This is a series of posts informed by my experiences officiating weddings. Most of my weddings incorporate Jewish traditions – some lightly, some a lot. But others have been fashioned entirely on other faith traditions, and especially from the secular world.
Here I am sharing some of the most common questions couples have asked me along the way of their wedding journey.
“We are an interfaith couple. Should a rabbi or minister marry us?”
I think the answer to your question lies not in what’s right for your wedding, but rather what is right for your future household. Your wedding should reflect the spirit or nature of the home you plan on creating together.
So, what kind of home do you plan on creating?
When it comes to identity, people almost never fit into the neat black-and-white depictions I will give here. But hopefully these examples shed light on the larger idea.
You are NOT planning on having kids, and …
• the bride goes to church regularly and the groom never goes to synagogue.
~ It sounds like your future home will be more Christian than Jewish, in terms of holiday and ritual expression, so a minister sensitive to a half-Jewish audience would make the most sense.
• neither couple identifies as “religious.” You plan on celebrating Christmas with the Christian side and a Passover seder with the Jewish side, and that’s pretty much it.
~ It sounds like a secular ceremony (whether officiated by a rabbi or a minister) is the best reflection of your future household. The officiant’s “credential” (ie, whether “rabbi” or “minister”) won’t matter nearly so much as finding the right person. Some officiants have agendas. You need someone who can embrace a multi-faith audience.
• the bride cares about her Jewish heritage (though doesn’t religiously celebrate) and the groom is basically atheist.
~ Probably a rabbi is best for you, but a rabbi who will create a Jewish ceremony that emphasizes the cultural aspects of Judaism over the theistic ones. Also, she or he needs to be comfortable working in multi-faith groups (which includes “atheists” – who are their own distinct faith group with their own set of beliefs.)
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The examples I have given are for a couple not intending to have children. That was intentional. When no kids are involved, it makes the conversation a little easier and more straightforward.
If you are planning on having children, the same principles apply, but the shades of gray get more complex. Your choices after all, will not only affect you as adults, but will also shape the childhood experiences of your kids, as well as have a major impact on their evolving identities.
Please see my additional post specific to raising kids in an interfaith home.
I love to hear from readers. Please post your comments below. To inquire about my wedding services, write me directly at joysa@aol.com.
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Where’s a Good Yenta When You Need One!? No need to sulk; The Matchmaker Rabbi is in! To see Joysa’s columns for Jdate, visit here. Her forthcoming book on dating in Jewish suburbia is being represented by Red Sofa Literary Agency.
This is part of a series of posts about my experiences officiating weddings. Most of my weddings are Jewish in one fashion or another. But many incorporate readings from other faith traditions, or even secular tradition.
Many of the couples I work with are devotedly “agnostic” in their beliefs (whether “Jewish” or not). They bristle at the classic hierarchical God language that so dominates traditional blessings and liturgy. Hey, no problem, here; I do too! For me, this discomfort is a bright open door inviting me to create the words that do capture my heart and soul. It is my deepest honor to be asked to do this for others too…
Here, in these posts, I am sharing some of the most common questions couples have asked me along the way of their wedding journey.
“How Can I Make My Wedding Unique, Funny or Even Funky?”
No cookie-cutter weddings here!
Wedding are supposed to be times of great joy – not somber sobriety! They’re a time to bring out the best of our traditions, but not bury ourselves in them. It IS possible to create a wedding ritual that mixes meaningful words of love with joyful, even unexpected elements that will have your guests chuckling about your wedding for years to come.
There is no “recipe” for creating a funky, unforgettable wedding. It comes about by brainstorming, thinking creatively, and most importantly of all – giving me the license to go! Once I know what you are open to a funny curve ball, I promise you, I can come up with one!
