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judy smith Dec 2015
In every tribe and culture, a wedding is cause for a celebration. And all of those celebrations involve some degree of negotiation among the couple, their families, their cultures and their traditions to make the experience meaningful and powerful for everyone.

Rabbi Adam Greenwald, director of the Miller Introduction to Judaism program at American Jewish University, said when it comes to Jewish nuptials, even born-Jews will have differences. Is one a secular Zionist and the other Modern Orthodox? Reform and Conservadox? The combinations seem endless.

But, for Jews by Choice, there is the added wrinkle of following Jewish practice while making sure beloved non-Jewish family and friends feel included.

When Jazmine Green, who went through the Miller program, and Jeremy Aluma started planning their Jewish wedding, Jazmine’s Catholic mother revealed that she had always dreamed of watching Jazmine’s father walk their daughter down the aisle. The Jewish practice of having both the bride’s parents walk her to the chuppah and remain there with the groom and his family throughout the ceremony was unfamiliar and she resisted it.

Greenwald, who each year officiates at the weddings of 15 to 20 couples in which one person is a Jew by Choice, often meets with non-Jewish families early in the preparation process to talk through these issues and answer questions. He recognizes that, for some parents, there is real sadness when a child chooses a different faith.

“I try to honor those complex emotions and assure them I only want to help create a special, meaningful day for everyone,” he said.

He suggests couples create booklets to explain Jewish terms for attendees who may not be familiar with them and that they make sure the officiating rabbi offers a few sentences of context before each stage of the wedding. These can range from a word about the Sheva Brachot, or Seven Blessings, to explaining to a Christian family that a traditional ketubah is written in Aramaic, the language spoken during the time of Jesus, as Rabbi Anne Brener, professor at the Academy for Jewish Religion, California, has done.

Of course, the wedding itself is not a classroom. Jazmine and Jeremy Aluma kept their printed program informal and friendly with questions such as, “What’s up with the circling?” Their explanation of the ketubah concluded, “It also puts a monetary value on Jazmine’s head so she can hold it over Jeremy for the rest of their lives.” About the glass-smashing, they wrote, “If you’re a Jew, you know that as a people, we’ve overcome adversity and make up a thriving global community. Being torn apart encourages us to grow and gives us the opportunity to come back stronger and more resilient than before. We break a glass as a symbol of this natural process.”

Des Khoury, another student of Greenwald’s, and Moshe Netter found a way to recognize many of their families’ traditions in their ceremony and afterward. They were married by Moshe’s father, Rabbi Perry Netter, who explained to the guests that the chuppah, which symbolized the house Des and Moshe were creating, was open on all sides to indicate that everyone was welcome.

Des is a first-generation American. Her father is Lebanese-Egyptian and her mother Armenian; her family’s faith tradition is Catholic. Her wedding program included ways to express congratulations in Hebrew, English, French, Arabic and Armenian. And after the ceremony, Des and Moshe emerged from yichud, or their moment alone, to the horah, followed by an Armenian song and folk dance, and then an Arabic tune. By that time, she said, everyone was dancing.

The material of the chuppah itself can be inclusive. Brener said she once officiated at a wedding beneath traditional Ecuadorian fabric brought to Los Angeles by the groom’s Catholic family.

Music, explanations and words of welcome are nice, but when it comes to actual participation by non-Jews, every officiating rabbi will have his or her own halachic opinion. Because the marriage liturgy itself can be completed in about 10 minutes, many feel there’s room to add appropriate ritual. The mothers of Des and Moshe, for example, lit a unity candle under their children’s chuppah.

Jessica Emerson McCormick, who was born into a Jewish family, researched clan tartans before her marriage to Patrick McCormick, whose Catholic family is Scotch-Irish. Jessica and her mother found a festive blue, red and yellow pattern, and had it woven into a length of cloth and made into a custom tallit for Patrick, as well as special kippot for him and his father to wear at the wedding.

Along with that plaid tallit, Jessica and Patrick’s ceremony included several rabbi friends reading the traditional Seven Blessings in Hebrew, followed by members of Patrick’s family reading English translations. Both of Jessica’s children from a previous marriage were on the bimah, and her son wrote and read his own interpretation of the seventh blessing.

Rabbi Susan Goldberg at Wilshire Boulevard Temple said having non-Jews read translations of the Sheva Brachot is “a nice way to include friends and family in the ceremony.”

