For a moment, my stomach twisted as I observed those flowers— a blatant violation of takanos law
Engagements are like roller coaster rides. You rock and tumble and gasp for breath as you frantically whiz through hoops, and suddenly, it’s the kabbalas panim. You grind to a halt, dizzy, disoriented, panting, and you can’t believe it, you simply can’t believe you made it.
Kabbalas panims always fascinated me. The charged air, close family swishing around the still empty ballroom in satins and lace, the band tuning up, the photographer frantically trying to finish his portrait queue, the heady scent of pepper steak and chicken lo mein tickling the nose.
Now, at my own daughter’s kabbalas panim, there was the same music and aromas, but the electric current was amplified, and I was overtaken by nerves. I barely managed to smile as I greeted my guests. Shevy — kallah — wedding. Reality wouldn’t register.
My gaze settled on the stage where Shevy sat. She looked radiant, my daughter, beautiful and happy and glowing, surrounded by a breathtaking display of fresh white roses and neat greenery.
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