When it came to ensuring Jewish continuity, our founding forefather Abraham left very little to chance. With the passing of his beloved life partner Sarah, Abraham – no doubt realizing his own mortality – made it his mission to ensure that the covenant he had established with God would extend into the generations to come. His son Isaac, perhaps still traumatized by his near-death experience atop Mount Moriah, had yet to “put himself out there” on JSwipe to find a spouse, not that there were many, if any, Jewish options to choose from. So Abraham took matters into his own hands and called on his trusted servant Eliezer to return to the land of his birth, Aram-Naharaim, to find a wife for his son. It is worth pausing to appreciate Abraham’s tactical choices. “Do not choose a daughter of Canaan for my son,” he tells Eliezer. Perhaps Abraham feared that if Isaac married a local girl, his son’s Hebrew identity would be swallowed up by his Canaanite in-laws and culture. Nor, for that matter, was Isaac allowed to accompany Eliezer on this episode of “The Bachelor: Edition Aram-Naharaim.” Perhaps Abraham feared that if Isaac left home, he would fall in love with a foreign woman and adopt the customs and faith of a distant land. Truth be told, we are never made privy to what Abraham was thinking. All we know is what he did. He left nothing to chance. He found his son a wife; they fell in love; they created a Jewish home, and produced Jewish children, who then produced more Jewish children, and – to make a long story short – a few thousand years later . . . here we are today.
When it comes to Jewish continuity, Jewish parents today leave a whole lot more to chance than Abraham ever did. Whatever choices we make when our children are in our homes – school, camp, synagogue, home life, Israel and otherwise – once they leave the nest, there is far more out of our control than in our control. “Go to college,” we tell them. “Get a liberal arts degree, explore new ideas, experience our multicultural world, fill your life with a diverse set of friends and achieve great things as a secular citizen. . . . Do all these things, but when it comes time to finding a life partner . . . please bring home a Jewish one.” One need not be a social scientist of any great note to make sense of the outcomes. Between 2005 and 2013, fifty-eight percent of American Jews married non-Jews. Among the non-Orthodox, over seventy percent of those recently married chose a non-Jewish spouse. Remarkable as the statistics may be, the most noteworthy in my mind is that according to a 2015 study, over half of millennial generation children are themselves the products of intermarriage. In other words, the days when one generation can hold their inmarriage choices over the next generation’s choice to intermarry are no longer. That train has left the station. For the vast majority of American Jews, interfaith marriage has become the norm, a choice many have taken – in America, in our families, and in this very room. It is a fact. To deny its existence, as one of my colleagues once said, is akin to denying gravity. The choices we have made, the things we have left to chance, are not without consequence. And given that I have no immediate plans, nor I imagine do any of you, to move to Monsey, to make aliyah to Israel, to insulate ourselves from the hyphenated blessings and challenges of secular culture, we do ourselves and our Jewish future a disservice by not talking openly about our lived reality and what, if anything, we plan to do about it.
This morning, I want to share my current thinking on the subject of intermarriage, specifically, the question of rabbinic officiation at interfaith weddings. Before I begin, let me manage expectations by saying that in the next twelve minutes of your life there will be no policy changes – for me or for Park Avenue Synagogue. I am just thinking – out loud – something rabbis get paid to do once a week. For those who don’t follow these conversations, you should know that as a Conservative rabbi, neither I nor my colleagues may officiate at interfaith weddings, a standard of practice, which, if breached, will result in our expulsion from the union of Conservative Rabbis, the Rabbinical Assembly. Last week I went to the annual Rabbinical Assembly conference in St. Louis, and as with most conferences, the action was not in the plenary sessions or breakout workshops but in the cups of coffee (and glasses of scotch) that happened between the sessions. I sat down with different factions of my colleagues who were quietly discussing the issue of interfaith officiation. Some colleagues pulled me aside saying “Elliot, it’s not that complicated. We are rabbis, for goodness’ sake. We have the chance to bring interfaith couples close to tradition. Either we perform interfaith weddings, or it will be the end of the movement.” Some colleagues pulled me aside saying just the opposite, “Elliot, it’s not that complicated. We are rabbis for goodness’ sake. Our job is to stand for something, to affirm Jewish law and practice. If we start doing interfaith weddings, it will be the end of the movement.” I was asked to join committees, sign letters, mobilize for one side or the other. I did nothing. I just listened – as long as it was my colleague and not me paying for my scotch.
