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Celebrating a Muslim Wedding, Rather Than Shabbat
Back in our hotel room, Pat said, "They're just starting out their life together. They looked like they were in their early-20s," Pat said, "...I wonder what they had for dinner."
The lump in my throat felt like it grew a beating heart. I became so caught up in the gorgeousness of the hennah-handed, multi-bangled, jewel-studded bride and the pumping Hindi music.
Whatever came next would have swept me up, and we inched out of the ballroom backwards, since we were shy, being the only non-Muslim women in sight, let alone the only Jewish lesbians.
Pat turned around before I did to head respectfully toward the exit. I was conscious that I was treating the bride and groom the way Jews treat the Torah ark, backing away from it after an aliyah (honor, where we're called to the Torah, to bless it or read from it), and I think it's because I felt like I was leaving a holy place.
From there, we walked down the hallway with giant smiles to the Raj Pavilion, where we opened our gift-bags and had what must have been a pedestrian dinner compared to the bride's and groom's.
"I am glad we didn't get the camera on some level," Pat said.
"The bags are hand-made."
"I know. I looked for a label that would read, 'Made in China,' but there's no label."
"Stay for the meal," they said, but we just couldn't impose....I can imagine people, thinking, you should have taken them at their word.
This was a welcome culture-clash. Whereas in the States, it's called "crashing a wedding," this family of 70+ was genuinely open and welcoming of us, no matter how we were dressed and no matter that we were pure strangers. It reminded me of the regal hospitality I felt when my friend Rebekah took me to her boyfriend's Atif's friends home in Neve Shalom 22 years ago.
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