When traditions come together

Sunday's nuptials uniting Idaho Rep. Luke Malek to his stunningly beautiful bride (and Kootenai County deputy prosecutor) Tara Jalali brought more than two great people together. Against a backdrop of tree-studded mountains and adjacent to the historic Cataldo Mission, we guests were also treated to an emotional blending of two cultures.

Like me, Tara is Persian-American. So her family (here from Arizona, where she grew up) created the "sofreh" - an opulent spread of symbolic decorations, spices, and food - next to the altar, and her baba (dad) led an abbreviated ceremony after Catholic Mass. Before I describe the sofreh at the Malek wedding, a little background.

While in any culture the words uniting a couple in marriage are similar, in Iran what comes before in Persian tradition is a very intimate affair. Men and women separate in the preceding hours, helping bride and groom prepare in rooms decorated for the occasion (think flowers, decorative cushions, and Persian carpets) and all come together for the final phase. I only have experience with the women of course, but I remember it so vividly from childhood - an affectionate and frenetic cacophony of laughter, food, and tears, so typically female.

Central in the bride's room is a mirror or "ayaneh-ye bakht," the mirror of fate. As the bride prepares she sees her reflection, perhaps alone or with her mothers and sisters (of both blood and friendship). Memories, hopes, and dreams interpose. When the wedding party rejoins, the mirror goes with them; the bride and groom examine their reflection as they are united. Later, the mirror hangs in their household, sometimes passed on to their children for their sofrehs, containing the reflections of the lives and loves of generations.

When Luke and Tara sat side by side on gold- and red-covered cushions under the white cloth at their sofreh, their reflection staring back at them from the mirror between two candelabras offering "brightness" to their lives, her baba said the traditional words. "Where is my daughter?" He calls three times, so he can bring her to the groom. Her bridesmaids - traditionally, all the guests - answer, at first delaying to give the bride time to think. Finally she "appears," ready to be given to her husband. Naturally this is cause to celebrate, so a few of us did a little happy shouting and ululating to show our joy.

As sugar cones were rubbed together above their heads (over a protective canopy) to "sweeten" their life together, the couple faced away from the guests, looking east in the direction of the sunrise. This tradition brings the sun's light to the marriage.

Still, there is much to be said for the dark. After sunset at any party, if you're Persian (or Luke and Tara's friends), it's time to dance. That means everyone - be ye toddler or elder, male or female, extroverted or shy - no holds barred, no concern for how one looks. Persians must group-style dance until we drop, passionately twisting and grooving every muscle, men and women with billowing arms and graceful wrists; it's in our blood.

At Sunday's reception I learned that thanks no doubt to his bride, Rep. Malek now has the moves. Maybe the dance floor at next year's Governor's Ball will look a little more exotic - our own north Idaho Travolta? Who says real men can't dance...

Some things transcend culture and time. Tara and Luke met in law school at the University of Idaho. In a household with two attorneys, an amusing image emerges of a typical marital "discussion," but that may not hold true if the advice from a reception toast completes the picture: "Happy wife, happy life."

Sholeh Patrick is a columnist for the Hagadone News Network. Contact her at sholeh@cdapress.com