It is Time Now: A Rosh Hashanah Sermon

As second year students in Rabbinical School at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in Cincinnati, OH, my classmates and I found ourselves in a required course that was intended to teach us the practical skills we would need to officiate at all Jewish life-cycles ceremonies. 

As a part of that class, we practiced what we were learning by role playing some of various scenarios that we would encounter once we were rabbis. The goal of all of these exercises was for us to feel and- more importantly- to be ready when our future congregants called us to tell us that a baby had been born, a loved one had passed away, or that they wanted us to be with them at any number of moments on their life’s journeys.

As I stand on this bimah this morning, it has been sixteen years since I was enrolled in that course, but, even with all of that time and distance, there is a specific class session that is still clear and bright in my memory. 

This memorable session fell within the weeks that my fellow student rabbis and I were learning how to perform weddings, and, in this particular class, our teacher began by saying, “Ok, Chaverim, I want each of you to imagine that you’re a rabbi, and you’re sitting in your rabbinic office. You’re studying Torah or doing another suitably rabbinic thing when all of a sudden your phone rings. You pick it up, and you are delighted to find that it is one of your former students on the line. Your former student excitedly tells you that she has met someone wonderful at grad school and that they are engaged! Without giving you a second to respond, your former student rushes to add that her fiance isn’t Jewish, but that he understands that it’s very important to her to have a rabbi officiate at their wedding. “He supports my love of Judaism,” your former student explains. “He’s just not Jewish himself.” Having filled you in on her life, your former student concludes by saying that she doesn’t know if you, her childhood rabbi, officiate at interfaith weddings, but that she’s hoping that you will be the rabbi to stand under the chuppah with her and her fiance.”

Having detailed her prompt, our teacher then paused dramatically and did a kind of spin as she made eye contact with each of us. And then she said, “Ok, future rabbis, that’s the scenario. Now let’s go around the room. I want to hear from each of you. In this situation, what are you going to say?”

My classmates and I had already studied the history, customs, and laws of Jewish weddings, and, at least in my opinion, it had been made very clear to all of us that while our teachers acknowledged that most of us had already decided to officiate at interfaith weddings, they were determined to teach us that we should do so only begrudgingly or only after making sure the interfaith couples we worked with were successfully able to jump through any number of pre-requisite hoops.

Because of all of this unstated messaging from our teachers, I am sure that my classmates felt the same way that I did in the moment when our teacher revealed the scenario… because I know that I felt like it was a test and that the stakes were high. 

Given all of that background, I was not surprised at all when, as we went around the room, all of my classmates play-acted holding a phone while saying some version of, “Well yes I do officiate at some interfaith weddings, but I have a lot of requirements for the interfaith couples that I work with.” Or even “Well- Before I commit to marrying you, we’ll need to meet so that you can tell me whether you’ll promise to raise your children as Jews.” 

And, that’s how it went, classmate after classmate, until our teacher got to me. “Ok Future Rabbi Bearman,” she said, “You’re in your rabbinic office and you get this phone call from your former student asking if you’ll officiate at her wedding to a non-Jewish man, what do you have to say to her?”

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, picked up my pretend phone, and said, “Well- I would start by saying, ‘MAZEL TOV on your engagement! I’m so glad that you found the person you want to build your life with! It means so much to me that you are inviting me to be a part of your joyful experience.”

Our teacher didn’t react, so I did what I tend to do when faced with uncomfortable silences… I continued talking, “And after I told my former student all of that, I would explain that before I say yes to officiating for any couple, regardless of their religious backgrounds, I always meet with them so that I can explain what I do at weddings, so they can ask me any questions that they have, and so that I can get a sense of whether the two of them have built a healthy, strong, and safe foundation for their relationship to grow from. And, I then would tell her that after our first meeting, all three of us would have the chance to decide whether we were the right match.”

I said all of this in a rush… not entirely certain that it would be approved of by my teacher but bone-deep certain that it was my honest and real answer to my teacher’s question.

To this day, I’m not sure if my answer was the one my teacher wanted. I just remember her giving a kind of smirking smile and saying something like, “It’s always good to start with, ‘Mazel Tov,” and then moving on. 

Looking back on that moment in class, I don’t attribute the difference in my answer to my having a radically different position on the subject than most of my classmates. In fact, all but one of us began and ended rabbinical school committed to officiating at weddings that involved a Jewish person and a non-Jewish person. 

