The Merging of Two Souls

An entire week has passed. According to our tradition, I have not seen him or spoken to him. I haven’t even heard his voice. Yet his image is in my mind, his words are in my heart, and his essence is within my soul.

The day of our wedding has arrived, and I wake up early to prepare. Outwardly, I’m getting my hair styled, doing my nails, and applying makeup. But inside, I’m in a completely different world. I read psalms, striving to fill every moment with holiness. I fast because this is my personal Yom Kippur, my Day of Atonement, and I ask forgiveness for my past as I cleanse and prepare for our new future.

Just as a crown rises above the head and yet connects to it, so too does a Jewish woman unite the spiritual and the physical, theory and reality.

In my wedding gown, I symbolize a queen, and I pray for the ability to be a crown for my husband. Not merely an ornament, but the link between his higher consciousness and his mind, enabling him to become his best self. As a crown sits above the head and yet connects to it, a Jewish woman binds the spiritual and the physical, theory and reality. The crown rests on the temples, the most sensitive part of the head. Spiritually, a woman also leans on these sensitive points. She can soothe the painful areas while ensuring the head doesn’t swell with pride, as she serves as its boundary. Yet she holds her head high, for she is a queen, allowing him to be a king.

I remove my earrings, bracelet, and necklace. In another room, he empties his pockets, loosens his tie, and unties his shoelaces. He is marrying me not for my physical beauty or adornments, and I am marrying him not for the money in his pockets. He comes to me unencumbered, without obligations, bound only to me and our mutual commitments.

The music begins, and my groom will soon be brought to me. He will cover my face with a veil, symbolizing the sanctity of the Divine presence resting on the bride’s face. My wedding veil will be opaque so that I can see no one outside and no one can see my face. My eyes will be closed to enhance my ability to think and feel. We understand that we marry not just what we see, but also what we do not see. I want to be as secluded as possible at this moment, free from the gazes of hundreds of our guests.

We silently declare to each other that we are marrying not only what we know but also what we do not yet know. We trust that each of us is a half of our shared soul. Only together can we complete ourselves and each other. But this will require effort, hard work. He is not the solution to my incompleteness, but the means through which I can achieve it. Thus, we acknowledge that while we love what we know, we are also committing to love the hidden parts—those aspects of each other and ourselves that are yet to be revealed. These too are integral to our healing and growth.

Finally, after the longest week of my life, my groom approaches me. He is visibly tense. I glance at my future husband for a moment, but then tears fill my eyes. I can no longer see clearly, but I don’t need to. We are about to be married. But we are not just two individuals. Our marriage represents the continuity of the Jewish people. We are not merely uniting in matrimony but are also linking the past, present, and future.

We will come together under the chuppah to become husband and wife. The canopy is open on all sides, symbolizing the kind of home and hearts we aspire to build—welcoming and open to all. We will stand outdoors under the stars, bringing the heavens down to earth and simultaneously elevating ourselves toward the heavens.

Now I am being led to him as he awaits me under the chuppah. As I approach, I circle him seven times. Just as the seven days of the week culminate in the sanctity of Shabbat, so too do I encircle him, enveloping him with love and devotion, completing the circle by standing beside him. As I am his crown, sitting as a circle upon his head, I also create our bond, our foundation, our shared security.

In a circle, all sides are equally close to the center, embodying perfect harmony. Once I complete the seven circles, he reciprocates by encircling me with a simple, unadorned gold ring. This becomes our eighth circle—one that transcends the natural order of the week and unites us with the supernatural, with the One above. Seven blessings are now recited, adding further sanctity to our union and commitments. Before we move on to celebrate with our guests as husband and wife, we must first break a glass.

The last act my husband performs under our wedding canopy is to step on the glass, and we all hear the sound of it shattering. The broken glass represents the suffering of the Jewish people, a reminder we must carry even in our moments of joy. Even when filled with happiness, we recognize that as a people, as a world, we are not yet whole. Thus, we are tasked with creating a world where everyone can find joy. We must live with awareness for those less fortunate than ourselves and gratitude for the blessings we have been given.

After the glass is broken, it is time to celebrate our joy. I remove my veil, and my husband and I look at each other for the first time as a married couple. The music begins, our guests sing and dance, and we are led out from under the canopy to begin our new life together.