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The Essence of a Jewish Wedding
by Sara Esther Crispe

It has been an entire week. As per our tradition, I have not seen him or spoken with him. I have not even heard his voice. And yet I have his picture in my mind, his words in my heart and his being engraved in my soul.

It is the day of our wedding and I wake early to prepare. Externally I am having my hair done, my nails, my makeup. But within I am in a completely different world. I recite psalms trying to infuse every moment with holiness. I fast as it is my personal Yom Kippur, my Day of Atonement and I ask forgiveness for my past while cleansing and preparing for our new future.

In my wedding dress I represent a queen and I pray for the ability to be a crown to my husband. Not to be his decoration, but to be the tie between his superconscious and his conscious, to enable him to be his best. Just as a crown rises above the head and yet connects with it as well, so too the Jewish woman binds together the spiritual and the physical, theory with reality. The crown rests on the temples, the most sensitive part of the head. Spiritually the woman rests on the temples  as well. She is able to massage where there is pain, while simultaneously ensuring that the head does not inflate, for she serves  as its borders. And yet she holds the head up high. Because she is queen she allows him to be king.

I take off my earrings, bracelet and necklace. In another room he empties his pockets, undoes his tie and unties his shoelaces. He is not marrying me for my physical beauty or external jewels. I am not marrying him for the money in his pockets. He comes to be unbound, with no ties, with no connection to anyone or anything but to me and our commitment, to each other.

The music starts and my chatan, my groom, is about to be led to me. He will cover my face with a veil, in order to shield the holiness, the Divine Presence, which rests on the face of a bride. My veil will be opaque so that I cannot see out and no one can see in. My eyes will anyway be closed to more highly sensitize my ability to think and feel. I want the utmost privacy at this moment and to not be distracted by the stares from our hundreds of guests.

By veiling me we make an important unspoken statement to one another. We recognize that we are marrying what we see, but we are also marrying what we don't see. With utmost belief we are sure that we are the other halves to our soul. Only together can we complete ourselves and complete each other. Yet it will take work, hard work. He is not the answer to my incompleteness but rather the means for me to get there. So we recognize that we love what we know and what we are aware of, but we are also marrying the parts that are hidden now from each other, and even to  ourselves. We are determined to love these parts as well and to learn to understand how they are also an integral part of our healing and growth.

Finally, after the longest week of my life, my chatan approaches me. It is almost too intense to look. I glance at my husband-to-be for a moment but then my eyes well up with tears. I can no longer see but I don't  need to. We are about to be bound together. But we are not just two  people. Our marriage represents the continuity of the Jewish people. We are not only about to be bound to each other, but in doing so, we bind together the past, the present and the future.

We will now reunite again under the chupa, the marriage canopy, to become husband and wife. The canopy is open on all sides to represent how our home and hearts should be, welcoming and open to all around. We will be outside, under the stars, to bring heaven down to earth while  elevating ourselves closer to heaven.

Now it is I who is led to him, as he awaits me under the chupa. As I approach, I encircle him seven times. As there are seven days of the  week culminating in the holiness of the Sabbath, so too, I will surround  him, enveloping him in love and commitment, culminating with my standing by his side. Just as I am his crown which sits as a circle around his head, now I too create that bond, that foundation, that security.

In a circle all sides are equally close to its center and there exists
perfect harmony. Once I have completed my seven circles, he returns to  encircle me by placing an unblemished and unmarked simple gold ring on my finger. This is our 8th circle, one above the natural, the days of  the week, and uniting us with the supernatural, the One Above. Seven blessings are now recited, imbuing additional holiness to our  relationship and commitment. But right before we turn to celebrate with each other, with our guests, as husband and wife, we first must break a glass.

The last thing my new husband does under our wedding canopy is that he steps on this glass. It is silent and we all hear it shatter. The  shattered glass represents the suffering that must always be remembered, even in our joy. Even though we are imbued with happiness, we as a  people, as a world, are not in such a state. And therefore it is our  responsibility to remember that as we rejoice we need to create a world  where all can rejoice. And we must live our lives with a sensitivity to  those less fortunate than ourselves and be grateful for all the good  that has been bestowed upon us.

After the glass is broken, it is now time for us to celebrate our joy. I  remove the veil, as my husband and I gaze at each other for the first  time as a married couple. The music begins, our guests start singing and  dancing, and we are led from the canopy to begin our new life together.

