides of the wall.  Stripes gave Dana a giant parasol with ribbons hanging down, but nobody had any idea what to do with it (least of all Dana).  

It was odd, it was hilarious, it was festive.  Nobody knew what was going on but they enjoyed the chaos.  And while my grandma-bedtime self left on the first bus (at around 1 am), the party raged for hours.  This didn't surprise me in the least, since one of the last things I saw was a very drunk young man throwing a bottle of Belvedere high into the air in complicated flipping patterns and attempting to catch it.

Israelis definitely know how to party.