Make Sure Your Chairs: have armsAh, wedding season: Weekends fill up with nuptials as our friends and relatives (and maybe even a few of us) march down the aisle and get hoisted up on chairs to wave napkins and hope they don't get dropped. Weddings are beautiful and fun, but as anyone who has ever watched Bridezillas can tell you, they rarely go off without a hitch. Here are some tips for anyone who wants to avoid common Jewish wedding disasters.

1. Check Your Hebrew: If you’ll be having any Hebrew text on your invitation or program, and if you’re not really comfortable with the language, have the text proofread by someone who can catch typos, grammatical errors, and other miscommunications. I’ve seen invitations where ‘I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine’ became ‘My father is my beloved’s and my beloved is mine’ because of a typo. And a ketubah where ‘bride’ became ‘easy girl’ because of a spelling error. Don’t trust the artist or printer to be your Hebrew language expert.
2. Read Your Ketubah: If you’re going to have a ketubah, read the translation ahead of time to make sure that you’re both okay with it. As I’ve written before, it’s kind of a bizarre document, and many couples are uncomfortable with the traditional text. This is the kind of thing you want to talk about months before the wedding, especially if you’re having a ketubah made just for you. You don’t want to hear it read at the wedding and think, “That’s not very romantic.” Be prepared.
3. Test Drive the Glass: There are few things more embarrassing than watching while a groom haplessly stomps on a napkin over and over until the crowd finally hears a satisfying crunch. If you want to use a glass, try a very thin champagne flute. Or cheat and use a light bulb. Remember to save the shattered glass so you can have it made into a mezuzah for your home.
   
4. Find Chairs With Arms: You will be hoisted into the air, and if you have arms to hold onto, you’re less likely to fall or feel unsteady. It’s also good to have some strong friends and relatives on hand.
   
5. Choose Seven Friends: The seven wedding blessings need to be said under the chuppa following the grace after the meal. You may want to give the honor of the first seven to various family members, and the second seven to good friends. Just make sure whoever you ask is comfortable reading Hebrew out loud in front of a lot of people.

As Borat Would Say: "Very Nice. How Much?"There have been quite a few recent posts here about issues regarding ketubot. In April, the lovely Laurel posted about problems of aesthetics and wound up discovering some pretty awesome options. Earlier this month, titillating Tamar took it a tad further with a conversation about the actual language in a traditional ketubah, and how the document mainly functions as an outdated legal and financial contract. A commenter on that post noted the "lack of a woman's voice in the traditional ketubah."

As a woman, a writer, and a Jew, I am deeply affected by words and symbols. When I first heard that the wedding tradition of breaking a glass might have been meant to symbolize the anticipated breaking of the bride's hymen, I was more than a little distressed. Likewise, when I learned that the traditional Jewish wedding is a legal ceremony in which the man purchases the woman I found myself looking for more evolved alternatives that might still satisfy my taste for tradition. The incredibly inspired and creative Rabbi Jamie S. Korngold led me to a book by brilliant author and professor, Rachel Adler, titled Engendering Judaism: An Inclusive Theology and Ethics.

Engendering Judaism considers how women's full participation can transform Jewish law, prayer, sexuality, and marriage. Chapter 5, "B'rit Ahuvim: A Marriage Between Subjects," concerns itself entirely with the "unresolved tensions between woman as possession and woman as partner [that] are embedded in the classical liturgy upon which all modern Jewish wedding ceremonies draw." Adler calls the traditional legal language for Jewish marriage "fundamentally incompatible with egalitarian relationships," and demonstrates how we may "engender a truly covenantal marriage" with "a lovers' covenant, b'rit ahuvim."

These texts depict the marriage of a young virgin as a private commercial transaction in which rights over the woman are transferred from the father to the husband. This commercial origin is reflected in the relational terminology. The word for husband is ba'al, the general term for an owner, master, possessor of property, bearer of responsibility, or practitioner of a skill. No specialized relationship term exists for wife; she is simply isha, woman. The owner of a house is ba'al ha-bayit, the man responsible for an open pit is ba'al ha-bor, the owner of an ox is ba'al hashor, the owner of a slave is ba'al ha-eved, and the husband of a woman is ba'al isha. The sole signifier for marital relationship is the grammatical form of the construct (semikhut), which binds man and woman as subject and object of an implied preposition: ba'al isha, the master of a woman; eshet ish, the woman of a man.

