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lj idol - week 6 - not of your world
Dec. 11th, 2010 01:24 pm "Dance with your new sister!"
Without warning, the dancing mass of women pushed me toward the woman in white, who held her hands out to me. Caught up in the music and laughter, I grabbed them, and we flew around and around in a circle. I found the rhythm quickly enough - the lovely thing about Jewish wedding music is that each song has the same tempo. It's a beat that goes through your entire body, and paired with the massive volume and natural headiness of a celebration, dancing is inevitable.
Before I left for New York, I asked my boss just what I was supposed to call a woman who was marrying my brother-in-law. It seemed like too many levels of separation for a familial term, and Scott, being a good authority on most things geneological, replied, "Nothing." According to him, she was indeed just my brother-in-law's wife.
This lesson in family trees seemed to be one that all of Brooklyn had missed out on, however. All day long, people referred to me as Tikvah's new sister-in-law, and I wasn't surprised. After all, Brooklyn and the orthodox Jews that inhabit the majority of it seem to come out of a completely different era - a different planet at times. Rules are obeyed without question, but technicalities are milked dry so that modern life is possible. Everything revolves around making it work. No ecosystem could be more delicately balanced than the Jewish epicenter of Brooklyn. And it has to be important to maintain a sense of family in a community that thrives on arranged marriages such as the one we were attending.
Everyone carried some sort of baggage with them to New York that weekend. Besides the physical luggage, we all had enormous chips on our shoulders to some degree. Mostly, these came from fear that our endorsing an arranged marriage would be somehow bad. Leyzer was clearly happy, Tikvah and her family were happy - but we were hippie-dippie Washingtonians. This shiksa had already secured her interfaith elopement, and it seemed somehow wrong to celebrate a marriage that had all the feeling of a business deal. Not to mention the massive list of patriarchal rules. Modesty and segregation of the sexes seemed to be the theme of this wedding, and I was none too pleased.
"They're not roping me into dancing," I said firmly to Meridan when we were packing our suitcases. "And they can't stop me from kissing you."
All my anger at having to cover my collarbone and my elbows, my panic at having to be separated from Meridan throughout a good 90% of the event, my frustration at attending a wedding ceremony entirely in Hebrew that was impossible for me to follow - it all trickled away, bit by bit. Dozens of strange women congratulated me throughout the evening with such love and excitement. The tumultuous relationship with my mother-in-law entered into a period of smooth sailing as I stuck by her side throughout, becoming in effect the daughter that she needed. Despite the language barrier, I still shed a tear as I watched my brother-in-law's face while several rabbis gave blessings in Hebrew. And when my husband, giddy from the drink, dancing and insanity from the men's side of the hall, snuck through the curtains to sweep me up, my heart nearly exploded with happiness at seeing him again. Our kiss attracted no attention after all, and after so many hours apart, the separation and the romance of the evening hit me, and that one small kiss was better than anything we'd ever shared.
When we met for the first time, Tikvah announced to me, "You're my first sister-in-law."
Stunned, I replied, "You're mine too." I have only one brother myself, and Meridan comes from a family of three boys.
"I mean, I have sisters," she continued, "but you're my first sister-in-law."
I could only smile. I mean, even if she isn't my sister-in-law or whatever, it doesn't matter. And the little girl who's due to be born in about three months is still going to be my niece - that's a point no genealogist could argue.
written for the lj idol competition, season 7, week 6. topic - not of your world.
Without warning, the dancing mass of women pushed me toward the woman in white, who held her hands out to me. Caught up in the music and laughter, I grabbed them, and we flew around and around in a circle. I found the rhythm quickly enough - the lovely thing about Jewish wedding music is that each song has the same tempo. It's a beat that goes through your entire body, and paired with the massive volume and natural headiness of a celebration, dancing is inevitable.
Before I left for New York, I asked my boss just what I was supposed to call a woman who was marrying my brother-in-law. It seemed like too many levels of separation for a familial term, and Scott, being a good authority on most things geneological, replied, "Nothing." According to him, she was indeed just my brother-in-law's wife.
This lesson in family trees seemed to be one that all of Brooklyn had missed out on, however. All day long, people referred to me as Tikvah's new sister-in-law, and I wasn't surprised. After all, Brooklyn and the orthodox Jews that inhabit the majority of it seem to come out of a completely different era - a different planet at times. Rules are obeyed without question, but technicalities are milked dry so that modern life is possible. Everything revolves around making it work. No ecosystem could be more delicately balanced than the Jewish epicenter of Brooklyn. And it has to be important to maintain a sense of family in a community that thrives on arranged marriages such as the one we were attending.
Everyone carried some sort of baggage with them to New York that weekend. Besides the physical luggage, we all had enormous chips on our shoulders to some degree. Mostly, these came from fear that our endorsing an arranged marriage would be somehow bad. Leyzer was clearly happy, Tikvah and her family were happy - but we were hippie-dippie Washingtonians. This shiksa had already secured her interfaith elopement, and it seemed somehow wrong to celebrate a marriage that had all the feeling of a business deal. Not to mention the massive list of patriarchal rules. Modesty and segregation of the sexes seemed to be the theme of this wedding, and I was none too pleased.
"They're not roping me into dancing," I said firmly to Meridan when we were packing our suitcases. "And they can't stop me from kissing you."
All my anger at having to cover my collarbone and my elbows, my panic at having to be separated from Meridan throughout a good 90% of the event, my frustration at attending a wedding ceremony entirely in Hebrew that was impossible for me to follow - it all trickled away, bit by bit. Dozens of strange women congratulated me throughout the evening with such love and excitement. The tumultuous relationship with my mother-in-law entered into a period of smooth sailing as I stuck by her side throughout, becoming in effect the daughter that she needed. Despite the language barrier, I still shed a tear as I watched my brother-in-law's face while several rabbis gave blessings in Hebrew. And when my husband, giddy from the drink, dancing and insanity from the men's side of the hall, snuck through the curtains to sweep me up, my heart nearly exploded with happiness at seeing him again. Our kiss attracted no attention after all, and after so many hours apart, the separation and the romance of the evening hit me, and that one small kiss was better than anything we'd ever shared.
When we met for the first time, Tikvah announced to me, "You're my first sister-in-law."
Stunned, I replied, "You're mine too." I have only one brother myself, and Meridan comes from a family of three boys.
"I mean, I have sisters," she continued, "but you're my first sister-in-law."
I could only smile. I mean, even if she isn't my sister-in-law or whatever, it doesn't matter. And the little girl who's due to be born in about three months is still going to be my niece - that's a point no genealogist could argue.
written for the lj idol competition, season 7, week 6. topic - not of your world.
