Dima’s uncle gave a delightful speech, a translation of which appeared on the PowerPoint. This translation provided the one slapstick moment of the ceremony: a well-intentioned Chinese sentence was unfortunately rendered in English as: “I feel grateful that Dima has been doomed to marry a Canadian Jewish Girl!”

Liz’s father also gave a speech. About half an hour before, Liz had asked me if I’d provide some on-the-spot interpreting services for him. His speech was unscripted, but it would be simple, she promised. I agreed, hoping I hadn’t inadvertently overstated my Mandarin abilities to her.

Her father took the microphone, and I saddled up alongside him. He started: “In 1938 a Canadian Doctor by the name of Norman Bethune headed to Yan’an to join the Communist Eighth Route Army during the Anti-Japanese War…”

Her father paused, waiting for me to jump in. I know how to say “Canada” in Chinese. I said “In Canada,” then made up something completely unrelated to Liz’s father’s very thoughtful and touching story of Sino-Canadian friendship.

I was ashamed, but confident I’d got away with the deception. It was only after the ceremony I discovered that Liz’s aunt, who had been sitting at the table closest to the stage, is a Professor of Chinese history at an American University. I’d noticed her watching me during “my speech” with a slightly bemused expression.

In the middle of the proceedings, Liz hightailed out of the hall without any warning. She waltzed back five minutes later wearing a lovely Western-style wedding dress. The host then guided the couple – in Chinese – through an exchange of vows and rings as per the Western tradition.

After the formal proceedings ended, the hall livened up. I imagine that most wedding receptions – be they Chinese, Western or anything else – resemble each other at this point. There was eating, toasting, posing for photos and dancing. A group of young children from Dima’s side of the family hopped onto the stage and sang pitch-perfect Englishlanguage Christmas carols.

And just when I thought the most interesting wedding I’ll ever attend was winding down, someone cranked up the decibels on the speaker set and dropped Hava Nagila, the traditional folk song staple of Jewish weddings and Bar/Bat Mitzvahs. The dance floor was cleared; two chairs were produced, and up were hoisted Liz and a startled Dima. Liz explained to him in Russian that this was a Jewish tradition – apparently he hadn’t been warned. All the relatives joined together – Dima’s 5-foot grandmother included – to dance a very loose interpretation of the Hora in a circle around the happy couple.