Example 1: “No God, Two Cultures, Please Make ‘Em Laugh”
Eric and Maria wanted a non-theistic wedding that was light-hearted and not overly serious. They were an “older” couple, with grown children, who each had small parts in the ceremony (playing instruments, for examples). I came up with two surprise elements in their wedding that I felt proud of:
1) First, I read, in Spanish, a poem about love by Pablo Neruda. The bride is Spanish, and I knew her family would be watching the wedding later via YouTube, and would be delighted to suddenly hear some of the ceremony in Spanish. I practiced it for hours and think I got the accent decent enough!
2) Then, with a little behind-the-scenes sleuthing, I dug up some dirt about the couple’s younger lives. Then, when it came time for the vows, the “repeat after me” part, I mixed in serious vows, with funny ones they totally didn’t expect.
“Repeat after me. I, Eric, promise to not get drunk and wake up naked beside the Colorado River.” {Insert riotous laughter here!}
“Repeat after me. I, Maria, promise to always make you really great mojitos” …
You get the idea. It was the best part of the ceremony!
Example 2: “No Religion, No Time To Plan, the Funkier the Better”
Claire and Collin got a sudden job offer in Europe so they had a quickie wedding with very little preparation time. But they were careful to throw in their own quirky touches in all aspects of the day.
First, my favorite, they had the groom’s sister dressed identically to all the groomsmen, and she was also called a “groomsman!” Then they had a wall of tea lights, before which we conducted the ceremony. It was gorgeous! They also had everyone pitch in. The bride’s 13-year-old sister played all the entry music on the violin; a friend sculpted the bride’s hair.
Their main ritual request was that I not use any traditional God liturgy (either Christian or Jewish). They also had an aunt and uncle whom they wanted to honor by doing a blessing or reading for them.
After giving my rabbi-ly advice on the secrets to lasting love, with quotes from the great poet Kahlil Gibran, I called up their aunt and uncle to dispense their marital advice. That advice, much to everyone’s surprise, was a spirited reading of Dr. Seuss’ “Oh the Places You Will Go!”
The audience loved it. A few days later, I received a nice note from one of the moms, Ruth, telling me that their crowd of Jews, atheists and Christians of all stripes had been touched by the ceremony. As an officiant, I couldn’t have hoped for more!
Example 3: “Christian-Jewish Interfaith … And Honor Both Religions”
My last example is a showcase of how it’s possible to do a wedding that is religious both Jewishly and Christianly, without offending either side.
For this wedding, the couple was not personally religious, but they had agreed to raise their children Jewish. Thus, they wanted a Jewish wedding and rabbi officiant. The groom’s family, however, was very devotedly Christian. While they weren’t upset about having a Jewish wedding, the groom didn’t want them to feel “left out” or to feel like they were watching some alien scene out of a movie they didn’t understand.
I’ve officiated many Jewish or Jewish-lite weddings for interfaith couples. But this was the first time I was asked to do such a wedding actively incorporating something distinctly Christian. The million dollar question was: What to incorporate without totally “crossing the wires” of the two traditions? What Christian thing could we say that was authentic to Christians, but not alienating to Jews?
After much discussion, we did two things:
1) The mothers came up and lit a unity candle. This beautiful ritual, which symbolizes the creation of a new light by a new family, comes from Protestant tradition. But there is nothing “Jesus-specific” about it.
2) We also included a reading from the Book of Corinthians on the nature of love. The passage, while from the New Testament, does not quote Jesus, and thus would not have made the Jewish members of the audience uncomfortable.
At virtually every interfaith wedding I have been blessed to officiate, some very old Jewish grandmother or great-grandmother comes up to me afterward with tears in her eyes, grateful that a rabbi officiated. She is, I know, scared for the fate of her grandchildren. Will they still be Jewish? Will the Jewish family lineage live on?
This wedding was the first time I also had the Christian grandmothers come up to me, crying. “Thank you,” they said, “for making our faith feel so respected. We feel so apart of this family now.”
Ah, what a joy. What an honor. I would have made my dear Christian grandmother, Zelda, of blessed memory, proud. I felt proud too.
