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November 19, 1999/10 Kislev 5760, Vol. 52, No.12
B'nai mitzvah guru grows into wedding consultant
TAMI BICKLEY
Staff Writer
By age 13, many of us were experts in the bar and bat mitzvah party scene. We had, after all, spent weekend after weekend dancing to "Celebration" in different hotel banquet rooms and watching grandfathers bless and cut challah (braided egg bread).
I remember that almost every Saturday morning over a two-year period, my parents sighed as they handed me yet another check to bestow upon a friend, the bar or bat mitzvah of the day.
"Another one?" They would ask. "When is this finally going to end?"
"When I'm 14," I replied. By the time 14 rolled around, I could have written "Bar Mitzvahs A-Z" or "Bar and Bat Mitzvah Planning for Dummies."
However, I never thought the day would come when I would actually advise first-time brides- and grooms-to-be in a way that would paint me as the Martha Stewart of weddings. But here I am, answering frantic phone calls at unspeakable hours of the night from the recently engaged, all who believe that hard-nosed planning will make for the greatest day of their lives. Unfortunately, I often have to break the news to them that that it won't.
Lately, my weekend plans have been made for me - as one by one, friends and aquaintances are taking the plunge. And each time the festivities end, I have a brand new story to tell.
I have seen a seven-tiered wedding cake fall to its death - as a photographer, straining to get a wide-angle shot of the newlyweds, backed into it. I have witnessed screaming matches between in-laws ensue on the dance floor, as a result of shared intoxication.
Here are some useful ideas, albeit somewhat non-conventional ones, for young brides and grooms to help in avoiding classic foible status:
Check out wedding "hardware" before it's put to use.
Ever hear of an incredible collapsing chuppah (wedding canopy)? I have. Too much fabric and foliage turned what was supposed to be a little house of marriage into something resembling the remains of a tornado-stricken home. Thankfully, no one was hurt. But the couple wound up marrying under nothing but the blue sky.
A staple at all Jewish weddings is the Hora. The festive tune begins. Guests join hands and dance in a circle around the room. Someone places two chairs on the dance floor. The bride and groom sit in them. And then, physically capable guests are supposed to crowd around the chairs and lift the bride and groom up and down repeatedly, the purpose of which we all know is to cause the newlyweds to become nauseated.
Sometimes, though, guests develop a case of performance anxiety. I have seen many a couple sit uneventfully in their respective chairs for several minutes before a weak attempt is made by a handful of guests to engage in "chair duty." This is downright embarrassing.
If your friends are the type who would leave you stranded on the highway if you had a flat tire, then they are likely to leave you stranded in your Hora chairs. My advice: before your wedding, assign more than enough of your buddies and relatives to "chair duty" (in case some back out at the last moment).
After you and your guests are thoroughly spent from dancing, singing and twirling, it's time for toasts. Guests can appreciate toasts that are short and sweet. But too often they're not. Worst case scenario is when your Uncle Morty, who by this time has a few scotches in him, decides to tell your 10 most embarrassing childhood moments. Or when Grandpa Saul feels it's his duty to take on the role of stand-up comic - only if it were a real comedy club, he'd be booed off the stage.
Brides and grooms, this is your chance to play editor of your toastmasters. Before the big day, designate speakers. Then set a deadline by which all toasts must be completed and turned in for approval. Make the necessary changes. Although this may seem drastic, your guests will thank you, and they likely will more enthusiastically join, at speeches' end, in toasting, "L'chaim!"
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