“I guess we have no choice, my Yaakov,” she said, sliding her feet to the ground and allowing her arms to fall to her sides. She grabbed a piece of fruit, cupping her hand carefully around it so the sweet juice would not stain the white satin of her borrowed wedding gown, which needed to be returned in good condition to the free loan fund to clothe the next thrifty ultra-Orthodox bride.

“If only there were a back door where we could escape,” he said, surprising her.

“Would we do it?”

“How I would love to!”

“We couldn’t!” she laughed.

“No, probably not.” He took a ripe, red strawberry, biting into it and letting it stain his lips.

She watched him, almost tasting the juice. Then she went to the door and unlocked it, opening it wide and letting the world course in, the women taking charge of her and leading her away as the men surrounded Yaakov, taking him along in a flood to the men’s side of the impenetrable mechitza.

Oh, the dancing! Oh, the circles of men, the circles of women, each on their own side of the high partition! How people swirled and dipped, holding hands and singing as they surrounded the bride and the groom, each in their own separate kingdom, until someone brought chairs and shockingly stormed the mechitza, hoisting up a terrified Leah and a reluctant Yaakov and carrying them away to sway in the air as they clutched the sides of their chairs with one hand and the end of a long rope with the other, their only public physical contact their entire wedding.

Once the festivities had moved over to the men’s section, Fruma Esther allowed herself to be led to a chair and plied with cold glasses of water. Someone thoughtfully brought her a large, cloth napkin, and she wiped her sweating face. She had been dancing with the others, of course; a wedding guest could not very well refuse to get up and perform the mitzvah of gladdening the bride, no matter her feet felt like lead and she could hardly keep her head up, blurry with fatigue from all the days of planning and preparation, most of which had fallen on her. She didn’t mind. She’d even enjoyed it. A simcha, after so much tragedy. Funerals, after all, also took planning and food preparation; they were also exhausting.