Happy anniversary!
On August 20, 1995, Husband #1 and I got married.
The weather was sunny and humid. My brother drove me to the hall. My brother-in-law got a speeding ticket on the way there. My bridesmaid from Atlanta (the only one of my three bridesmaids I am still close with, which should come as a surprise to no one who knows me and/or reads my column) walked in to the room right after I finished praying.
I also had a junior bridesmaid. Thirty years later, she is a PH.D. with a very important job in one of our day schools, and she is still the sweetest girl in the whole world. She became my junior bridesmaid after I “de-bridesmaided” one of my other bridesmaids. Yes, that is a thing. Or at least it was a thing that I did. The story of how that happened is not important.
I had asked my “debridesmaided” bridesmaid to leave the material for the dress so I could pick it up. I still remember that it was the day of the Israel Day Parade. How do I remember that, but I don’t remember this morning? And for the record, she still came to the wedding, and we stayed friends for a few months after that, until something else happened that we don’t need to go into because it doesn’t really matter.
My parents hired a limo for us and sent Husband #1 and me to the Plaza Hotel after our wedding. I still remember they sent us kosher breakfast for two the next morning. Husband #1 signed for it without his glasses on, and when I looked at the bill, it said $240. Even then that was a lot and all they sent was a bagel and some fruit, which housekeeping threw away when we left the room to go for a walk in Central Park. Yes, Husband #1 walked with me 30 years ago. Though that might’ve been the only time.
When I told my dad about the breakfast situation, true to who he was, he said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s only money.” And true to who I was, I fought the bill and got half back for him. Some things never change.
And here we are 30 years later. And where am I? I am sitting in Ben Gurion Airport waiting to board my flight home. What an amazing trip it has been, thank God. My suitcase, which was filled mostly with stuff for Danish and her sister and Matzo Ball on the way to Israel, is now filled with 30 bags of crunchy Cheetos.
Since I knew I was going to be flying home by myself on my 30th anniversary, I treated myself to Premium Economy. It was only a drop more than regular economy (which I think is what happens when you book a flight when El Al isn’t flying, but who knows, maybe it was a computer glitch).
Husband #1 and I went to Israel for our honeymoon. His parents had an apartment in Netanya (which they sold soon after our honeymoon, go figure), and our main food source was the local Pizza Hut. In honor of our anniversary my Israelis ordered Pizza Hut one night for dinner. Husband #1 wasn’t there then, but it brought me back. Tastes exactly the same.
Sorry, that fun fact isn’t interesting to anyone but Husband #1 and me, but I thought I would share it with you anyway.
Thirty years. It is amazing what you go through in 30 years. It feels like yesterday and 100 years ago. You start out this innocent young couple who knows nothing about anything, and then, three decades later, you are an older couple who still knows very little.
I was sitting next to an Israeli soldier on my flight back. The man next to him was asking questions about what it was like for him to be blowing up tunnels in Gaza. The soldier spoke about how scared he was, how they were always concerned about the welfare of civilians before they did anything.
All I could think about was how much I hoped that he would be safe and get married and have a beautiful family and grandchildren and at least 30 years of marriage in good health and simcha. Him and all of those who are protecting the country that I am flying back from.
Because, because of him, I will always have a country to fly back to.
Oh, and happy 30th, Husband #1.…
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck knows this column took a turn, but what can you do?
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