There is a story of a king who sent his son a great distance to study all the wisdom of the world. The son went, studied, and returned wise. One day the king asked his son to take a massive rock and place it up upon the roof of the house. But the rock was too huge, and the king’s son was unable to lift the rock. Unable to fulfill his father’s request, the king’s son was … terribly upset.
When his father found him sulking in his room the king said to him, “You thought I wanted you to lift that giant stone? Even with all your wisdom you thought I asked you to do something as impossible as that!? All I intended was for you to take a hammer and break the stone up into a bunch of little pieces – then you could have placed the stone on the roof!”
Just like this, God commands us to lift our hearts up to heaven. But our hearts are these giant heavy stones – totally impossible to lift. All you can do is take a hammer – which is speech – and shatter the stony heart. Thus you can lift your heart up to heaven.
Recently, doing some research for a curriculum project on Jewish values, I stumbled upon these delightful excerpts from the Talmud (redacted circa 500 CE). They really made me laugh.
Keep in mind, they were written in a culture (Babylonia) where there were no trade schools or formal educational institutions. All skills and knowledge were passed down person to person. So … to refuse to ever teach another person seems like it would be the ultimate “f*#k you” gesture to your neighbors – and the ultimate act of selfness and sabotage against your own community.
What hilarious and vivid images they invoke!
1) From B. Yoma 38b
Hygros ben Levi excelled in the art of singing but would not teach others. It is told of him that when he was about to make a high trill, he would put his thumb into his mouth, place his index finger between the two parts of his mustache, and produce all kinds of sounds at such high intensity that, to a man, his brother priests would be thrown backward.
2) Also from B. Yoma 38b
Our masters taught: Ben Kamtzar would not teach [his art] of writing. It is said of him that he would hold four pens between his five fingers, and if there was a word of four letters, he could write it in one movement. He was asked, “What reason have you for refusing to teach [your art]?” The others mentioned earlier provided an explanation for their refusal, but Ben Kamtzar provided none. To the former apply the words “The memory of the righteous shall be for a blessing.” While to Ben Kamtzar and his like apply the words “But the name of the wicked shall rot.”
… In other words Don’t Be A Jerk!
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Where’s a Good Yenta When You Need One!? No need to sulk; The Matchmaker Rabbi is in! To see Joysa’s columns for Jdate, visit here. Her forthcoming book on dating in Jewish suburbia is being represented by Red Sofa Literary Agency.
In 1995, I was living in Nashville, Tennessee, and belonged to a small Conservative congregation. One day, I saw a flier on the wall advertising a concert for some woman named Debbie Friedman. I had no idea who she was, and I imagined that whatever this “Jewish music” of hers was, it was probably cheesy. But, I bought a ticket anyway. When you live in a Jewish desert like Nashville, you are so desperate to hang out with other Members of the Tribe, you are pretty much willing to attend anything!
That night, I packed into the tiny sanctuary, which was filled way beyond capacity. I was wedged in some tiny little nook where I could barely see a thing. Fire code? What fire code. And, when I walked away a few hours later, I remember thinking one of those rare thoughts you have in life: “Wow. That was really something.”
Her show was so transformative, I went home and ordered all of her CDs and proceeded to share them with my friend Kathy, who hadn’t been there. I don’t remember doing this, but when Debbie Friedman died on January 9 this year, Kathy sent me an email from Nashville. “Hey Nator,” she said, invoking my nickname. “Remember when you came back from Debbie’s concert, and lent me all her CDs, and I spent the next 5 years playing them in my car? Well, I know every song we sing in my synagogue now, because of those CDs!” Debbie’s concert had been so transformative, it shaped the future Jewish life of someone who hadn’t even see it.
