A chuppah is not a concert hall, and your guests are not ticket holders who came in prepared to spend 75 minutes in silent reverie

AT

the risk of sounding like a curmudgeon (a grumpy old man, for the uninitiated)… here goes:

Ah… what can compare to a heimishe wedding! The attendees arrive first in a trickle and then in a stream. There is lively chatter and sampling of the shmorg delicacies. And then, watered and fed, the assembled gather for the highlight: the chuppah, that brief but powerful ceremony symbolizing the home the couple is about to build, steeped in generations of tradition and suffused with meaning.

But lately, dear reader, something curious has happened. The chuppah — once a moving, dignified, and relatively concise event — has begun to morph into something else entirely. It starts innocently enough: a heartfelt niggun, perhaps a soulful rendition of “Bo’i B’shalom,” before the chuppah… nu, nu… then the usual songs as the chassan and kallah walk down (the kids’ procession is no longer in vogue, thankfully), the kiddushin, kesubah reading, sheva brachos.

And then, a heartfelt melody… which continues. And continues. And continues.

Welcome to the age of “the Chuppah Concert.”

You know what I’m referring to. Sometimes a single singer, sometimes a lineup of singers with impressive vocal ranges and impressive, drawn-out vowels, but more often, a friend of the chassan, who is valiantly attempting to mimic the aforementioned with varying degrees of success. The assembled are regaled with a musical potpourri. The young couple stands teary-eyed, while guests sit bleary-eyed, shifting in their seats and wondering if they accidentally wandered into a Friday night kumzitz at a Carlebach retreat.

Now, don’t misunderstand me. Singing is beautiful. A well-placed song at a chuppah can break hearts open in the best of ways. “Mi Adir” and “Mi Bon Siach” set the tone, elevate the moment, and connect the ceremony to a deeper place (if people are not schmoozing).

But when each of those songs is performed with three instrumental intros, and five false endings (what a tease!) — we may have drifted a bit from the original purpose.

Let’s remember: A chuppah is not a concert hall, and your guests are not ticket holders who came in prepared to spend 75 minutes in silent reverie. They came to witness a kiddushin, share your simchah, and maybe to see if the salmon is better than the one served at cousin Tzvi’s wedding last month. They came to celebrate you — not to have a religious experience imposed on them.

Because inspiration, beautiful as it is, cannot be forced. A kumzitz works because people choose to be there. They clear their schedule, settle in with an open heart, and expect a long, serene evening of soulful melodies. A chuppah, however, is a ceremonial moment with a captive audience — many of whom have traveled far, arranged babysitters, taken off work, and skipped dinner. To hold them hostage for 45 minutes of extended vocal riffs and interpretive harmonies may be less a spiritual elevation and more a test of endurance.

And what of the elderly aunt with the back issues, the parents trying to shush restless children, or the guests with a three-hour drive back home? For them, what was meant to be a poignant moment becomes a prolonged ordeal. More singing does not equal more kedushah. The more we extend the chuppah, the more we risk dulling its power. The profound simplicity of placing the ring on the finger, of hearing “Harei at,” is being diluted in a sea of musical overproduction.

Not to say that music should be stripped from the chuppah. On the contrary, music done right — tastefully, briefly, and strategically — can heighten the moment like nothing else. A single, heartfelt “Im Eshkacheich” before the breaking of the glass can move even the most cynical cousin to tears — unless that cousin doesn’t like naye zachen (see, I’m not so grumpy). But when it becomes an exercise in vocal theatrics, it starts to feel less like a wedding and more like the semifinals of the singing competition, A Jewish Star: Chuppah Edition.

So, to the wedding planners, singers, and inspired chassanim out there — please, take this with love and respect: Keep it short. Keep it sweet. Let the ceremony speak for itself. Trust the power of the kiddushin and nisuin recited simply. Let the moment be powerful because it is real, not because it is extended.

And then? Then we dance. Then we sing. Then we pull out the keyboard, drummer, and trumpets, and let the joy overflow into the night. Because that’s when the music belongs — on the dance floor, with simchah in the air, with nobody checking their watches — and with people who are able to leave when they want to.

After all, a chuppah is a holy moment. It doesn’t need a soundtrack to be beautiful. Sometimes, it just needs to end before the babysitter starts charging overtime.

Rabbi Avrohom Neuberger is the rav of Congregation Shaarei Tefillah of New Hempstead and the author of Positive Vision, a Chofetz Chaim Heritage Foundation project (Artscroll/Mesorah)  

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1073)