Instead, in hindsight, there is a clear reason that the majority of my fellow rabbinical students felt compelled to begin their answers by outlining requirements, and that reason is that Rabbinical school seemed focused on teaching future rabbis that our primary responsibility was to guard the integrity of Judaism even if that meant keeping Judaism separate from the people who belonged to our Jewish communities.

Sure, we learned that we, as rabbis, could and should be friendly, welcoming, and supportive for all our members… but our schooling taught us that we should never forget that if we let our guards down for even a minute, we could compromise the Jewish tradition that had survived for thousands of years. My classmates and I were taught, just as other generations of rabbis have been taught, that rabbis were both the guards at the gate and all that remained of the gate itself. 

I have been a rabbi for more than 12 years now, and, in that time, I have officiated at more weddings between a Jew and non-Jew than I have officiated at Jewish-Jewish weddings. But, more than that, I have officiated at hundreds of B’nai Mitzvah services, baby namings, funerals, and other life-cycle events where part of the family that was celebrating was not Jewish. And too many times, I have sat across a desk from someone who cautiously and quietly “admitted” to me that they have non-Jewish family members and that they were wondering if their non-Jewish family members would be allowed to be a part of their life cycle moment.

It always breaks my heart to hear these questions because in almost every case, I can hear the questions underneath what is spoken out loud: “Will my rabbi see me and my family as we truly are? Do we have to pretend to be something we are not in order to belong here? In this moment of joy or achievement or crisis or pain, do we need to take on the additional burden of pretending not to want or need the presence of my non Jewish loved ones? How much of myself or my partner will we need to give up in order to fit in here? Will the person I am and will the family that I’ve built be judged as worthy of being served by my Jewish clergy?”

I can still remember the faces of the first interfaith couple who listened as I explained that I would be happy to change some of the wording in the wedding service so that the non-Jewish groom wouldn’t need to use the very Jewish-specific language of the original ceremony. I can remember the way that their shoulders came down as they realized that on the day of their wedding, they wouldn’t have to pretend to be anyone other than themselves. 

The reason that I remember them so clearly is that my first interfaith wedding was actually my first wedding ever… and it was also the wedding of my brother-in-law and my youngest sister. Standing under their chuppah with my sister’s and my parents on one side and my brother-in-law’s parents on the other was an experience that was so filled with joy and curiosity, and humor. That moment taught me that my instincts were right, and that my role as a rabbi was not to demand that my couple reshape themselves to fit some platonic ideal of Judaism but instead to embrace the people in front of me and utilize the variety and wisdom of Judaism to offer the real people I was serving as many points of Jewish connection and meaning as I could.

Years later, I stood under another chuppah with my middle sister and my now- brother-in-law who is also not Jewish. And, once again, I marvelled at how much joy Judaism could offer to that moment and how much flexibility exists within our tradition. As I listened to my sister and brother in law exchange their vows, I remember that I caught the eye of my sister’s new mother-in-law, a woman who was not super familiar with Judaism and who had been so deeply and nervously respectful of me as “THE RABBI.” 

We shared a smile in that moment, and I reflected on how we had been able to connect so well earlier in the day when she realized that I did not expect her to pretend to be Jewish or to know everything about Judaism and that instead I was willing to explain the Jewish elements of the ceremony because I cared deeply about whether she and her family were comfortable at her son’s wedding.

I don’t share these stories to toot my own horn but instead because along with countless other life cycle moments, they reinforced what I have always known to be true: that when rabbis celebrate and honor the people we have in front of us, as they truly are, in all of their nuances and intricacies, we have the potential to create MORE Jewish connections, to build stronger bridges between family members, and to add infinitely more meaning to life’s journey. 

For too long, generations of rabbis, cantors, and Jewish professionals have been supportive of interfaith marriages and families only if the non-Jewish member was willing to take on the added burden of only being partially present, only being partially seen. This limited professional support does not reflect the beauty and diversity of our actual Jewish community as the American Reform Movement or our specific Jewish community of Temple Beth Or where at least half of our member families include a non-Jewish adult. 

It is time now for us to move past the idea that Judaism is something that must be guarded in order for it to survive. It is time now to embrace Judaism with open arms and to honor all of the people who have chosen to be in this company of Jewish people. It is time for us to define ourselves not by someone else’s standards but by our own, and to do so unapologetically. 

