“Do you officiate at interfaith marriages?”
It’s a common question for many rabbis in our day, especially when the intermarriage rate is reported to be more than 50 percent (70 percent if you don’t count Orthodox Jews). My answer — like all things Jewish — is complicated, and my journey to the answer takes a little explaining. Please indulge me!
In the first eight years of my rabbinate after being ordained a Reform rabbi by Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in 1997, I believed I was bound by a mission to preserve the future of Judaism through requiring Jewish-Jewish partnerships. And so I officiated exclusively at marriages between two Jews. (While the Reform movement had no official stance on officiation, it was strong in its voice promoting Jewish-Jewish marriages.)
Three conversations changed my position. The first interaction happened over the phone when a gentleman called asking if I would officiate at a private commitment ceremony in the hospital. His same-gender partner of 30 years was dying from complications of HIV.
The man who called was a committed Jew. His partner was not Jewish and didn’t adhere to any religion — other than the Jewish rituals practiced in their home. Tears erupted from my soul as I explained that I don’t officiate unless both partners are Jewish. The man thanked me, and we ended our discussion.
My answer has haunted me ever since, and I wish I could turn back the clock. Here was a couple who wanted a Jewish ritual — it wasn’t about their future; it was about their present — and I said “no.” In many ways, this article is my public teshuvah, or repentance (as I didn’t even write down his name, I had no way of contacting him again).
The second conversation occurred when I was teaching Introduction to Judaism through the Union for Reform Judaism. One of our students asked, “Why is it that so many rabbis won’t officiate at interfaith marriages, but the congregations welcome us with open arms?”
His question pierced my intellect. I was about to open my mouth with a knee-jerk response, but I couldn’t. After all, he was right. What message does it give when congregations embrace while rabbis don’t?
The third conversation was with a colleague. We realized that if we say “no,” there’s a church down the street that will say “yes.”
I then thought about the paradigms of Shammai and Hillel, two leading rabbis from the first century BCE, with regard to outreach. In the Talmud (Shabbat 31), a gentile wanted to convert to Judaism so long as a rabbi could teach him the entire Torah while standing on one foot. Shammai was insulted and pushed him away. But Hillel embraced him, saying, “What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. That is the entire Torah. All the rest is commentary. Now go and learn.”
It’s not only the wisdom of Hillel’s words that are deep. It’s also his willingness to open the door. In our day, too many take the Shammai approach, but our continuity can’t afford to be so exclusive that we shut out those who can offer light.
And so, a transition began in my own approach to outreach, conversion, inclusion and marriage.
Here’s where it gets interesting. To this day, I do not officiate at interfaith weddings. But I do officiate at Jewish weddings where one partner might not be Jewish.
What does this mean? Interfaith means two faiths coming together, both being represented in the marriage ceremony. My weddings, however, are Jewish. Every ritual, every prayer, every observance is Jewish. There is no weaving in of texts or traditions from other faiths.
Each couple becomes a member of our synagogue, Temple Akiba in Culver City, as I believe we are here as an ongoing home for their marriage, and I am not just a rabbi for their wedding. By joining the temple, the couple is committing themselves to supporting Jewish institutions.
I meet with couples multiple times in the months prior to the ceremony. In addition to preparing the wedding service, we talk about Jewish life and dreams for the future. We address children and the challenges that can arise when making religious choices. We explore the role of grandparents and other extended family. We acknowledge that some expectations we have today will inevitably emerge in ways we hardly expect. And we unfold the blessings of the present.
Our conversations reveal incredible phenomena. As the officiant for a wedding in Visalia, located in the agricultural San Joaquin Valley, I met a couple who came to me via my friend Rabbi Jason Rodich, who had served as a student rabbi there many years ago. When talking with the couple, I learned that the groom had one Jewish-by-birth parent and one parent who had converted. The bride had no Jewish parents.
This couple, from a part of the world where Judaism is so rare … this couple, who under Rabbi Shammai would be shown the door to the exit … this couple wanted to have a Jewish wedding and live in a Jewish home. We could have lost them many times over, but they now are nurturing the light that gives Judaism its soul.
One of my favorite weddings occurred a couple of years ago between a Jewish man and a Korean-American woman. The woman asked if her grandmother (who spoke broken English) could offer an appropriate reading. “So long as it’s not from another faith tradition, fine!” I responded.
When the time came, grandma came to the microphone. As she began to speak, her reading sounded somewhat familiar. I quickly realized she was reciting the seventh blessing of the Sheva Brachot … in Hebrew! She had transliterated it into Korean!
Over these past eight years, since I broadened my officiation practices, my couples have taken their Jewish roles very seriously. They are members of the Jewish community, and they send their kids to Jewish religious schools and Jewish camps. They participate in Israel advocacy and Holocaust observances. They take part in social justice programs.
Do all couples do all of this? Of course not. But most couples do some of this, and my goal is to keep the door open wide to them, to embrace them with all my soul, to nurture a Jewish now and — through them — to create a brighter Jewish future.
