If you thought that Lag Baomer bonfires were meant to commemorate the failed Bar Kochba revolt of 2000 years ago - you were wrong.
The traditional bonfire signifies the money you're going to burn on
from Lag Baomer all the way through the end of summer.
Each year at this time, I call my bank manager to ask for yet more credit, so I can give a nice, fat check to the happy couple that has mistakenly taken me for a great-grandson of Rothschild.
The sociological and psychological implications of the nearly NIS 5 billion (about USD 1.2 billion) a year wedding industry require further examination.
Parents call the shots
Three main parties are responsible for the phenomenon: First and foremost - the happy couple.
Before they got engaged, they were just like everyone else, but once the proposal was out there, they went into a hallucination made up of Cinderellas and Snow Whites all dressed in white.
He stumbles up, drunk, to the chupa, having spent tens of thousands of shekels on a ring, wedding suit, wet bar and a rabbi to conduct the ceremony.
Then they invite 400 people to this hallucination, most of whom they wouldn't recognize if they passed them on the street wearing a dead fish on their head.
For most guests the wedding is a long evening of waiting for ordinary food, overly loud music, boring conversation and a long drive home.
The second party at fault is the parents. In most cases, it is the parents who pay for all this, giving them the right to call the shots as well.
Under the olive tree
Parents believe the fact that their children have found a match is clear proof of a successful upbringing, and so they feel they must invite everyone you, or they, have ever known to witness the event.
And so, we've got a reciprocal game going on – Eli invited me 19 years ago to his son's bris, so I've got to invite him. Or, "I can't offend Shlomo, I'd better invite him as well."
It's a sure path to a massive, run-of-the-mill and repulsive event in which the true meaning of a wedding – to build a home based on love and friendship - is forgotten and trampled under the feet of hungry guests stampeding for the desert table.
Finally, the wedding business itself is to blame as well.
Every day there is a new "professional" selling his wares, however bizarre they may be. Would you believe there are personal trainers for brides, fashion advisors for parents, carriage drivers to carry you to the chupa, dancers and fireworks? And that's only a partial list.
Of course, everyone obtains the right to earn a living; the problem is that many people feel that without the fireworks, the wedding is barely worth the effort.
I must admit that, on occasion, my face occasionally distorts when I get a wedding invitation; not because of the check I'm expected to write (that will only decrease the happy couple's overdraft at the bank) or because of the duck they've ordered for the appetizer in an effort to be unique, or the doves they'll release as the chupa ends.
I cringe because I know it will be exactly like every other wedding.
Most people will be late, will speak on their mobile phones during the chupa, and take off as soon as dessert is served (without saying goodbye to the bride and groom).
On the way home, everyone will talk about whether the whole thing was worth the effort, or whether they shouldn't have downed just one more steak. It's enough to make me want to stay home and send the young couple a check in the mail.
It will take time, but our wedding culture will undergo a change. People will go back to getting married "under the olive tree" near their homes.
Wedding guests, limited to family and close friends, will be served light snacks, and the main attraction will once again be the wedding ceremony itself.
This process is already under way, with one important addition: instead of wasting energy on the color of the napkins or the dessert bar, couples will choose more romantic venues, and won't find themselves horrified at the thought of married life just five minutes after the DJ plays the last song.
Until then, don't bother inviting me.
