My So-Called Wedding

My husband and I were married three years three months and three weeks ago today. For both of us, our wedding day was the most important day of our lives. Not only did it take months of planning and cost a great deal of money but, in many ways, it also took a lot of courage. For, at that time, no state--not even (gasp!) Massachusetts--accorded legal recognition to same-gender marriages. Nevertheless we spoke our marriage vows before family and friends, and with the blessings of our clergy. Never was there a more glorious day, at least for us. As for the legalities, we felt then as we do now--a majority vote of any body politic does not a marriage make.

Not least because today is Valentine's Day, as well as my husband's birthday, it seems appropriate here to state the obvious: I have never loved anyone more, nor could I. We express our love in many ways both great and small, and tell each other "I love you" more times in a day than any couple I have ever heard. Our love is so deep and sustaining that I wish every person in the world could experience something even close. Our wedding was part of this love; its first formal expression, if you will. I don't need to explain its importance to anyone who has been happily married.

If there was any proverbial cloud on our wedding day (and it would have to have been "proverbial", because the sky could scarcely have been more blue) it was the absence of certain close relatives. There were all sorts of reasons given for these absences--it was just weeks after 9/11, the kids have school, or soccer, or some such things. We knew there were also other reasons, but we chose not to let it spoil our day. It should suffice to say that neither my husband nor I had ever experienced a wedding where so many close relatives of the betrothed simply did not show up. That said, it gave us profound joy that so many relatives did join us. Notable among this contingent was my Uncle Norman who, at 86, had cancer and heart problems so advanced that he had to rest for several minutes when climbing the stairs after our rehearsal dinner. When Uncle Norman said he wouldn't have missed our wedding for anything in the world it was more than just small talk; it was quiet, powerful proof that those who really wanted to be there, were. And this is what makes the rest of this story so interesting.

One of my nephews is having his Bar Mitzvah soon. He's been practicing for quite a while (tutored by his paternal grandfather!) and, no doubt, will do a fantastic job. His mother (my sister) and father will also do a great job planning a lovely weekend to celebrate his accomplishment. As it should be; a bar mitzvah is a huge event in the life of a jewish child and it should be celebrated by family and friends.

As luck would have it, one of my neices is having a dance recital soon. She's been practicing for quite a while and, no doubt, will do a fantastic job. Unfortunately her recital occurs the same weekend as her cousin's Bar Mitzvah, and her parents have decided to let her choose which event to attend. She chose her recital over her cousin's Bar Mitzvah. For the record, if I had a child, I don't believe I would have allowed her to make that sort of decision. When families live so far apart, as our does, any happy occasion should be reason enough for every member to do whatever is possible to attend. But also for the record, my neice is not my child, and her parents are good parents who can let their child do whatever they want. As she has.

My "Bar Mitzvah Sister" called me recently to discuss the choice that our "Recital Sister" had made. Bar Mitzvah Sister's opinion was not even slightly in doubt; she was not amused. I responded that I thought it was the wrong decision but that she should just try to get past it. In so doing, I reminded her that several family members did not attend my wedding and, though Bill and I noticed that fact, people did what they felt they must. At this, Bar Mitzvah Sister informed me that I could not equate my "so-called wedding" to her son's Bar Mitzvah. The rest of the conversation was friendly. I remember Bar Mitzvah Sister using the words "insulted" and "disgusted", but frankly, most of what I recall are the words "so-called wedding".

If my family shares one trait in addition to our good looks and incisive intellects, it's the uncanny ability occasionally to say things we might later regret, and it is to this defect that I will attribute her "so-called wedding" comment. I don't intend to spend time or space justifying the validity of my marriage. I'll just take the long view and just get over it. And I recommend this approach for my sister.

The focus of a Bar Mitzvah is the child who becomes an adult by accepting the teachings and responsibilities of Judaism. One of those principles is "Shalom Bayit", which implores Jews to look past certain transgressions for the sake of keeping peace in the home. Surely there is a connection to be made between one's home and one's larger family. Shalom Bayit is a worthy principle, among the very many which my nephew soon will take upon himself. Those who appreciate the solemnity of that occasion will be there. Among those present will be my nephew's two married uncles, Jonathan & Bill. I guess you could say we wouldn't miss it for anything in the world.