I may have had a Jewish wedding, but I drew the line at having “Sunrise, Sunset” played at the reception.
I like my movies without happy endings and I prefer my song lyrics without sappy clichés.
The sweeping, melancholy number from “Fiddler on the Roof” is usually reserved for the second dance at Jewish weddings so the bride and groom’s parents can share the dance floor.
A couple of weeks prior to our May 1997 wedding held at the Honig estate and winery in Napa Valley, I faxed a detailed memo to the hired DJs strongly suggesting they didn’t bring “Sunrise, Sunset,” not even the original Broadway cast recording.
It’s not that I was trying to alienate my in-laws, who like the tune enough to sing along. It’s just that every other Jewish wedding I’ve attended has played “Sunrise, Sunset.”
The fact is, I was an equal-opportunity excluder when it came to wedding favorites.
My memo to the DJs included a lengthy “do not play” list. My then-fiancé already knew I was a control freak (I never order exactly off the menu at restaurants), but he never envisioned I would take the time to compile such a thorough off-limits index.
It had to be done. Otherwise, there was a chance a guest would request Michael Bolton, Celine Dion, Abba, “YMCA” or the dreaded “Macarena.”
For some reason, I didn’t have a problem with including “Hava Negillah” in the festivities. After all, the hora is more than a free-for-all folk dance. It’s Jewish culture’s equivalent to pro wrestling’s 16-man battle royal.
The suspense — and hora highlight — for me has always been getting an up-close-and-personal view of some long-lost relative who, in showing off a little too vigorously, pulls a hamstring, splits a seam or falls on his tush.