At the cryptside portion of my dad's funeral, we couldn't help but be distracted by one of the floor-to-ceiling/roof murals on an outward facing wall of the structure. Brent's first impulse was to wonder, "Do people come and get married here?" and initially I was like, "Hmm," and then a second later I realized, "No. Nooooo way." No way do people rent out the Jewish cemetery like it's a Hilton ballroom. So then we decided that this art was meant for the spouses in the crypts and the couple getting married in the mural must be dead, and what with all the grief and the shock and the sadness of my dad's death, we just left the analysis at that.
But then we went to go bring roses to my dad's crypt yesterday, and at first it was like, "Hey, that bride looks a lot like a young Barbra Streisand. Check out that profile. Yentl gets married," and so on and so on, but then I started to become more perplexed by the subtler details. You'd think that if you made it up to heaven to remarry your wife or renew your vows or whatever [JUST DATE, YOU GUYS], you'd have a well-fitting suit by that point. Those slacks are a nightmare. (Fun fact: directly behind the groom's ass rests Milton Berle.) You'd also think those two would have moved past the veil ruse. He knows. He knows about the nose already. And because I'm figuring that the rabbi has to be dead too if he's up there to marry them, does he really want to spend his celestial eternity working?? If I were him, I'd be like, "Look, I spent forty years doing this at Temple Beth Israel with the Spock fingers and breaking the wine glasses and the speeches, and now I just kind of want to kick back and hang out and not get sucked into, you know, your personal drama."
It's a really weird vignette to put up in a cemetery.
So weird that you can't help but want to go and have your picture taken in front of the happy couple pretending as if you're their bastard child they asked to participate in the ceremony. Trust me. You can't.