Eagle’s Nest at Vail
I didn’t know the couple, but they were referred to me by another couple that I had recently married. He was from a Sephardic Jewish family in Brazil, while her roots were in New Jersey. They had met on one of the first Birthright* groups to Israel and had been together ever since. They were here at Temple Sinai to discuss their wedding.
“Well, our wedding is to take place in January, and we would like you to do it. We have never met you of course, but we have heard so many wonderful things about you ...” (she went on a bit too long with the praise thing, which always means that this is going to be an unusual wedding, and we need rabbi who is not bright enough to refuse to do it. I can hardly wait to hear this one.)
“All right, why not just tell me about your plans so far.” My internal chuckle meter is racing.
“My parents have a condo in Vail,” she says. “They have invited our extended families to come stay there during the first week of the new year. We’re expecting about 20 to 25 in all.”
“And they are all staying at your parents’ condo?” That says about 8-10 bedrooms to me, but floor space for children, Murphy beds, futons ... close families could make do with less.
“It’s really several large condos linked together, so we have I’d guess about 15 bedrooms and lots of bathrooms and one gigantic kitchen. It’s very comfortable. You and your wife could join us there. Hiking trails right behind the property. Do you ski, Rabbi?”
I should say no right now. This has gevalt written all over it. “Tell me where the wedding is supposed to take place and what time.”
Ah, the groom can speak, too. “It is going to be on that first Sunday morning in January, at 11:00 o’clock, outside at Eagle’s Nest. It is so beautiful there, surrounded by the high mountains and pine forests. It is very close to the condo and to the restaurant where we will have brunch together after the ceremony.”
“What are the plans if it snows that day?”
“Oh, it isn’t going to snow in the morning!”
He was absolutely certain that it wasn’t going to snow at a world famous ski mountain resort at the height of the snow season in a natural bowl formation that attracted clouds like a magnet attracts paper clips. “But, just for fun, what are your alternatives?”
“We’ve checked with the hotel there and asked if we could use their large meeting room that morning in case of snow. They said that it shouldn’t be a problem, and we could always go back to the condo, you know.” She was smiling that sort of ‘I think that should resolve this concern’ kind of smile.
To tell the truth, I was intrigued. And the thought of a day in the mountains had its appeal. I asked them questions about a Jewish wedding ceremony and was impressed that they knew quite a lot. We discussed the chupah (four poles with hooks to attach to his father’s huge tallit, to be held by her four brothers), the ketubah (being designed by a friend in New Jersey who will bring it with her), and a small table to hold the Kiddush cup and glass to break.
“My uncle has a sturdy folding table that should work. We can just dig the legs into the snow, and the Kiddush cup can also be in the snow – chilled wine, right? And we will have a small board on which to put the glass to break. Oh, and we can sign all the documents in a room off the lobby in the hotel before the wedding. So, if you can arrive a bit early, that would help, because after the signing, our parents, two bridesmaids, my brothers and the two of us have to take the gondola up to the next station because we are all skiing down that long steep trail into Eagle’s Nest. We’ve already worked out the order of the ski-processional.”
I gave the logistics about a 50/50 chance of working out okay. But a crisp winter day in a gorgeous location was worth a mess-up or two. The drive to Vail on a Sunday morning should be easy enough (this was in the 1990s before it wasn’t), but the traffic going back to Denver in mid-afternoon would be ... less so. Usually much less so.
“Will your wife be joining us for the wedding and reception?” he asked. “If so, we will get a gondola pass for her too.”
“She wouldn’t miss this for the world,” I supposed. That’s pretty much what she said when I told her about it that evening.
The morning of the wedding was splendid in Denver. High 40s, no clouds, but that didn’t necessarily correlate with mountain weather 90 minutes away. I wanted to get to Vail about an hour early because parking and then the gondola ride to the station at Eagle’s Nest could take 15 minutes or so. A few minutes after 10:00 we walked into the hotel and were greeted by the bride and groom. He was in a totally black ski outfit with a white boutonniere pinned to his left chest panel. She was a vision in an all white ski parka. As we greeted and then walked to the signing room, other members of the bridal party came up to shake hands and say hello. Her Mom was wearing a beige ski outfit as were his Mom and the two maids of honor. His Dad was in a black outfit with red, pencil thin stripes running down one shoulder. Her four brothers had similar ski parkas only the stripes were broader. Her Dad was wearing what looked like a brand new ski patrol outfit. As a whole, the group looked like they had been dressed by a Swiss couturier that specialized in parka designs for ski resort weddings.
We signed the marriage license and then their condo neighbors signed the ketubah, but when we went to do the bedeken ceremony, the bride went into a mini frenzy. “Help, I forgot my veil. Oh, I left it in the car. What are we going to do now, Rabbi? One of my brothers can ski down to the car and bring it up by gondola, but we need to do the bedeken now so that we can get to the our gondola station. Time is running short now. What should we do?”
I looked around and spied a baseball cap with the resort logo. “Here you go. We’ll use this. After all, it does say ‘Vail.’” If there was any ice to be broken, that did it. Even her taciturn papa smiled as he took the cap and gave it to the groom. I did the brief ceremony, which blesses the bride, as the groom put the ‘vail’ on her head. And we departed the hotel room.
