I got off the plane a number of years ago, in a foreign land and far from home, and stood at the carousel to reclaim my bags. For some inexplicable reason my luggage arrived at baggage claim soaking wet, on a clear, dry day. But there was no time to complain to the otherwise indifferent Belgian authorities; jet-lagged, without a change of clothes or a moment to wash up, away I went, pushed by panicky parents afraid we’d be late, into a cab and off to a courthouse, a town hall on a Thursday morning, pulling in just in time for my brother’s civil – and thus actual and legal – wedding ceremony.

I had a bit more time to catch my breath, find a dry cleaners, settle in, celebrate Shabbat and then get ready for the next event: his synagogue wedding ceremony, the following Sunday morning.

You see, the way it works, in much of Europe, is that the civil and religious ceremonies are distinct acts, separated from each other. The civil ceremony takes place under the guise and watchful eyes of the legal officials of the state; the religious ceremony – if it takes place at all – is entirely in the hands of ecclesiastical authority. In some ways, for planning purposes, it is vaguely anti-Semitic in its impact: Christian couples go off to town hall on a Saturday, and seamlessly move on to church the same day. But Jewish couples can’t quite do that. For town hall is closed on Sunday – and Jews cannot marry on Shabbat.

Calendar quibbles aside, however, it is an interesting idea, this actual separation of church and state when it comes to weddings. It’s an odd thing, after all, to make a rabbi or a minister an agent of the state; stranger still, I believe, for the sovereign state to act as a stand-in for the Almighty. Inconvenient as the separate ceremonies might have been, you know… they might have a point. This unholy alliance between religious and civil authority is a source of all kind of problems. Maybe the state should just do all wedding ceremonies. Or… maybe the state should do none of them.

Which is why I smiled, a bit, on reading in the Washington Post on Tuesday, February 5th of Maryland State Senator (D-Mont.) Jamie Raskin’s proposal to abolish civil marriage ceremonies altogether in our state – and replace them with domestic partnerships for all couples.

The motive here, of course, is clear. The opponents of same-sex marriage say that “traditional marriage” comes directly from God. Fine. Then let those who want that go to a house of God to get it. And let each denomination follow the dictates of its own conscience, provide for the needs – or face the judgment – of its own flock. But as citizens of a state, all of us – all couples, gay and straight, all of us should be, in the eyes of the secular authority… all of us should stand on common ground. And on equal footing.

The intricacies of the legislative issue are the topic for another time. Our observance of Freedom to Marry Week continues tomorrow night, as our congregation proudly hosts a Social Justice Havdalah. Following the ceremony marking the end of Shabbat at 5:30pm, a panel, including Rabbi Serotta, will address the topic of “Why Marriage Equality? Isn’t Civil Union Enough?”

In general, of course, our position as a movement, our policy as a synagogue, my own stance as a rabbi are all crystal clear on this point: we support civil marriage equality for same-sex couples. As the sign which flies at our entrance proclaims: “Civil Marriage is a Civil Right.”

Furthermore, we also stand firmly in favor of full religious equality. The state bills barely address the question of religious ceremonies – except as a kind of reassurance to the religious right that no clergy person or denomination could ever be required to do something against the tenets of their own beliefs. But our belief is clear here as well: I have blessed same-sex couples here, proudly performed wedding ceremonies under a chuppah right here where I stand, on this very bimah.

---

[A funny story, from what I believe was the very first such ceremony held at our congregation…There was a Sunday morning, several years ago, when there were two events happening in our building at the same time. The first, was a bris, a brit milah, a circumcision ceremony held in our Chapel. The second was a wedding, here in the Sanctuary. This was a lesbian wedding, and one of the two women was in rabbinical school at the time. So I was not officiating, the women brought in a rabbi from California, the colleague with whom the rabbinical student was working as an intern.

