I realized recently that it’s been absolutely ages since I’ve written. No, I haven’t experienced any major traumas. In fact, I’ve experienced many wonderful things this year. I married my wonderful Nadav. My family came to Israel, most of them for the first time, for the wedding. But I think here is where the difficulty lies. There were many, MANY things to write about the wedding and probably even more about wedding planning. But I care too much. You see, due to my natural ability to take most unpleasant occurrences and, well, make fun of them, I would have had a lot of material during the months it took to plan the wedding. Titles that could have been included in my repertoire include:
“The perks of finding a wedding hall located directly across the street from a strip club” (yes, I know, a bit wordy, but these are rough drafts)
“The perks of finding a wedding hall located directly across the street from an auto mechanic” (oh, I’m sorry, am I lacking creativity?)
“To sparkle or not to sparkle: Fireworks lining the wedding canopy, Israeli makeup artists, and a low-key bride’s fight for survival”
As you may gather from these possible titles, planning the wedding was, in short, something of a circus—and I am glad that I have finally settled into “boring” married life.
In any case, it took a significant amount of restraint NOT to say everything I wish I could have about the conversations I was forced to endure with everyone in the Israeli wedding industry. When one makeup artist attempted to convince me why I absolutely MUST get a pedicure, she quite simply stated, “It’s for your husband.” All this time I thought he appreciated my personality and brains, it was really all for my feet!!
Of course, nobody would have cared had I simply bashed all prima donna hairstylists who really believe that anybody remember's the bride's hairstyle a week after the wedding. It was closer to home that I learned to keep my mouth shut (at least in most cases) and listen and, importantly, understand more.
NOBODY cares about the centerpieces. And NOBODY cares about veil. And truly, NOBODY really cares even about the food. Yet, people feel the need to express their opinions and in some cases even argue over these things because . . . well, that’s exactly it. Nobody really knows. People are excited. Things are changing, and fast.
In my case, I was marrying an oldest son. In my case, again, I was marrying someone from a side of the planet I didn’t know about until I was 18. Which of course means that for both families, mine and his, these were monumental changes.
What our wedding day represented was the coming together of two different families, two different nationalities, two different cultures and languages and foods . . . and the list goes on.
It wasn’t easy for Nadav’s mother to give up her first baby. It wasn’t easy for my mother to realize that, yes, I’m here, I’m staying, and I’m going to be far away from her—the same situation she created with her own mother.
All of these emotions—joy and love, as well as uncertainty and worry—were all mixed up in the whole process called “wedding.”
For these reasons, I couldn’t write and make fun of the strength of the emotions everyone was feeling. It would have cheapened it, made it somehow less special for me to view it with such cynical eyes.
And so, I forge ahead, armed with writing material concerning the Israeli job search. I’m one month in, a bit more worn for the wear, but ready—at the very least—to conquer it through humor, patience (if only), and as many cups of Chai tea as it takes.
“The perks of finding a wedding hall located directly across the street from a strip club” (yes, I know, a bit wordy, but these are rough drafts)
“The perks of finding a wedding hall located directly across the street from an auto mechanic” (oh, I’m sorry, am I lacking creativity?)
“To sparkle or not to sparkle: Fireworks lining the wedding canopy, Israeli makeup artists, and a low-key bride’s fight for survival”
As you may gather from these possible titles, planning the wedding was, in short, something of a circus—and I am glad that I have finally settled into “boring” married life.
In any case, it took a significant amount of restraint NOT to say everything I wish I could have about the conversations I was forced to endure with everyone in the Israeli wedding industry. When one makeup artist attempted to convince me why I absolutely MUST get a pedicure, she quite simply stated, “It’s for your husband.” All this time I thought he appreciated my personality and brains, it was really all for my feet!!
Of course, nobody would have cared had I simply bashed all prima donna hairstylists who really believe that anybody remember's the bride's hairstyle a week after the wedding. It was closer to home that I learned to keep my mouth shut (at least in most cases) and listen and, importantly, understand more.
NOBODY cares about the centerpieces. And NOBODY cares about veil. And truly, NOBODY really cares even about the food. Yet, people feel the need to express their opinions and in some cases even argue over these things because . . . well, that’s exactly it. Nobody really knows. People are excited. Things are changing, and fast.
In my case, I was marrying an oldest son. In my case, again, I was marrying someone from a side of the planet I didn’t know about until I was 18. Which of course means that for both families, mine and his, these were monumental changes.
What our wedding day represented was the coming together of two different families, two different nationalities, two different cultures and languages and foods . . . and the list goes on.
It wasn’t easy for Nadav’s mother to give up her first baby. It wasn’t easy for my mother to realize that, yes, I’m here, I’m staying, and I’m going to be far away from her—the same situation she created with her own mother.
All of these emotions—joy and love, as well as uncertainty and worry—were all mixed up in the whole process called “wedding.”
For these reasons, I couldn’t write and make fun of the strength of the emotions everyone was feeling. It would have cheapened it, made it somehow less special for me to view it with such cynical eyes.
And so, I forge ahead, armed with writing material concerning the Israeli job search. I’m one month in, a bit more worn for the wear, but ready—at the very least—to conquer it through humor, patience (if only), and as many cups of Chai tea as it takes.
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