i mean, nothing beats an israeli wedding with fireworks and an open bar

My second cousin, Yoni, invited me to a wedding this past Thursday. I had never been to an Israeli wedding so I thought it would give me some insight into the culture I’m living in for the next 9 months. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
First things first. I asked Yoni what I should wear to the wedding – I already knew that the Israeli government only recognizes marriages performed in orthodox ceremonies, so I assumed that my dress would have to be appropriate for shul; in other words, knees and shoulders covered, and the more Jewish paraphernalia, the better! I chose a black skirt that just hits my knees, a red v-neck, and black round-toed flats. My cousin came to pick me up at around 20 o’clock, sporting black pants and a red button-down shirt – in other words, the masculine version of my outfit. Yeah, awkward.
I expected that we’d go to the shul for the ceremony, but apparently night-time weddings are not performed in such religious houses. We drove to the outskirts of Be’er Sheva to what appeared to be a brightly lit tiki bar in the middle of nowhere, besides the 10 or 12 other matching buildings scattered several hundred meters apart from each other. We entered through a large, faux-bamboo gate and the first thing I saw was the bride and groom’s parents (dressed in prom attire) standing in a line, guarding a small safe that is apparently where you are supposed to deposit the check. You see, people tend not to give actual items as wedding presents, but instead a check that ends up paying for the wedding itself. There was even a table set up for signing checks, providing envelopes for those who forgot to bring one! We walked around awkwardly and ate like 15 different kinds of Moroccan finger food, and then we were all summoned to the chupah by some loud Israeli techno music. The ceremony had begun.
First of all, nobody there was dressed for a wedding, let alone an orthodox wedding. Case in point: the chick in front of me sported a skin-tight, pleather, one-piece pants and halter-top getup with pumps and a chain belt. Most girls were either wearing skanky cocktail dresses or denim mini skirts. The boys were also dressed in Eurotrash club attire, and for good reason – the night was clearly centered on the party rather than the actual wedding ceremony.
Anyway, back to the service. Israeli house music blasted over the loudspeakers, along with pre-recorded wedding vows – complete with echoes and fabulous sound effects. The bride and groom solemnly approached the glowing, white chupah; the groom appeared to be crying – his eyes were as sparkly as the diamond stud in his left ear. The orthodox rabbi began the service, using a microphone so as to be heard over the loud cheers and catcalls. He blazed right on through the religious parts while making side comments that my cousin had to translate for me, apparently cracking jokes the entire time. The whole ceremony finished in about twenty minutes, and following the traditional breaking of the wine glass there was white confetti thrown everywhere and a fireworks show. In sum – I’m definitely having an Israeli wedding when the time comes.
After the service, we all sat down and waiters came around with the first course. My choice was between fish, liver, and chick-pea pastry; I opted for the fish but then had to change my selection when I realized that it was in fact an entire fish served on a plate, eyeballs and all. Nothing too interesting happened after that, although some of the girls at my table got wasted on Jaeger shots. No, I didn't partake in the drinking, mostly because my cousin doesn't drink and I don't know him well enough to let him carry me home. And fortunately for me, my cousin hates dancing so I didn’t have to experience the dance floor, which was more like a trashy club than a wedding with American dance music and sweaty Sephardic Jews grinding all over each other. Ooh, and random cool fact - Israelis love "Hips Don't Lie" just as much as I do!