We are preparing the invitation list for my son’s wedding and the decisions feel sensitive and complex. In a community of friends, in a family that has spread far and wide, it is hard to winnow out the must from the maybe, the friend from the friendly, the obligation from the affection. We lift the names up one by one, examining each relationship in the light.
At last we are ready to send the spreadsheet to the printer. This, finally, is the list of all those with whom we feel connected enough to share our joy. Inscribed in Excel cells, here is everyone we want with us on this momentous occasion. We review and revise. We press Send.
But something inside me says, not yet.
In the age of Whatsapp and Facetime they are still and always inaccessible to me.
Because there is another list of invitations that I would like to issue. People without whom my joy and my husband’s is incomplete. But I cannot figure out how to reach them. In the age of Whatsapp and Facetime they are still and always inaccessible to me.
I speak to them in my heart.
Zaidy, how I wish you were here! It’s a year since you’ve been gone and I can still hear your rumbling voice in my mind. Your glorious smile would have lit up the hall and made me forgive you for being an hour late.
My husband, our son and me
Babbi, you died years before my wedding and I still think of you so often. You were such an impossible mixture of wisdom and beauty, strength and grace. You should be here tonight.
Zaidy, when you died I was a self-centered teenager and while I mourned you, I didn’t quite understand what I was losing. I didn’t know enough about your heroism, your unshakeable faith, your determination; it was all masked in the twinkle of your deep blue eyes and your clever hands and stubbly kisses. But I know it now. I mourn it now.
Babbi, you died when I was already a mother. By then I knew enough to know that you had suffered unthinkable losses; parents, a child, a whole world literally burned before your eyes and still you sat with quiet devotion, whispering Psalms, faithful to Him until the end. I wish you were here with me. I wish I could give you this nachas.
I would invite my husband’s grandparents. His grandmothers, women of faith and kindness whom I knew. And also his grandfathers who I never met. They are only stories to me, but they are stories of Jews who survived and thrived and rebuilt against all odds. They were loved by my husband and they loved him deeply. They should share this night, this is their simcha too.
A picture frame I keep in my study with the few of pictures we have of relatives who died in the war.
I would invite you George, my good neighbor, who pronounced at 99 years of age, that every day was a good day and actually believed it. You would have loved to see your little buddy married and we would have loved to see your love.
And you, Mima Luchi, a woman of profound kindness. Although you spoke only Yiddish and I spoke only English, we understood each other through our hearts. I wish you were here, wearing the smell of fresh kokosh cake and squeezing my fingers in your warm, soft hands.
They’d give the couple gifts not found on wedding registries. Gifts of faith and strength, hope, love and the special protection granted to the righteous.
There are others I don’t know, but know of. Great grandparents who died sanctifying God’s name in the raging inferno of Europe. There are cousins who fell defending our Land. There are friends who are with us but not with us, lost in the fog of dementia and sickness. My uncle who died too young, the victim of a hard and lonely life. The uncle I never met, murdered as a baby in the gas chambers of Auschwitz. It hurts my heart to think that there are so many honored guests who did not make the printer’s list.
But I know this. As we prepare to see our child marry, move on, build his own home with God’s help, I carry with me the memories of the ones who came before. They shaped us and they shaped him, whether he knows it or not. I imagine that they give the young couple distinctive gifts, not found on wedding registries. Gifts of faith and strength, hope and happiness, love and the special protection granted to the righteous. I imagine this and I know that the wedding hall will be full of so many who weren’t on the spreadsheet. Every one of them is welcome.
(8) Shlomo Elspas, January 3, 2019 12:41 AM
Can't stop rereading your article
It chokes me up every time.
(7) Yosef Mendoza, July 11, 2018 5:20 PM
There's still a way
There is an age-old custom of going to the cemetery on the eve of one's wedding to deliver a personal invitation to those dearly departed who, tradition says, hover over the chuppah. To whoever is able to do so by reason of proximity, I highly recommend it since it is a very emotion-laden moment
(6) Ra'anan, July 10, 2018 6:09 PM
Made me take a deep breathe!
A very deep breathe & think about lovely, giving people who gave us, yet missed out. Yet, no one really misses out. Everyone gets what they really need.
(5) MESA, July 10, 2018 4:29 PM
By the time I got married, my grandparents were all long gone. My husband had three living grandparents who all participated in our wedding. At the badeken, his grandfather gave me a brachah and it brought tears to my eyes because he reminded me a little of my Zaide. I still imagine sometimes how my Bubby would've looked coming down the aisle. Meanwhile, two of our children are named for these grandparents. May all our children continue their legacy of Torah, Mitzvot, love, and family.
(4) Char Annen, July 10, 2018 2:56 PM
Lovely
Just lovely.
(3) JSaka, July 9, 2018 6:28 PM
Thankful
The world runs real fast and sometimes it is hard to stop and take in what is going on around us. Yael, thank you for giving me a moment to stop and reflect. I am thankful since I already pushed “send” on my Excel based list, but still have time to add those that I missed to my list I keep close to the heart that will be sharing in our simcha. Thank you and looking forward to your son’s wedding (and my daughter’s too).
(2) Janine Sherr, July 9, 2018 6:25 PM
beautiful article!
Dear Yael,
You are such a talented writer; you express your ideas so beautifully. In your writing, you offer gifts from the heart. One of the most memorable short stories I have ever read is your story, "Stay with Me" about the final days of your courageous and unforgettable grandmother. I think of this story often and about the special bond you shared with your unforgettable grandmother. I am sure that she, along with your other righteous departed relatives and friends, will be there to celebrate with you on your son's wedding day, with God's help. Mazel tov, and may you and they continue to have much naches from him and from your other children. And I look forward to reading more pieces from you!
God has given you a special gift.
Janine Sherr
New York
(1) E.Moskovitz, July 8, 2018 2:06 PM
So heartfelt & touching! These “stages of life” make you think & reflect. Yael, all your loved ones are dancing with you, smiling at you, shepping nachas from you.