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IN-DEPTH FEATURES
More and more people miss the simple weddings of old.
Once, as the older people relate, weddings were entirely
different: The musicians were different from the bands they
have today, the quantity of people was different, the food
was different, and so was the atmosphere — but most
important, the simcha was of another kind. What follows is an
anecdotal survey of weddings as they once were in
Yerushalayim and elsewhere.
Our topic is: "Weddings of Old." We have the childhood
memories and the stories of Yerushalayim of old and of the
old yishuv, and there is the more distant past of the
Jewish communities of the Diaspora. There is no way we can
cover all of these thoroughly. Let us glean some tidbits,
from here and there, not necessarily in any particular
order.
"Adorned like a chosson and bedecked like a kallah.
Besiman tov uvemazal tov." Kol sosson vekol simchah kol
chosson vekol kalla. On Yom Shishi, the 15th day
of the month of Elul, to the sedrah of boruch atto
bevo'echo, in the blessed year of — with the help
of Hashem, our son, Eliyahu Mordechai and our daughter Hendel
will enter into the chuppah and kiddushin, at a
propitious time, and we are honored to invite you to
participate in our simcha. We will be honored by your
presence. Parents of the chosson: Yosef Chaim/Soroh
Zonnenfeld. Parents of the kallah: Menachem
Nosson/Cheryl Auerbach.
Reception: At the home of the honorable wealthy man, Rabbi
Rachamim Mizrachi, on Hameidan Street. The chuppah: at
the Almshouse, at 9:00 in the afternoon Arab. The wedding
feast: At the home of the father of the chosson, on
motzei Shabbos kodesh.
*
The invitation, which was particularly ornate and decorated
with the best graphic ornaments that the printing house had
then to offer, was printed by Eliezer Goldberg, who marked
his work with his own name as well.
"9 o'clock Arab," incidentally, meant according to the Arab
clock. You might also find on invitations of that period, "at
9 Turkish," or "at the ninth hour." Only "modern" Jews wrote,
"3 o'clock in the afternoon, European."
It was all the same time. That was the hour for
arranging chuppas in Yerushalayim at the beginning of
the 20th century. And three o'clock meant three o'clock
promptly, because on Friday there was no way you could "drag
out" a wedding. And anyway, there was no chicken or schnitzel
to be had there. No food at all, not even a borekas.
*
The weddings of old in Yerushalayim were always held on
Friday afternoon, which was the custom in many Jewish
communities of the Diaspora too. Perhaps the reason was that
everyone was available on Friday afternoon, or perhaps
because they wanted to save on the seudas mitzvah and
merge it into the seuda of Shabbos. Or perhaps—-
and this is apparently the true reason — there were
deep reasons for it rooted in traditions. The serving of
refreshments to the guests, and especially the songs and
dances — what was then known as the mishteh
— took place on motzei Shabbos.
Nowadays, it is not certain that people will even host a
sheva brochos on motzei Shabbos. They have just
had a long and tiring Shabbos, and had to take care of
sleeping arrangements and three meals for all the immediate
and extended family — they should only be well and
healthy and go back quickly to their own homes. But in the
not too distant past, Jews always liked to host a lively
seuda on motzei Shabbos, which was known among
yeshiva students as the "nitchada" — or
something like that.
What was the source for that peculiar name? Was it Polish,
perhaps?
Now here comes the surprise: From the recollections of an ex-
Hebronian, it turns out that this was the custom of Sephardim
in Hebron. As for the word — its origin is Ladino. From
there to Yerushalayim, the distance was not so great.
*
There was an old joke that they used to tell in Yerushalayim,
that went like this: Yentele of apartment number 21 —
or maybe 41 — jumps rope with her friends in the large
courtyard of Batei Ungarin. When she comes home, she is
greeted joyfully with the news: "Mazel tov. You are a
kallah!"
"And who is the chosson?" — Yentele dares to
enquire.
To which her parents reply: "Yachne! You mean you have
to know that, too?"
Things probably did not happen the way it sounds in the joke,
but the reality was close enough. Girls, and even boys, got
married at a very early age, though it was late in relation
to what was customary in Yemen and, at certain periods, in
European communities as well. HaRav Yosef Chaim Zonnenfeld,
the rov of Jerusalem, wrote in his will to his sons that they
should be sure to marry off their daughters before the age of
twenty, and all his life he took steps in that direction. The
parents initiated and finalized the shidduch, and even
found their way into that meeting where a quick glance was
exchanged between the chosson and kallah.
Were they less happy than today?
