There was certainly no effort spared in preparing the
background scenery and props. The colors were perfectly
blended, the upbeat music an apposite backdrop to the festive
atmosphere, the curtains and decor magnificent.
The actors, too, were beyond critique. Nobody would have been
able to guess at their true identities.
No, the wedding was not made up entirely of masquerading
players. Life is harsh on some but kind to many. The
excitement and smiles of many were real and had nothing to
hide. The grandmother's face was suffused with true joy while
watching her cup running over. The chosson was
unreservedly happy. Most of the family and guests shared in
the simchah.
The starring actress, the bride, was glowing with an ethereal
charm. Her headpiece, her makeup, her elaborate gown and
dazzling smile were enough to throw the most discerning off
the scent. Only her mother knew the tears she had shed a mere
two days ago, her deepest fears, her reservations. But for
now, everything was swept away in the ecstasy of the moment
and, in true form to the best of actresses, she got so
carried away with her part, she almost felt as happy as she
looked.
Then there was the woman with a black suit and matching
shoes, a three tiered pearl necklace at her throat
complementing the picture of elegance and style. Her hands
were clapping to the beat; her eyes were twinkling as she
caught the bride's eye while she was dancing. Who would ever
imagine that as she had donned that valuable necklace, she
had shed bitter tears, crying to Hashem, "Take this necklace
away. Take all my jewelry away. Take everything I have, just
give me back my baby."
Her beautiful baby daughter had died a crib death six weeks
before and although she was told the pain would lessen with
time, it seemed to grow and grow inside her like a bubble
that would never pop, threatening to engulf her, overtake her
very being. Even as she was standing, smiling, chatting,
posing to the camera, the black smoke of pain was smothering
her inside with narry a whiff escaping to her composed
exterior.
The bride's sister-in-law was to be commended, too. She
remembered rejoicing at her own wedding. She had genuinely
been rejoicing then, little knowing that seven years and two
children later, it would all be in shambles. She had tried.
Hashem was witness how she had tried, but some things were
irreparable. No, the writ of divorce had not yet been drawn
up, the intricacies of their marriage had not yet been
claimed by the public, but he knew and she knew that it was
all over. She watched the kalla dance now, wished her
the best of luck from the depths of her heart, and swallowed
hard to keep that smile pasted and to keep the tears at bay.
The critics would have given her a raving review.
Not all had such taxing parts to play. For some, it took a
little less effort to abandon their aches, fears and worries
and join in the spirit of the festivities. The great-aunt
with the aching knee -- when the bride took her hands and
danced with her in the center of the circle -- forgot the
arthritis in the thrill of the moment, although she knew she
would have to pay the price later.
The woman who had received a gas bill that day with no
inkling of how to pay it, threw her cares to the wind as she
reveled in the luxury and opulence of the wedding hall,
imagining that those brocade chairs belonged to her dining
room set and the peach drapes with the elegant gold knot was
of her choosing and budget.
For the childless woman, however, acting did not come so
naturally. She ached to forget, just for one night, the
treatments, the loneliness, the fears, but the on-stage
activity made it impossible. There were children everywhere:
under her feet, over the table, dodging around the legs of
the harassed waitresses. And if they did disappear in person
for a moment, they dominated the topic of all conversations.
Babysiters, teachers, organ lessons, births, immunizations --
it was impossible to forget them.
Animatedly, she joined in the conversations, laughingly, she
took the kids who would let her on her knee, but inside her,
her heart was crying. Keep it up, Mrs. Happiness. You're
doing a great job. May you be blessed one day and be able to
drop the infernal act.
A close friend of the kalla stood at the sidelines,
watching the other girls excitedly reach for one of the gaily
flapping pink ribbons dangling from the bridal umbrella the
kalla was majestically holding. With a conscious
effort, she too grabbed a wisp of fleeting bliss and smiled
happily at the kalla, skillfully masking the hurt she
felt inside. At her last date, she had felt sure it was meant
to be, but a recent conversation with the matchmaker had
revealed that the boy thought otherwise. The rejection cut
deep, the hurt hovered just beneath the surface, but never,
never above it. This was the wedding of her friend, who,
albeit many years younger than her, deserved fullhearted
rejoicing at her simcha. On the surface, at least.
The little girl tripping past the whirling, dancing circles
was not acting a part. Tears were streaming down her face,
her sobs drowned out by the pounding music, as she tried to
find her wandering Mommy to tell her sad tale. A delinquent
boy had thrown her hairband in the water fountain and they
couldn't get it out. She had yet to be taught the finer
nuances of the show. Soon enough, she'd grow up and learn the
rules of the game. You mustn't cry, never cry, just swallow
the hurt, and paint on the smile. As for now, little girl,
cry your eyes out. Be yourself while you can.
The wedding dragged on till late, but at some early hour in
the morning, the strains of music began to wane, the crowds
began to dwindle and tables were cleared away. It was time
for the curtains to fall. Masks and makeup were removed,
outfits discarded, roles reversed. Life became real again.
None of the actors had chosen their role. Some resented their
parts, some reveled in them, but all got what they were best
at. And somewhere far away, beyond the actors' hearing, came
a cheering round of applause. Somewhere in the land of
eternity, where all facades fall away, where truth steals the
sole spotlight, prizes are allocated, more valuable than any
Oscar, more real than real can get.
