Read Online All Who Go Do Not Return by Shulem Deen - Free Book Online Page B

sat at a narrow table covered with a white plastic tablecloth, my shtreimel perched heavily on my head, etching a deep red ring into my forehead, my tall black boots stiff and painful. The betrothal agreement was read, a glass plate was broken to the joyous cries of “mazel tov.” The white shroud, in remembrance of death and the day of judgment, was pulled over my head, and soon I was led out to the street, accompanied by my friends’ singing:
    Once again will be heard in the cities of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem,
    Cries of joy and cries of gladness, cries of bridegrooms and cries of brides.
    We moved to the women’s section of the wedding hall, for the badeken , the ceremonial covering of the bride’s face. I was led there as if in a daze by Gitty’s father and Berish Greenblatt, who stood in for my father, who was no longer alive. I walked tall but kept my eyes dutifully averted from the sea of females that parted in front of me. Gitty sat on her bridal throne as I approached, and our eyes met for a brief moment. During the six months of our engagement, we had neither met nor spoken even once, and we were still strangers in every way. Her eyes shifted downward quickly. A white veil was placed in my hands, and I laid it across her forehead, allowing it to fall over her face. My mother stood to Gitty’s left, her eyes glistening. My sister, Chani, at my mother’s side with her two young daughters, looked at me and smiled. Gitty’s mother, standing just to the right, stared at me, expressionless.
    The chuppah, a canopy of deep-blue velvet with gold fringes, was raised outside the shul, where a crowd of men had already gathered. “Right foot forward,” my father-in-law said as I stepped under the canopy beneath the clear June sky.
    I would later remember the ceremony only vaguely, with the dayan officiating and the rebbe swaying silently nearby, and from my eyes an ocean of tears flowed as Gitty circled me seven times. I remember being surprised when, weak from the day’s fast and emotionally spent, I stepped on the glass cup and it did not break. The second time, I raised my foot and brought the heel of my boot crashing onto the glass as if in anger. “Mazel tov, mazel tov,” the crowd cried, and burst into song.
    Gitty and I were driven the short distance back to the wedding hall, together in the backseat, riding in silence. After a brief period in a small room at the wedding hall, where we broke our fast and exchanged pleasantries, we parted again, I to the men’s section on the first floor, and Gitty to the women’s on the third.
    The rest of the wedding passed in a blur, a constant throb of music and throngs of men dancing ecstatically. Around midnight, the crowds thinned as we prepared for the mitzvah tantz , the ritual dance. Gitty came down to the men’s section, and then held the end of a prayer sash as the male guests, holding the other end, shuffled before her, fulfilling the words of the sages: He who gladdens a bridegroom and bride, it is as if he rebuilt the ruins of Jerusalem.
    The very last dance was for the bride and groom alone. Among other sects, the sash was laid aside and the groom took his bride’s hands as they danced together, for the first and only time in their lives. But in Skver, there were no allowances for such improprieties, and so I took the end of the sash and performed the ritual dance while Gitty, swaying as if in prayer, held the other end.
    At three in the morning, we arrived home to our new apartment. The gifts were hauled in, our parents said their good-byes, and Gitty and I sat down at our new dining-room table, completely alone together for the very first time. We regarded the mountain of wrapped packages piled up around us and counted the checks we had received. We spoke hesitantly, cordially, asking each other how it went—“Did you dance?” “Did you eat?”—and hoping to postpone the awkwardness of what was to come next.
    We didn’t have much time,