Rabbinic espousal -- kiddushin -- bridges the girl's passage from her father's hands to her husband's. This transfer procedure is designed to prevent the anarchic and world-disordering expression of autonomous female sexuality that could occur during the dangerous hiatus between these two statuses of daughter and wife, when a girl might consider herself in her own independent domain.

In the Mishna, there is only one approved method for appropriating a wife: monetary acquisition.

At the same time, the rabbis etherealize the commercial transaction of biblical bride purchase into a symbolic act in which, at the ceremony at least, only a token sum of money changes hands. This sum, as little as a penny (peruta) according to the academy of Hillel, represents the biblical bride price, now transformed into a marriage settlement, written into the ketubbah document and paid not to the father but to the woman herself in the event of divorce or widowhood. It is as if the woman were purchased with an annuity due to mature at a future time. As for the token sum used for kiddushin, Ze'ev Falk explains, "the amount was then returned to the husband together with the other items of the wife's property, so that the 'purchase' had become a mere formality."

Adler says that "some apologists argue that marital acquisition is merely a figure of speech and bears no relation to its literal meaning." Of course, modern brides know that they're not actually being purchased, even if that is what the ancient text implies. Why, then, with this intellectual knowledge, can it prove to be so emotionally and spiritually troublesome? I decided to ask my friend, Dr. Jennifer Kaplan, a Jew, a woman, and a practicing psychologist.

"You wouldn’t sign a contract for a house with terms that you didn’t agree to. Seeing is believing. When we see what’s in the contract, it has an affect on us. There’s a part of us that’s offended, and there’s another part of us that says, “Yeah, it’s okay, it’s not literal.” But there’s still that part of you that signs your name to something you don’t subscribe to, and that doesn’t feel good."

Adler argues that women have good reason not to "feel good" about the ketubah, and the ritual of kiddushin. She explains that while "the purchase of the bride may have dwindled to a mere formality in the rabbinic transformation of marriage, her acquisition is no formality. The language of acquisition still accurately reflects a relationship in which the woman has been subsumed and possessed."

So, how do we reconcile our love of tradition with our desire for evolution? Adler has been kind enough to conceive of an alternative ceremony and contract, all the while working to ensure that as many elements as possible from the traditional ceremony were preserved. Here's a description and outline:

The b'rit ahuvim section that replaces the elements of kiddushin (the erusin blessing, declaration of acquisition, giving of the ring, and reading of the ketubbah) is both preceded and followed by traditional words and traditional melodies -- and, of course, the ceremony is performed under a huppah. The order of the service reflects this "frame" of traditional elements:

1. Mi adir 'al ha-kol (traditional invocation of blessing for the couple).
2. Officiant's speech (traditional). Following the invocation is a traditional time for the officiant to speak briefly, outlining and explaining the ceremony and its meaning and speaking personally about the couple. The officiant should take this opportunity to explain what a b'rit ahuvim is and to distinguish it from kiddushin.
3. Blessing over wine (analogous to the tradition, but distinct from it). In the kiddushin ceremony, this blessing would be followed by the erusin blessing, and only the couple would drink from the cup. Here, the officiant should explain that a blessing over a cup of wine is a way to begin a holy celebration. To distinguish this cup from the erusin cup, it may be passed to all those around the huppah.
4. Reading of the b'rit document in Hebrew and in English (analogous to the reading of the ketubbah but clearly distinguished from it by its contents).
5. Kinyan, acquisition of the partnership by placing symbols of pooled resources in the bag and lifting. This will be the most unfamiliar part of the ceremony, but it may also be powerful precisely because it is new. If the partners have put in distinctive personal objects and intend to talk about their significance for the partnership, they should do so before lifting the bag. Wedding rings can be placed in the bag at this time. The partners then lift the bag together and recite the blessing. They could then put on their rings.
6. The Sheva Berakhot, Seven Blessings (traditional).
7. Shattering the glass (traditional).
8. Yihud (traditional). Immediately after the ceremony, the partners go into a room to be alone together.