The Wheel of Life

A haughty and wealthy young merchant once came to visit the great Chassidic master, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov.

People seeking an audience with the Baal Shem usually came asking for guidance in their service of the Creator, or for advice and blessing in their material affairs. But this visitor lost no time in explaining that he had no special needs or particular problems which required any intervention or blessing. In fact, a rather lucrative business deal had brought him to a nearby town and since it was so close, and having heard so many fanciful stories about the Chassidic master, his curiosity led him to see for himself what all the talk was about.

"Well," said Baal Shem Tov, "if there's nothing you feel that I can help you with, perhaps you'd like to stay for a while and listen to a story?" The man agreed and so the BeSHT began:

"Once upon a time there were two childhood friends who were inseparable as they grew up together. However, when they become adults, their ways parted. One became wealthy and the other was very poor. In order to save his family from hunger, the poor man sought out his childhood friend and asked the rich man for help. The wealthy man did not hesitate. 'Didn't we always promise each other that we'd remain friends forever and share in everything that we have?' he reminded his friend and offered him half of his fortune.

"As often happens with the passing of time, the wheels of fortune reversed, and the one who had before been wealthy was now very poor, and the friend to whom he had earlier given half his fortune had become quite rich. Confident that he would now receive reciprocal help from his now wealthy friend, the poor man sought him out and explained his situation. But instead of helping him, the man with the newly acquired wealth refused to part with any of his fortune.

"Time again witnessed a reversal of fortune so that the poor man became rich and the rich man again became poor, as each returned to their original situations. Now it happened again that the one who had before refused to part with any part of his fortune began to feel the hopeless despair of impoverishment, and went to his friend begging for forgiveness. The man who was now wealthy readily forgave his former childhood friend, but this time he insisted that the friend give him a written agreement that if he were ever in need again, the friend would share his blessings with him.

"Well, in the passing of time the two men again experienced reversals of fortune. But true to form, the man who had signed the note refused to honor it, and his friend and his friend’s family found themselves homeless and penniless.

"Years passed. The two men died. When they came before the heavenly court to account for their lives, the mean-spiritedness of the selfish man's life weighed heavily against him and he was condemned to punishment, while the forever kind and forgiving friend was sent to his eternal reward in paradise. However, the good friend could not accept the destiny of his fellow's soul and petitioned the Heavenly court that, in spite of selfish and shameful manner in which his friend had repeatedly treated him, he nonetheless still loved him and did not wish to see him suffer on his account.

"The heavenly tribunal was in an uproar," the Baal Shem Tov continued his tale. "This was certainly a very unusual case! It was decided that the only way to solve this case was to return both men to earth, so that the sinful man would have one last opportunity to atone for his egotistical behavior. And so, the sinful man was returned as a prideful wealthy merchant while the other was returned as a common street beggar.

"And so it came to pass that, one day, the righteous beggar knocked on the door of the rich man begging for food. He had not eaten for a long time and was literally on the verge of starvation. But he was rudely and callously turned away. And so, the beggar died...."

At this point in the story, the rich man, with tears streaming down his face and a lump in his throat, could barely speak. "Yes... Yesterday... Yesterday I turned away a beggar from my door... Later I heard that a beggar was found dead in the street. Was... Was he the beggar in your story?"

No answer was necessary. By now the tears were flowing freely. The man was overcome with remorse and repentance. He was desperately anxious to know how or what he could do to make amends for his shame.

The Baal Shem Tov explained that his former friend, the beggar, had a widow and orphaned children, and that he was to go and give three quarters of his fortune to that family in order to atone for his sin.


In a small Polish town there once lived a young Rav and his devoted wife. They were blessed with a beautiful baby boy whom they absolutely adored. They were at the height of their happiness as the time approached for his third birthday and the upsheriness, the first cutting of his hair.

But fate had a cruel blow in store for them.

One Friday, as the young Rebbetzin was busy with her Shabbos preparations, and the Rav was not yet home from the Study Hall, their little boy was outside playing. When his mother went out to call him, he was nowhere to be seen. She looked in every possible place, calling his name, but no sign of him was to be seen.

The Rav came rushing home when he was informed of the terrible news, and all their friends and neighbors joined in a frantic search for the missing child.

