Orli In Holyland 2

My whole family is shocked when I arrive at my nephew’s wedding. I only told my mother I was coming because I wasn’t sure I’d make it in time—I hate disappointing.

I get there with a couple of hours to spare.

I was estranged from my family for over a decade—more on this another time, but when I first met my nephew (the groom), about eight years ago, he was sixteen.

He speaks no English and took the opportunity to ask me a million questions in Hebrew. He was meeting an alien and studied my tattoos for some time, attempting to interpret them. As I was leaving, he asked when I’d return. I told him I’d come to his wedding.

He probably doesn’t even remember this exchange, but it was this promise that made me come.

My nephew, Moshe is outside the wedding hall when I arrive. He’s gob smacked.

‘I must be in America because you cannot really be here,’ he says. ‘All the honor to you. All the honor to you.’

He repeats this Hebrew expression over and over.

‘I just want to give you a hug,’ I say. ‘I know it’s impossible.’

God says no.

‘I’m so sorry,’ my Moshe says. ‘I’m just so happy you’re here. It’s so overwhelming. All the honor to you. All the honor to you.’

I came to Israel with a specific mindset.

Easy when you’re sitting at the airport for an eleven-hour layover.

Not so easy when you arrive at a Haredi wedding.

Translation: Women's Entrance

Brainy starts doing her thing.

Under the chuppah, the glass is broken to remind us of the destruction of the Beit Hamikdash, the Holy Temple, and I can’t help thinking of the destruction less than fifty miles away, where the war is raging.

I see nothing from where I’m sitting because except for the bride and her mum, no vaginas are allowed near the wedding canopy.

As a rule, I don’t do ultra-orthodox weddings. Uniting a young couple till death do us part by separating the two seems like an odd start to a life together.

Sitting, eating, dancing—all are done separately, a curtained wall dividing man and wife, brother and sister, mother and son, father and daughter.

Religion, the great divider.

And we’re worried about our Arab cousins destroying us.

I’ve been here less than three hours and I’m judging. I’ll blame the sleep deprivation.

There’s only one way out of this. Drawing.

Find the funny, I remind myself. Find the good.

The wedding is beautiful. The groom invites everyone to partake. The bride is dripping joy. We connect immediately.

The women go all out to entertain the bride. They rock the joint, breaking out drums, confetti, fans, ribbons, a whole slew of toys.

I imagine the same is going on behind the curtain but who can say for sure?

The Lord, they say, listens closely to the bride’s prayers on her wedding day, and my nephew’s new wife uses this power to bless every female guest. When it’s my turn she asks God for a special favor:

‘May he grant you only joy, and the best health, and the best in life,’ she says, ‘and may everything that touches your hands turn to success.’

Let’s hope He’s removed his earplugs.

Note: names changed for privacy

Please click below to read:

Orli in Holyland 1

Orli in Holyland 3

Orli in Holyland 4