Because all translation is a kind of interpretation, Greenwald said he also approves of participants riffing on the basic idea of a blessing to create something that especially speaks to the couple. He finds that the needs of the couple can get lost while they’re making sure everyone else is happy, and sees one of his jobs as helping them stay focused on what they need, how they can be kind and compassionate, but still have the wedding they desire.

“The most important thing,” he said, “is that the couple under the chuppah have a powerful, meaningful experience of commitment.”

Because the wedding day marks a transition to what Jewish tradition sees as a new life, many rabbis encourage couples to go to the mikveh before the ceremony. Often for Jews by Choice, it’s their first visit since their conversion and a chance to reflect on how much has changed since then.

It wasn’t clear at first that Patrick would choose to become Jewish. When he did decide, Jessica said, his family was supportive. Like the families of the other Jews by Choice interviewed for this article, his parents were happy that he had chosen to include religion in his life.

Des, who said she spent years searching for a spiritual practice that felt right to her, also found her parents accepting. “To them, it’s all prayer and God. They’ve even started looking forward to invitations to Shabbat dinner.”

Jazmine’s mother, too, witnessed her daughter’s spiritual seeking and was glad that she found a place that felt like home. In recognition of that, she even gave up her front-row seat and walked with her husband and daughter to take her place under the unfamiliar chuppah.

The officiating rabbi, Ari Lucas of Temple Beth Am, spoke to Jazmine and Jeremy about coming together with the support of their community. He reminded the guests that they were there not just to witness. Together, this mix of family and friends, cultures, languages and traditions would help — and go on helping — the couple begin their new life together.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses
In Scotland painters favor plaid
Though tartans are likely just a fad.  
When dabbing on the wall
The hand can’t slant at all.  
Glaswegians think diagonals bad.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
some people forget that writing into excess is never a modern sign of wavering... it sometimes means that there's enough for it to be exhumed... call it instant-archaeology... it's not about other people's conversation, it's about their company, and that far from being reached let alone being riddled...*

a letter to a lovely Ms. ***.:

hey! stop exposing your Nancy like a nun and poke back with a conversation - i'll sooner be dead than a monologue.... Florence Nightingale hear my plea - i love how the following "strings attached" gets attached... 3 thousand miles away, living in a cultural ferment of only youth included / exposed content... but no otherwise: curb the chances of oath and here plops a plumb punch... never heard of 5 o'clock shadow with such an explanatory shortening expressed with the least bereft: or right twitching buttock for a enamoured heart-attack heart: a clamouring clown said: if someone painted a Mona Lisa on my face... if someone... i'd ditch the circus and the claustrophobia antidote trick... so ** and no Santa... and ha and still no Santa... it.... it? it?! hey! hey presto al fresco! god, and i wrote this and i wasn't even fifteen readied for a cougar and: she's his p.r. / publicist... whatever the **** that means... they can and can like the wold and the three guinea pigs;
p.s. the wolf's advances are heaving packed, sure, but asthmatic: or three nights in Paris. you'll never write a book in London: everyone is being prescribed eternity with a timescale of 100 years max... and i do mean that retaliation to the question in Icelandic terms: test your d.n.a. sequence, stop frolicking over forced saints taking care of retards... or ditch the whole Darwinism; how many down syndrome kids does it take it take to chop a tree into firewood? one **** and a whip. see how far the joke goes? me Chimpanzee, me Panda, me me! forks and up yours! build that building of royal surgeons and public opinion -
autumn always auburn, chequers auburn with oak -

kingly European - that coming of winter -
                    Czech and the Carpathian mountains -
oh sure... now the Romance...
the Romance... now gone... fish 'n' chips...
                       i lived in England 20 odd years
the most romance i ever received was an A
at A-level history.
                                             i'm still asking you about
the sort-**** resolve though...
                                             i'll start laughing
when you get off the *** of rocking that
bellybutton girdle or curbbing.
                **** me, Hindu cows of ethnicity in
former Empire bound villages entrapped
by nostalgia;
                 sounds like the perfect breeding ground;
and it is, given the ultra glass like people
who feel the stamping of a mosquito dead
like they might feel a Serbian insurrection
into tonguing Ottoman:
but of course the English man engages:
because he "knows"...
                              just as long as he learned
the cabbies ref. i'd be
fine                            in championing
him on every turn...
                                   chappy ain't no
chappy to be a happy lad... so what
does that matter? i'm quasi 21st century
but actually trapped in 20th century.

