Wedding of two Jewish musicians, featured in NY Times

[Marvin Margoshes <physchem...>]

Annette Ezekiel and Jeremy Parzen
       

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      June 29, 2003
      Annette Ezekiel and Jeremy Parzen
      By KATHRYN SHATTUCK

           
      NNETTE EZEKIEL drifted into her 30's prepared not to marry. "I was 
completely accepting of that," she said. "My mother is divorced, and I was used 
to being on my own. I'm a tough girl."

      Last year, Ms. Ezekiel, a classically trained pianist, dancer and 
linguist, who tutors children in French, had a vision. While playing her first 
wedding as the vocalist, accordionist and de facto leader of Golem, a 
klezmer-rock band, she looked around the Metropolitan Building, a converted 
warehouse in Long Island City, Queens, and decided that if she were to marry, 
it would be there.

      Not that she ever would.

      That was early February. That month, Golem was booked at Makor, a Jewish 
center on the Upper West Side, as the opening act for Les Sans Culottes, a 
group of faux-French rockers with names like Maurice Chevrolet and Celine 
Dijon. Ms. Ezekiel was backstage, chattering nervously, as she is wont to do 
before a show, when she started discussing "The Producers," the Mel 
Brooks-Thomas Meehan musical, and how Mr. Brooks's humor reflected her view of 
life.

      "I was talking, but no one was listening," she recalled. Or so she 
thought, until Jeremy Parzen, a k a Cal D'Hommage, reared his dyed-blond head 
and exclaimed, "The Producers!" Moments later, the two burst into a medley of 
the show's songs.

      "Everyone thought we were completely crazy," she said. "And I was 
thinking, who is this rock guy who loves show tunes like me? I also secretly 
wanted to be with someone Jewish, though I never would have admitted it. I 
could tell by the way he was singing that he was." 

      The next day, Mr. Parzen sent her an e-mail message: "I loved singing 
`The Producers' with you. Let's hang out some time." She squealed: "Oh, my God, 
this is it. I knew right then he liked me."

      A garage-trained guitarist who turned a Ph.D. in Italian literature into 
a job writing about Italy's food and wine, Mr. Parzen had then been smitten 
with Ms. Ezekiel for more than a year, since playing another gig together, 
though they had not yet spoken.

      "By the time it came to Feb. 23, I was wondering, how can I talk to this 
young woman?" he said. "I was captivated by her performances. I loved her 
music. And I had the biggest crush on her."

      After that first message, they corresponded by e-mail for a month, 
leaving Ms. Ezekiel to wonder if he was going to ask her out.

      Date 1: A dinner invitation. "I went to his apartment, and he had an 
elaborate three-course Italian meal waiting for me," she said. "We listened to 
`The Producers' and drank Champagne. It was the most romantic evening."

      The next day, he left for Italy, but not before she asked him to a 
Passover seder at her mother's house in Jackson Heights, Queens, the day of his 
return. He accepted. 

      "I thought immediately, `What did I do?' " she said. "I called him and 
said, `You know, it might be too much, and you're coming from the airport and 
maybe you shouldn't.' "

      Date 2: Fast off the plane and freshly showered, Mr. Parzen made the car 
service wait. "I realized I didn't have a jacket on," he said. "I thought, `I 
think this is the girl I'm going to ask to marry me.' I went back inside and 
put one on."

      Date 3: The next day, Mr. Parzen summoned Ms. Ezekiel to Central Park and 
confessed his love. 

      Last Sunday, they were wed at the Metropolitan Building amid tables piled 
with fruits and vegetables and named for places like Tbilisi, Minsk, Miami 
Beach, Jerusalem and Astoria. In a white gown gathered at the hem and a long, 
lace-trimmed veil, Ms. Ezekiel evoked a tiny Russian ballerina as she and Mr. 
Parzen twirled to the wails of klezmer.

      Judith Parzen, the bridegroom's mother, said: "One day I sat Jeremy down 
and reminded him that he always said he didn't want to have children. And he 
looked at me and said, `Not until I met Annette. Think of how talented our 
children will be!' "



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