There are moments in life when joy and trembling meet. Less than two weeks away from my wedding to Aliza, my beloved fiancée, I feel both. Joy, because before us lies the promise of a shared future, God willing, stretching across the years. Trepidation, because marriage means change, and change, even the most wonderful kind, awakens our fears as well as our hopes.
That, I believe, is why Judaism speaks of our relationship with God not only as that of parent and child, or king and subject, but also – remarkably – as that of bridegroom and bride
Each morning, as Jewish men wrap the straps of tefillin around their arm, they recite the words of Hosea: “I will betroth you to Me forever; I will betroth you to Me in righteousness, justice, kindness, and mercy. I will betroth you to Me in faithfulness, and you shall know the Lord” (Hosea 2:21–22). We are God’s fiancée. Not yet married, but pledged; not yet at home together, but bound by a covenant of love.
This week’s Torah portion, Re’eh, returns to that theme. Sixteen times, the text speaks of “the place that the Lord your God will choose to cause His name to dwell.” The Sages understood this as a reference to the Temple in Jerusalem. Yet the Torah never names the city. Why? Because the holiness of the place was not to be a possession but a destiny. If it had been named in advance, other nations might have turned it into a shrine for idols. Its sanctity had to be revealed in history, through God’s choice and Israel’s faithfulness.
More than half the weekly portions of the Torah refer, directly or indirectly, to the mishkan (“Temple”). By the Rabbinic principle of rubo ke’kulo – the part standing for the whole – we might even say: The entire Torah is a call to return, to rebuild, to restore the meeting place of God and His people.
And yet, though history has given us the chance – most dramatically in June 1967, when General Motta Gur announced “Har HaBayit b’yadeinu,” – “The Temple Mount is in our hands!” – we have not yet taken that final step. Why not?
Out of love for God
Rabbi Elie Mischel has suggested that it is precisely because we are still God’s fiancée. We know that one day the relationship will be transformed when we build our common home, the Third Temple. But like every couple before marriage, we hesitate. We are attached to our familiar lives, even in exile, even when we live in Israel but carry within us the habits of the Diaspora. Engagement holds the promise of more but also the fear of leaving the past behind.
Here, a Jewish wedding contains a profound clue. Just after, or just before, the seven blessings that complete the wedding ceremony, the groom shatters a glass beneath his foot. It is usually explained as a remembrance of the destruction of our holy temples, even in our happiest hour. But perhaps there is another layer of meaning. To move from engagement to marriage requires courage. We can deliberate endlessly, but there comes a moment when we must act. The sudden breaking of the glass is the leap of faith: a decisive, irreversible act that changes our status from “fiancée” to “bride.” Only when the glass is shattered can the covenant be sealed.
In a few days, with gratitude, awe, and Hashem’s will, I will take that step with Aliza. My prayer is that we, the Jewish people, will find the courage to do the same: to move beyond engagement, to build our home with God in Jerusalem, and to begin a new chapter in our ancient story.
For then, as Hosea promised, we will truly be betrothed to God forever, in faithfulness, in love, and in joy.
The writer is a rabbi and educator, based in Efrat with his three children and soon-to-be wife. He is author of Transforming the World, and an innovative English edition of the Talmud printed in traditional format with translations of Rashi, Tosefot, and more.