June 1, 2003

• Autumn Wedding

  
  Yes, it is still springtime, not autumn. However, the bride was about 70 or 71 and the groom was 66 or 67. Both had suffered the loss of a previous spouse. About half the people present were related to one or the other, mostly to the bride. The bride's granddaughter, apparently in her early twenties, was a real doll.
  
  The wedding had to compete with a marathon for the streets of the city. A wide detour was necessary around the blocked-off streets to get to the Mission Bay resort where the ceremony was to take place. We got accurate information by way of a phone call last night and were able to arrive on time, before they closed the doors. Others chose less fortunate routes and were left outside. They sneaked in during the ceremony anyway, which is normally not permitted.
  
  As we entered and picked up the place cards for the meal, I was issued a white silk skull cap. I noticed that only about 25% of those men who were seated were wearing the caps, so I asked one of the capped gentlemen what the protocol was. He said that they were Reform Jews and that the caps were optional for their members as well as for their non-Jewish guests. Having been told it was a mark of respect, I chose to wear it. This was the first time I had attended a Jewish wedding and I wanted to make the most of the experience.
  
  The Hebrew language, like Arabic, sounds beautiful when sung or chanted. Everything spoken or sung in Hebrew was repeated in English -- although it was a Jewish wedding, the majority of guests appeared not to be familiar with the language or the religion. It was an impressive ceremony, despite its simplicity. The Rabbi made a great point of explaining many of the features of the traditions and beliefs exemplified by the various parts of the ceremony.
  
  Between the marriage and the reception, there was sort of a get-together on the porch overlooking the bay. I found myself talking with a group of Scots, my friend Allan (a Scottish import) and a group from Minnesota who had just returned from a trip to Scotland. We munched meat on a stick, little quiches and lentil empanadas while they discussed the political situation in northern Great Britain.
  
  The reception was pretty much like all receptions anywhere. The food might have been slightly better and the music slightly less loud, but they did all of the usual things. I couldn't talk and I didn't care to dance. I wanted to leave. Eventually I did. Almost everybody else had left by then.

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