So I come by the synagogue to check in, and also, I must confess, because I had not yet seen a same-sex ceremony, but had one coming up and wanted to see what a colleague would do. So I’m standing in the doorway to our administrative offices downstairs… now, this may be one of those “you had to be there” moments, but I’m trying to get you to picture the scene... so here I am, standing next to the very Orthodox mohel getting ready to perform the circumcision, we were speaking in Hebrew, so I said “bati lirot im hakol b’seder; I came by to see if everything is alright…” and just then a procession begins right in front of us. At the head of the procession is a very pregnant rabbi, followed by both brides, in traditional bridal gowns. I mean, full regalia, flowing white dresses.

The mohel turns several shades of white. “Sh’tei kallot!” he said. “Two brides! Hakol lo b’seder. Everything is not alright.” I patted his arm in what might have been a slightly condescending gesture, I suppose, and told him that “by us, everything is alright.”

And I thought: the world has changed. And thank God for it.

But by the way – I have found other mohelim since that time, both Orthodox and non-Orthodox, ones who are fully comfortable performing the circumcision ceremonies for the children of our same-sex families.]

---

Tomorrow night, then, we tackle the details of the current state agenda. This moment, this place, this night is a time for Torah. A time to hit head on a question some of you may be asking. Doesn’t Jewish tradition have something to say on this subject? And isn’t what it has to say… kind of different…from the position I have taken so far?

My friends, I believe that as liberal Jews, we must take the Torah seriously, even if we do not take it literally. It is not enough to say: oh, that was then, they were primitive, they just didn’t know how to cook that pork, they were ruled by superstition; those old rules just don’t apply. That might be the end result of our open and careful exploration, yes, but the tough stuff, the texts of terror demand – if we are to remain in the circle of the spiritual – not excuse and easy dismissal, but grappling and engagement and interpretation.

And there is this: there is, in the Torah, not only halachah, but also aggadah. There is not only law, but also lore. [If you are from New York, you’ve got a problem, here, for they sound the same.] For liberal Jews, for the non-Orthodox world both halachah and aggadah, both law and lore provide a source of inspiration, and understanding.

So, yes, there is the famous verse from Leviticus, the troubling one, the command that one not lie with a man as one lies with a woman. That statement of Jewish law, that expression found in the midst of the original J-harmony compilation of eligible partners, remains a “come, hither” kind of verse, a Scriptural portion which cries out for explanation – and reinterpretation. Reams of paper have been used, endless articles, whole books written, arguments crafted over the past several decades which give us dozens of ways, if only we want to take them, of seeing this injunction in a new way.

Indeed the liberal explications of this verse have received so much attention – seeing these words as emerging out of the context of idolatry and cultic prostitution, placing them in the life-situation of a small group in need of children, claiming they simply never envisioned the committed relationships we are speaking of today, or even asserting that this is a prohibition against pretending to be someone you are not – these wrestling efforts are so well worn that I leave all of them for further exploration on another occasion.

This night, I turn, instead, to aggadah, to statements which emerge out of stories, which nevertheless teach fundamental values, attitudes of acceptance, and opportunities for new levels of inclusion. I cite this night two verses, one quite familiar, the other perhaps less so. They come out of this week’s portion, as a foundation for my understanding of a welcoming community.

The first verse is from the book of Genesis. It is, for me, a fountain of insight, the foundation of morality concerning human dignity and worth. The words, as I said, are fairly well known:

 “Vayivra Elohim et HaAdam b’Tzalmo, B’Tzelem Elohim bara oto… Zachar u’N’keivah bara otam…A God created the human being in the image of God; in the image of God God created the human – male and female God created them.”

I believe with all my heart… that we are, all of us, male and female, rich and poor, gay and straight, tall and short, thin and… less thin, white and black and yellow and brown, every one of us made in the image of God. B’tzelem Elohim. A combination of mortal earth, and a spark of the divine. Finite, and eternal. Of infinite dignity in our very essence, every one of us.

