big beautiful jewish wedding
A year ago, I traveled to Santiago, Chile to celebrate my good friend Bryan on his wedding day. Bryan and I met playing football at St. Thomas. He was an international student from Chile—and our starting kicker. During his first training camp, it didn’t take long for him to earn the nickname “Chile Pep.” Eventually, I got to know him as Bryan.
I have a lot of fun memories with Bryan, and some of the best ones were off the field. So, when he invited me to his hometown wedding, I was honored—but also conflicted. It would be my third wedding in just four weeks. I was hesitant about taking more time off in the middle of busy season to travel internationally to attend. I initially declined the RSVP and started looking for a wedding gift to send Bryan and Ale.
It wasn’t until a few colleagues encouraged me to try to make the trip. I also realized that once Bryan got married, chances to see him—especially with the distance— would be few and far between. I booked my flight, and let Bryan know that I would be there. He was pumped—or as he’d say, pahmped.
Mazel tov
The ceremony was held outdoors on a beautiful evening in the countryside west of Santiago. There were six of us in our group of “gringos”—me, Jack, Bennett, Dylan, Will and his girlfriend, Gabby. We greeted Bryan and his family when we arrived, took pictures, and put on kippahs as is Jewish tradition. The sun set as we took our seats.
I wish I would’ve used the restroom beforehand because the ceremony was long. There are quite a few moving parts to Jewish wedding ceremonies, and we couldn’t understand much—the ceremony was entirely in Spanish and Hebrew (and Chilean Spanish isn’t exactly easy to follow). After an hour and a half of adjusting my slipping kippah, Bryan broke the glass, and we all shouted, “Mazal tov!”
After the ceremony, we crossed a small wooden bridge that led to a grand courtyard decorated with glass and fine wood. “This looks expensive,” I thought." There were gentlemen dressed in suits at the far end of the courtyard, seemingly guarding what was to come—the next level of celebration.
The staff began serving hors d'oeuvres—ceviche, calamari, croquettes, clams, and more. There were two open bars offering wine, pisco sours, and basically anything else you could want to drink. Our group conversed with the Chileans—many of whom were curious about where we were from and how we knew Bryan and Ale. Some of them were relatives, and others were family friends.
After some time, all the guests herded into a big ballroom where the reception would take place. The entrance to the ballroom had a tall white portiere. We looked in awe at the hundreds of dazzling string lights and gold chandeliers hanging from the rafters. The ballroom gleamed with lush green plants and bright floral arrangements at every table. Will asked me to take a photo of him and Gabby and then I took a lap around the ballroom to check out the rest of the space—it was huge. Once everyone began to settle in at their tables, the staff served coffee and beverages. Then, Bryan shared a few words on the mic.
First Dance
Bryan gave a heartfelt speech and shouted out the gringos for making the trek to Chile. “Bry-on!” I called out, the same way I did before he kicked a good field goal. After Bryan’s toast, Bryan took Ale’s hand to dance. The first dance was a waltz—slow and elegant. Bryan was focused—you could tell they spent some time practicing; they glided across the dance floor like a pair of figure skaters on ice. Bryan and Ale’s family joined them, followed by family friends, and then friends of friends. Everyone swayed in admiration. Will, still donning his kippah from the ceremony, shot a look at our group.
“I’m going in,” he said nodding towards the packed dance floor.
Will stood up and took Gabby’s hand and they walked to the dance floor. The rest of us exchanged glances and shrugged, arriving at an unspoken consensus. We tucked in our chairs and joined them.
As I stepped onto the dance floor. An older woman tapped me on the shoulder, tilted her head, and smiled. She didn’t say a word. She raised a delicate hand, and I took it as we began to dance. She seemed happy to be dancing with me, so my waltz must’ve been at least decent. I don’t waltz often, but the basic steps feel intuitive (I guess that dance unit in 6th grade PE paid off after all). When the song ended, everyone applauded.
Two emcees stepped onto the stage—a man and a woman. The man said a few words and then the music shifted—up tempo, upbeat, and lively. He belted out a traditional Jewish folk song, pointing to the dance floor like a rockstar on stage. The woman melodized beautiful vocals that soared over the beat. Within seconds, the dance floor transformed. Pandemonium broke out.
The Hora
Bryan’s demeanor shifted from graceful newlywed to crazed rager. He charged to the center of the dance floor like a man possessed. His Chilean entourage followed, singing, laughing, clapping, and shoving each other into motion. Suddenly, the Chileans formed a large circle that took up more than half of the dance floor—arms around each other’s shoulders, stepping and kicking as if they’d rehearsed it a thousand times. Will and I were swept up immediately.
One moment, I was waltzing, and the next, we were pulled into a counterclockwise whirlpool of movement. Will was somewhere across from me smiling from ear to ear caught in the same current. The rest of the group stood at the edge of the dance floor, looking on in amazement. The circle closed in and enveloped Bryan as he shoved all the guys circling him. It turned into a full-on mosh pit at the center of the dance floor; we pushed each other like we were about to play four quarters. In the mosh, Will and I looked at each other in bewilderment.
“What’s happening? This is crazy!” we yelled at each other.
Some of the Chileans paired up, locking hands and crossing their arms, flinging themselves into a dizzying whirl, their faces gleaming with joy. Others linked arms and spun so fast their feet barely touched the ground before they released and linked arms with the next person. Will and I caught on and followed suit. Unlike the waltz, we didn’t have basic steps to follow here. All that mattered was our presence and energy. It was pure, unfiltered celebration—but it wasn’t reckless. It was choreographed by culture and brotherhood.
Before we knew it, Bryan was on stage with the emcees—jumping up and down, arms outstretched waving from side to side, hyping up the crowd. We lined up near the stage, facing each other and locking arms to form a human trampoline waiting to catch Bryan.
“No way!” Will shouted.
Bryan dove off the stage with his arms extended into the linked arms of all the guys. We launched him high up into the air again and again until he dismounted at the end of the line. I screamed at Bryan with joy and shook his shoulders. Just when I thought I’d seen the most epic moment of the wedding, Bryan’s dad got on stage. Bryan’s dad flew off the stage and we tossed him into the air several times. He dismounted with a battle scar on his forehead. Then, Ale got up on stage and followed suit, showing some serious hang time. Shortly after, the chairs came out.
I barely had time to catch my breath before Kyle, Bryan’s older brother, swooped in with a chair, carrying it to the middle of the dance floor like a sacred relic. Bryan sat in the chair, clutching the sides as if his life depended on it. We quickly lifted the chair, with Bryan in it, into the air repeatedly as he grinned like a kid on a rollercoaster. Then a chair was brought out for Ale, and we hoisted her up, over and over as she laughed hysterically. Finally, they both sat down in chairs next to each other, and we raised them high, bouncing the chairs up and down, again and again. Bryan and Ale reached for each other and held hands. The crowd hooted and hollered.
One to Remember
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, loud applause rang out, and the music faded. When it was over, jackets came off, shirts were unbuttoned, and kippahs littered the dance floor like plastic cups after a house party. Many hugged and high-fived from the electric time we’d just had. I won’t forget the blissful disbelief I felt walking off the dance floor and returning to the gringo table for dinner, seeing the look of “wow” on everyone’s faces."
It was wild—chaotic, joyful, and unexpected. The climax of the weekend—tradition and spontaneity had collided in a particle accelerator. And to think, I almost declined the RSVP and didn’t make the trip. It was a reminder that some of the best memories are made when we prioritize the people we care about.
