"Mawwiage. Mawwiage is what bwings us togevah today. Mawwiage, that bwessed awwangement, that dweam within a dweam. And wuv, twue wuv, wiw fowwow you foevah and evah. So tweasuwe youwuh wuv."
-The Impressive Clergyman, "The Princess Bride"
Adam and I have been married so many times now, it's becoming a habit.
We registered as domestic partners the day it became legal in the State of Nevada. That was October 1, 2009. And honestly, I'm still not entirely sure what "domestic partner" means. To me, that sounds like when we paired off to bake cookies back in middle school Home Ec.
But domestic partners it'll have to be because, God forbid, here in the good old USA, legally calling ourselves husbands would not only endanger the inherent rights of all the straight folks, but would somehow mysteriously open the door to men marrying goats and grandparents marrying their grandkids, which of course, anyone can see are the next logical rungs on the socio-evolutionary ladder if you let a couple of gay guys trot down the aisle and call it normal.
A couple years later, wanting something with a little more legal oomph under our belt, we decided to hop-skip-and-a-jump over to a nearby nation that actually does let people marry people based on simple crazy concepts like, you know...love...(i.e. Canada) where we had a brief but charming ceremony in a Best Western right outside the Richmond Airport. When we talk about this, we refer to it as being married in Vancouver, British Columbia, because it has a much nicer ring to it, but really, it was Best Western Richmond and our reception was held at the Costco across the street. We had pizza and cake and made it home in time for dinner.
But Canada, stubborn as it seems, gives our marriage an international portability. For you straight folks, here's how it works. You get married in America, you're still married when you go to France. For us gay folks, it's a little trickier. If we get married in New York, we're not necessarily married in Israel. For ours to transfer from one country to the next, we needed a country that allowed us to get married, hands-down, in the first place. And since America and the Arab States are pretty much the only countries left that don't allow gay people to marry each other, we had to roll the dice and take our chances with our great white neighbor to the north.
And now, we're getting married again, this time in Las Vegas, this time in a traditional Jewish ceremony. Or as traditional as you can make it anyway, since the whole Jewish ceremony is largely based on the bride twirling around the groom, the seven blessings talking about brides galore, and the groom breaking the glass at the end. God bless the Jews, but as far as the standard wedding ceremony goes, the gender roles are pretty well nailed down.
Luckily, we've got a rabbi and two cantors who weren't afraid to tweak the neccessary text required to let Groom 1 and Groom 2 tie the knot, sign the ketubah and dance the hora in front of God, country, and a temple full of friends. We are the first same-sex couple to be married at Temple Sinai, I believe, and we couldn't be happier, because everybody there's been supportive of us since day one. They threw us a baby shower when we got the kids. The mens club threw us a bachelor party, for Pete's sake. There's a mind bender. 80-year-old Jewish guys patting a couple of gay guys on the back and wishing them a long and happy marriage. Well done, Union for Reform Judaism, well done. Dylan was right. They times, they most definitely are.
So, on November 21 at 5 o'clock, the 16th anniversary of the day I moved to Vegas, the first anniversary of our Canadian civil ceremony and (almost) the third anniversary of our domestic partnership, all bases will now be covered, legally, legislatively, internationally and Judaically, and Adam and I will now pronounce us man and...man. Or Hoovy and Hoovy, if you ever wondered what we call each other. That comes from "Ahuvi." Hebrew for "my love.
He brought me to the banquet room
and his banner of love was over me.
Sustain me with raisin cakes,
refresh me with apples
for I am faint with love.
- Song of Songs 2:4-5
-The Impressive Clergyman, "The Princess Bride"
Adam and I have been married so many times now, it's becoming a habit.
We registered as domestic partners the day it became legal in the State of Nevada. That was October 1, 2009. And honestly, I'm still not entirely sure what "domestic partner" means. To me, that sounds like when we paired off to bake cookies back in middle school Home Ec.
But domestic partners it'll have to be because, God forbid, here in the good old USA, legally calling ourselves husbands would not only endanger the inherent rights of all the straight folks, but would somehow mysteriously open the door to men marrying goats and grandparents marrying their grandkids, which of course, anyone can see are the next logical rungs on the socio-evolutionary ladder if you let a couple of gay guys trot down the aisle and call it normal.
A couple years later, wanting something with a little more legal oomph under our belt, we decided to hop-skip-and-a-jump over to a nearby nation that actually does let people marry people based on simple crazy concepts like, you know...love...(i.e. Canada) where we had a brief but charming ceremony in a Best Western right outside the Richmond Airport. When we talk about this, we refer to it as being married in Vancouver, British Columbia, because it has a much nicer ring to it, but really, it was Best Western Richmond and our reception was held at the Costco across the street. We had pizza and cake and made it home in time for dinner.
But Canada, stubborn as it seems, gives our marriage an international portability. For you straight folks, here's how it works. You get married in America, you're still married when you go to France. For us gay folks, it's a little trickier. If we get married in New York, we're not necessarily married in Israel. For ours to transfer from one country to the next, we needed a country that allowed us to get married, hands-down, in the first place. And since America and the Arab States are pretty much the only countries left that don't allow gay people to marry each other, we had to roll the dice and take our chances with our great white neighbor to the north.
And now, we're getting married again, this time in Las Vegas, this time in a traditional Jewish ceremony. Or as traditional as you can make it anyway, since the whole Jewish ceremony is largely based on the bride twirling around the groom, the seven blessings talking about brides galore, and the groom breaking the glass at the end. God bless the Jews, but as far as the standard wedding ceremony goes, the gender roles are pretty well nailed down.
Luckily, we've got a rabbi and two cantors who weren't afraid to tweak the neccessary text required to let Groom 1 and Groom 2 tie the knot, sign the ketubah and dance the hora in front of God, country, and a temple full of friends. We are the first same-sex couple to be married at Temple Sinai, I believe, and we couldn't be happier, because everybody there's been supportive of us since day one. They threw us a baby shower when we got the kids. The mens club threw us a bachelor party, for Pete's sake. There's a mind bender. 80-year-old Jewish guys patting a couple of gay guys on the back and wishing them a long and happy marriage. Well done, Union for Reform Judaism, well done. Dylan was right. They times, they most definitely are.
So, on November 21 at 5 o'clock, the 16th anniversary of the day I moved to Vegas, the first anniversary of our Canadian civil ceremony and (almost) the third anniversary of our domestic partnership, all bases will now be covered, legally, legislatively, internationally and Judaically, and Adam and I will now pronounce us man and...man. Or Hoovy and Hoovy, if you ever wondered what we call each other. That comes from "Ahuvi." Hebrew for "my love.
He brought me to the banquet room
and his banner of love was over me.
Sustain me with raisin cakes,
refresh me with apples
for I am faint with love.
- Song of Songs 2:4-5
We're kind of giggly-thinking we'll get married once a year in a different state now that we've got the three big ones out of the way. Sooner or later, one of them might legally stick in America, and in the meantime, who doesn't like a good wedding? It's a hard habit to break.
So, thanks to everyone for your cards, gifts, friendship and support. We are faint with love and awash with gratitude for all of you who joined us as we pieced together the bonds of matrimony, one little step at a time.
The kids are excited they get to make a grand entrance by riding their scooters down the aisle, and I'm pretty sure we're going to need about forty strong bodybuilders to lift me in a chair, but other than that, I think we're all set.
Break the glass. Mazel tov. See you on the other side.
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