                                                 i do love that
it's all happening in H'america...
                                                         makes the trivia
questionnaires a lot shorter...
                                           every time i think of
eating i think of a H'amburger rather
than              a H'entucky -
                                            because the inflatable
Juan with draw-on stubble
                 married a Chasing the Dolly wife -
                    and never mentioned Mozart once...
FAME = P + CANON
                        Pachelbel's Canon -
or... the nuance of the millionth plumber:
   y'er toilet made e burp?
                           hence the maiden at the aisle
and the ******* in the cot...
                    and the serenade of the Cotswold runny...
flapping flapping furore -
                         or the chicken grease off my cheek
in fully glaring applause: rather than i tattoo
a knuckle on some ponce Netherlander
spitting onto a Polish girl's cheek and some pseudo
Irish tells me that i need psychiatric help.
ENGLAND!
                         *******!
Handel grew fat and you grew slim...
                       Shakespeare wrote and you demanded
Emoticons!
                          Emoticons rather than emotions!

you can try to escape Europe, you really can,
but trying to submerge Poland as a colonial
country akin to the Africans will only demand a greater
rift in your little delusion,
                                   by god my heart is a kindred Scot,
nationalist...
                          and i will rip that bloodied cheek off yer
******* cheekbone the minute you say yer-nay-own...
                          play chequers an' tartans wit ye!
i'll make Jack into a stripper and the union into
haemorrhage George and jolly Andrew...
                           you make me into your little
Ethiopian herder i'll make sure that little
emblem of tourist insignia dies with it...
                        Spain is cheap... given the English standard...
Greece is too...
                                  the Alps are a cheap middle-class
**** and the Carpathians are Dracula...
                                          whoever gave these wankers
the Greenwich compass thought twice about the same
wankers... contemplating a trip to Mars..
                oi!
                              glaciers!
                 oi!
                                        the Mariana Trench!
oi!
                             ah, **** it...
oi oi... toe foe un luv 2 twin bananas!
*** yer bananas!
                                             yes, we employed a few
of those specimens to straighten the problem out:
none returned, all remaining became classified as:
with cannibalistic tendencies:
                                          stimulants increasing
deviating behaviour? synonymous rhyming:
                        crime
                                         slime
2 + 2 = bonkers...
                                  cannibalism
     altruism
                                   hedonism...
               soothsayer's saying:
                                if not a limb, at least a thought;
yum yum yummy.
in the wide opens,
desolate indoors of my room,
so many curled books alone,
far away, unarmed from me,
suffering, still, as i do apart,
in the shut in air, i can barely
breathe, with hollowed lips,
in my room, wide opens.

pretty pictures i shot,
shrivel on the plastered wall,
simple gifts I took of you
and the sun penetrates
only in muddied drops,
like desert rains tear
from the mercy skies
on to wastelands of dust.

in throws i bury myself,
with pillows of clean suture,
for the pierced heart wounds
bleeding, patched like warring tartans
indoors, i die in a meadow, bedded,
my faint breath scented with yours,
blankets blink a wild printed field,
specks all, unopened flowers.
Dans la rue.

Il est un vieil air populaire
Par tous les violons raclé,
Aux abois des chiens en colère
Par tous les orgues nasillé.

Les tabatières à musique
L'ont sur leur répertoire inscrit ;
Pour les serins il est classique,
Et ma grand'mère, enfant, l'apprit.

Sur cet air, pistons, clarinettes,
Dans les bals aux poudreux berceaux,
Font sauter commis et grisettes,
Et de leurs nids fuir les oiseaux.

La guinguette, sous sa tonnelle
De houblon et de chèvrefeuil,
Fête, en braillant la ritournelle,
Le *** dimanche et l'argenteuil.

L'aveugle au basson qui pleurniche
L'écorche en se trompant de doigts ;
La sébile aux dents, son caniche
Près de lui le grogne à mi-voix.

Et les petites guitaristes,
Maigres sous leurs minces tartans,
Le glapissent de leurs voix tristes
Aux tables des cafés chantants.