Just what is so powerful about Debbie’s music? Well, for one thing, it’s beautiful. She takes simple, memorable melodies and blends them with ancient words from Torah or liturgy. Her songs have depth, and that rare sense of openness and vulnerability. If you listen to Debbie’s music, it’s just a matter of time before something she says will ignite a tear.
What makes her music even more powerful though, is to think about how she single-handedly transformed Jewish ritual life in the 20th century. Music has always been at the heart of Judaism — the Torah tells us that Moses and the children ofIsraelsang after crossing theSeaofReeds. But the cantorial tradition as we know it didn’t really begin until the 14th century, in Germany, when R. Jacob Molin codified the high holy day melodies. This became the foundation of a whole new cantorial tradition, carried on by other composers like Louis Lewandowsky, of fixed songs and melodies shared across congregations and countries.
The cantorial tradition, like the rabbinic tradition, was not just an exclusively male enterprise — it was also a familial enterprise, much like the history of medicine. To become a doctor, or a cantor or a rabbi — you pretty much had to be the son of one. These were prized family trades that you didn’t just give away to the Am HaAretz, the poor of the people. And you definitely didn’t give them away to women.
There’s another reason women’s voices have been literally silent when it comes to the composition and performance of Jewish music — and that is a rabbinic concept called Kol Isha.
Kol Isha literally means “Voice of a Woman,” and it means that a man is not allowed to hear a woman sing, lest he have lascivious thoughts. This idea that men might think improper things — and that the solution to this problem is to shut the women up — dates clear back to the Talmud, to the year 500.
It’s laughable to me that in this day and age, anyone could argue that a woman‘s voice might spark an improper thought in a man — but it doesn’t work the other way around. Obviously, these rabbinic authorities have never been to a Neil Diamond concert, where there are literally thousands of screaming women screaming thousands of improper thoughts.
It’s funny — but it’s also sad – because there has been a very real consequence to this idea. As far as I could find, a woman never performed a cantorial role in the Jewish world until the early 1950s in theUnited States. Even then, they were not technically cantors. The first woman wasn’t invested as a cantor until 1975.
This was the world Debbie Friedman grew up in. Debbie had no women role models in the Jewish musical world. In fact, she had no musical role models at all. Incredibly, the woman who has done more to innovate Jewish music had NO formal musical training, and NO formal Jewish education.
Debbie was born in 1951 inUtica,NY. At the age of 16, when working at a summer camp, she picked up a guitar and tried playing the songs the kids were singing. A few months later, she went to a Reform retreat; the group needed a song leader, and she was, as she said, “elected by default.”
At the age of 21, in 1970, she wrote her first original piece, “V’ahavta.” When she taught it to the kids at a Reform retreat, the teens stood up, crying, and wrapped their arms around one another. “I realized,” she said, “that something important was happening.”
Over the next 41 years, Debbie would release 23 albums, containing songs that are now ubiquitous in Reform, Conservative and Reconstructionist congregations worldwide.
It probably shouldn’t come as a surprise, but Debbie was not always embraced by Jewish leaders. As rabbi Daniel Freelander explained, “During the late ’70s to mid ’80s, Debbie was really demonized by the Jewish musical establishment. She was seen as someone ruining synagogue music. She was hurt by it, but also courageous. It was probably the most creative period in her life. In the middle of this difficult time when people were devaluing her, she created a whole new genre, a new idiom.”
By the last decade of her life, Debbie was officially embraced by the Reform movement. The American Conference of Cantors made her an honorary member, andHebrewUnionCollegehired her to train cantorial students.
Debbie died at the young age of 59. When I met her, over 20 years ago, she was just beginning to suffer the effects of a degenerative neurological disorder called dyskinesia, which sporadically paralyzed her legs. She also suffered from seizures and adrenal problems. The struggles of her physical life powerfully infused her music with a depth and a humanity that can often only be borne from human suffering.
As the Forward explained, in her obituary: “Friedman’s gift was her ability to make Jewish prayer accessible … Her English lyrics frequently dealt with the empowerment of women and other disenfranchised groups. Her spirituality was rooted in her own feelings of being on the margins.”
