My sister went from a casual interest in religion to a full speed ahead mega mode in college, and met, dated and became engaged to a man who was pretty religious. When they decided to get married they chose an orthodox synagogue. Un-airconditioned. In July. In his hometown of Richmond, Virginia.
Sitting in the stifling heat of the synagogue, while the rabbi prayed for a happy marriage and I prayed for a breeze, I had an epiphany: this is what it must have been like for the Jews who wandered the desert with Moses for 400 years. On the other hand, they didn't have to wear a suit and tie and sit on unpadded metal folding chairs for two hours. All things considered, the desert thing looked easier.
The groom's family had imported a whole bunch of orthodox Jews from Brooklyn, who looked quite snappy in their all-black attire, beards, payot (look it up) and wide brim hats. They, unlike the rest of us, never wilted during the two-hour service, probably because:
they were used to it
they understood the 95% of the service that was in Hebrew.
After the service we enjoyed an orthodox reception, which included both a lack of alcohol and a lack of mixed (men with women) dancing. The orthodox women danced with each other, the orthodox men danced with each other, and I briefly considered dancing with my friend, Larry, before rejecting the idea.
Perhaps if alcohol had been served.
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