Old becomes new as couples personalize wedding ceremonies
In the U.S., some customize the traditional Jewish wedding to allow for self-expression and individuality.
In the months before his wedding, Jon Cetel cringed at the notion of having his friends dance him to his bride at a traditional bedeken ceremony, where he would place the veil over her face.
The concept “was completely foreign to me,” he said. It “felt too traditional.”
But his bride, Ashley Novack, 26, was entranced by the tradition. “I love dancing, and this sounded like an amazing opportunity definitely not to be missed,” she said.
Rabbi Shira Stutman, director of community engagement at the Sixth & I Historic Synagogue in Washington and the officiant at their wedding, had a suggestion: Reverse it.
“Subverting thousands of years of tradition, I would dance over to Jon,” said Novack, who called it one of her favorite moments of their 2010 wedding. “I was filled with love and joy as the remarkable women in my life encircled me and danced me over to Jon.”
Cetel, 27, ended up loving it, too. “The sound of Ashley’s entourage approaching was thunderous and powerful,” he said. “I probably ended up liking it even more than Ashley.”
The Conservative-raised Philadelphia couple’s twist was by no means traditional, but it was an example of a growing practice of couples putting new spins on ancient wedding traditions. From adapting non-egalitarian parts of the ceremony to having friends officiate, it’s all part of a trend toward personalizing the wedding ceremony.
“It’s very important for people to incorporate their voices,” said Rabbi Sharon Brous, founding rabbi of the progressive Ikar community in Los Angeles. “That’s the way the old becomes new.”
Sara Cohen of Somerville, Mass., and her bridegroom decided to forego a rabbi, instead asking close friends to officiate at their 2009 wedding.
“We didn’t have a rabbi in our life that felt like ours,” said Cohen, 41. “The bigger reason was we really liked the idea of having people who know us really well do the wedding.”
They asked a lifelong friend of hers, a Jewish studies professor with Universal Life Minister credentials, and a close friend of his to perform the ceremony. But the couple also consulted with a rabbi about the ceremony, which included the traditional hallmarks.
There is no Jewish legal requirement that a rabbi or cantor officiate at a wedding; according to halachah, two witnesses are required to make the ceremony official. Having a rabbi can also add $1,000 or more to the cost of a wedding.
Some rabbis are nonplussed by the idea of clergy-free nuptials.
“It may make for a lovely ceremony, but it does not serve in any way to connect the couple in an official way to the Jewish community by someone who’s been ordained by the community,” said Rabbi Rex Perlmeter, the Union for Reform Judaism’s worship and spirituality specialist. “I think it’s sad and it’s a diminishment of connection to community and tradition.”
He also warned of the loss of premarital counseling by clergy.
But Perlmeter praised the notion of having friends participate in the wedding service in other ways. Couples long have had friends and honored guests recite the seven traditional blessings, but now couples are asking friends to add their own creative translations, blessings or even poetry readings to the blessings.
They are “personalizing it and rendering it unique,” Perlmeter said.
Rabbi Ruth Abusch-Magder, rabbi in residence at Be'chol Lashon, an initiative of the Institute for Jewish and Community Research in San Francisco, says there are practical reasons to have a rabbi officiate, including smoothing over family squabbles.
“When the rabbi takes care of it, there’s a pastoral piece involved,” she said. “Weddings are very, very emotional.”
Ra’anan Boustan, Abusch-Magder's brother-in-law and one of the officiants at Cohen’s wedding, dismissed such concerns. Laypeople can do those things just as well or even better than a rabbi, he said, particularly if, as in many cases, the rabbi doesn’t know the couple very well.
Noting that he and his wife didn't know their officiating rabbi well, and did not have premarital counseling with him, Boustan says, "I don’t see that was terribly preferable to the three cases in which I married my best friend from college, my wife’s sister-in-law and a friend from childhood.”
More commonly, couples are making egalitarian adaptations to ceremonies that until recently largely had been ignored outside of Orthodoxy.
For example, Orthodox brides traditionally encircle their grooms seven times under the chuppah. It's now common for many brides and grooms to circle one another; typically each circles the other three times, then they walk around once together.
Dual-ring ceremonies, long the norm in the non-Orthodox world, are no longer unheard of among Orthodox couples.
And the tisch -- a traditional time for the men to get together, discuss Torah, celebrate and sometimes be silly while the bride and female guests hold their own party as they await the bedeken -- has gone egalitarian, too, with the bride and groom each holding a separate, often mixed-gender tisch.
That's one of several suggestions that Rabbi Dov Linzer, dean of the Yeshivat Chovevei Rabbinical School in New York, offers to give women a greater role in Orthodox wedding ceremonies.
Linzer also suggests that after the groom has put the veil on the bride, she wrap him in a tallit; that the couple's Hebrew names include the mother's as well as the father's names; and that women are asked along with men to recite the seven wedding blessings, albeit the woman would do so in translation.
Julianne and Justin Miller of Canandaigua, N.Y., each had a tisch at their 2000 wedding and a double bedeken.
“At the first part of the ceremony, I put his kipah on him before he put the veil on me,” said Julianne Miller, 38.
Not only did that make the ceremony more egalitarian but, Miller says -- in jest -- it also was a chance to be sure she had the right groom.
Her husband is an identical twin.
“Before I put the kipah on him, I looked in the crowd to make sure I saw his brother," Miller said.
Rabbi Julia Andelman, 36, and her husband, Eitan Fishbane, a professor at the Conservative movement’s Jewish Theological Seminary, opted out of kiddushin, the betrothal portion of the wedding ceremony in which the bridegroom “acquires” his bride by giving her a ring.
“We wanted something equally binding for both parties, and God forbid the marriage would not work out, we wanted something that would not require a get,” she said, referring to the religious divorce decree. “You need a get to dissolve to kiddushin, so if you don’t have kiddushin, you don’t need a get.”
But the couple retained the "nisuin" portion -- the seven blessings known as the "sheva brachot" -- binding them together as husband and wife.
“There are certainly people who could argue we’re not halachically married,” said Andelman, a former congregational rabbi who directs the Engaging Israel Project in North America.
She and Fishbane also each wore a kittel, the white robe traditionally worn by men at weddings and certain other special occasions.
Some of the creativity at weddings stems from efforts to create meaningful ceremonies within a Jewish framework for same-sex couples, said Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg, a senior Jewish educator at the Tufts University Hillel.
“There’s a little more permission to look outside the old box,” said Ruttenberg, who maintains a website, the Kiddushin Variations, with postings on rabbinic opinions regarding egalitarian ceremonies.
Aaron Dorfman and his bride, Talia Milgrom-Elcott, wanted to eliminate any portion of the ceremony that spoke of acquisition, including exchanging rings.
Instead they borrowed rings from other people and used those rings as exchanges. This way, the rings “could not be perceived as halachically effecting legal acquisition because they were not ours to give,” Dorfman said.
As a sign of protest that most U.S. states don’t sanction gay marriage, the couple, who live in New York, borrowed from a Passover tradition: As seder participants reciting the Ten Plagues traditionally spill a drop of wine for each plague in recognition of the pain of others, they spilled some of the ceremonial wine before drinking it to signal some diminishing of joy.