Excerpt
The bride stood like a pillar of salt, rigid under layers of itchy petticoats. Sweat dripped down the hollow of her back and collected in pools under her arms staining the ivory silk. She edged closer to The Bedeken Room door, one ear pressed up against it.
She heard the men singing. Their shouts of lai-lai-lai! rolled down the dusty synagogue corridor. They were coming for her. This was it. This was her day. The day her real life started. She was nineteen and had never held a boys hand. The only man to touch her had been her father and his physical affection had dwindled since her body had curved and ripened.
"Sit down, Chani-leh, show a little modesty. Come, the Kallah does not stand by the door. Sit, sit!
Her mothers face had turned grey. The wrinkles gleamed as the make-up slid towards her collar. The plucked brows gave her a look of permanent surprise. Her mouth was compressed into a frosty pink line. Mrs Kaufman sagged under the weight of her mousy wig. Beneath, her hair was grey and wispy. An old woman at forty-five: tired. Chani was her fifth daughter, the fifth to stand in a Bedeken Room, the fifth to wear the dress. Nor would she be the last. Like
Babushka dolls, three younger daughters had emerged after her.
Chani remained at her post. Shouldnt they be here by now?
Theyll be here soon enough. You should be davening for all your single friends. Not everyones as lucky as you are today, Baruch HaShem.