*
Let us go back to that magnificent invitation at the
beginning of the article, where HaRav Yosef Chaim Zonnenfeld
invites guests to the wedding of his son Eliyahu Mordechai:
that was still (1908-5668) a good few years prior to the
First World War, when you could still arrange a "wedding
feast" in Yerushalayim since most Jews still lived between
the Old City walls and staunchly observed Torah and
mitzvos.
What was served at the feast?
Lemonade, perhaps, cookies and "popitas" — roasted
sunflower seeds.
HaRav Yosef Chaim Zonnenfeld had not as yet been appointed
rov and Av Beis Din of Yerushalayim; the chuppah
was most probably conducted by HaRav Shmuel Salant.
A few years later, in the midst of the poverty and horrors of
the war (as told in Yerushalayim Shel Maaloh), HaRav
Zonnenfeld worked to make shidduchim among the
children of the poor.
The above quoted invitation is part of journalist Dov
Ganychovsky's collection, and in an article in Etmol,
T. Sapir analyzes various invitations in relation to the
places where the weddings were held. Generally, only one
thing was not certain and conventional: Whether the wedding
was to be at the "chosson's father's" house or the "kallah's
father's" house. On the other hand, sometimes the chuppah
was at the synagogue and the wedding in the house.
It is likely that only well-to-do families could afford to
print invitations. For many it was sufficient to make an
announcement in the shul, and the whole community would
attend the simcha, give their good wishes and go home
— with lekach or without it.
As the yishuv expanded beyond the walls of the Old
City almost 120 years ago, it became necessary to dispatch
invitations. Now there was a choice whether weddings were
either held "in the Old City" or "outside the city, in Batei
Ungarin." It was only at the end of the twenties, when the
community had grown and began leaning towards the "new
Yishuv," that weddings began to be held in public
institutions like schools, and, for the wealthy — in
hotels.
*
One of the invitations which appears in the article is that
of a couple who were apparently "pioneers" who came to the
country without their parents. Instead of "Naale es
Yerushalayim al rosh simchoseinu" etc., there is just a
star of David with the word "Zion" inside, and the text of
the invitation is simply: "Avrohom Duber Shaulson —
Pesel Goldberg, join together in the bonds of matrimony."
Such a modern expression!
The wedding was held at the house of the kallah's
uncle in Botei Hordona, without mentioning the name of the
uncle, and the hosts are: "Dovid Kamin" on the
chosson's side and "Chava Salz" on the kallah's side,
distant relatives apparently or perhaps friends. The
invitations were printed at Zuckerman's printing shop, which
mentions that he is the "alef zayin" (we do not know
what that is) of the chosson.
That was a wonderful period. There was no money, but a great
deal of tznius and yiras Shomayim. Then the
Zionists came and the European "Enlightenment," and they
began digging away at customs from olden times.
In an announcement made in Yerushalayim in the period of
HaRav Yosef Chaim Zonnenfeld, the members of the Mishmeret
HaKodesh Besimcha Shel Mitzva declared: "We undertake
bli neder not to go to a place where men and women eat
in the same room, except on condition that the baal
hasimcha has arranged beforehand that the men eat in a
specific room for the men, and the women in a specific room
for women, both on Shabbos and on weekdays . . . " For
indeed, "mixed" affairs had also infiltrated to Yerushalayim
. . .
Not only in Yerushalayim, obviously. In the book by Zvi
Zohar, Hei'iru Pnei Mizrach (They Lit up the East),
the author describes how the European Haskoloh Movement
infiltrated the Jewish community in Egypt at the end of the
19th century and the beginning of the 20th. Together with the
haskoloh came the new "open-mindedness," and the
degeneration was very rapid. All the ingredients of what was
considered French "culture" spread like wildfire among the
Jews, especially in high society, among the wealthy who had
contacts with Europeans.
Instead of being simchas shel mitzvah, weddings turned
into balls, in which the wedding was just a pretext. There
was a drastic change in the dress code too. The men flaunted
European suits, and had no qualms about wearing self-
professed shatnez, which was needed to stabilize the
woolen suits. At the same time, the women wore immodest ball
gowns. These balls had to be held at night, and therefore the
"modern" Jews altered the traditional time for weddings from
daytime to nighttime. The location of the wedding was
transferred from being in the home or synagogue to hotels and
coffee houses.