Adler's approach is deeply respectful and truly inspired. You can check out an example of a b'rit covenant in PDF form, courtesy of Rabbi Korngold, who chose a b'rit ahuvim for her own wedding.

B'rit or no B'rit, women ill at ease with the idea of being symbolically purchased can take this dilemma even further, turning it into an act of Tikkun Olam. The way I see it, we are the lucky ones. We get to question and debate the symbolic meanings of ancient rituals, then we get to choose what we want, dance the Horah and eat wedding cake. Our concerns are linguistic and theoretical. Not so for the thousands of women and children who are sold into slavery around the world each year. According to the Not For Sale Campaign, an estimated 27 million people around the globe are the victims of forced labor and commercial sexual exploitation from which they cannot free themselves. Perhaps the best thing that those of us who are uncomfortable with the idea of being commodified can do, whether we choose a ketubah or b'rit or neither, is take that passion and emotion, and funnel it into working on behalf of those who truly have been sold.

A while back Laurel wrote a couple of pieces about ketubahs, and notably about how to find one that isn’t ugly. But what Laurel neglected to mention is that ketubahs are kind of a problem for some of us Jewcy Jews.
Would You Frame This: And hang it over your bed?
People seem to think that ketubot are marriage contracts, and that they contain some kind of written agreement to love and cherish each other until death do us part. But actually, ketubot aren’t so much marriage contracts as they are prenuptial agreements. The original Aramaic text goes something like this:

On the ___ day of the week, the ___ day of the month ___, in the year 57__ since the creation of the world as we reckon time here in ___ (city, state), the groom, ___ son of ___, said to the bride, ___ daughter of ___, "Be my wife according to the laws of Moses and Israel and I will cherish, honor, support and maintain you as is the custom of Jewish husbands who cherish, honor, support and maintain their wives faithfully. And I have given the settlement of __* silver zuzim that is due you according the dictates of the Torah* and [I will provide] your food, clothing and other needs and [I will] live with you according to universal custom." And the bride consented and became his wife. And the dowry that she brought, whether in silver, gold or jewelry, clothing, furniture or linens, is accepted by the groom for the amount of __* pure silver pieces. And the groom chose to add from his own pocket an additional sum of __* pure silver pieces for a total of __* pure silver pieces. And thus spoke the groom: "The responsibility of this contract, the dowry and the additional sum, I accept upon myself and upon my heirs after me to be guaranteed with the best of my property and possessions that I now own or may hereafter acquire. All my property, real and personal, shall be mortgaged to secure the payment of this contract, the dowry and the additional sum, during and after my lifetime, from today and forever." And the groom accepted the responsibility of this contract, the dowry and the additional sum, in accordance with the substance of all marriage contracts and additional sums provided for the daughters of Israel according to the dictates of our sages of blessed memory. This is not simply a forfeiture without consideration nor a mere form of contract. And we have observed the symbolic delivery carried out between groom and bride with regard to all the above in a manner that is legally valid and binding.

Basically the text says that if at any point the groom dies or wants to get divorced his wife gets the cash discussed here so she’s not destitute. It’s really more to obligate his kids to pay for her in case he dies and they don’t like her. And if you’re wondering how many pieces of silver (zuzim) it costs to get hitched, the deal is that each family kicks in a hundred pieces if the bride is a virgin (there’s no examination--if you’ve never been married it’s assumed) and less if the bride is divorced or widowed.

These numbers are fixed now, but it used to be that there were heavy negotiations leading up to the writing of the ketubah. In part this was a function of families trying to give a new couple some kind of nest egg, and in part it was simply a business deal. It’s only in the past couple of centuries that we’ve gotten nervous about assigning monetary value to people. Before then people weren’t shy about insisting that they were being lowballed in a ketubah. It was, after all, a legal agreement that could have very serious ramifications for a woman, so she wanted to make sure she was covered if her husband headed for the hills or bought the farm.

I’m probably not alone here in thinking that this particular agreement is somewhat devoid of romance, right? Certainly there’s nothing about eternal love going on in the original text. It’s an insurance agreement more than anything else, and while I think insurance is really important, I don’t generally hire an artist to render a watercolored interpretation of my All State claim.

