The Russian Century: A Hundred Years of Russian Lives

I went to my uncle’s apartment directly from the train station. It was not difficult to convince my cousin that we had to marry within 36 hours. To postpone marriage meant the creation of new passport difficulties in the future. We split our tasks: I went to inform my parents, she—hers.

My father said nothing—giving his assent through silence. Mother, “for the last time,” cautioned against marriage between close relatives, citing the sickly condition of my future “life’s companion” and the like. Her objections were basically a formality—a self-justification rather than condemnation of my decision. In this fashion things on my front were settled. On my bride’s side, aunt and uncle raised technical objections: how could a wedding be organized in the time span from Saturday to Sunday when all the stores were closed? One needed a wedding dress, a place in which to get married had to be found, guests had to be invited, and arrangements had to be made with the rabbi. Even obtaining the required wedding rings was a problem.

All of these obstacles, real or imagined, were easily overcome by our decisiveness.

I immediately went to see another uncle, Miron, with whom I had stayed periodically during my wandering years. He became a widower early on and had two young daughters. Tilla Ivanovna Sproge, a German from the Baltic region, looked after them and the household, not without a lively sense of humor. On the spot, my uncle agreed to the use of his quarters for the ceremony. We “arranged” for a rabbi and a portable canopy that was required for the ritual. The ten Jewish men of legal religious age, older than thirteen, who were mandatory to effect the prayer properly, were supplied by close relatives. As far as inviting friends, we had to limit ourselves to the very closest: Aniuta Koroleva, Sher, and the Ratner brothers.

With her characteristic resoluteness, the bride refused to wear a wedding dress. Very quickly one that was similar was sewn. A skirt was made out of a white silk dress and a white blouse with a bridal veil was added. The latter was obtained via the back door from the neighboring wig maker. Vasia Sher gallantly sent the bride an enormous bouquet of white roses. Everything turned out “as it is supposed to be.” The most difficult items to get were the wedding rings. My future father-in-law went looking for them after the Sabbath rest had ended. Despite his efforts, he was unable to get anything better than rings made out of 14 carat gold. Which, by the way, did not impede their functioning in faith and truth for 46 years.

All of this seemed to be useless, though innocent ritualism, which one had to bear insofar as we had chosen the juridical, and therefore, according to Russian law, religious consecration of matrimony. Our wedding took place on August 31st, the day that my university residency permit expired. The religious ritual and the social ceremony were adhered to with minor deviations

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Chapter Nine

occasioned by the urgency in preparing the celebration and the particular circumstances of the groom.

The bride wore a white dress—not satin to be sure, but silk nevertheless. I wore a dark blue jacket. The parents and relatives were dressed up. The rabbi appeared. He was not the conventional Ia. I. Maze, but was a so-called spiritual rabbi, Weisbrem. He was a handsome elder with gentle facial features and a long white beard with streaks of yellow in it. He did not “torture” those gathered with a didactic speech, but limited himself to the minimum necessary to conduct the ritual. Those assigned to the task led us the required number of times under the velvet canopy with the golden fringe. As was customary, vessels were broken and crunched underfoot. We sipped the wine. We put the rings on the ring fingers and moved toward the refreshment table. Despite it being Sunday, the energetic Tilla Ivanovna was able to obtain various treats.

The whole procedure did not take much time. Though everything went well, one still felt that something was missing, that closure was needed. It was 10:00 PM, the program was spent, and it was time to depart. The young people decided to continue the celebration elsewhere. But where? Somebody suggested going to the Iar. This required the kind of money that I did not have. Dr. Rosenthal came to the rescue.

“Tell Uncle Abram, he will gladly give you a hundred rubles,” he suggested. “At Vera’s wedding (my father-in-law’s eldest daughter) the horses alone cost more.”