Candlelabra of Calabria

Italian Anousim – Celebrating Shabbat with Unique Candlelabra

For thousands of Italians who live in the southern Italian region of Calabria, the island of Sicily and the Aeolian Islands as well as for many more Italian Americans and Italian Canadians, connecting family traditions with an ancient Jewish heritage can be little more than a lucky guess.  But as we continue to search for our lost and hidden Jewish roots, one ritual item, the Shabbat candlelabra offers an important clue. 

The triple candlelabra pictured here is Rabbi Barbara Aiello’s family heirloom. Her grandparents descended from a Calabrian crypto-Jewish background where a three-branched candlelabra was integral for the family Shabbat table.

“The middle candle served as the “shamus” or helping candle, and just as Jews use the shamus to light the eight candles on the Chanukah memorah, a shamus candle was used to light the two candles for Shabbat,” says Rabbi Barbara, who now lives and works in Calabria where she searches for hidden traditions such as these.

The peacock motif offers another Jewish clue. For the Jews of Calabria, the peacock was an important element in Jewish design. Originating with the Kabbalists, the Jewish mystics of medieval times, it is the male peacock’s special feather configuration that is reminiscent of the Kabbalistic “third eye.”  This symbol connects with the message of Shabbat by reminding us that with the “third eye” we can see into a person’s soul and thus bring peace to the world.

Families in Serrastretta, the tiny village where Rabbi Barbara organized “Ner Tamid del Sud, the first active synagogue in Calabria in 500 years since Inquisition times, recall the three branched candlelabra at their own Friday evening dinner table.  Some recall a beautiful ritual where the matron of the house first lit the middle “shamus” candle, removed it and then passed it to the youngest family member. Each person around the table had her/his own personal candle which was kindled by passing the shamus candle from person to person.  Finally the shamus candle returned to “Mama” who then kindled the last two candles, the lights of Shabbat. 

Questions and comments welcome below!

Shul on a Shoestring

 Creating and Sustaining a Jewish Community in Tough Economic Times

Dressing the torah with Service Leader, Rena Morano.

“Everybody’s hurting,” is the one thing that politicians can agree on and for synagogues throughout United States, the lament rings true.  In fact, only one half of all American Jews are members of synagogues and only 8% of the membership attends on a regular basis, i.e. at least twice a month.

To add insult to injury, philanthropist Edgar M. Bronfman, of the World Jewish Congress confessed, “I don’t like going to synagogue. I generally find the atmosphere stultifying, the services overly long, boringly repetitive and mostly without meaning to the young Jews of today.”

These were the challenges faced by Bradenton, Florida’s Congregation Ner Tamid, a rabbinically advised, lay led small congregation that set out to meet the needs of disaffected Jews, many of whom were tired of the constant appeal for funds and fed up with synagogue politics that created a less than pleasant atmosphere within many synagogues of all Jewish denominations.

Ner Tamid, which in Hebrew means, “Eternal Light,” began 8 years ago and started as most new congregations do, when a small group, dissatisfied with Jewish business as usual, decided to create a new community.  But unlike other split-off groups, Ner Tamid did not fall into what Einstein called the definition of insanity; doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

Ner Tamid founding members: Shepards and Solomons.

Instead Ner Tamid’s founders examined the pros and cons of traditional synagogue organization and made the conscious decision to create a congregation that was vibrant, accessible and affordable for Jewish and Jewish interfaith families. 

“From the beginning I have served as Ner Tamid’s rabbinic advisor,” says Rabbi Barbara Aiello, who helped create the foundation of the shul.  The largest single expense for any synagogue is the rabbi’s salary, says Rabbi Aiello, “so the first thing we tackled was eliminating the need for a full-time full service rabbi.” 

With founding members Elaine Mittler and Miriam Gooslby (z”l), Aiello suggested that another founder, Rena Morano, be asked to serve as lay leader for the fledgling congregation.  Morano, an experienced Jewish educator, had worked previously with Rabbi Aiello.  The two knew each other well and shared the same commitment that Shabbat and festival services should be accessible and participatory so that young and old, and Jewish and interfaith members could share in the experience. 

Ner Tamid's Purim spiel, Jews in the Jungle.

When Aiello left Florida to take a pulpit in Milan, Italy, the Board and the rabbi continued to work together continent to continent.  “The internet is a wonderful thing,” says Morano who regularly communicated with the rabbi as they planned festivals and other special events together.

On the financial front, Board Chair Elaine Mittler reinforced Ner Tamid’s commitment to affordability by finding a centrally located building that agreed to share space with the fledgling shul. “We determined what our rent would be and then asked everyone to donate two dollars at the door.  We did this before lighting the Shabbat candles so that everyone would feel comfortable and every week we covered our costs.” 

When it came time to announce a membership drive, dues were kept at an affordable level. “With no rabbi’s salary to cover and no building fund or maintenance fee, we could ask that families donate at first $54 and then $72 for an annual membership.” 

Rabbi Aiello and Service Leader Morano shared ideas for organizing services and special events, and together they planned congregational experiences ranging from rousing Purim parties (The Jews of the Old West, The Jewish Pirates of the Caribbean and Fashion and the Jewish Influence) to High Holy Day services where parents, children and grandparents all take a part.

Maddie portrays founders of Suriname's early synagogue in the Purim play.