Women feeling like they are on the margins of Jewish leadership is the whole reason associations like the Women of Reform Judaism were founded. Groups of women first began banding together under the name “Sisterhood” in the 1800s. It was a way to socialize and do charitable work, but it was also a way to have a voice in organized Jewish life, generations before women could officially take such a mantel.
It is amazing that in only a century, our synagogues have undergone a complete transformation. We now have women rabbis, cantors, and lay leaders galore. Our challenge has gone from empowering women, to making sure our men continue to be inspired and involved.
Debbie knew she probably would not live into old age. When asked about the legacy she hoped to leave behind, for a 2007 book called Jewish Sages of Today: Profiles of Extraordinary People, she had this to say. It is one of my favorite Debbie Friedman wisdoms:
“When I finally do leave this world, I want people to understand that they are the essential element in the universe, and that without them, the universe wouldn’t be the same. They are the essential element not in a narcissistic way, but because they have a heart and soul and the capacity to do good … and that the person (sitting) next to them, is the same.”
Amen to that.
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One of my favorite Friedman songs: All silly and no serious!
I’ve had the pleasure in recent weeks of doing a lot of reading about Albert Einstein. He has always been one of my foremost Jewish heroes, and learning more about his life and words has only emboldened this sentiment.
One of the common refrains in his writings is the importance of striving for a life of humility, curiosity and wonder. It is, I think, such an inspiring recipe for meaning!
Here is how Einstein would answer these age-old questions:
How Do You Stay Young?
In a letter to Otto Juliusburger, in 1942, Einstein wrote: “People like you and I, though mortal of course, like everyone else, do not grow old no matter how long we live. What I mean is that we never cease to stand like curious children before the great Mystery into which we were born.”
How Do You “Succeed”?
From a letter to Mein Weltbild in 1934: “The true value of a human being is determined primarily by the measure and the sense in which he has attained liberation from the self.”
What Really Matters?
In an address in 1936: “The aim [of education] must be the training of independently acting and thinking individuals who, however, see in the service to the community their highest life problem.”
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I had the pleasure — and at times Not So Much Pleasure – of thinking a great deal about these big Life Questions a few months ago, during a long hospital stay with my pregnancy. For five weeks, I shuffled up and down the maternity ward of Bryn Mawr Hospital, contemplating the little life that was overly anxious to come into this world.
What would I say at my son’s bris, if I could dare plan so far ahead? What kind of world was I bringing him into, anyway?
What was, without doubt, one of the most trying experiences of my life also gave me an awesome opportunity — the opportunity to see just how many other people in my religious community obviously embrace Einstein’s values. These were people who extended themselves, adding to their own burden in order to ease mine. People who saw “service to the community” as one of their highest life values. This service came in so many ways: cards and phone calls, food deliveries and babysitting offers. I could try to recount them all, but with a healthy little newborn in my lap, I blessedly don’t have the time.
In a day and age when synagogue and church membership rolls are lagging, it is experiences like this that remind me of just why it is we create these institutions to begin with. We create them to stay connected.
The Chasidic sage Rabbi Levi Yithak of Bereditchev once said that: “Whether a person really loves God can be determined by the love that person shares with other people.”
What you or I or anyone thinks when we hear that word “God” doesn’t, to me, really matter. What matters is that by linking our lives with each other, we transcend our finite existence and become closer to liberation from the self. The lovingkindness so many people demonstrated to me in the past three months has helped me do that, and for that, I am grateful.
When I was 23, I had a newsroom job that started at 6:30 a.m. Not being a morning person, this was my idea of getting ready in the morning:
Set the alarm for 15 minutes before I have to leave the house.
After the alarm goes off, jump out of bed, spend 7 minutes in the shower, wring my hair with a towel, and throw on some clothes.
