Why Israeli Weddings Matter More than Ever

Yehoshua Montal Photography, courtesy of the author.

Weddings in Israel are always joyous, energetic affairs, but right now, in the shadow of war, they take on even more significance. Each celebration is a testament to resilience and a declaration that joy and memory – like the bride and groom – are sacred partners. 

At my daughter’s wedding near Jerusalem this past month, I felt the merging of today’s happiness with yesterday’s grief more than ever. When my cousin read the prayer for Israeli soldiers under the chuppah, it wasn’t just a formality. He himself had fought in Gaza. Everyone present either served personally – from the groom, his brother, my younger daughter, her friends – or was the loved one of someone serving. In Israel, that’s not a flex. It’s a reality.

That is one of the most poignant differences between an Israeli wedding and an American one. But there are others. 

In the US, Jewish weddings are often formal affairs. The chuppah includes prayers and speeches and everyone sits quietly and listens. Guests can feel more like spectators rather than part of the ceremony. Plus, mentions of Israel, even when wholehearted, just don’t have the same power when you’re not there. 

On the other hand, when Israel is the home everyone around you is fighting to secure, praying for its peace and safety is not just an added bonus. It’s a plea from the heart. And guests don’t just sit back and watch the ceremony – they’re standing, clapping, singing, participating. The focus is more on joy, less on formality.  We felt that generous, engaged spirit from the planning stages through the chuppah and party.

The Israeli wedding process also raised our awareness of time – both our personal timing and our connection to our national historical time.

First, there were only about three months between the engagement and the wedding. For religious couples, that’s pretty standard, though I hesitated to share that short timeline with my professional colleagues in the US. In Israel, it’s quite normal, regardless of whether you’re religious or not. 

Timeline is critical for wedding planning. In the US, it can take up to 8 months to order and receive a wedding dress. We did not have that kind of time. 

My daughter got her wedding dress from Chana, a British émigré to Israel and a dressmaker who had been a costume designer in Los Angeles. Getting to Chana’s apartment in Nachlaot (which happens to mean heritage in Hebrew) felt like walking back in time to Jerusalem’s early days. Chana’s apartment was nestled behind a winding set of alleys, hidden courtyards, mini-gardens, trickling fountains, and multiple staircases. It could have been a scene out of The Beauty Queen of Jerusalem, a family drama whose protagonist grows up in 1920s Jerusalem and becomes a high fashion dressmaker. 

When we enter Chana’s apartment, we realize that she also runs sewing classes there. As we discuss the zippers, bows, and bustle of the wedding dress, there is always someone else hunched over a sewing machine deep in their own creative process. The wedding dress wasn’t the fanciest or the most expensive, but it did come from a place with history. And despite the busy pace and cramped space, Chana had the dress ready to go in plenty of time for the wedding. 

We also found connections between our Israeli wedding planning and our current national history by visiting gemachs dedicated in memory of fallen soldiers. Gemach, an acronym of the Hebrew phrase “gemilut chasadim,” literally means acts of loving kindness and refers to charitable organizations that lend money or items free of charge. Gemachs are a mainstay of Jewish communities both in the US and Israel, providing everything from tablecloths, centerpieces, and other shared resources for simchas, to school uniforms, medical equipment, and even interest-free loans for those in need. Recently, families who have lost loved ones in service to Israel created gemachs to honor their memories.

We benefited from a dress gemach dedicated to Yosef Malachi Guedalia, a 22-year-old soldier in the elite Duvdevan unit who fell on October 7 after rescuing civilians and fighting against Hamas terrorists in Kibbutz Kfar Aza. His wife, Senai, wanted to celebrate his life by offering dresses for happy occasions. 

As a lone soldier, my younger daughter had very little time to go dress shopping. I brought her several options from the US, but they didn’t quite work. A good friend of my daughter’s recommended Senai’s gemach. We made our way past the shops and cafes of Jerusalem’s Emek Refaim to a private house right off the bustling street. A car in the driveway bore large bumper stickers with Yosef’s smiling face and positive messages like: “Strength is revealed in unity.” The stickers made our breath catch – this wasn’t an ordinary dress store.  

We walked upstairs to a bedroom with a small closet bursting with beautiful dresses. After months of fruitless searches, we finally found the perfect fit. Not only did the dress look good, but it also helped include Yosef Guedalia’s bravery, strength, and positive spirit in our celebration. You’ll never get that from a dress at Nordstrom, no matter how much you pay.

Perhaps the biggest difference between a typical American wedding and an Israeli one is the sense of intimacy and participation, especially during the chuppah ceremony. All aspects of the celebration include music and high-energy songs. Guests surround the bride and groom with singing and dancing from the pre-chuppah tisch, (Yiddish for table), which centers on serenading the groom, to the bride’s special chair where she sits as she bestows meaningful blessings to anyone asking. 

Even at our wedding, which had about 300 guests, most from the groom’s side whom we didn’t know, we felt an unmistakable feeling of family. During the chuppah, we all sang and danced together. Rabbi Shlomo Katz, who led the ceremony, began by wishing mazal tov to all of Am Yisrael, inviting everyone to feel present, emphasizing that the experience we were having was “beyond time.”  Those words elevated our sense of togetherness. Everyone participated, including the boys from Yeshiva, the aunts from America, the cousins from downtown Tel Aviv, and the friends from Efrat and Beit Shemesh. Together, we stood, clapped, swayed, jumped, smiled, and cried. As Yosef Guedalia’s memory reminded us, our strength that day came from our unity. Because in Israel, wedding guests don’t just watch the celebration—they are the celebration.

Standing under the Jerusalem stars, watching my daughter and her new husband enveloped by the love of so many friends and family, I realized that an Israeli wedding isn’t just about the couple—it’s about all of us. History will always remind us to mourn. But we must remind ourselves to celebrate.