9/3/90

Wedded Blitz

By: Sam Orbaum

WE DECIDED to get married. Mazal tov, everyone said.
    Mazal tov.
    We must have been mad.
    Marriage is like this in Israel: you start with a little love, decide it's enough to last a lifetime, and then put it to the ultimate test: you go to the Rabbinate.
    We open a file. "Mazal tov, 60 shekels please. Are you Jewish?"
    We are, our parents are, everyone we know is, the whole world is Jewish.That's not enough: we have to prove it. We whip out our documents and for effect I say a few words in Yiddish, just to show off.
    Mazal tov, we're Jewish, we are told. The rabbi-bureaucrat fills out the form. "Where do you work?" Suddenly I'm not so Jewish any more when I tell him The Jerusalem Post.     "Anti-Semites!" he rages. "Self-hating Jews! Why do you write against the Orthodox?"
    After every few questions, another little dig: "Your mother's name? - and The Post is anti-Zionist!" "Your father's profession? And you write lies about the Rabbinate!" Finally the form is filled and his fulminations finish.
    "Wait outside. The rabbanit will see the woman. Mazal tov, mazal tov."
    The rabbanit. An Amazon with a sheitl. She barks: "Mazal-tov-when-was-your-last-period?" My wife-to-be is prepared, and demurely supplies the date. With the speed of a computer and untroubled about length or regularity of cycle, the rabbanit calculates every 28th day for the next few months - at which times we would not be permitted to marry - rattling off these dates like a history teacher.
    Where else would you set your wedding date according to menstrual cycle rather than hall availability?
    Nobody in the Rabbinate can now doubt we are Jewish, but are we Jewish enough?   The happy bride would have to return to prove she is well enough versed in the laws and rituals to be a Jewish wife. I protest that we are registering to be married, not applying for the post of Chief Rebbetzin. It is a silent protest, mind you, because we are at their mercy.
    The happy but harried bride goes back to the Rabbinate with signed proof of her knowledge of Jewish family law. We are angered at this imposition, this abuse of power.   Another silent protest.
    The harried but still happy bride goes back to the Rabbinate for her form for the mikve.
    The harried bride makes another visit after being told we must pay a fee in addition to the NIS 60 we paid upon opening the file.
    "How much?" we ask. "It depends," we are told. "Where are you getting married?"
"The Jerusalem Hilton." "Then it will be NIS 270."
    Incredibly, we are charged for our marriage licence according to our means, or what those means were perceived to be. We were told that were we to marry in our own home, we pay nothing, but the "fancier" the venue the more you pay for your marriage licence. We are being taken for as much as they thought they could get from us. My protest this time was not silent.
    The had-it-up-to-here bride returns once more - a couple of days before the big day, to pick up the ketuba, the marriage contract.
    "We can't give it to you yet," she is told. "Your husband-to-be first has to show us he knows enough about Jewish family law."
    That does it. She erupts, and the theocrats soon know they've picked the wrong person with whom to go a step too far. They relent, announcing that I don't have to submit to a test after all, and promptly hand her the ketuba. Mazal tov, they mumble, mazal tov.
    Divorce. The thought hadn't crossed our minds when we walk into the divorce court. We aren't even married yet. Originally, when we were looking for the Rabbinate to start the process, we went to the wrong place. Excuse us, we asked rather stupidly, we're looking for the marriage registry.
    Every grey face stared at us in disgust. A woman laughed derisively. Around the corner and down the block, a rabbi directed us, adding kindly, "And don't come back." It was then we realized, with hilarity and horror, where we were. We turned to leave. Someone said "Mazal tov." He was probably a lawyer.