The difficult announcement came at the beginning of the week: We are invited to sit down for Shabbat Sheva Brachot. 'You are like our family,' said the groom's parents, with a secret smile, 'and we want you with us. At the hotel in Netanya.'.
Sure, we smiled too, like a couple of crooks, with in our hearts we wish them quite a bit of evil. Actually, a lot. 24 hours, or 29 sticky hours in a sweaty hall, and listening to sermons from lecturers who are not necessarily top-notch. Not even the sixth. The baby, we knew, would stay with the sister-in-law again, who would look at us with evil eyes, but with a smile say: Sure, enjoy yourself. With all my heart.
And we did enjoy it. It began with the in-laws' awkward argument about who would lead the prayer between Kabbalat Shabbat and Aravit, with each one pushing the other. Fortunately, none of them led, especially in light of the fact that the bride's brother wanted to make it clear to everyone that the new trend in Shabbat prayers is exciting Carlebach songs during the Kabbalat Shabbat psalms. In Givat Shmuel, he assured us, this is an accepted norm. Everyone there is 'crazy about it.' Maybe. The thing is, we were in Netanya, not in Givat Shmuel, and there it turns out that the power of Rabbi Shlomo is less beautiful. 35 minutes of fiddles and melodies, some familiar, accompanied the teenager's shrieks, and only with the singing of Adon Olam did we realize that the concert was over.
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Then the ladies came in. This population can be divided into two main categories, those who came to be seen, and those who came with the children. The meticulous clothing, the high heels, the 8,000 shekels of the custom wigs that were on their heads, and the changing attire: Why in God's name is it necessary to change one's outfit at every meal, has there been a cardinal change in the time between dinner and breakfast? If so, why don't you fill us all in on the happenings? In any case, there were also unfortunate women from the lower decile who changed their clothes only twice during the Sabbath, and everything was left to their imaginations.
The meal began, and the four people sitting across from me and in front of me tried admirably to create a kind of forced small talk. This required considerable effort given the fact that we did not know each other, and apart from being acquainted with the parents of the bride or groom, we did not find any common ground. After we had thoroughly inquired where each of us lived, what he did in his life, and how he was connected to the event, there was an awkward silence that was only broken by the shocking news that Seibeld - a fat Jew who sat across from me and did not stop eating challah - and I know a man who lives next door to me named Tamir.
There was a lot of excitement, we smiled warmly at each other and knew that an hour of contentment was ahead of us. But after a moment I remembered that I was aware of the fact that a man named Tamir lived next door, and I had even given up my turn at the health insurance fund to him once, but beyond that and the information that he drives a Fiat Punto, I could contribute nothing to Siebeld, who seemed eager to talk about Tamir at any cost in the world.
The host's voice saved us from embarrassment. He stood up and began to roar, peppering his words with humor. After a few minutes, I realized two things: A. No one appointed him to be the host. B. Stand-up is not his strong suit. In any case, he did not stop inviting the groom's father for about fifteen minutes, and promised that wonderful sermons would be prepared for us during Shabbat. Of course, he asked the women to be quiet, but they laughed in his face and it was clear to everyone that this was his first instruction.
The bleachers of the burnt offerings
The preachers, like the girls, were also divided into two groups: those who had prepared a sermon, and those who promised that they had prepared nothing, but 'no one refuses to grow up, and they will say something.' The second group, it turns out, is the most dangerous. They did not prepare, and they were forced to speak, but they do not keep their mouths shut. Their ability to speak for long minutes is one of the most fascinating anthropological phenomena: how a person who did not prepare, and only promised to 'say something' is unable to stop raining down so much talk, and torturing dozens of adults whose only crime is knowing the father of the bride.
In any case, the sermons were delivered, and the comments and outbursts of laughter from the audience were heard from a certain wing that was dominant throughout the entire Sabbath. Something like the eastern stands of the Beitar fans. It is true that 80 percent of all those invited were unable to follow the exchange of verbal blows between the preacher and the wise man on duty from the strong wing, but that did not prevent his friends from laughing at his every move, even if it was completely accidental.
The food that was served in the meantime, by the way, was perfectly fine, although I was a little sorry that my shirt, like all the shirts of those sitting at the nearby tables, was stained with fish oil, which, as we know, does not come off even in boiled laundry, but as the wise Jerome already expressed: You have no joy that does not have a trace of sorrow in it, as the man said whose mother-in-law died and he was being sued for funeral expenses.
Who sits next to Joseph?
Every family, it turns out, has its own 'celeb' - the man who, in the limited space of the extended family, is the important figure, and when he speaks, even the women in the highest heels speak in whispers.
In our case, it was 'Uncle Yosef.' Yosef is a kashrut supervisor in a not-so-leading kashrut system, but that didn't stop the host from introducing him as 'the great Rabbi Yosef, one of the leading kashrut experts in the country.' The great Rabbi Yosef stood up to speak, and his first sentences drew laughter of appreciation and tense anticipation.
Despite my attempts, I was unable to discern his wonderful rhetorical ability, and his habit of tugging at the waistband of his pants every few minutes also made me nervous and felt uncomfortable, which in turn caused Seibeld, who was sitting across from me - and continued to chew challah the entire time - to look at me sternly.
The family everywhere responded with choking cries and occasional nose-sniffing, which peaked when he mentioned the grandfather, who rests in peace, or the grandmother who could have been with us if she had not been run over 35 years ago. Although I did not know the grandmother, I cannot swear that her absence was felt during the Shabbat, or indeed during the life of the young man who sat next to his daughter-in-law and could not stop giggling with her. The absence of the air conditioner was more dominant.
When the groom's friends spoke, my eyes filled with tears. They prevented me from watching the young man who had just gotten married, whom I had known as a grumpy, useless boy with an obscene habit that mainly included incessant bullying of his sister, transform before my eyes into a hidden righteous man, a wonderful genius, and one with noble qualities. The excitement increased sevenfold when the hidden man stood up to preach at the third meal and began to thank his entire family.
It was a spectacular spectacle. He thanked his parents in a trembling voice and spoke of the special bond between them. I remembered a touching scene that had occurred about five months ago, when his father accidentally broke his instrument, or not, and the father informed him with screams and a red face that according to the law of the Torah and, in contrast, according to international law, he must pay for a new instrument along with compensation and emotional distress, and I wondered if this was what he meant by those wonderful relationships, or perhaps he was referring to the polemic that had arisen a week earlier with his mother - did she need to buy him a complete solid wood bedroom, as he wanted, or would a hair dryer be enough for him, as his mother had expected?
I postponed the question until another time because the young man suddenly burst into heartbreaking tears when he spoke about his sister and the support he had received from her over the years. We were in tears too, after all, it was already 9:15 PM, three-quarters of an hour after Shabbat ended, and Netanya was an hour and a half away from the sister-in-law with the evil eyes.
On the other hand, we did not want to give up the sacred custom of throwing dirty towels and napkins at the groom, because of which we were forced to spend Shabbat with the people who were so dear to us.
• The article, as always, is written with humor and does not reflect the last Shabbat Sheva Brachot of my brother Rabbi Aryeh, which I enjoyed with my family and close friends.