Candle-lighting time came, but there was no peaceful Shabbos for the Rav and his wife or for the rest of the Jewish community.

Someone mentioned that a gypsy caravan had been seen that morning passing through the town. "The gypsies must have stolen the little boy! But where had they gone? Where could anyone now look for him?" The parents were heartbroken.

That, in truth was exactly what had happened.

A group of wandering gypsies, seeing a beautiful child playing alone with no one around, snatched the child, enticing him with some candy, pushed him inside the caravan and quickly drove off.

For a little while little Moshe'le, was quite happy playing with the gypsy children inside the caravan, but after a while, he realized he was nowhere near his home and he began to cry: "Mommy, Mommy!" But the gypsies had no intention of stopping nor of returning him to his parents. They meant to keep him until they could get some profit out of him.

For weeks the gypsies wandered from place to place until they came to a beautiful estate owned by a rich landowner.

The Polish nobleman and his wife were childless, and they were delighted to pay a good sum of money to the gypsies for the little boy. Little by little Moshe'le got used to the couple who were good to him and he gradually stopped calling for his parents.

Instead he called the landowner and his wife "Daddy" and "Mommy."

As time went by, Moshe'le forgot that he was a Jewish boy or that his name was Moshe'le. For now he was called Yanush and he was brought up in the style and luxury of a young "poretz, (prince)."

When the old poretz died, Yanush inherited his whole estate. Unfortunately, he also inherited a feeling of hatred for Jews from the old poretz.

With all the wealth at his disposal, Yanush joined a group of young squires, and they spent their time in deer-hunting, parties and leading carefree lives.

Yanush was very popular and was the "darling" of Polish aristocracy. In time he was appointed to be the governor of the entire district. This was bad news for the Jews who lived under his lordship, for he often persecuted them and showed his contempt for Jews in no uncertain manner.

The Rav and his Rebbetzin continued their modest lives with a deep wound in their hearts which was not healed even when they were blessed with more children, two boys and two girls who gave them much nachas, (Jewish joy).

There was a "Ivan" in their town who used to come into Jewish homes on Shabbos, and he would also do jobs for them in the weekdays when called upon.

The Rebetzen was always very kind to him, giving him food as well as money whenever he did some job for her. But she noticed that he was not being honest. The first time he stole something, she pretended not to know. But, when he began to steal things time after time, she sent him away. Other Jews in the community also found out that he was stealing things from them and they, too, told him they would not have him in their homes anymore.

The fellow became angry at the Jews who had employed him, and swore he would take revenge on them.

Soon after Purim when Jews began their preparations for Pesach, the gentile went to the cemetery, in the darkness of night, where a Christian child had been buried just a few hours earlier. He dug up the body of the child, cut its throat, and took it to the Rav's back garden and buried it there. The following day he went to the magistrate and told him that he had seen some Jews dig up the body of a Christian child, extract some blood, and then had buried the body in the Rav's yard.

In those dark days, some Christians really believed the horrible libel story that Jews used Christian blood for Passover matzohs and wine.

The Magistrate, hearing Ivan's story, went to the Rav's house accompanied by police, and dug up the body of the child. The Rav was immediately arrested, and so too, were the lay heads of the community. They were put in prison awaiting their trial.

No amount of talk by the Rav to convince the magistrate that the Torah absolutely forbade Jews to use any blood, helped to convince him of the falsity of the accusation. They told the magistrate that even an egg which had the tiniest speck of blood was forbidden to be eaten by a Jew. All to no avail.

They told the magistrate that the whole plot was concocted by Ivan as an act of revenge because he had been fired by the Jews whom he had robbed. But the magistrate, chose to believe the thief rather than them.

The poor Rav was sentenced to die, and the other Jews were given life-sentences.

In addition, a huge fine was clamped down upon the entire Jewish community of the town and they were completely helpless to do anything about their cruel treatment at the hand of their oppressors. Their only and last hope was that the Governor, whose signature was needed to confirm the verdict, might have mercy on them and accept their plea of innocence. But, knowing the governor's attitude to Jews, this was a poor hope indeed.

Their only real hope was in the Al-mighty, and only He could save them from their desperate position.

That night the governor could not sleep. He tossed and turned and could not understand what was bothering him. He was quite tired and should have fallen asleep instantly. Yet different thoughts kept jumping into his mind. He had just returned from a most enjoyable three-day deer-hunt and felt quite pleased with himself. So, why then couldn't he fall asleep?