Feed the cats, throw a frozen dinner in a plastic grocery bag, and head out the door.
Upon walking into work, head for the bathroom, where I put on eyeliner and run a comb through my hair, which had dried on the car ride over.
Two hours later, when the first work deadline has passed, take a break and eat the frozen dinner I had packed for breakfast.
I couldn’t believe those shlub coworkers of mine, with their crazy stories of waking up at 5 or even 4:30 in the morning to get to work on time. How could it possibly take that long to get ready in the morning!? I wondered. How could they give up on those precious extra minutes of morning sleep?
Twenty years later, let’s just say, I have a different perspective. I have become one of those shlubs who spends an hour getting ready in the morning, although not — I confess — because I’ve developed some higher standard of personal hygiene or concern for my outward appearance. And I still can’t be bothered with breakfast.
Now I take that long to get ready in the morning because, like the Tin Man on Wizard of Oz, I just can’t convince my middle-aged body that it actually wants to move.
This is what my morning routine looks like now:
The night before I am expected to be somewhere by a certain time, concoct some reason why I can’t make it at that hour, and move it to an hour later.
Set the alarm for 60 minutes before I have to leave the house.
After the alarm goes off, spend the next 20 minutes hitting the “snooze” button. Each time it goes off, scream F*#k! in my head and slam the button down again.
Four snoozes later, trudge into the shower. Start out standing, but after a few minutes feel too tired to stand, so sit down in the shower. After several minutes of being pelted in the face, switch to the bath faucet, and spend 20 minutes soaking in the tub, thinking F*#k! Do I really have to go somewhere? Wring hair with a towel, throw on some clothes.
Amble into the kitchen, glare at my husband — just because the poor guy happens to be there — and plop down at the kitchen table. Kick the cat that walks over, meowing for food, and spend 20 minutes sipping highly caffeinated tea, thinking F*#k, if I don’t leave in 10 … 9 … 8 minutes, I’m going to be late.
Go back to the bathroom, put on some eyeliner, grab my purse and go out the door.
The sages taught that each Jew should try to say at least 100 brachot (blessings) a day. Our traditional prayerbook offers some beautiful ones to start out the day, known as “Birchot Hashachar.” The blessings offer thanks to a benevolent God for such things as opening the eyes of the blind, freeing the captive, and clothing the naked.
Those are mighty ambitious sentiments for any time before 11 a.m., me thinks.
My birchot hashachar — my morning blessings — are a bit more modest. If, for example, I can get from the bed to the kitchen table without thinking the word “F*#k!” one single time — I’m actually doing pretty damn good ~er, I mean darn.
Can an absence of profanity count as a bracha?
I’d like to suggest Yes.
On other good days, I might actually think a positive thought in that first hour of my waking. Something like: “Wow, the sun is out, and I don’t, for once, wish with every fiber of my being that I were waking up in Miami. Maybe Smelly-delphia isn’t a total hellhole after all!”
Can an absence of despair count as a statement of gratitude?
I like to think so.
Then, on my most best, golden ticket days, my morning Grouch turns into a bona fide innocuous human being. You know, one of those basically pleasant people who doesn’t glare at her husband and kick her cat, and otherwise wishes she were dead in that first painful hour of the day. On these days, I’ve been known to actually hug the said husband and feed the said cat.
Can an absence of jerkdom count as an act of virtuousness?
I like to hope so.
Blessed are you Adonai, creator of the universe, who has enabled me to start the day like a reasonable human being.
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I am a writer, editor, rabbinical student, mother and scuba diver (not necessarily in that order). My latest project is a narrative nonfiction book called Chasing Cupid: Tales of Dating Disaster in Jewish Suburbia, about my 15+ years of dating.
I think the answer to your question lies not in what’s right for your wedding, but rather what is right for your future household. Your wedding should reflect the spirit or nature of the home you plan on creating together.
When no kids are involved, it makes the conversation a little easier and more straightforward.
