I’m putting the campus protests aside for just a moment.

Even though I’m obsessed.

I’m putting aside the idea that perhaps all that we are hearing, even in mainstream media, is not completely accurate.

That perhaps there is instigation and fear-mongering for political gain (for a helpful read, take a look at this and this).

Right now, though, I need to tell you about two weddings I officiated this week.

(But please stay curious, because I will circle back around before the end.)

On Saturday night, it was a Jewish-Indian wedding in Queens (NYC, for those who don’t know).

Tuesday evening, it was at a beach wedding out on Long Island.

(Very different vibe, both gorgeous, and you can check out a few photos here.)

In both cases, the bride was Jewish and the groom was not.

There was no other officiant other than the rabbi (that’s me!) in both cases, so you can’t totally call them interfaith.

The brides really wanted their Jewish wedding.

The one they had dreamed of.

And the grooms were very happy to go along with it.

Their faith, in either case, is not very strong.

Yet their identity as Jews is important enough for them to want a rabbi.

Again and again, I hear of rabbis yelling at couples like these.

What they all seek is someone to support them spiritually and Jewishly, and also appreciate and fully welcome their non-Jewish partner and family.

Not just half-assed. You know what I mean?

In both cases, the families loved and supported their children’s choices wholeheartedly and joyfully.

It’s the way most of us would like to see the world.

Everybody getting along. You know what I mean?

Both times there was absolutely no awareness (forget regard) for kosher food and what that means.

There was pork sausage and cheese (in the same dish), shrimp, and meat in cream sauces…that kind of thing.

I tried my best to keep within my own, personal guidelines, and worried momentarily if others were watching what “The Rabbi” was eating.

Then I realized they weren’t. And couldn’t care less.

For them, I was no less of a rabbi for what I might be eating—than for being a woman.

The couples heard Jewish prayers, circled each other, and sang Jewish songs, said Hebrew words, were lifted up in chairs, and danced their horah.

And nobody worried about just how Jewish or not-Jewish it all was.

They were curious, but not judgy.

You know what I mean?

(Where did those melodies come from? That feeling they got when everyone sang together?)

And the couples had their dream come true.

This week in Torah (yes, here it comes), we are reminded not to follow practices of “other nations.”

And to “love our fellow as ourselves.”

(Even the “stranger in our midst.”)

When I first thought about officiating at weddings, I thought it would be a (perhaps) good way to monetize on my rabbi skills.

I thought of it as maybe just a little bit frivolous, like people were just creating their “dream wedding.”

A little Disney-like.

But it’s been confirmed for me again and again, for most people, that it’s so much more.

At the beginning of each wedding, I’ve made it a custom to point out that at the end of the ceremony, the couple will break a glass.

I point to the feeling that we all have, right now especially, perhaps, that the world is very broken.

(Everyone nods and sighs. Or sighs and nods.)

Then I tell them of the Jewish mystical teaching that the world was created with a broken vessel.

And that we Jews, and humans in general, are a tiny piece of that vessel.

That we are meant to participate in repairing this vessel, and thus repairing the world.

Each in our own small way.

I also bring in the Jewish mystical idea that every couple is Divinely arranged.

And that each match carries with it the potential for Tikkun, or repair.

At the end of the day, what I realize is that I am not only offering the idea that the couple can play a part in the Tikkun of the world, but I am as well.

I help open space in the Jewish world where there is often judgement and exclusion.

Where there is hierarchy of “purity,” and patriarchy.

Let’s take this a step further.

Let’s think about what we’re saying not only to each other, but about each other—within “our own” people.

Remember, we are commanded to love our fellow as ourselves.

Yet, the vicious (yes, vicious) speech of my fellow Jews toward each other is hurtful, harmful, and divisive.

Regardless of who’s right, who’s wrong, who’s doing more harm, who’s more hateful.

It’s infuriating.

To read on social media, or hear with my own ears, as Jews hurl insults at each other.

That others should claim that their fellow Jews who “deny Zionism must also deny their Jewishness.”

Do we have the right to define other people’s Jewishness for them?

Are these same people claiming the right to define another’s gender or sexual orientation for them?

Or the right to define another’s nationality or peoplehood for them?

If others do this to Jews, and we don’t like it, should we do it to them?

For instance:

Are Jews a religion or a nationality?

Are Jews a people?

A race?

A culture?

Are Palestinians a “legitimate” people, or is that “fake”?

Does any of this even really matter?

Isn’t what matters most is that hostages are still being held, and may not come out alive?

Isn’t what matters most is that people are dying of starvation, being killed and displaced?

Isn’t what matters most is that people are being traumatized?

How can we proclaim that we are a peace-loving people as Jews when we participate in judging and insulting each other?

I don’t really care in this moment who is right and who is wrong.

What I do care about is misinformation.

I care about the press (including mainstream media!) going after the “sexiest” stories without actually talking to students on campus, for instance.

I care about politicians (who couldn’t care less about Jews and antisemitism) taking advantage of a situation for their personal gain.

I care about social media becoming a place for hate speech and insults—and more misinformation.

I care about whether we are willing to consider the possibility that what we are hearing or reading might not be entirely true.

I care about whether we can be open to information from sources outside what is the norm for each of us.

Information that might make us uncomfortable because it challenges our sense of self.

Our sense of identity.

Our sense of safety, and keeps us inside our own little bubble.

But what if our bubble keeps us in a place of fear?

Are there people who profit from our fear and want to keep us there?

I wonder if Holocaust Remembrance Day has been used to reinforce that fear.

But let me be clear; I in no way belittle the fear.

Fear is very real, and based on a history of real trauma.

But often fear and trauma become a reason to be Jewish.

And do we want to stay stuck in a place of fear, consciously or unconsciously?

How is that helpful?

So I ask, can we simply be open to hearing?

In spite of our fear.

Can we challenge ourselves to stay curious?

In spite of our fear.

And in spite if what we think we know?

In spite of our historical and/or personal trauma?

And then decide what’s true and what’s not.

This week I want to bless us with being more open to different information.

To break out of our habits.

To be kinder to each other, and encourage others to do the same by way of example.

And thus, in one small way, to participate in the Tikkun, the repair, of the world.

Then maybe we can get closer to achieving the world we say we dream of.

May it be so.

Shabbat Shalom.