A Letter to Rabbi Zwerin

Jonah and Molly wrote this letter to Rabbi Ray Zwerin and his wife, Rikki, a few weeks before their wedding. When I read it, I asked them if I could share it with you, and they kindly agreed. A little context before you read: when Jonah mentions “my dad,” that’s me. And yes, I am the one who is allergic to rabbis. Rabbi Zwerin is the exception.

— Vitaliy

Dear Rabbi and Rikki Zwerin,

Rabbi, I knew you’d be different before I sat down with you, because of my dad. He came out of the Soviet Union “religiously confused,” then got here and met Orthodox rabbis whose strongest arguments involved fear-mongering, which reminded him of the Soviet leaders he’d fled. He’s kept his distance from rabbis ever since, and some would even say he is “allergic” to them. You’re the exception: critical thinking, love of history, and seeking what’s true instead of what’s convenient. You were the first rabbi he met who cared about the same things he did.

I’m not that different from my father. I grew up in Orthodox shuls and spent most of my childhood worried I was doing something wrong. I asked questions kids weren’t supposed to ask and got answers that didn’t satisfy my curiosity, and the message underneath was always to stop asking. So I stopped.

Then we asked you about the wedding traditions and you told us they were nothing more than traditions. You explained that the glass used to get thrown against a wall until whoever was cleaning up the mess got fed up and asked for it to be stepped on instead. You told us about the evil spirits waiting to come after us on our wedding day and the rituals we perform to keep them away. Then you explained why all of it is a load of crap.

You don’t take things at face value. You don’t make something up when you don’t have a confident answer. You study history, and half the time you sound less like a rabbi than an anthropologist of Jewish culture. At the end of our last meeting you leaned back and repeated everything we’d covered that afternoon, in order, no notes.

Molly’s about to be a therapist, so she took your counseling policy seriously. Counseling is a big part of a rabbi’s job, and your schedule was always full of people who needed you. So you made a rule: you would give anyone as much time as they needed, but only for one session. Molly is still working out how to build a private practice on clients she only sees once.

You married my parents. You gave Molly her Hebrew name, Miriam Jaffa. And when you came to the hospital the day Molly’s grandmother passed away, it meant more to her family than you probably know. You have been there for so many important days in our family’s lives, and now you’re marrying us.

You said a marriage runs on kindness and trust, and then you told us you’d already seen both of those things in us. That we let each other finish sentences. That we were kind to each other.

Your confidence in us was extremely reaffirming. You’ve seen weddings, divorces, births, and funerals, so I knew you wouldn’t say something like that unless you meant it.

You also said lighting the candles on Shabbat is a reminder of what it is to be a Jew. How it represents our resilience as a people in a world that hardly tolerates us. Molly has lit them every Friday since.

Molly and I were incredibly moved by Rikki’s story. You shared with us what it was like to marry a Holocaust survivor with no parents. How a few shekels is all you need for a wedding ring. The iconic scooter in Jerusalem that you parked at the top of her steps at 7:15 so she wouldn’t have to walk to work.

Love back then wasn’t measured in posts, or how good the background looked during a sunset proposal. It was simple. It was kind. It took risks. It took vulnerability. It took effort. You two have made us want that. Simple love, the kind that lasts more than half a century, the kind that keeps its humor in hard times.

Rikki, we thought the chuppah cover was one you’d made for another couple and were lending out to us. Finding out you made it for us melted our hearts. We know your hands have been giving you trouble and you did it anyway. We are incredibly honored. When our kids get married, they’ll stand under it, and they’ll know the story of whose hands made it.

The two of you are one of a kind, and we have a lot left to learn from you. We’ve both enjoyed reading your Substack and working through the list of strange things that have happened to you during your career. We’re hoping our wedding doesn’t make it into one of your writings. Although if it goes anything like my parents’ wedding, it might.

In an attempt to repay the kindness you have shown to us, we donated to the Babi Yar Park Foundation in both your names. And in case Rikki decides she’d rather not read this, feel free to set it on the table next to your latest book and her unfinished arts and crafts.

Thank you for your kindness.

Love,

Jonah and Molly