What bothered his conscience now was the delegation of Jews who had come to see him just as he was about to set off on that deer- hunt. He had no patience to listen to them and he had sent them away quite rudely. What was it they had wanted of him?

Some story about an accusation against some Jews which they claimed was false, and begged him to cancel the cruel unfair verdict against them. It was a matter of life and death, they pleaded. But why should that bother him? He didn't even remember exactly which of the small towns they said they came from. He only remembered saying to them: "I have every confidence in the magistrate. I have nothing more to say." But, why should he now have this very uneasy feeling?

In his heart he felt it was absurd to believe in the silly blood- libel, but why should he care if a few Jews found themselves in some desperate situation? Nevertheless, it was obviously bothering him, for here he was, tossing and turning and unable to get these innocent victims out of his mind.

He decided to get up and take a drink of wine. Maybe that would help him to fall asleep. Finally, in the early hours of the morning he fell into a very troubled sleep and he began to dream a most remarkable dream.

Yanush was out deer-hunting with his friends. His fast horse took him through a thick forest where he was chasing a deer. He had left the others far behind. Suddenly his horse reared on his hind legs and almost threw him. This infuriated him and he was ready to vent his wild temper on the poor animal. Then, to his surprise, he saw an old gray-bearded Jew calmly gazing at him as he rested on his wooden cane.

The first reaction of Yanush was to pick up his gun and shoot this impudent man who dared to get in his way and frighten his horse. But something about the unusual appearance of this dignified Jew held him back.

"Who are you and what do you want?" called out the governor.

"I am your grandfather and I have come to tell you, Moshe, it is time you returned to your people," the old man answered.

"You are making a false accusation. I am not a Jew! It's a lie! My name is not Moshe but Yanush. Get away from here before I lose my patience!"

"A false accusation is the one brought against my son, your innocent father. You alone can save him. Have pity on your old father and have pity on yourself and on your unfortunate soul!" cried out the old man.

The governor was so shaken by these words that he awoke with a palpitating heart.

"A dreadful nightmare," he told himself, and again fell asleep.

The following night the old man again appeared in the governor's dream. He entered his bedroom and called out:

"Moshe! Moshe! This is no dream! Innocent lives are at your mercy! It is not too late to repent. Return to your people.!"

The governor awoke with a start and a cold shiver.

"I must have drunk too much," he told himself, and fell asleep again.

The third night the governor dreamt that he was sitting in his office, the judge's verdict was in his hand and he was just about to sign it. He dipped his pen into the ink but was stopped by a voice calling out:

"Wait! You cannot sign this false verdict!"

He recognized the voice of the old Jew.

"And how can I know that the verdict is false?" asked the governor.

"That is quite easy. Ride into town and give an order that the 'Gentile' should be whipped for giving false witness. You will very soon see that he will confess. I tell you again, for the last time, free your old father from this awful blood-libel. Save your own soul, Moshe. You have wasted enough of your life in wild activities. You were born a kosher Jewish child. Gypsies stole you and carried you away from your loving parents and left them broken-hearted. To this very day they have not forgotten you. You were sold to the childless landowner who brought you up as his son.

"Give me some sign that what you are saying is true," said the governor.

"If you will search among the things that the old poretz left behind, you will find a child's small "arba kanfos" (a four corner garment with strings hanging from the corners), that you were wearing when you were brought to him by the gypsies. When you see the "tzitzit" you will remember..."

The governor awoke, trembling. This time he did not attempt to go to sleep again. He jumped out of bed, put on a robe, and hurried to investigate this strange matter.

With trembling hands he went through the old things that had been stored in a closet, until he came across a little bag which actually contained the `arba kanfos' the old Jew had described.

With mixed emotions he began to finger this little garment.

Yes, his memory began to work and he gradually recalled how those gypsies had enticed him into their covered wagon, by giving him candy and letting him play with the children inside.

He remembered how they had struck him whenever he had cried for his mother and father. He remembered, too, how they had brought him to the poretz who had been so glad to have him and called him Yanush. Then, little by little he had forgotten he was Moshe'le - a Jewish boy, and had become Yanush, the young, spoiled Jew- hating poretz.

Early the following morning, a special messenger arrived to see the governor as he was sitting in his office, deep in thought. The messenger gave the governor a sealed envelope, saying:

"I was asked to bring this to you and wait for you to sign the document," he said.

