January 14, 1996. Our wedding day…
Well, not exactly.
See, when we got engaged on 23 December 1994, Warren and I immediately set about to select a date for our impending nuptials. Given that I was studying in Jerusalem at the time, any wedding would need to wait until I returned at the end of May. Our rabbi didn’t have any availability until August, but my best friend was getting married in August and it made sense to look for another time. Then the fall chagim. Given that I was in school, term break made the most sense.
Looking at the shul calendar, we noticed that the (then) cantor’s youngest daughter was becoming Bat Mitzvah on Saturday, 13 January. “How wonderful,” we thought. The rabbi’s family and the cantor’s family could rejoice together. A wonderful plan. And the date was set.
For one day.
Because the next day, I had second thoughts. Would I, as a thirteen-year-old, have wanted to share the spotlight with a bride?
So, we moved the date back one week and planned to meet under the chuppah on 7 January 1996.
Except….that January 14 somehow lodged itself into Warren’s memory bank. Though the 14th was our projected wedding date for less than twenty-four hours, it has remained with us all of these years. Every time, and I am not exaggerating, every time that Warren is asked to recall the date of our anniversary, he asks “is it the 14th?”
Complicating matters is that our schedules have almost always had us in different cities on our actual anniversary. This year was no exception.
But that doesn’t seem to matter so much. It’s part of our story. Our sacred text. The one we’ve been writing together for these many year.
So a very happy un-anniversary to us — seventeen years(+ one week) of kiddushin. May our story continue in our own quirky way.