Imagine you family members: all of them, of every size and age...the ones you love, the ones you like and the ones who are so-so. There they are, holding hands in a big circle of 200 others, dancing to Hava Nigila, stepping forward left with the right foot... three steps forward, one step back... again and again, faster and faster - culminating in the most cheerful, joyous motion possible. They would be dancing the traditional Hora, a dance of rejoicing and celebration and a must at Jewish weddings.

My family - aunts, uncles, cousins - hasn't been gathered together for over fifteen years now, and even then, it seems to have always been for funerals, for saying goodbyes. We recently had occasion to gather together again, but for joyful reasons, as we celebrated the marriage of my young cousin and the joining of two new extended families, communities of Christians connected to communities of Jews, joined by the love of two.

My family is a microcosm of diversity. You name it, we got it. Mixed religions and race and nationalities, divorce adoptions, gays, and plenty of heartaches, disappointments, joys, judgments and forgiveness. Just like most families. In my family, we have the Unitarians and we have those of the more conservative faith.

But no matter our current religious affiliations, the roots of virtually all my family are found in a, shall we say, more reserved New England culture? And so, because we were clearly outnumbered (by about 250 of the groom's family), some were understandably intimidated.

That is until - just as dinner was about to be served - the twelve-piece band broke into Hava Nigila. And that was the end of the New England Waspy reserve, for well into the wee hours of the morning.

Something happened to my family that night. Something big. I am convinced it started with the Hora. Perhaps it was the mass of movement into the center of a circle, when my brother and cousins lifted the bride's father onto a chair and, holding him high in the air, they whisked him around the dance floor to the roaring cheers of all. His smile was so wide, I am sure it's still there weeks later... Maybe his smile is there permanently, it was that good.

Perhaps it happened as we all danced cheek to cheekt to I Can't Help Falling in Love Again.

Whatever it was, at some time during the celebration a kind of softness appeared on our faces. Our differences blended us into one and we were lifted to a higher place. Corny? Maybe. Bur somehow our bonding by blood felt ancient and I could sense our ancestors in the room. The music of the night played on and deepened our connection to each other in a powerful way and transcended to include everyone around us.

This wedding was a celebration of a union between two, but actually the number was much, much larger. It was a gift no one anticipated, yet we all embraced.