We are a Jewish community where almost a fourth of the adult members are leading Jewish households while not being Jewish themselves. We are a Jewish community that is strengthened by many Jews-by-choice and whose non-Jewish parents and siblings and extended families are welcome and encouraged to participate and to learn and to continue being involved in their loved ones’ lives. 

It is time now for every parent to have the option of being included on their children’s baby naming certificates. Just because someone isn’t Jewish does not mean that they are not the parent of a Jewish child. And, it is more than ok, it is amazing for our children’s Hebrew names to reflect the fullness of their parents’ identities. 

It is time now for the criteria for who is included in the Torah passing at B’nai Mitzvah services to shift from “Is this parent or grandparent Jewish?” to instead be “Does this parent or grandparent support this child’s Jewish journey?”

It is time now for TBO member families to know deeply and certainly that in a time of crisis or tragedy, their clergy will tend to all of our members, those who are Jewish and those who are not Jewish. 

It is time now for non-Jewish members of Jewish families to be recognized as the integral parts of this community that they have long been. It is time now for us to celebrate the fact that our families are diverse and unique and wonderful- loudly, from the bimah, and with pride. 

It is time now for us to make it clear that our community is blessed to have more than 500 member families and that there is no division or hierarchy between the families with only Jewish adults and those with a Jewish adult and a non-Jewish adult. In fact, it is time for us to celebrate the fact that we have over 500 Jewish families in this community and that some of those families are being led by non-Jewish adults who have committed themselves to the Jewish community despite not being Jewish themselves.

Even though at this point in my career, I have stood with hundreds of families as they celebrated a child’s becoming B’nai Mitzvah, my favorite Torah passing, the Torah passing that is imprinted in my heart and on my soul, was the very first Torah passing that I saw. It was also the Torah passing at my own Bat Mitzvah celebration.

As background, my mother chose Judaism more than 40 years ago and that means that while my nuclear family was made up of all Jewish people, one side of my extended family is not Jewish. For my whole life, I have known that while my Anderson relatives did not share the Judaism that my mom chose and that my parents gave to my sisters and me, they did and do support our Judaism and have been excited to participate in as much as they could. 

On the day of my Bat Mitzvah service, I stood at the foot of the bimah as we lined up for the Torah passing trying and mostly failing to not be incredibly anxious about having to hold the Torah. In an effort to soothe my nerves, I looked down the line of my loved ones. I peered past my parents, and saw my Jewish grandparents and great grandpa standing tall in the sanctuary that they had been in countless times, and then I saw my Catholic Grandma Dolly who was standing tall next to my mom. 

Even as a young teenager, I noticed how confident she appeared even though I knew she had to be nervous since this was entirely foreign to her. And then I watched as my Rabbi leaned the Torah into each of my family members’ arms, one by one, until he got to my Grandma Dolly. Without pausing, he leaned the Torah into Grandma’s arms, and she embraced it respectfully and reverently before giving it to my mom. 

It was only later in life that I learned that, in some congregations, that moment would not have been allowed. And, I will be forever grateful that my Torah passing included my Catholic grandmother because her inclusion allowed me to show up as my whole self. It taught me, as a young Jewish woman, that all of my family members - regardless of their own religions - were welcome in my Judaism and in my Jewish community.

I sometimes think about what I would tell the student rabbi version of myself now that I am more than a decade into my rabbinate, and one of the messages I know that I would deliver with gusto is that there is a much better metaphor for rabbinic work than the image of a gatekeeper guarding an ancient gate. Instead, I would tell my younger self that the best metaphor for rabbinic work is a Torah passing. 

As a rabbi, I believe that my role is to place the gift of Judaism into the arms of as many people as I can, and whether they barely touch it, embrace it and then step back, or take it fully from my hands is up to them- and each option is a good and holy and worthy result.

The holiness and power of our religion comes from Judaism’s relevance, accessibility, and flexibility. Each member of our congregation is worthy of accessing the valuable wisdom of Judaism, and I see it as my responsibility to help every person find what they are searching for within our tradition.

Judaism does not need protectors. It needs people who are willing to circle round to tend the fires that we have inherited. It needs people willing to delve deeply into the tradition and to sow the seeds of beauty that they find in their explorations. It is time now for us to fully embrace the community that we have already created. It is time now for us to thrive exactly as we are… because of who we are.