JENNIFER BRODY
Chicago Jewish News
CHICAGO -- In ancient Israel, Isaac probably didn't get down on bended knee when he professed his love to Rebecca. And, he likely didn't hand her a ring, but rather a coin. Jewish law requires this act of kinyan -- where the bride receives and accepts something of nominal value from the groom.
Today, though, the proposal is almost as big a deal as the wedding. Before you even make it under that chuppah to exchange your "I Dos," there are serious proposal day jitters to contend with. And there are as many ways to pop the question as there are couples who have tied the knot.
Here's a sampling of proposal ploys, ranging from romantic to wacky, perpetrated by Chicago-area grooms:
On March 30, 2000, Michael Shmarak asked Amy Rosenfeld to make him "the happiest man in the world" and say yes to his proposal in Bill Zwecker's Chicago Sun-Times column. The next day, the column's headline read: "The answer is yes to surprise proposal." A photo featured Shmarak, 31, on bended knee, proposing to Rosenfeld, 27, at the top of the Amoco Building where she works for an advertising sales company.
"From the first time I met Amy, I knew within 10 minutes I was going to marry her. Sometimes lightning strikes," he said.
On the morning of the proposal, he woke up at 4 a.m. from nervous excitement. Then he began receiving calls from radio stations that had learned of the surprise. That morning, he also called his family for some 11th-hour encouragement.
With that encouragement, he was ready to whisk Rosenfeld off to the Mid-America Club for a post-Oscar party. That was his cover story, anyway. The story that Zwecker had invited them both to the event and even provided a limo as transportation, Shmarak thought, would pass muster. When they got off the elevator at the Amoco Building, Shmarak noticed a co-worker's smile and worried for a moment that she might blow his cover. But the scheme went off without a hitch.
Rosenfeld expected her beau to do something special but was still floored by all the attention. "I figured he wouldn't just take me out to dinner and propose. That's so not him," she said.
Shmarak's buddies were happy for the couple but insisted he had "just raised the bar for guys all over America".
One morning, Rachel Greenman, 27, a Chicago-area preschool teacher, got a surprise visit to her classroom from two costumed pirates. One of them was her fiancé, Chanoch, 29, a resident in emergency medicine at the University of Chicago Hospitals. With him was a professional clown who entertains children at a local children's hospital. They came with props and a rehearsed script.
"It was really out of character for him to do something like this," she said. "He's not an exhibitionist-ham-kind-of-guy. He did this because he knew I'd love it. He picked the school because it's a meaningful place for me."
Within minutes of the pirates' arrival, they had drawn a crowd. Greenman's classroom was filled with students and teachers from the entire school, as well as a few moms. The entertainer reached into his bag, pulling out toys including a fake chicken and a puppet. Each time, Greenman expected to see an engagement ring. Suspense was building.
Finally, the entertainer held up a large, fake diamond ring. "My fiancé acted jealous. He put his hands on his hips, he had an angry face, he shoved the guy over [playfully]. Then Chanoch got down on his knee and opened a red box," Greenman recalled. "They were both holding up their rings and I had to decide which ring to choose. I picked the real one." Their walk down the aisle is set for August 12.
On a summer evening in August 1995, two years after Adam Miller met Michelle Gooze on a kibbutz in Israel, he proposed marriage during a concert.
The two met on Ein Dor Kibbutz in Israel's Galilee in the fall of 1993. Neither one was looking for love. Both had just graduated from different colleges and worked odd summer jobs to pay for a trip to Israel. His job at the kibbutz was milking cows and hers was folding laundry. Once their five-month volunteer period ended, they backpacked together in Southeast Asia. Then they split up: Gooze headed to Greece and Spain; Miller, to India.
Separation didn't last long. Gooze, 29, headed back home to attend the University of Chicago Law School. Miller, 30, followed her two weeks later. Since then, the two have been inseparable.
Proposing marriage revealed Miller's romantic side. "He came to my house and brought flowers. I was surprised. That was sort of unusual for him," she recalled. He ordered the dinner. She chose the dessert. The two headed out for an evening of food and music -- and the beginning of the rest of their lives.
While they listened to the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, her beau slipped the ring inside the dessert package. When she opened it, on top of vanilla cake was a wedding ring. "I started crying. He asked, 'Will you marry me?'"
Unable to resist the sweetness of his proposal, Gooze accepted. The couple now has a 2-year-old son.
In November 1990, Bruce Leon, then 28, proposed to Cheryl, also 28, a social worker and Canadian transplant, over a rushed lunch at a kosher dairy restaurant in Toronto. Their first date was at that very spot.
This milestone event was "sandwiched" between that meal and a mad dash to board a plane bound for Cheryl's hometown of New Brunswick for a family event.
Back in Chicago, Leon had already asked for his future father-in-law's blessing. In his pocket, he had a fortune cookie with an engagement ring inside. His plan was to propose over dessert at a kosher Chinese restaurant in Toronto. But when the couple met outside the eatery, it was closed.
They opted for a rushed lunch at Milk and Honey, the dairy restaurant across the street. After the meal, however, another complication arose. Leon offered her leftover fortune cookies from his dessert on the plane. She took the wrong one: the fortune had something to do with eternal peace instead of marriage. She agreed to take the other cookie and opened it quickly. "Well, out fell the ring and the fortune said, 'Will you marry me?' The rest is history," recalled Cheryl.
Good news traveled fast. By the time their plane landed in New Brunswick, nearly all of Cheryl's relatives were at the airport, eager to offer the couple a collective mazel tov. They're now the parents of four girls.