The governor broke the seal, read the judge's verdict, took his pen, dipped it into the inkwell and wrote something on a piece of paper. He put his message in an envelope and gave it to the messenger, saying:

"Take this to the judge and tell him I shall bring the verdict back to him myself."

The court messenger returned to the city and brought the news that the governor was coming. This caused quite a stir, and preparations were begun to welcome the governor and give him the honor due him.

Two days later the governor arrived in his beautiful carriage, accompanied by a suite of riders.

The governor immediately ordered that the judges, the witnesses and the accused be called together.

When they were all assembled in the judge's chamber, the governor entered and everyone stood up respectfully.

The governor glanced at the old rabbi and an inner tremor took hold of him, for he looked exactly like the old man who had repeatedly appeared to him in his dreams.

The governor made an effort to control himself and called for the chief witness to repeat all he had said in court.

Seeing the governor there, Ivan became scared and began to stammer. He could hardly make himself understood.

With the help of the judges he finally managed to conclude his testimony, swearing that everything he had said was true.

"You are a liar," the governor called out sternly. "Whip him until he will confess that he is lying." the governor shouted.

Ivan threw himself at the feet of the governor, kissing his boots, and began to plead for mercy.

"I only wanted to avenge myself against the Jews who fired me," he stammered.

"Remove this dog from here," ordered the governor. "Put him in prison until he will get the sentence he deserves!"

The governor then rebuked the judges who had so readily allowed themselves to be deceived by their blind hatred of Jews. He tore up the verdict in front of their eyes.

Speaking to the judges directly, he said:

"Don't you know that the blood-libel is altogether a lie? Don't ever again dare to carry on such false cases against people!" he concluded.

Then, after he ordered that the accused be freed from their chains, he said to them: "We beg your forgiveness for the wrong we have done you. You are innocent victims of blind Jew-hatred. As compensation for your suffering I free your entire community from paying any taxes for a period of ten years."

The governor then turned to the old rabbi, saying:

"Words cannot compensate for the suffering and deathly fear you have experienced. If you would grant me the honor I would like to visit you personally this evening."

"With pleasure," said the old rabbi, tears of joy filling his eyes.

That evening the governor came, all alone, to the house of the old rabbi.

The Rebbetzin had prepared a table worthy of their honored guest, but he touched nothing. His gaze settled on the wrinkled face of his mother and he felt a strong urge to fall on her neck. crying: "Mother! Dear Mother!" But he controlled his emotions and said he would like to speak to the rabbi privately.

The Rabbi took the governor into the next room which had shelves on every wall, filled with books. They sat down, and the governor began to ask the Rabbi questions about his family.

The Rabbi told him about his children, sons and daughters, now married, living in various towns, and who had children of their own.

"And did you never have any other children?" asked the governor.

The rabbi was startled by the strange question but replied with a sigh:

"Yes, indeed. We had a dear little boy, Moshe'le, who would have been the eldest of our children. But, sad to relate, he was stolen from us when he was just three years old."

"I know where your Moshe'le is," said the governor quietly.

"What are you saying?" exclaimed the old Rabbi, jumping up excitedly.

"How do you know? Is he alive? Where is he? Is he still a Jew?" The questions tumbled over each other.

"Yes, your Moshe'le is alive, but he was raised among non-Jews. He would now like to live as a Jew if his parents would not reject him and would allow him to return to them."

"What are you saying? Reject him? G‑d forbid! The Al-mighty rejects no one. Where is Moshe'le? Please bring him to us, please!" the old Rabbi pleaded with tears in his eyes.

"He is already here, Father. I am Moshe'le, your long lost son," said the governor, opening his arms.

For a second the old Rabbi was stunned, unable to grasp what he had heard. The next moment father and son were in each other's arms, in a tight embrace, crying: "Moshe'le!" "Father!"

When they finally calmed down the old Rabbi said:

"I must go prepare your mother for this wonderful news. I will bring her to you and we will discuss and decide together what must be done next."

The Rabbi was gone a short while, but the waiting seemed endless to the governor. Finally his mother rushed in and threw herself into his arms, as all she could exclaim, tearfully, was:

"Moshe'le! My darling Moshe'le!"

