I wrote about the strangest wedding – though “strangest” is not the best word – but I’ve had very interesting moments when the groom broke the glass at the conclusion of the ceremony. Yes, I have asked if the bride would also like to break a glass, but not one was interested.
At one wedding, the best man put down the glass. I was looking out towards the congregation when all of a sudden, I saw them quickly shift their view towards the left. “Strange,” thought I. I took a look. The glass had shot out of the fancy napkin in which it had been put, flew across the bimah, hit the wall and rolled back virtually to the same spot from which it emerged from the napkin.
Now, while in my head, let me tell you about a colleague’s story when he was the groom. His bride lived across the street from the small Temple in Georgia. They had forgotten the glass, so the father-of-the-bride ran home and picked one up. My friend Marty said he lifted his leg and when he stepped down on the glass, “I had visions of my great-great grandmother, that’s how much my leg hurt!” You see, the bride’s father grabbed the first glass he found. Alas, it was a shot glass. Yes, he did like the groom!
OK, the strangest story from my treasure trove is one the bride and groom know I retell many, many, many times. It happened thirty or so years ago; they forgot but I never did. The wedding was in a hotel in center city Philadelphia. There was a riser on which all the participants stood during the ceremony. Came time for the breaking of the glass and something happened…well, something didn’t happen. The glass wouldn’t break.
Before I go on, let me say that I always speak to the musicians before the ceremony. I explain that the procession should begin when I – and I give them the words I’ll say just before – and the recession should begin when I yell out “M a z e l t o v !”
OK, back to the story (No, I did not digress).
The groom stepped hard on the glass and we felt the riser sink a bit, again and again this happened. You see the riser was made of cork; there was too much “give.” The groom began to perspire. He looked at me for my sage advice. I whispered, “Pick up the glass.” He glared at me knowing he HAD to break the glass for it to be a kosher wedding (not true). I again whispered, “Pick up the glass!” (with an exclamation point). Again, he glared at me. Soooooo, since no one wanted to wait until the messiah would break the glass at the end of days, I yelled out “M a z e l t o v !” The band played.
Now he really GLARED.
I recall saying, “Kiss the bride, pick up the glass, Danny, and walk down the stairs. Break it once you get down there.” He did. It broke. He turned around, smiled, and I knew at that very moment that this story would go into my mind that never forgets anything!!!
I still don’t understand why Danny forgot.
(Speaking of senior moments, two old codgers were sitting on a park bench. “So, Max, how are you?” asked his friend Bernie. “Ugh,” said Max, “it’s getting worse and worse. All of a sudden, my memory is playing tricks. I can’t even remember whether it was you or my brother who died last month.”)