COMMENTARY: Here comes the father of the bride

c. 1996 Religion News Service (Rabbi Rudin is the national interreligious affairs director of the American Jewish Committee.) UNDATED _ My shoulders tightened up; my breathing became rapid and shallow. The muscles in my neck grew tense; my stomach churned. The roof of my mouth became parched. And my entire body shook as if it […]

c. 1996 Religion News Service

(Rabbi Rudin is the national interreligious affairs director of the American Jewish Committee.)

UNDATED _ My shoulders tightened up; my breathing became rapid and shallow. The muscles in my neck grew tense; my stomach churned. The roof of my mouth became parched. And my entire body shook as if it was about to go into a spasm.


Was this a heart attack? A stroke? Fortunately not. It was an attack of another kind, one that every father of the bride experiences as he begins that long, long walk down the aisle with his daughter and wife by his side.

Many clergy I know talk psycho-babble at such moments, calling weddings generational transitions, parental progressions, or rites of passage. I probably sound like that each time I officiate at someone else’s wedding. But such sentiments have no meaning when one actually stands ready to walk a daughter down the aisle.

I had thought I would be an exception to this unchanging rule of life. And, indeed, during the months and weeks leading up to the wedding of Eve Rudin and Robbie Weiner, my family and friends repeatedly told me how mellow I appeared to be about the whole thing.

It was not hard to be relaxed about the wedding when Marcia and Eileen, the mothers of the couple, made the key decisions and did all the hard work. I suspect that Robbie’s father, Mike, was also assured by friends that he, too, seemed calm prior to the wedding.

But I’m here to tell you that the serenity began to melt when the wedding guests started to gather in the synagogue prior. I completely lost my mellowness when I stared out at the large number of people in the wedding party who were standing at the huppah, the traditional wedding canopy that had been erected on the platform in the sanctuary.

All those people, including two rabbis, standing and waiting for Marcia and me to deliver Eve to our new son-in-law, who was eager _ as all grooms should be _ to claim his bride. At that moment, my pain and discomfort began in earnest.

To break the tension, I said to Eve and Marcia,”Let’s go! It’s show time.”With that inane remark, I tightly gripped my daughter’s arm. Did I do it to keep from fainting? Or was it a father’s last clasp of his 26-year-old daughter who was about to become a wife? I will never really know why I clutched her so strongly, but I did.

In my years of officiating at weddings, I have noticed that the calmest person at such ceremonies is usually the bride. And, indeed, it was Eve, not I, who was truly serene as we began our walk together.


She turned to me, and even with the white bridal veil covering her face, I was overwhelmed by her beauty. Hers was a glowing, inner beauty that God bestows only upon a bride, and only on her wedding day.”Daddy … I love you,”she whispered to me.

When I heard those four words, I took a deep breath, and the pain began to ease. I walked slowly with her and suddenly all the physical tension was gone. The walk down the aisle was a blur. And when Robbie, the groom, came forward to embrace me and Marcia, a sense of relief swept over me.

Although I will always be Eve’s father, at that sacred moment when she moved _ physically and psychologically _ from her parents to her husband, I realized that Marcia and I had taken our daughter as far as we could go: to the wedding huppah, but not beyond.

The ceremony itself was spiritually uplifting. How could it be otherwise when the bride and groom are both rabbinical students? They designed and wrote much of the service themselves.

The music, dancing, and the hugs and kisses that went on for hours at the wedding reception are only a blur to me. And I am certain that even with the aid of photos and videos, the wedding itself will remain a hazy memory for me.

What will never be a blur, however, is the memory of my daughter saying those precious words no father ever tires of hearing:”Daddy … I love you.”


MJP END RUDIN

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