As humans, we seem to always be in search of perfection.

Like that perfect cup of coffee I mentioned last week.

Can a flawed offering still be welcome?

Maybe our quest for perfection comes from Judaism!

Because this week, the Torah has us on the quest of the Holy.

The priest himself, and any animal offerings meant for God at the Temple, must be unblemished.

No animals with crushed testicles, for instance (for real!).

And the priest must be careful not to become defiled by coming in contact with the dead, (with exceptions).

They mustn’t marry a divorced woman, or someone “defiled by harlotry.”

Even the actions of those related somehow to the priest must be unblemished.

The blemish of the daughter of a priest who “plays the harlot” will rub off on him.

Thus, she must be “put to the fire” and burned.

No person, either, with any sort of blemish to their body, like a limb too long or too short, a physical “defect” of some sort, is qualified to make an offering.

All must be perfect in order to be acceptable for making expiation for wrongdoing.

Over and over in this Parsha, we are taught that to be holy is to be perfect.

This week I had a meeting with a pastor for an interfaith wedding at which I will be co-officiating.

I soon learned that the pastor was “non-denominational”—code-word for Evangelical.

As I sat listening to him, learning about his beliefs, I wondered if my agreeing to officiate at this wedding had been the right move.

From things he said, I could guess that he believed that I, as a Jew, am lacking some ultimate perfection—that of accepting Jesus as my “Lord and Savior.”

As he quoted from scripture, my eyes glazed over.

Voices rang in my ears that said, “Out of respect for Jews and Judaism, Jesus must not be mentioned” at the wedding; many a rabbi had already turned the couple down because they would not abide by this stipulation.

What if hearing a blessing in the name of Jesus offended someone?

How did I feel when I thought of being blessed in Jesus’ name?

And what if there was a Holocaust survivor in the room? How offensive would that be?

These voices stopped me in my tracks again. I thought I’d worked through this. I knew why I was doing this.

But I was forced to think again; What is my responsibility as a rabbi?

Am I to hold all the generational Jewish trauma in the weddings I help make happen?

Am I to turn away from this couple in the name of protecting the boundaries, the “fences” around Judaism?

My daughter asked me if I was worried about blemishing my reputation as a rabbi.

I reflected: not at all.

I think, rather, I was worried about holiness.

Are there any boundaries to holiness?

When I remember why I’m doing this, I think there are none.

I am agreeing to officiate at weddings that other rabbis refuse precisely because I think there are no boundaries to the holiness of love.

As we step more and more into an interfaith world, somehow it still feels like we’re in uncharted waters.

Yet it is not without precedent that I agree to celebrate the holiness of love that goes outside the bounds of accepted Jewish norms.

If my husband and I had not found a rabbi who would agree to co-officiate at our wedding, I highly doubt I myself would be a rabbi today.

I highly doubt I would have raised my children in a Jewish home.

If we hold the boundaries, the fences around Judaism, so tight that no one can climb over, then we are shutting people out that would potentially like to dip their toes into it.

And what about blemishing Judaism?

To me, the biggest thing that blemishes Judaism is a refusal to let people in.

What blemishes Judaism is hurting other Jews, and often non-Jews as well, because of that refusal.

I wonder what the world would be like if we were always in search of the holy instead of the perfect.

So, yes, I am officiating at these weddings, with these pastors who might mention Jesus.

Because I believe it would be unholy not to.

And I hope you can say Amen.