That which takes away from that dignity, that which degrades and demeans, hurts and threatens… that is something to question, to examine, to struggle with, even if it is grounded in tradition and bears the weight of centuries of custom and common practice. This does not mean that everything can be changed because anyone is offended. Not every mountain can be made smooth, not every moment made safe. But on us is the charge, the command, the mitzvah to be open to the experience of real people, to be willing to wrestle and struggle and recognize this above all: there is a law above the law, and that “metanomial”‡ level is about impact and consequence and effect.

Which leads me, then, to my own contribution, words which come… from this week’s portion. Here, at the outset of a communal effort, in the story of the world’s first ever Temple building fund, come words which open us up to integrity, and individual expression:

“Vayidabeir Adonai el Moshe laimor: Dabbeir el B’nai Yisrael, va’yikchu li terumah, meit kol ish asher yid’venu libo tik’chu et t’rumati… The Eternal spoke to Moses, saying: Tell the Israelite people to bring me gifts; you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart so moves…”

“Asher yid’venu libo… whose heart so moves.” The greatest gift of the soul is found…as the heart so moves.

For we are all different, in instinct and inclination. The greatest gift we can give to God, the greatest tribute we can pay to the divine spark within us… is to grow to know ourselves… to know we are, and honor who we know. To be who we are. Acceptance of self. And, in words which will sound familiar to long-time members of this congregation: wholeness of being.

We read further: in the construction of the Tabernacle, and the weaving of the vestments worn by the High Priest, the offering of the heart, and what we do with the material matters: gold, silver and copper, blue, purple and crimson yarns, twisted linen, worked into designs, worked together, all woven into a pattern of communal life. On the breastplate of the High Priest are engraved the names of the tribes of Israel – all of them, all of us, as we are, elevated in sanctity out of the essence of our lives. The twelve poles which frame the windows of this sacred space… and the abstract pattern of weaving in the new tallit I chose to wore beginning last year…here, too, we find the representation of the twelve tribes, the totality represented… by the offerings of us all, out of the individuality of our lives.

Years ago, in this country, there was another election. My favorite political speech ever came from the mouth of a third party candidate, a man who had no realistic chance of actually winning, perhaps, but whose presence did shape the agenda of those around him, and the legislation which was crafted in the years which came afterwards. Little-known now, his legacy lives on. And he garnered a million votes, even while he ran for president from jail.

On September 18, 1918, two-years before that electoral accomplishment, but on the occasion of his conviction for violating the Sedition Act designed to ban anti-war protests, the Socialist candidate for President, Eugene Debs, made the following statement to the court:

“Your Honor, years ago I recognized my kinship with all living beings, and I made up my mind that I was not one bit better than the meanest on earth. I said then, and I say now, that while there is a lower class, I am in it, and while there is a criminal element I am of it, and while there is a soul in prison, I am not free.”

So this night, in the spirit of Debs and in the light of the highest vision and values of the Torah as I see it, called to holiness by the God of acceptance and love, this night I say: When a single company or a travel service offers discounted rates to married partners but same-sex couples are not included, my own experience is not cheaper, but cheapened. While there is a gay man who cannot make next of kin decisions for his life-partner in a hospital because the law finds no way to recognize their relationship, then I am a gay man. While there is a lesbian in our own community who did not feel safe in sharing her own family story, to her own community, then I am not safe. While there is a single right I have that others do not, something is wrong. While there are legal benefits and privileges I enjoy as a married heterosexual male, well, my own marriage is less secure as a result.

This is the baggage I carry: it is my belief that we are all on this journey together. It is not the existence of same-sex couples that threatens my marriage. How insecure a relationship you would have to have for that to be the case. No. It is the pain and the hurt, isolation and shame, the tears of separation… it is the persistence of inequality that is the real threat. To me, and to us all.

My friends this is a long road we walk, towards a better and more equal world. But we’ve come a long, long way already. And with God’s help… with a God of love we’ll walk those next steps… And we’ll get there. We’ll find a place we can call home. Together.

---

‡My word, meaning “above the law.” -MLF