For whatever reason people have decided to really embrace this particular claim, so you can find ketubahs of all shapes and sizes to go with every kind of marriage, from Sephardic, to Interfaith to Reconstructionist to Commitment ceremony. In a way I think it’s cool that people want to write their own texts and be engaged with this legal tradition but I also find it puzzling. Why is this particular tradition of signing a document at a wedding so important?

I think it’s because we understand how tenuous love and relationships can be, and there’s a part of us that wants something in writing. We want words on paper, something tangible, to be framed and put up on a wall, to be reminded of when things are tough.

It is sometimes helpful to see something that obligates you to another person, even if it’s mainly a financial obligation. I’m not sure I would hang a traditional ketubah over the bed I share with my husband, but I have some sense of why one would do so. And I do feel an attachment to the original text, if only because it’s what has been binding Jewish couples together, for better or for worse, for thousands of years.

If you think Jewish marriage customs are complicated and bizarre, check out this list of things you didn’t know about Musim marriages according to Shari’a law.

Another Choice: Caplan's Rothko DesignsOkay, so I totally wimped out yesterday.  I think I was afraid to search for a “hip” kettubah because I feared that if I found one, and nobody else thought it was “hip,” I’d be branded as totally “unhip” forever.  But then a friend called me on my  bullshit, and so I spent a few hours last night hunting for the coolest Ketubah around. 

Guess what?  I actually found some things…. that don't look like synagogue windows.

These Ketubot by Jonathan Blum are really really different!  They’re essentially wooden frames, painted with YOUR likeness, and then the artist arranges for the parchment itself with a Sofer.  They have a kind of folk-art feel to them. I’ve never seen anything like ‘em!I Like: Blum's folk art frames

Another idea, as you hunt for the perfect Ketubah, is to sample a Jewish cultural tradition beyond your own.  It’s nice that we have Jewish art from all kinds of countries, a built in multi-culturalism from our diaspora.  I like this Persian design by Simcha Back.

If you scroll to the bottom of the page, you’ll find a few examples of Stephanie Caplan’s Rothko  Ketubot.  She has some other interesting stuff too, but I think these are great!

 If you really have money to spend, think about getting something special.  For a pretty penny you can have one of these made for you by Elsa Wachs.  Hand-embroidered on vintage fabrics.  Wow!

 

These papercut Ketubot  (designs by Archie Granot) are amazing. And anyone who doesn’t think so should try cutting paper sometime.  I’m not certain the effect comes through fully online, but these are pretty complex works of art. 

And Then There's This: For kissy JewsIn Nishima Kaplan’s gallery of designs, I found a lot of different kinds of things beyond the stained glass window style.  Here’s   one that looks like Klimts,“The Kiss”.  And Michelle Rummel uses similar Klimt-y inspiration.  I suppose where weddings are concerned, Klimt is to painting what Yehuda Amichai’s is to poetry.  But there’s a reason things get to be trendy…

These Ketubot are very plain, but they have a clean feel to them (you could never accuse them of looking like stained glass from the seventies), and the sofer(et) behind them sounds very very neat (she invented Tefillin Barbie!).

And last, but not least…

The Talmud Ketubah: Kicks it old skoolThe Design Lab offers these Ketubot, by Gad Almaliah.  I don’t know if they’re hip, but they appeal to me.  Plainer and pretty traditional, some with embossed metal around the text.  This one looks like a page of Talmud, and it rocks.  I don’t know… I kind of feel like… if you’re going to hit some tradition, hit it hard.   

So, although I could have looked at these things all night, that’s the word on “hip” Ketubot (for now).  But if you ever are really hunting for something different, backchannel me, and I'll see what I can do to help you search.

One last note… in my quest for a cool Ketubah, I stumbled upon this site.  It’s a blog where some folks collaborated on a Ketubah.  And I wanted to add that I think this is awesome.   I don't love the design, but I do admire the idea. 

For what it’s worth, if I weren’t married yet, I think I might try making my own, or asking friends to collaborate on something…  Or maybe stealing Jonathan Blum's idea, and making a frame, and then putting a plain Ketubah in the frame.  Or asking an artist who doesn't usually make Ketubot to build a one-of-a-kind frame for me.

 

I think it’d be a neat thing to surprise my husband with.  He loves old maps, and music and as I’ve been writing this post, I keep imagining the Ketubah frame I could make out of  an old musty map and faded sheet music…