Legacy runs deep in Judaism, shaping both who we are and the choices we make.
For me, that legacy is embodied by my grandfather, Rabbi Alexander M. Shapiro, who was a leader in the Conservative movement through a time of profound transformation. His tenure as president of the Rabbinical Assembly in the mid-1980s — amidst debates over women’s ordination — was marked by a willingness to create a home for many points of view and a principled courage to ensure that women were set on equal footing as men to be rabbinic leaders in the Conservative movement.
As he said in his address at the 1985 Rabbinical Assembly Convention in Miami,
To reach the point finally in which women rabbis will be accepted and then to find that what is present is not openness of the spirit and readiness to hear, but instead anger and resentment is for me a betrayal of many of the hopes of those who participated in the very long process of finding a proper and honorable place for women within Jewish life.
My Sabba’s lessons, spoken four decades ago, are more relevant to me now than ever, as I wrestle with my own journey and the struggles of the movement I once called home.
I recently made the difficult and deeply personal decision to officially resign from the Rabbinical Assembly, the union of rabbis my grandfather led 40 years ago. Why? Because I could not in good conscience remain a member while being prohibited from co-officiating intermarriages — ceremonies that I, from deep study and pastoral experience, have come to believe are not only possible within the halakhic, or Jewish legal, tradition, but are also vital for the future of American Judaism.
This decision was not about abandoning tradition or making things “easier.” It was, as my grandfather taught in another context, about making Judaism relevant — about adapting the wisdom and flexibility within halakhah for a new era.
The Conservative movement is now grappling with how to fully welcome interfaith couples and families. Recent efforts, like the recent release of the Interfaith Marriage Working Group’s well-intentioned report, make gestures toward inclusion. “Move from disapproval to engagement,” the language says. But despite such words, these recommendations still keep interfaith couples at arm’s length — desiring to offer blessings “independent of the traditionally prescribed Jewish wedding ceremony” and never affirming the full complexity and beauty of homes where two traditions meet by demanding that the non-Jewish partner “while not formally Jewish, [be] firmly committed to co-creating an exclusively Jewish household.”
This is where I felt compelled to part ways — not out of anger, but out of conviction. I could not continue blessing only from the margins. As I argued in my conversations with colleagues, unless we as Conservative Jews can build a robust halakhic foundation for this change and believe it is the right and holy thing to do, then our so-called engagement rings hollow. We risk turning sacred unions into problems to be managed, rather than gifts to be celebrated.
Our tradition holds more possibilities than some may be willing to admit. Yes, the classic Torah prohibition is clear: “You shall not intermarry with them, for they will turn your children away from following Me.” Moreover rabbinic tradition elaborates with moral panic, asserting that all non-Jews are idolaters, sowers of chaos.
Yet, the medieval sage Rabbeinu Gershom — nicknamed “the Light of the Diaspora” — recognized that “idolaters” in his day were “following their ancestral custom,” not undermining Jewish morality (Teshuvot Rabbeinu Gershom Me’or HaGolah Siman 21). Similarly, Menachem HaMeiri, centuries later, could attest to the “fundamental decency and shared monotheism” of his non-Jewish neighbors.
In its wisdom, halakhah often changes when the facts change. Today, Jews and Christians (and Muslims, Hindus and others) live as neighbors and equals. We raise children in pluralistic societies. The old fears of non-Jews as morally corrupt idolaters no longer ring true — unless we let them. Demanding non-Jewish partners to co-create exclusively Jewish homes signals that those old fears are alive and well.
The Conservative movement has the tools, the tradition, and the mandate to rise to this new moment and develop a full-throated and fearless halakhic defense of interfaith families, one that acknowledges the risk but also the staggering promise: that Jewish values thrive when shared, not sequestered.
When I co-officiate at interfaith ceremonies, I see not dilution, but the potential for Jewish and other faiths to thrive together — enriching children, family life, and the larger community. One wedding co-officiation story particularly resonates right now. When we first met, the interfaith couple — she Jewish, he a devout Christian — planned to raise their children exclusively Jewish. But together we wrestled with what it would mean for the Christian partner — whose faith was deep and genuine — to excise his tradition entirely from the family he would help build. Should love demand such a cost? We talked of the richness that might arise if that child could receive blessing from two faith traditions, both held with pride and integrity.
At their wedding, we honored both: Inspired by a tradition in the groom’s pastor’s church to offer vows over a Bible instead of rings, the bride held her JPS Tanakh and the groom held his King James Bible. Then they exchanged Bibles and said to one another: “With these Bibles, I will know more of my beloved, and my beloved will know more of me.” That, friends, is not dilution; it’s abundance. It’s what shalom bayit — peace in the home — looks like in the 21st century.
To paraphrase the great feminist orthodox thinker Blu Greenberg, my grandfather believed the skill of the Conservative movement was to “find a halakhic way” when the rabbinic will existed to ordain women as rabbis. Now, in the case of interfaith families, our will is too cautious, our ritual responses timid. We create alternative blessings and fence the chuppah while missing the invitation to truly lead.
To my colleagues and friends still in the movement: You have the power to do more, to craft a halakhic defense not just of inclusion, but of celebration. The future of Judaism in America does not reside in drawing smaller circles, but in opening the tent — and doing so with confidence, integrity, and love. My resignation is not an act of sour grapes, but a hope that we might yet realize the opportunity before us.
This is the challenge and promise of Jewish continuity: not mere survival, but vibrant relevance. We have the tradition, the intellect, and the experience—a legacy my grandfather championed. Now we need the courage to use them, to say yes in a way that is honest, rooted, and joyful. Let us not make interfaith families the exception, but the example — of a Judaism that is worthy of our ancestors and our descendants alike.
