He's leaning through the gap in the Mechitza. She stands on the other side, gazing up at him. They look so in love with each other, I think, as I watch them.
"Is that her brother?" a woman asks me
"No, he's her Chosson" I say. Surely it should be obvious? They came out of the Yichud room an hour ago, and it shows. Some serious chemistry going on there. I'm so happy that she's finally found him. It was a long journey.
"That can't be her husband, he's not wearing a hat" the woman announces, breaking my reverie. "She told me her Chosson wears a hat."
I stare at her; finally take in her tailored suit, sensible flats, and self righteous expression. Who is she? A rebbetzin, a teacher, a busybody neighbour?
Then I swivel round, take another look at the happy couple. She is right, he's not wearing a hat. I hadn't noticed before. He's wearing a black suit, and black velvet Kippah, but no black hat. His hair lies in damp strands on his forehead.
"He does wear a hat usually" I reassure the woman. "He probably took it off when he got hot from all the dancing"
"Hmmpph", is all she'll she say. She's not impressed. What sort of Yeshiva Bachur removes his hat, ever? He must be Modern.
5 hours ago