Skip to main content

My Tent

I was thinking about my marriage tonight, and whether or not a defense of the institution of marriage was necessary. Because a defense of marriage implies an attack. And I wondered if my own marriage required such a vigorous defense, who would I finger as the likely attackers.  

But first, let me address one thing that bothers me greatly in this discussion. My marriage and the institution of marriage are not two distinct things. It’s not like I’m married, and somewhere in my house is a hidden safe where I keep the institution of marriage, tucked safely away so no one will ever steal it or tread on it. I’m married. I feel like sometimes people like to talk about marriage as an institution because it depersonalizes the entire debate. Oh, it’s not you I don’t want to get married. It’s just the institution I want to protect. All hail the institution. Trust me, marriage is indeed sacred and can often feel like a special all white place with padded walls. Yes. But somehow I don’t think that’s where they are going with it. I’m married. It’s a marriage. That’s it. I’m as totally done with the fake association between the words marriage and institution. Period. Let’s move on.
But I digress.  Were my own marriage in need of defense, it would most likely be because it were under attack from one of the following things: the laundry, fantasy football, Andy Cohen, that weird whole chicken that my husband’s grandmother manages to stuff inside that giant platter of rice because that just freaks me out, the $1 bins at Target, anything online that offers free shipping, Facebook, the children, my pride, Cuban cigars, or crème eggs.

You know who my marriage would not likely be under attack from? Gays and Lesbians that I may or may not know who also want to be married. They are not outside intruders threatening to destroy my fake safe-ridden institution. They are not internal vices or external temptations. They are just people who want what I have which is a particularly humbling thought considering that sometimes, I probably take that for granted.
I remember the planning of my wedding and how my mother took charge because, well, she was really good at planning weddings and she liked to do it and I wasn’t so good at planning weddings. And I remember once kind of venting some frustration over this lack of control to my amazing friend. She was also our Rabbi, offering us pre-marriage counseling as we prepared for the big day. She leaned in close and whispered, “It doesn’t really matter. That’s just the party. You will completely control what happens during the marriage, the wedding. That is what matters.” And she was totally right. Because when I think about my wedding I am under that chuppah with sweet, wise Rabbi Elianna and I am looking into my husband’s eyes, and frankly I don’t really remember much of anyone or anything else there. It was only us. It was meaningful. It mattered. Our chuppah (a canopy that Jewish couples are married under) symbolized many things, including the Jewish home that we would build together. As with Abraham’s tent, it was open on all sides, reinforcing the belief that the strength in one’s home lies in our willingness to let others in. Indeed, my marriage, my tent, is stronger with everyone in it.

The fact that in 2013 we are still talking about this given the severity of so many other pressing global and domestic issues seems silly. The time is now. Equal rights for all.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Rachel Hollis' Instagram is The Bad Place

  Women, mothers, pull up a chair.  I wish to have a word with you about Rachel Hollis, toxic positivity, and women as a commodity.  Do you know Rachel Hollis? She is a self proclaimed motivational speaker and life coach. She has nearly 2 million followers on Instagram, has published multiple NY Times bestsellers, and runs her own business, has a product line in Target, a clothing line on QVC, her own fitness app, and sells out large convention size stadiums where people pay $40 for a general ticket or up to $200 per person for a VIP pass that will give them things like “digital swag” (those two words together form a new one that has an unclear meaning to me), and video playback on all speakers. Rachel Hollis is a business and the thing that she is selling? Why that’s you. It wasn’t always this way. As one of the few bloggers still kicking around that started out nearly nine years ago, many of us old folks can tell you how quickly the landscape of personal essays and blogging changed.

Distracted Living

Last week, I almost killed my daughter. It started off as really any other week ever does. My husband had been travelling pretty much non-stop for nearly the entire month. Whether we wanted to or not, we were all falling into a fairly regular rhythm without him, at least Monday-Friday. With school and activities and for better or worse, the days seemed to move rather quickly but by evening all three of us were stretched thin. Collectively, we all seemed to peek at maximum crabbiness somewhere around 6pm. It was shortly after this time last Wednesday night that I brought the kids upstairs to help them get washed up for bed. My daughter had an upset stomach for most of the day but I hadn’t thought much of it. She was otherwise happy and playing and generally herself. I did know that she was very tired. Still, we were a good hour and a half from her usual bedtime of around 8pm. I put her in the bath and let it start to fill and left the room to go start the shower for my son. This is

Keeping it Real

I received an email tonight from a fellow mom. Really, it was more of a detailed confession of all of the things she’d done wrong today as a mother. It ended with two simple words: “Parent fail.” Her email both broke my heart and made me super angry because you see, she’s really a terrific mom. But today, she must have used someone else’s measuring stick to make that call. It troubled me in particular because motherhood and parenthood for that matter, is definitely not measured or won or lost on a battle by battle or day to day basis. We’re in this for the long haul people. Did your child watch six hours of TV today or eat pizza for dinner every night this week? What really matters at the end of the day? Let’s just admit my own bias here. If we are measuring this stuff on a day to day basis, I’m assuming I would have done a pretty sub-par job by most people’s standards. I brought my son to the grocery store in a rainbow colored clown wig and pajamas because it was the only way I co