Ringing in the New Year

Well, this post is about two months late, but at the time our story takes place, internet was scarce and spending time on it was definitely not a priority.  And so, with the magic of the snow falling outside my window, let us go back to yesteryear.  Specifically, December 2012.

Joey and I went to Israel this winter on Birthright, a wonderful program that allows any Jewish person between the ages of 18 and 26 who has not done so yet to spend ten days touring Israel with other people their age.  Joey had never been to Israel before, and when I visited with Leo Baeck Temple several years ago, there was nobody my age, but there was a six-month-old Eliana Lee Chasen and several grandparents.  Lucky for me, Birthright decided I should have the experience of travelling with my peers, and so, on December 18th, Joey and I landed together in Tel Aviv to begin our Israeli adventure.

Birthright does a great job of making sure you visit "mandatory Israel", as our friend, Gili, who lives outside Tel Aviv, calls the sites that you really can't leave Israel without seeing.  They took us up Masada, down to the Dead Sea, through Jerusalem to the Western Wall, into the nightlife of Tel Aviv, all the things that would be on any respectable "Israel Must-Do" checklist.  There was one thing, however, that Joey and I had on our personal to-do list while we were there, and that was to purchase our wedding rings.


Before my parents got married, my highly academic father did a lot of research into the hows and whys of Jewish marriage customs.  Of course, as I have studied these same rituals, both academically and personally, I have learned very different things than he did.  This has led him to the new conclusion that, despite everyone being absolutely certain in their understanding of Jewish marriage law, nobody's certainties align quite right.  One such matter is that of the rings.  According to my father, a Jewish wedding band must be a simple circle of pure gold.  No diamonds, no breaks.  This to support the initial object of the wedding ring.  That is, for the groom to give an amount of money to the bride that she
keeps for herself in case of emergency.  Should her husband mistreat her and she need to leave him, she has at least something to live on.  In order that the value of the ring be indisputable, it must be made of solid gold (a consistently standardized value) with no stones or adornments, the added value of which could be quibbled over.  In this system, the bride is actually not allowed to give a ring to the groom, as that would negate the value of the ring he just gave her.


Now, I've seen Orthodox rabbi's wives with diamonds in the band, and just about every groom these days wears a wedding ring, so who knows.  And, in fact, traditionally traditonally, (we're talking Anatevka here), the whole village would share a big, elaborate ring that was used just for the ceremony, then passed on to the next couple to wed and the married people wore no signifying jewelry.

Joey and I decided we wanted the simple gold bands quite a while ago.  Since there's nothing visually spectacular about that, we decided to take advantage of the ability to really get them anywhere we wanted.  When shopping for my engagement ring, Joey had very particular things in mind, either that he wanted or that he didn't want, and there were a lot more factors at play, particularly with the stone.  So he shopped around and ultimately, with the help of a good friend, found the ring he wanted in a jewelry shop in Omaha.  For my engagement ring, the specialness and the beauty and the care are evident when you look at it.  For the wedding rings, there would be no way visually to tell them from just about any other simple gold ring, so we wanted their special qualities to come from their making.

While we were in Israel, we asked two of our Israeli guides, Rami and Adi, to give us the name of a good jeweler in Jerusalem, Joey's and my collective favorite city in Israel.  We asked them to help us find someone with a good neshama, a good soul.  This is a little bit of my California hippy heritage coming into play, and many of you have heard me discuss this concept in relation to food, but I believe that the quality and emotions of the person making something (rings, bread pudding) absolutely come through in the finished product.  I think that a simple ring made by a good man carries different qualities than an identical ring made by a greedy, dishonest man.  Joey is perhaps not quite so invested in this strange branch of my personal theology, but he was willing enough to accept it, especially when both Rami and Adi came back to us, independently, with the same name: Meltzer.

The Meltzer shop is just far enough off Ben Yehuda Street, the remarkably touristy area of shops, to be a different type of place entirely.  Gone are the "Special discount for Birthright!" signs and large, brightly-lit displays.  Meltzer's shop has a quiet sign out front and about 100 square feet of space inside.  I walked in and asked the man at the counter "Are you Mr. Meltzer?"  "Yes," he responded, pointing around to the other men in the shop.  "I'm Meltzer, and he's Meltzer, and he's Meltzer.  We are all Meltzers!"  I explained, nervously, why we were there and he pulled out a few trays of rings to show us, none of which quite seemed right.  We said as much, and he pulled a big bag of rings from the back and dumped them out on the display case.  This was definitely not the luxury boutique experience.  We spent quite some time discussing style, finish, thickness, and size, before we left.  Who knew "simple gold band" could be so complicated?  He had to make them special for us, and, being unable to really see the exact rings we wanted fitting on our hands, I was very nervous about what we'd think when we picked them up the next day.  One of the Mr. Meltzers told me I shouldn't be so worried, "it's only marriage."  Joey laughed at his joke.  I did not.

