I Married My Blow-Dryer!

It was a sublimely beautiful late spring day and there I was: dressed in a white lace and light beige silk dress, embroidered with pearls, and standing at the Bima in one of the oldest and most beautiful synagogues in the country. I held a Torah scroll for the first time in my life and was surprised that it was no heavier than it was. The rabbi intoned the traditional statements, and after each, I affirmed "I do" and "I will,” just as we had rehearsed. My closest friends served as witnesses. Later we all celebrated at a small and tasteful reception.

“Mazel tov”? Well, thank you. But I should explain that I didn’t get married. I became Jewish. Believe me, I understand the confusion. In fact, I have experienced it myself.

Six months of attendance at Congregation Beth Ahabah, followed by close to a year of conversion and Hebrew language classes, and then my Tevilah. The Tevilah, or conversion ceremony, is preceded by a ritual immersion called the Mikvah. Mine was at Congregation Beth El, approximately ten minutes away from my place of worship, Congregation Beth Ahabah.

If only the rabbi, or I, had worked a little harder at eliminating my unbelievable vanity over the course of this past year, this would not have been a problem. But as it was, I knew that I was not now, nor had I ever been, a “wash-and-wear” girl and in order to make it on time to my own Tevilah, at Congregation Beth Ahabah, I was going to have to put my usually-meandering toilette into overdrive. This meant Herculean feat of trying to shower, dry my hair, get dressed, and put on lipstick in fifteen minutes. And that’s when it happened. In the process of rapidly drying my hair in the ladies room at Beth El, my blow-dryer's cord got caught around the pedestal of a glass bowl on the vanity table. The bowl fell to the floor and smashed to bits.

Sound familiar? Think about every “Jewish wedding” sequence you have ever seen in a movie that depicts a traditional Jewish wedding: broken glass, applause, Klezmer music. There was no applause or Klezmer music at my Tevilah, but there was plenty of broken glass in the ladies’ bathroom. I have been thinking about the traditional Jewish wedding ceremony, under the Chuppah. At its conclusion, the bride and groom drink wine from the same glass. The glass is then placed under a cloth and the groom steps on it. This is said to symbolize many things - the broken state of the world and Jews' obligation to repair it, for example, or the sorrow of the Jewish people about the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem.

So, with all of these wedding images lining up at my Tevilah (my own justice-of-the-peace wedding, long ago, was not half as bridal), I am now looking back and wondering. Did I just marry my blow-dryer? That's who broke the "glass", after all; it happened in a synagogue, too. And would that necessarily be such a bad thing? A blow-dryer has many excellent spousal qualities. It is helpful and versatile; like a perfect husband, it is handy with little household and car repairs (unfreezing a frozen door lock, for example, or heating up the glue on a piece of tape so you can pull it from the wall without ruining your paint or wallpaper). It travels well, with no audible complaints about having to go to your parent’s house again. It has intensity settings that range from “barely there” to “full blast.” It is always warm – and sometimes it’s hot. It is able to look at you at your very worst; instead of running away screaming, it blows into your ear and transforms you - well, if not into a raving beauty, at least into someone with straight hair. You could do worse.

Steady, dependable, predictable, and always ready for action. Never threatened by the occasional fling with air-drying for the curly look. Unintimidated by my brand new flat-iron, the youthful “bad boy” of the beauty appliance shelf.

Yes, I am happy to report that my blow-dryer and I have settled into a very happy life together, and now we are thinking long-term. I all I have to do now is see where it would like to retire, and what its 401K looks like.