Having said the word academic, it should probably be noted that the content of this post could be heavily debated. Many of its parts could be verified through some cursory research on the Internet, but I will also be employing some poetic license; I want to put the details in a context that allows us to become a part of the story and understand it in a meaningful way. I just think it is important to state up front that there's some “story-telling” going on. Much of my perspective has come from hearing the teaching of Ray Vander Laan on this topic, but I have been able to find numerous sources that verify different pieces of the content. I'll be pulling those pieces together. One enjoyable read from a fictional standpoint is Two from Galilee by Marjorie Holmes.
In an ancient Eastern wedding, when it came time to marry, the groom's mishpucha (household) would gather and begin the discussion of finding a wife for their son. While the son may have some suggestions, the family may — or may not — consider his wishes. Marriages were a household matter and were arranged by communities. They would select a woman of similar cultural standing to pursue as a candidate for marriage; cultural standing is important, because setting their sights too high would result in public shame upon the rejection by the (potential) bride's family. You can sense some of this tension in the novel mentioned above.
Once a potential bride has been selected, the father and the future groom set out (possibly on a long journey) for the bride's mishpucha. Upon their arrival, the proposal is made father-to-father and the bride's family retreats to discuss the matter. Typically, the bride's family is well aware of the potential suitors and is prepared to make a decision. If the family agrees to the marriage, the father takes out a cup and pours some wine. The groom-to-be takes the cup, offers it to his future bride, with the words: “This is the cup of a new covenant I make with you today. I will not drink of this cup again until I drink it anew with you in my father's mishpucha.”
This is the bride's opportunity to turn down the proposal. If she drinks the cup, she accepts; if she denies the cup, she refuses. We actually do not have a single historical record of a girl turning down an engagement proposal. Such a move could infuriate the family, being seen as a rejection of the community's wisdom. They may refuse to marry you off the next time a suitor comes knocking. In a sense, these “arranged” marriages were a movement toward trusting the judgment of the community over my fleeting emotions. Interesting concept.
Nevertheless, upon the acceptance of the proposal, a small party might ensue and then the father and groom would set off to return home. Now the groom's task is to go home and build a new addition onto the family's insula. (Insula is a Latin word referring to the multiple-family, Galilean dwellings that we've found in northern Israel. There is much discussion about whether these same dwellings were used elsewhere; I believe there is evidence to suggest that they were.) This multiple-family dwelling was where he would bring his new bride home to live within his father's household. Ancient Eastern families lived in extended communities, running the family trade and sharing many of their possessions and responsibilities.
He builds his new extension onto the insula and the father oversees the progress. He may be very involved or he may be very “hands-off,” depending on his personality and/or the final lessons he wants to teach his son. There are comical stories that are told of a Jewish father who lets the son complete his extension, only to walk in and say, “THIS is what you build for your new bride? It's all wrong! Tear it down and start again!” A lesson in patience.
Eventually, however, on the day of the father's choosing (the son never knows when the day is), the new housing is declared finished. The excited groom immediately goes to wash and pack and grab the donkey, while the entire family — with smiles on their faces — encourages him to slow down; everyone else will have to prepare to leave, as well.
Meanwhile, back at the bride's home, everyone has been waiting for the arrival of the groom. Like the groom himself, the bride and her family have no idea when he will be arriving. He may arrive in three weeks or three months or three years. He might arrive in the middle of the day or at the stroke of midnight.
But one day, the village sees him coming in the distance. The shout goes out and the whole village stops their work and begins rushing to prepare the great wedding ceremony. When everything is ready, a shofar is blown and the bride and groom gather under the chuppah, which is essentially a prayer shawl made into a canopy that symbolizes the presence of God. The groom presents the bride with the ketubah, a wedding covenant that outlines the specific requests, mandates, or desires of the groom to his new bride.
In the back of the room, the fathers have arranged the dowry, or bride price, and the gifts are exchanged. The couple is whisked away into the wedding chamber and the new couple consummates the marriage. The bloody cloth is brought forth, proving the woman's virginity, and the massive party begins.
The new couple will be free from communal obligations for one year during what we would think of as their honeymoon period. They will not attend to work or go to war — their one task is to get to know and enjoy one another (keep in mind that there is often a good chance that they do not know each other prior to the marriage arrangement). After this, the couple returns to the mishpucha of the groom's father and begins to help him further the family's legacy and accomplish the role that they play in the world.
And somehow, this whole image will help revolutionize our understanding of the next story...
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