In Egypt
Egyptian rabbis tried to fight against the new trend as it
appeared in their country, and in 1906 (5666) Rabbi ben
Shimon and Rabbi Eliyahu Chazan managed to persuade the
community leadership to publicize regulations determining
both the permitted locations of the weddings and the
permitted times: "We have ruled, with the consent of the
leaders of the Holy Nation, heads of the community of the
City of Yerushalayim to restore the former custom as was
previously, that is, to make the chuppas specifically
during the day. We instituted this procedure several times
before, and we saw that in consequence there was order in our
streets, especially when chuppas are arranged at the
shul, and women came dressed very respectfully and covered in
shawls due to the sanctity of the site . . .
"The haskomoh of the Beis Din Tzedek . . . we have
instituted the law and established the decree, that from now
on no Jew is permitted to arrange a chuppah either at
guest houses or kal vochomer at public houses or
coffee houses, Heaven forbid, but only at the home of the
chosson or kallah. If their house be too small
to hold it there, they may choose a synagogue . . . or . . .
they may use a yard which is entirely vacant of residents and
set up the chuppah there, should that place be
tzonua."
Tzonua in both meanings of the word: modest in
appearance and modest in cost. But especially in the sense of
limiting oneself. Jews, throughout the generations, never had
an abundance of money, yet they continued to make
simchas over and above their means, perhaps because
the "other side" requested it. Once in your life you could
look like the town's rich man.
The rabbis and city leaders saw that this could really lead
to a life-threatening situation, and they made very strict
regulations about the number of guests at the seudas
mitzvah and about the kind of food that was served
there.
In addition, there was the fear of "lomoh tisro'u"
— arousing the jealousy of the goyim.
Community Regulations
In 1793, the community of Ankona, Italy established, with
regard to bar mitzvas, that: "It is forbidden to make
a seuda, one is only allowed to serve coffee and
saroydro (a type of biscuit) for those who come to the
house to wish mazel tov." (Which shows, incidentally, that
making a simchas bar mitzvah is not an invention of
our times).
The Medina community was more generous, and proposed a choice
of one of the following drinks: coffee, chocolate, tea or a
rose drink. But no stuffed pepper.
As for weddings, the number of diners was limited to thirty-
six, and on condition that either fish or meat could be
served — but not both — at one meal.
Various communities determined the number of guests who were
permitted in accordance with the tax that was raised for the
community (which it immediately handed over to the
poritz, prince-patron, or king's officers). There were
genuine tax scales, which took into account the family's
economic status. If you didn't have the means — why
make an extravagant wedding?
The regulations dating from the end of the 19th century had
an exact itemization. "One who pays taxes from 10 grand
inclusive may invite no more than 25 men and their wives,
aside from the rabbis and the chazan, one shamash, a
preacher, and an untrephierer (best man) and two
servershmeg (waiters) and all the residents of the
house." One could not get into conflicts with neighbors,
after all.
Furthermore, the chosson could invite 6 friends to
mesameach the chosson, whereas the
kallah could have an unlimited number of friends. Why?
The reason is not clear.
The following regulations further limited the leniencies, and
only allowed the inviting of five men, aside from the rabbi,
etc., and also three poor people collecting tzedoko.
The chosson and kallah were, as yet,
invited.
In the middle of the eighteenth century the Ashkenazim even
forbade that very well-known custom: "making a kolatch
for the wedding or bris miloh and sharing it with
the guests at the seudah." This was a special large
challah baked for the simchah. Think what ancient
traditions have been handed from generation to generation,
generation to generation — up till our times. A
"kolatch" — whose source no one understands
today, but no one will give it up!
Incidentally: we see clearly from these regulations that the
way the bris miloh is conducted today is exactly the
same as the way it was done hundreds of years ago in
communities all over, whether they were Ashkenazi or
Sephardi. For example, we see this from the minhag of
the "kvatter" — a word whose meaning and source
no one knows. And chas vecholiloh anyone should arrive
at a seudas bris uninvited!
There was one participant whom no one would leave out, not
even in the most limited weddings: the darshan or
badchan, the person who recited the grammen
(rhymes) so beautifully. At Chassidic weddings today, there
is always at least one.
As for yeshivishe weddings — we can still recall some
very successful badchans, respectable bnei Torah
who viewed it as a great zchus to mesameach
the chosson and kallah and sing the praises of
the mechutonim. Where did they disappear? Perhaps it
was the advent of the loud bands, and the photographers who
roam around unceasingly, "staging" the wedding, or maybe it
was the necessity to end weddings at 11 o'clock.
Did he make jokes? Was it his intent to make everyone laugh?
Absolutely not. The badchan used a mixture of tears
and laughter to get his mussar across, to teach
necessary halochos, to remind all those present that a
wedding is the establishment of a Jewish home. It was all
done in rhymes "sheyotzim min hasharvul" ("off the
cuff").