Paganini, le fantastique,
Un soir, comme avec un crochet,
A ramassé le thème antique
Du bout de son divin archet,

Et, brodant la gaze fanée
Que l'oripeau rougit encor,
Fait sur la phrase dédaignée
Courir ses arabesques d'or.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2022
title: cull
body: parabola's tails.


thank god, she appreciated the flowers,
i even replied her:
beside the past times i bought flowers,
for mother's day and for my grandfather's funeral:
it felt greatly appealing to buy flowers
for someone selfishly... with a wound to the heart
that only can craft...
on my cards... not a career... just a job...
no family beside the one i kept that
"abandoned" me from the ages of 4 through to 8...
creative? i might consider that true...
will this translate into economic success?
doubt it...
      dating prospects? single mothers...
job's already done...
   but she did appreciate the flowers...
       hey... but there's a square of mile of forest
that needs to be chopped...
and i don't feel like wasting too much paper...
will this somehow fall into the hands of
Hades... most probably...
but at least i have focus on something that
doesn't allow me to watch t.v. like a zombie
and simply allow myself my lot...
i'll take risks when cycling...
because: well... even if i were rock-climbing...
that's nothing...
i want to be able to trust people driving
their cars, their trucks...
to be a traffic shepherd on a bicycle...
                    sometimes it works...
only today on a roundabout i forced my way
into a turn... extended my hand
in a fashion of an apology... the car slowed
and allowed me through...
it's not much of a life... but...
it's bearable compared to some lives i witness...
there's nothing but a translation of
matter... an exchange of ****** functions
into... passable activities that... could be...
i'm still thinking about her...
all my intellectual curiosities i once found
so available have taken a back-seat...
i've lost interest in philosophy,
i've lost interest in the Qabbalah...
in the katana and the Hangul...
in diacritical markers...
in the Greek script, in the Cyrillic script...
in Runes and in the Glagolitic script...
but... come to think of it...
she would be an impossible catch even if
we met in our 20s...
i'd be the madman... she's be working in
a finance firm earning enough money
to buy herself her own home...
i'd be rummaging in the forest
at night... howling at the moon...
           taking off my shirt... drinking...
going to the brothel...
n'ah... it wouldn't have ever worked...
                        the impossibly terrifying has already
happened...
in the back of my mind i know that
this will not probably work...
of any man's worst nightmare...
but this little light at the end of the tunnel...
resurrected me...
i started to dream a little, to hope a lot...
what a pretty, pretty face...
living in England since i was 8 years old...
i always wanted to have a British girlfriend...
they always escaped me...
now i have a shot...
it's not perfect... far from it...
but... i can't help but swoon toward the chance...
- woke up this morning with
too much phlegm in my throat and my nose...
by the end of the day my mysterious cold
was gone... i was breathing silently and easily...
love-sick fool! love-sick idiot!
you fell in love you fell into a stereotypical illness
that isn't really an illness come to think of it...
you texted her... that country artist you like...
what's his name?
she replies... Gerry Cinnamon...
well, i'll be listening to him tonight...
i sent her my folk choice of music:
In Extremo - Miss Gordon of Gight...
   maybe this one time i can forget about being alone
throughout my 20s... my 30s weren't so bad...
but my 20s? a complete and utter blur...
some people were busy living...
others were bust going mad...
        sure... if i didn't have my spectacular meltdown
aged 21... by the age of 35 i might be in
a better economic situation...
but then again: would i really want that?
i wouldn't have read as much...
i wouldn't have admired the forest at night...
that she's 39 and i'm 35 and we can still
exchange music tastes like an 18 year old with
a 17 year old... when i used to make mix-tapes
and read Nick Hornby's High Fidelity...
everyone looks so old all of a sudden...
my... life can be so bountiful if you find the right
sort of avenues...
you don't need that much to get by...
there's plenty of enough to get by "without"
plenty... just enough, just enough...
                    i'm satisfied with this little corner
of enough-"not-enough"...
just a woman that loves to sing,
just a woman that feels happy when she's cooking...
that has to run from the kitchen
while she's cooking to giggle and dance in
the garden...
that's... just about right... that's just about
enough of what i need...
just about right if she's merely thinking of me...
that's ******* plenty...
and what a beauty she's to look at...
she's kind to almost everyone she interacts with...
she has a high work ethic...
she's there: on the spot...
and then frees herself from the role...
how she fell, how she picked herself up...
she's all whizz-kid with the D.I.Y.:
i could cook for her...
i could... oh... my little oh... i no longer find it
necessary to find a why... why:
i'm going to send her another link...
the Leveller's Carry Me...

