Sometimes it takes interaction with non-Jews to remind you that Jewish life is unique. Like when someone questions why you’re buying your body weight in doughnuts in December and you explain that Chanukah is your doughnut holiday, and you also have cheesecake and honey cake holidays, too. Or when you dunk new crockery in a tub of chlorinated water near a shul with a bewildered non-Jewish friend in tow, enlighten a pointing neighbour that ‘that little thing’ on the door is a mezuzah, or politely remove cutlery from a guest’s hand saying, ‘That’s a meaty spoon’.

Colleagues might ask about Seder and add, “Wait, you don’t actually believe the Red Sea split and Moses walked through the middle, do you?”, and you nod slowly, wondering whether to mention you spent the morning vacuuming crumbs from your drawers, will later use an entire alternate kitchen set stored under the stairs for 51 weeks of the year, and lay a table place for a prophet, long deceased.

And then you have the Jewish wedding.

My daughter’s was supposed to be in Jerusalem, the chupah facing the Old City and the weather delightful, but travel restrictions meant a last-minute change of plan to a Manchester shul hall, the weather apocalyptic, the food …British. But at least it was happening. And I have to say, it was euphoric.

After the chupah, in which the beaming bride circled the groom seven times (provoking manifold questions from our non-Jewish guests), the singer sang slowly and beautifully, “If I forget Jerusalem, I forget my right hand”, the groom smashed the glass, and the usual mayhem ensued. My cousin’s stunned girlfriend turned and said, “It was quiet … quiet … quiet … crazy!”

I laughed because Sarah seeing it for the first time caused me to see it for the first time, too. She and our other non-Jewish guests, accustomed to subdued British weddings, were wide-eyed at the chair-lifting, the ohh-ohh-ohh-ohh-ay-ay-ay-aye-ing, the frenzied dancing in circles, and the sheer high-octane energy of it all. They’d never experienced anything like it. Sarah cried — frequently — said it was “so emotional” and at one point proclaimed, “I only ever want to go to Jewish weddings from now on.”

The bride did not stop smiling for fifteen hours — early photos from the very lovely and unobtrusive photographer prove it (Rob Clayton — highly recommended). We danced, we celebrated, we laughed, we bonded; and after 15 months of Covid fear, separation and isolation, it was momentous, exuberant, and very much needed.

The most moving element, though — which our wedding guests weren’t witness to — was the selfless generosity of so many in making the wedding happen. One family — the Glasses — offered their beautiful garden for the chupah but it poured; still, they not only let the bride’s entourage get ready in their home for hours, but also decked it in flowers and candles, made a floral banister decoration for the photographs, and provided a delicious breakfast spread.

The happy couple’s friends jumped to be given things to do, bring and arrange before, during and after the wedding for the sheva brachot — offering their time, homes, spare rooms, cars, irons, cameras, tripods, ideas (the large circle of chairs for a candlelit Tish at the end of the night being one of them) and their graphic design, Zoom and wedding-timetable-management skills. The groom’s grandmother donated her late husband’s whisky collection; the groom’s sister took a kosher breakfast platter to the couple’s hotel the next day.

Five of my daughter’s radiography colleagues came — three in hijab — and stayed for hours, dancing. As they were leaving, I thanked them for coming, and they said with huge grins, “Everyone was so nice to us. They made us feel really welcome. It’s so family oriented. Thank you so much for inviting us.”

The kindness, and the love, warmth and energy of the bride and groom’s friends and of our guests, showcased what it’s all about. Jewish life is unique: interaction with non-Jews can highlight and emphasise its oddities, yes, but it can also remind us of just how joyous, giving and beautiful it can be.