I am no prophet, but based on my experience last week, I predict that the question of rabbinic officiation at interfaith marriages will come to a head in the Conservative Movement in the next two or three years. Interesting as denominational politics may be, tangled as the policy implications will be, the question that keeps me up at night is not about the movement but about me. I actually don’t feel the same daily pressure to perform intermarriages as many of my colleagues. Given the blessing of serving a Manhattan congregation, potential walk-in interfaith couples know I don’t do interfaith weddings; they have other rabbinic options; and my Saturday nights are already booked with more weddings than I can handle. Given the range of synagogue choices New York City offers, the members of Park Avenue Synagogue have made the willed choice to be part of a community that preaches, teaches, and champions certain Jewish values – like Shabbat, kashrut, and marrying within the faith. I am under no illusions as to the personal practices of my congregants, but I sense that even as you make your choices, you understand and appreciate that I will tell you to keep kosher, to light Shabbat candles, to come to synagogue, and to support Israel. It is a sermon for another day, but I think you want me on that wall; you need me on that wall. You understand that a marriage between Jews is both halakhically (according to Jewish law) and sociologically the greatest predictor of future Jewish identity, and you appreciate that it is a message I champion even if it is a path that members of your family may not take. I know the bubble in which I live. In the free market of Manhattan synagogue life, there are enough, more than enough, people who appreciate the liberally minded traditionalism of our community, a mindset of the community that fortunately, reflects the mindset of its rabbi.
But here is the thing. I have been serving this community since 2008. The kids at whose bar and bat mitzvahs I first officiated, the kids that “grew up” with me – those kids are hitting their mid-to-late twenties right now. Those kids are not kids anymore; they are young adults, and they are getting married. Seventy percent of them are marrying people not born of the Jewish faith. I love those kids and, whether they love me or not, they see me as their connection to tradition. When they – or, more often than not, their parents – reach out to me to officiate at their weddings, what am I going to say to them? I imagine it is already happening. I can’t be sure, but I would bet that many of these families, knowing the policy is what it is, have already taken their children’s wedding elsewhere.
It is not the movement question that keeps me up at night nor, for that matter, the institutional question. Park Avenue Synagogue will be just fine. What keeps me up at night is the pastoral question. That moment when a child of our congregation, a child whom I have “raised,” whose family is part of the fabric our community, who has done everything “right,” and has, nevertheless, fallen in love with a non-Jew now wants me to be the rabbi standing under the huppah and blessing the home they are establishing. What then, Cosgrove? That question in not years away; it is here today. As one PAS parent said to me this week, a parent at whose child’s interfaith wedding I declined to officiate, “Rabbi, I appreciate that there is a multi-year process at play, but I have a “this year” wedding to plan.” I am deeply aware – we all need to be deeply aware – that the cogs in the wheels of change move awfully slowly when it is one’s own life unfolding in real time.
On more than one occasion I have shared my rabbinic view and our synagogue policy. For those who are new, allow me to share it again. This morning, though, I want you to hear it, not as you would in a board room, in by-laws or a town hall meeting, but as a response to that imagined or actual twenty-something sitting in my office who has come to share the news they are engaged to a non-Jew and to ask if I would officiate at their wedding.
I would begin by saying: “I want you to know, first and foremost, how deeply happy I am that you have found someone whom you love and who loves you in the fullness of your being. It is a rough-and-tumble world out there and to have found love, and to be loved, that is a rare and precious gift and I am so, so happy for you. Mazel tov!”
“You say you want to create a Jewish home and to raise Jewish children, and you have asked me about whether I will officiate. I know that you know, because I spoke to your mother last week, what my stance is and what the synagogue policy is. And I want you to know that the policy is not a rejection of you or the love you share with your beloved. There is nothing ‘less than,’ defective, or immoral about interfaith marriage. I know plenty of fabulously committed interfaith couples, and plenty of not-so fabulously committed inmarried couples.
“But I also hope that you understand that just as my respect for you is not in any way diminished because you’ve fallen in love with a non-Jewish partner, I would ask that your respect for me not be diminished by accepting that there are limits as to what I will or won’t do as a rabbi. Through the good works of Rabbi Zuckerman and the rest of the clergy team, we offer a program called Pathways. For some, it is an introduction to Judaism class, and for others, it is what I believe to be the most embracing, inclusive, and welcoming conversion program possible within the bounds of Jewish law. As I have said many times, when I join a gym, they don’t say ‘get in shape and then join the gym,’ they say ‘join the gym and we will get you in shape.’ If your partner wants to be Jewish, we will make it happen.