He used to climb up on a chair, and all the guests would fall
silent. The kleizmer would use the opportunity to take
a break and maybe drink a cup of tea. Soon the kallah
and her entourage would slip in at the side, since they were
part of the songs.
Presents
Does anyone go to a wedding today? Mostly people drop in,
making the rounds. Many nights in Yerushalayim and Bnei Brak
people have to go to two or three weddings. Some have to go
to weddings in Yerushalayim and Bnei Brak on the same night.
This does not allow them the leisure of spending the night at
a single wedding. And then if it is not too late they stop in
at their neighbor's bar mitzvah as well.
Who brings presents today? What do you mean? I am a poor
avreich/I have married off ten children — and I don't
have any extra money. I won't give them and they do not have
to give to me.
By the way, when did you last rush to get to a
chuppah? At your brother's or sister's wedding? By the
time your cousin's chuppah came round, you weren't in
such a rush. Really, how much can a person spend on a baby-
sitter?
Once, fifty or sixty years ago and earlier, it was not like
that. The community was small and close knit. Everyone knew
everyone else, that is, the people from their own community,
and everyone felt like they were one of the main guests.
Nobody had much family in many circles. A lot of relatives
lived in chutz la'aretz, and after the Holocaust,
there was that dreadful general sense of orphanhood all over.
Anyone who came from your town—-he was like your
closest possible relative, and if anyone had any brothers,
sisters or cousins in the country, then you felt rich indeed.
Good neighbors were really like brothers. What a
simcha! Royzele is getting married! At long last
there's a wedding on the horizon! You could count on one
finger the number of weddings each year.
"I always remember the first wedding that I ever went to. I
was then about 8 or 9 years old. It was when there was
rationing in the early years of the State.
"My parents' closest neighbor was marrying off her daughter
at a magnificent hotel: the Herling-Warshavsky hotel in Zion
Square. Only those with means made weddings there. The mother
of the kallah stood at the door holding a white cloth
bag in her hand. "Hast sheine gehat a kichelle?" she
asked me, and pulled out a homemade cookie from deep inside
her bag. After the chuppah, we went home.
"A few years later we were invited to an engagement party of
a member of the family. They served fruit salad inside a
glass goblet with a stem. For us that was "America." But
then, no matter how poor everyone was during those prewar and
postwar years, no one dared to come to a wedding without a
present.
"One day my father took me to a wedding in Tel Aviv. We spent
about two hours on the bus, after waiting in a long line at
the Central Bus Station on Jaffa Road, in the yard opposite
Dr. Ticho. After we had dropped off our suitcase at our
relative's home, we went to a housewares store to buy a
present. In Yerushalayim they did not have shops like that. I
remember to this day that gorgeous present: a serving bottle
for liquor and six cups."
Parshas Tetzaveh, 5th of Adar, 5694 (2.2.1934)
Parshas Vayakheil-Pekudei, 19th of Adar, 5694 (6.3.1934)
Mazel tov, mazel tov to my dearly beloved and fine children:
Moshe Gelda Henich, may they live and be well with the
yeshuo of all Israel. I am happy to tell you the good
news (that makes the bone thick), about the tenoim of
my son, your elder brother, Leib Avrohom, who was by us for
the Purim seudah.
On Sunday of this week your mother and I, and Leib Avrohom
traveled to Latzernovitch, arriving there at 2 o'clock. By
that time the mechuton of Batashan was already there
with the mechutenes and the kalla as well as my
daughter, your sister Miriam. They had been waiting for us to
come and finalize matters. But when it was time to go to the
pure table of the Rebbe, which was at the yahrtzeit of
his father, I went with the mechuton, and we sat by
the table and were given these wonderful influences on the
body and soul which were shed on Klal Yisroel. After
davening ma'ariv we went to the guest house where the
mechutenes was staying with the kalla as well
as your mother and sister and we started to discuss matters
because he had previously said in another language that there
was no need for him to get the dowry before the wedding . . .
So we did the handshake, wrote the tenoim, drank a
lechaim and ate some sweets with joyful hearts.
Later the chosson and kalla went with Miriam to
the railway tracks, and your mother, myself, and the
mechuton and mechutenes went to the Rebbe to
get a brochoh and mazel tov . . . After
davening we again went with the chosson and
kalla tot get the Rebbe's brochoh and we gave out
drinks and sweets to all our loved ones . . . The
chosson and kalla stayed in Czernovitz to get a
present for the kalla, a "clock."
But we cannot do without that gold watch . . .
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