On the last day of 2012 we travelled back to Jerusalem to pick up our rings.  We went to Meltzer's shop, tried them on, and they were perfect.  Exactly what we wanted.  We had our simple gold bands, made by a good man, from a place that was really special and meaningful to us both.  They may not stop anyone on the street with their elaborate beauty, but that's not what they're for.  They're for us to remember what is special and important and meaningful for us.

Addressing the Dress

Today I made a big step in the road towards bridehood.  I put down a deposit on my wedding dress.  "But (Ari)Ella," I hear you cry in protest, "How could you possibly have put down a deposit on a dress that has not even been whispered about yet?  Did you not bring 18 friends and acquaintances to Kleinfelds to tell you how beautiful you look in a pink tutu and laugh at the dress of your dreams until that sassy gay man tells them to cut it out and guide you through the path of self-actualization until you shout 'YES!' to your dress through a veil of tears?"  "No," says I, "I did not.  That show scares me."  (and plus, Max hasn't let me watch it in years).

The calm and ease surrounding the acquisition of my wedding dress is a gift from my mother, whose creativity and brainstorm method allows her to come up with the strangest solutions that actually make the most sense.  In this case, her idea was getting a custom gown made.  "But (Ari)Ella," I hear you interrupt again, "Won't that cost an infinite number of dollars?  Why would you do that?"  Well, as it turns out, no. Getting a dress custom-made is shockingly cost-effective, especially considering, you know, it's custom, so I can get exactly what I want and have it love my body like nothing I've ever owned.

When you buy a wedding dress through the usual route, you shop through dresses until you find the perfect one, or until you get fed up and just choose one.  For some people, like my friends Chelsea and Monica, this can be an incredibly easy process.  I think it took Chelsea a week from proposal to purchase, and Monica fell in love with the first dress she tried on.  Other girls just really enjoy the shopping process, so don't care how long it takes them to find their dress.  Those of you who have been shopping with me know this is not me.  My process is usually to go to Target, find three things I like, and then pick the best color or pattern (or two or three) and get out of there.  Alternatively, I fly through Marshall's flipping through dresses and tops like they're pages of a 300-page book I forgot to read for the paper I have to write due tomorrow, grab my allotted seven items, try them, and then toss them or buy them.  Sarah admonishes me when I refuse to try things on because I just want to get to the kitchen aisle.  Joey has even admitted that shopping with me is an unpainful experience. This ruthless efficiency, while good for Joey when I need a new skirt, makes the prospect of appointment upon appointment to try on sample-size wedding dresses fills me with dread.  Make that filled me with dread.  With a custom wedding dress, I just sit down and talk to them about what I want, then go in for a few fittings.  No shopping required.

The other thing is the cost.  Wedding dresses are expensive, a fact that should come as no surprise to anyone.  The average cost of a wedding dress before tailoring and veiling and embellishments and all those extras is upwards of a thousand dollars.  Part of what you are paying for is the name on the label. Vera Wang, Panina... that's all I know.  Also, you want your dress to fit perfectly so you're going to pay for alterations and tailoring on top of that. And even then, you end up with an edited original.  With a custom dress, I get something that is designed to work best with my body.  The woman at the shop pointed out things that would make me look good and steered me away from things that wouldn't work with my shape.  The alterations as we go through the fittings will be made by the original seamstress so she'll know exactly how best to work with the dress to achieve the desired result.  And, because it's being made by Han in Metairie, it's a lot less needlessly expensive than something made by Panina (well, Panina's minions) in Manhattan.  Also, making the dress fit perfectly is part of the process, not a paid extra.  

A few weeks ago, I got the name of a workshop from the lovely Kim Coleman, beautiful fashionista and Maid of Mid-City (to those of you not from New Orleans, that means she rode in a Mardi Gras parade).  I knew she'd know the best places.  I went in for a consultation with them that basically consisted of flipping through Brides magazine and talking about what I liked and didn't like, and what would and would not look good on me.  We sketched out a basic dress and talked about fabric and that was about it.  I sent the sketch and inspiration dresses to my bridesmaid and maid of honor and they approved and gave a couple helpful suggestions.

Today, I went back in for measurements and to put down my deposit.  I'll go in once more for to make a muslin rough draft of what the dress will look like before I leave New Orleans, and then twice more for additional fittings before it's ready for me to bring home.  As my mom pointed out, having to go to New Orleans is not the worst thing in the world.  Also, it will make me happy to have a little NOLA with me as I walk down the aisle.