She could not stop hugging him, smoothing his hair and kissing him, as if she could shower him with all the motherly love he had missed, and was pent up in her heart since he had disappeared.

Moshe'le broke down completely and, for the first time in his adult life, he cried like a child.

It took the three of them some time before they could regain their composure and sit down to drink tea.

Moshe told his parents how he had found out who he really was, and how his arba kanfos had brought back his memory of what had happened to him when the gypsies sold him to the Poretz.

"And are you really prepared to give up your luxurious life, wealth, and honor, and your position as governor, in order to live as a Jew?" the Rabbi asked him.

"Do you really doubt it, Father?" Moshe answered.

Suddenly, to his own surprise the words escaped his lips:

"Torah tziva lannu Moshe" (The Torah which Moshe commanded us). Strange that these words, which were the last his father had taught him before he was kidnapped, should now have come to his mind.

The plan the three of them decided upon was that the governor should go out hunting with his friends, as always. He would then stray away from his companions. He would ride through a forest and stop at a lake, where he would discard his clothes and change into simple clothing.

When he failed to return and his clothes would be found on the banks of the river, it would be assumed that he had gone for a swim and had drowned.

Moshe would then travel to Holland and stay with his father's brother who was a rabbi in a small town not far from Amsterdam.

He would carry a letter from his father, introducing him and explaining that Moshe wants to devote all his time to studying Torah.

The talk went on until after midnight when Moshe took leave of his regained parents.

"I don't know if we will live to see you soon," said his father. "But, dear son, we will surely travel to see you."

"We thank the Al-mighty for having restored you to us after all these years. Your mother and I will pray that He protect you and watch over you always. That is all we ask. G‑d will bless you, our very dear son."

The parents embraced their son without saying anything more, and Moshe hurried out before he would again break down.

He lost no time in carrying out the plan, which came off smoothly, and spent the rest of his life in Torah study and prayer, doing his best to make up for all those lost years.

How to See Israel

A man who had been sent from Tsfat (Zefat), in the Holy Land, to gather funds for his community visited the city of Rabbi Avraham Dov of Avritch and spoke wonders in praise of Eretz Yisrael. He described the air, the landscape, flowers and fruits. In language rich in expression, he pictures the holy places and gravesites of the tzadikim.

His enthusiasm knew no bounds, until he finally bubbled over and said, "Rebbe, what can I say? Why should I go on? Even the rocks of Eretz Yisrael are pearls and precious stones of all sorts!"

The Rebbe who had already previously pined to go up to the Holy Land could no longer find peace. In 1830 at age 65, he left his city and his flock of chassidim, went up to Israel, and settled in Tsfat.

Sometime afterwards the funds gatherer returned home from his travels. He came before the Rebbe and asked with interest, "Well, then, has the Rebbe found what he hoped to see?"

"The land is, indeed, very, very good," said the Rebbe. "The holy places, the graves of the tzadikim, the Western Wall, the tomb of Rachel, the air — the air of Eretz Yisrael grants wisdom — everything is exceptional. But when you said the rocks were pearls, that was an exaggeration."

The man reacted strongly and said, "Rebbe, whoever is worthy .... sees it!"

The Rebbe rose without a word, and closeted himself in his room. For an entire year he did not leave that room. For an entire year he secluded himself and devoted himself to his Maker, through study and prayer, cut off from the world. When the year drew to a close, he emerged and invited the residents of Tsfat to a feast of thanksgiving.

All sat, filled with curiosity, desirous to hear why the Rebbe had lived in enforced solitude and why he had called upon them to gather for this feast.

The Rebbe proclaimed, "Indeed, the statement is correct. The rocks are pearls; whoever is found worthy .... sees it."

Those present did not understand him and so he told them about the collector of funds and what the man had said.

"In all my life," he said, "no one ever spoke to me with such force. I felt that Heaven had put the words on his lips in order to encourage me to reach such a state. I closed myself in my room; I sanctified and purified myself. And, indeed, my eyes were opened. I bear true witness before you. The rocks of Israel are precious stones and shine with the luster of pearls."

The final and concluding blessing of the Seven blessings recited at the wedding ceremony quotes a prophetic passage regarding the Era of Redemption - "...there shall speedily be heard in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem, the sound of joy and the sound of happiness, the sound of a chassan and the sound of a kallah." This shall take place in the course of the true and complete Redemption, through Moshiach.