hell... if she's into folk... let's go through the whole
spectrum... we'll do the German songs,
the Dutch, the English...

of course she had to have some Scotch roots...
i even told her...
Edinburgh for me is as if it might be Paris...
idiot-in-love...
well thank god im not in my 70s...
how Prof. Xavier says to Logan...
'there's still time...'
and there's me... flushing mortality down the toilet
with the drunken antics i'm all about...
but i'd rather love so recklessly drunk
than... fall into a sober disbelief
for the sole purpose of up-keeping
longevity... no! nein! niet! nie! non!

               i want to love akin to:
you chance is gone, dearest little dove...
when i had my ills, when i had my greatest
troubles... i pulled ip my kilt...
i danced the infernal cèilidh!
           tartans ahoy!
              burry me in the mountains...
speak my name to the Lochs...
               then. simply. forget me!
i'm going elsewhere, i'm...
                    to loved up to be simply hurt...
i'll be waiting at the turnstiles of
how mind disintegrates from
its possession of matter...
    like the thrills of taking a gasping breath...

never take this away from me...
this love sickening disgrace...
i should have been prettily coupled from my early
20s and into my 30s...
already with the baggage of children...
yet here i am... reliving teenager feelings...
lucky? or unlucky me?

i can't stop look at her face...
the last WhatsApp profile picture she took i had
to screenshot... because...
i didn't want to forget her face
in that moment... i wanted her face
to burn into me...

    if this is love? eh... not so bad...
i could give up a decade of living for feel these few
days in my life...
Gerry Cinnamon's... Canter..
didn't Green Day do the same, more politely...
with Time of Your Life?
lyric-wise? i imagine they did...

what a babe... what a *****-nilly lass...
thank god i went to see all those prostitutes...
the male argument about a body count
i'll never mind...
i just want a girl out of a grift from a per se
perspective...
i want to turn a woman into a girl...
i want her all giddy... all afraid...
i want her to be fresh in her own mind
before she gave up too much that she
gave so much away...
i want her... mine...

          i don't care, i don't mind...
i'm not prizing idiocy on my own worth...
last come: at least served...
by now i don't even mind not having my biological
counterpart of little Frankie or
Franklin...
              missed the "boat": forgot about the "train"...
round about now there's only a story of:
well... me might as well enjoy each other's company...
let's try that...
that's enough goodness to want
to attempt at working at it...

no... all the self-help gurus and psychologists
are... right about... now... turning...
into placebos... i'm not listening...
i have my own demands that need to be
met... i'm terribly in love...
i'm bound to a love that's so delusional
that... it's just about right: to stomach
life's realism..

i've sacrificed giving my infatuation
to prostitutes... i've stopped loving
objectively... i posit this as the highest plus...
i want to fall in love with a narrative of a person...
i sifted through... 4 great examples...
i made my mark... which i gave flowers to,
the chess board is set...
now let us see the moves;

come... little arrogant... come a little naked...
come, coy doe...
               i'll be waiting... i'll wait a little while
longer... i'll wait as long as it is necessary...
come... let me ensnare you...
i don't want to merely have you...
i... want to: overcome you...
it's not enough to want...
i want to touch you once you submit...
like i might be touching a mollusk...
and oyster...
i need to open you up... and pry on your
weakness...
what you once reserved for
abusive males...
now i need a return's policy that
puts me in the driving seat...
              oh... now we're going to dance, proper...
it might take us... weeks... months...
i don't care... there are chances that
other women will come in-between: as it has
already happened...
  
            but i'll wait... i'll be waiting...
i mean... landing a girl with a body of a 39 year old...
in her prime... mentally...
i'm going to become a broth of predator and a leech...
no... i'm not going to stop... shyly...
then vigorously... then shyly again..
then vigorously once more... nibbling at her...

let's see what she makes of me...
silly idiot...
       ooh.... i can just imagine it now...
transcending the casual... "non-confrontational" touch
of the hands... with a bite at the lips...
with a bite at the lips...
   imagining her exposure of the thighs...
the grooves in her ear-lopes...
between her knuckles...
        how petite she already is:
how smaller she will reveal herself to be
under my touch...
a project worth dying for, worth living forth:
for.

— The End —