“Conversion to Judaism solves the Jewish legal question, but it is far more than that. Conversion is important because it signals the choice of the partner not born of the Jewish faith to be “all-in”; to be a participant, not an observer, in the Jewish home being created; to be a stakeholder, not a bystander, in the faith of the Jewish children you are committed to raising. It is why, in case you are wondering, I keep saying that our synagogue needs to double down on our efforts in our Pathways program. In a world divided between my Reform and Orthodox colleagues, I think a robust and inclusive approach to conversion is the sweet spot that should define our synagogue and the Conservative Movement.
“But I know, because I know, that no matter how welcoming I make the process of conversion, it is not, for all sorts of reasons, an option for everyone. And if you decide that you are such a couple, first and foremost, you should still both take the Pathways class (or a class like it) because as human beings, our choices should always be educated ones; we should be informed about what we choose to do and not do. Because even if your partner never becomes Jewish, they should be conversant with Jewish tradition. And I want you to know that while I will not be under the huppah as your officiant, both I personally and this synagogue institutionally are committed, no differently than to any other family, to helping you create a Jewish home. I am still young. I am willing to grow and stretch myself as far as I can to meet you where you are. I can think of no better project in these months before you get married than to think of all the ways I can extend you a welcome embrace before and after the huppah. To offer pre-marital counseling no different than any other couple. To construct new, rabbinically and communally sanctioned rituals signaling your intent to create a Jewish home and raise Jewish children. To make sure you are included in all our young couples groups, young parenting and other classes and, if you want, separate classes for interfaith couples to navigate the path that you journey. I am ready to do everything I can to let you know that your synagogue and your rabbi are invested in your Jewish future. This is me trying. I get it, I know – there is a sting. No matter how many “yesses” I offer, there is still a “no” tucked in there – a “no” that you are hearing at a really, really, important moment of your life. But I don’t read the fact that you are marrying a non-Jew as a rejection of Judaism, and I would ask that you don’t read the fact that I won’t officiate at your huppah as a rejection of you. Life is not about what happens when everything goes as planned. Life is about how we respond to that which we didn’t plan on. And this is such a moment.
“And I need say one more thing. I need to name something that we have yet to name. Up until this point, this entire conversation has been about me: what I will or won’t do, whether I will or won’t bend or break policy. But that is a conversation that avoids the most important person in this whole thing – you! How are you signaling to yourself and your partner that Judaism is something that you take seriously, that you want to be part of your home, your future, your entire life? What are the signals that you are giving out – in your life, in your love, in your world – that you take yourself seriously as a Jew and that you will take your children’s Jewish identity seriously? I would have never spoken to you like this when you were thirteen, but you are an adult now so I am going to treat you like one. How is it that the entire question of your Jewish future has somehow become contingent on the question of whether or not I officiate at your wedding? I have no magic dust. Not for interfaith couples and not for same-faith couples. It is not the rabbi who ensures your Jewish future; it is you. The decisions you make whether to create a kosher home, to light Shabbat candles, to be a lifelong learner, to come to synagogue, to be committed to the Jewish state and the Jewish people. You are an adult now; it is time to act like one.
“You have fallen in love with a non-Jew, and you say you want to create a Jewish future. I challenge you to find a rabbi more invested in you than I will be. I will meet you where you are and I will stretch myself and this congregation farther than anyone thought possible. But do yourself and me the courtesy of not putting the fate of your Jewish future on my shoulders alone. This conversation is not about me, it is about you, and it is time you took agency over your decisions, your Jewish self, and your Jewish future. If you do, I promise that I will be there, at your side, and we will walk this journey together.”
The story of the Jewish people is the story of the fight for Jewish continuity. It is a story whose participants, from the very beginning, have been both Jews and non-Jews. Lest we forget, the woman who would marry Isaac, Rebecca, was not a Hebrew woman. “Will you go with this man,” her family asks her. “I will,” Rebecca replies. And on her own free will and volition, this couple, Jew and non-Jew, take ownership of their destiny and commit to building a loving Jewish home. The blessing Rebecca received that day – Ahoteinu at hayi l’alfei r’vavah, O sister, may you be fruitful and prosper – has been recited at every Jewish wedding ever since. May we, as did they, step up to the calling of the hour, take agency for the choices of our lives, each one of us a stakeholder in our shared Jewish future.