The gondola ride provided a spectacular view of the snow covered Rockies under bluebird skies. We got off at the Eagle’s Nest station; the wedding party took the gondola up to the next station. It was time to ready the ceremony site. Her uncle had arrived before us and had already taken care of the details. Odds of a smooth event had improved. He showed me exactly where the chupah will go. “I’ve marked the snow with four dots of paint for the poles. I set my table into the snow here just beyond the chupah poles. Check it out. It’s really firm … and the wine is next to it in the snow, being chilled as we speak. The glass to break is wrapped and taped to the board.” Uncle was a soft-spoken fellow – very nice. Very competent. He definitely had synagogue director potential.
The guests had gathered around the soon to arrive chupah. Rikki had made friends with a few of the folks and was standing among them chatting. It was not my intention to freeze in this 30 degree slight wind weather, so I had on my snow boots, suit pants, shirt, tie, heavy sweater, very warm parka, and gloves. I had on a yarmulka, but at that moment it struck me that a fur-lined yarmulka with ear flaps might have a market at ski resorts. Then I looked up the mountain.
Coming over the crest of the hill a few hundred yards away, were the four brothers, each holding one of the poles, tallit attached but flapping wildly in the wind. They skied in perfect formation, a veritable “10" in the chupah ski-in event. They stopped inches away from me in total control, each at the very spot where his pole was to go, and in perfect sync they pushed their poles into the deep snow pack. As they stepped to the side, the bridesmaids slid in and took places to my left. The best man was skiing down the mountain arm in arm with the bride’s Mom. They came to a smooth stop beside the chupah. Mom took her place just beyond its outer fringes, while the best man slid in beside me on my right. Then came the groom’s parents, also evidencing lots of time on the slopes, and stopping in their places just beyond the maids of honor.
With Dad holding her gently by the elbow, here came the bride. The ‘vail’ hat was now gone, replaced by a real veil, some 30-40 yards of tulle. It trailed from her head ... fluttering and flapping straight back, and while skiing in perfect stride with her father, she did appear to be somewhat of an apparition coming ever closer. Papa skied in right next to Mom as the bride, relishing the adventure of skiing and now being next to her groom, could not stop smiling. Each of the bridal party had shucked off their skis and dug them tips up in the snow behind them. With everyone in place I began the ceremony.
Well, we beat the odds. It all came off without a miss, trip, slip, or error. Everything was as it had to be. No snow, cloudless sky, sun bright, snow perfect, all of us surrounded by a mountain bowl full of snow-dusted fir trees and leafless aspens. A Rocky Mountain high. The brothers collected the poles, tallit, Kiddush cup, and broken glass board. Uncle took his table. All that was left were four paint spots, which tomorrow’s snow would cover. All of the skiers took off down the slope toward brunch a block from the gondola ticket office, while Rikki and I took the gondola back down accompanied by a few others from the wedding.
We were enthusing over how unbelievably nice the wedding and ceremony had been as we walked from the gondola dock toward the restaurant. We were looking forward to chatting with the parents of the newly wedded couple and with uncle, when suddenly a horrendous crack exploded from somewhere overhead. We both jumped and ducked and then when we realized there was nothing to see and that any threat was over, with hands on chest we entered the restaurant to the greetings of the entire group.
It was a lovely brunch. Great food ... too much of it, and excellent conversations with nice folks. We were invited to come stay at the condo any time, and then we were invited again just as we were leaving. As nice as the day had been, it was time to head back down to the city. As we began to walk back to our car parked not far from the ticket office, we noticed the Vail fire department truck, an ambulance, three or four police cars lights flashing all parked right next to the ticket office. Odd that most of the town’s emergency vehicles should be here even for a ski accident. So we walked up to one of the officers and asked what happened.
“Well, Sir, it seems that there was a Jewish wedding up at Eagle’s Nest about an hour or two ago. And I’m told that they had one of those temporary coverings stuck in the snow for a while before taking it down. Well, it seems that a young man got to looking at the site just a few minutes after the wedding ended. And wouldn’t you know it, as he was bending down to touch some paint spots in the snow, a flash of lightning came out of a clear blue sky and just zapped him, it did. We brought him down all right, but he was ... he didn’t make it, poor guy. Parka was shredded, burned it was. Poor fella.”
As the ambulance and two of the police cars pulled away, Rikki and I stared at each other realizing that had the wedding lasted a few minutes longer, that would have been me or the bride, the groom, or anyone within a few feet of the chupah that would have been in the medical examiner’s van right now. Poor fella, indeed. How awful for him and his relatives. Nature especially in the mountains can be sudden and brutal. How close we came to a happy wedding for us being fatal. As I once again looked up at that spot on the mountain, I recited Bikat HaGomel – the blessing of being spared from a dangerous situation.
* Begun in the mid-1990s, Birthright is a program offering free trips to Israel for Jewish young people ages 18-26. Funded by several well-known philanthropists and supported by the Jewish Agency for Israel, Jewish Federations and communities in the US and abroad, the program has sent over 800,000 young Jewish singles and then recently married couples as well. It is called Birthright Israel, Taglit (discovery), or simply Birthright.