The rabbi’s presence within the congregation has varied throughout the years and has included special lectures and, at congregational request, the rabbi has officiated at life cycle events. Rena Morano, as service leader, has tapped the rabbi’s expertise at officiating at funerals and memorials, baby namings, weddings and  B’nei Mitzvah celebrations and today Morano, who also serves as director for Ner Tamid’s Hebrew school and adult education program, conducts the majority of these life cycle events on her own.

What makes it work and work so well?  Beyond the commitment to keep costs down, the Ner Tamid Board, the lay leadership and the rabbinic advisor are all on the same page. “We see how synagogues are suffering,” says Aiello. “Membership is in decline and as more traditionally organized synagogues must continue the donation drum beat, spirituality is lost in the din.”

Not so with Ner Tamid.  Certainly the congregation has its struggles, but above all there’s that “meshpucha” feeling that never fades. One interfaith couple who are long time Ner Tamid members put it well when they said, “At Ner Tamid we feel accepted for who and what we are. We’ve found loving and caring people.” Others agree. “It’s a feeling that we’re all in this together,” says one long time member. “We work together and year after year we pull it off.”

*To contact Congregation Ner Tamid, see www.nertamidflorida.org

And, of course, feel free to comment below!

Out With the Bad, In With the Good

Tashlich Symbolizes the Jewish New Year’s New Start

Vintage photo of Tashlich from Brooklyn Bridge

Back in the day, on one of the first two days of Rosh HaShanah, Jews traditionally walked together to a stream, pond, lake, river, or even an ocean. The idea was to find a body of flowing water, preferably filled with swimming fish, so that we Jews could throw away our sins. That’s the meaning of the Hebrew word, tashlich – to cast off or throw away.

The Tashlich ceremony itself, which includes psalms, readings and the actual tossing of bread crumbs to symbolize our last year’s sins, originated in the 1200’s. It quickly caught on in Jewish communities around the world, to the chagrin of many rabbis who were afraid that tashlich superstitions would become more important than the more solemn themes of Rosh HaShanah, such as forgiveness and teshuvah (return).

So what happens at a Tashlich ceremony? When the group arrives at the flowing stream, they gather close to the water. Then, after psalms, readings, prayers and poetry, we Jews  empty our pockets of their crumbs – crumbs that become tangible symbols of the sinful things we’ve done in the past 12 months.

Prophet Micah’s words provide the tashlich theme; “God will take us back in love and cover up our iniquities. God will cast all of our sins into the depths of the sea.”

On the Kobernick campus in Sarasota, Florida, where I serve several hundred Jewish seniors, we’ve created our own version of the ancient Tashlich service. Although we begin with readings and psalms, ( Psalms 18 and 130 are traditionally appropriate), we offer suggestions as to the specific sins that need tossing out. For example, we read a list of transgressions that include:

So what happens at a Tashlich ceremony? When the group arrives at the flowing stream, they gather close to the water. Then, after psalms, readings, prayers and poetry, we Jews  empty our pockets of their crumbs – crumbs that become tangible symbols of the sinful things we’ve done in the past 12 months.

Prophet Micah’s words provide the tashlich theme; “God will take us back in love and cover up our iniquities. God will cast all of our sins into the depths of the sea.”

On the Kobernick campus in Sarasota, Florida, where I serve several hundred Jewish seniors, we’ve created our own version of the ancient Tashlich service. Although we begin with readings and psalms, ( Psalms 18 and 130 are traditionally appropriate), we offer suggestions as to the specific sins that need tossing out. For example, we read a list of trangressions that include:

I gossiped about someone.

I neglected to say thank you for a kindness.

I isolated.

I let negative thinking dominate me.

I didn’t reach out to a friend.

  

These sins and many others are written on small slips of paper and as they are read, residents decide which sins apply to them. Volunteers distribute the appropriate sin to the resident who requests it, including the all-purpose general sin, “I did something wrong but I don’t want to say.”

With sins in one hand and fish crackers in the other, we take our “fishy sins” to the water and do the tashlich – we literally throw them away.

In her book, Celebrate! The Complete Jewish Holidays Handbook, author Lesli Koppelman Ross notes that many historians believe that ancient superstitions influenced the popularity of Tashlich, probably because “primitive people believed that the best way to win favor from evil spirits (who) lived in waterways, was to give them gifts.”

Koppelman goes on to say that there were communities, “including the Babylonian Jews, who sent ‘sin-filled’ containers out into the water.”  She writes that the Talmud records an ancient practice where Jewish families wove baskets for each child in the family. The baskets, filled with beans or peas representative of last year’s sins, were held above the head, swung around and then tossed into the water.

It was Prophet Ezekiel who received God’s guidance near a body of water and throughout Jewish history our heroes and sages have felt God’s presence beside lakes and streams, rivers and wells. Whether it’s history or folklore, in recent years tashlich has become a popular Rosh HaShanah ritual as well as a special time for families to gather, “toss” and nosh. Our Kobernick, Anchin and Benderson residents have had that same opportunity as our very special tashlich ceremony goes a long way to bring hope and a fresh start to the new year. Shanah Tovah!

 

Sound the Call

The Shofar is the Icon of the Jewish New Year 

It is the sound of the shofar that is mentioned most often when Jews are asked to share a Rosh HaShanah memory. From those who are traditionally observant to those who self-describe as “cultural” or “secular,” it seems that all Jews everywhere associate the Jewish New Year with the sound of the shofar.  

And in recent years the shofar has come back into fashion. It began in the mid 2000’s, when a giant shofar “sound-off” was organized on a Massachusetts beach (that ended up in the Guinness Book of Records), and continued with Bugles Across America founder, Tom Day, whose rendition of Taps on the shofar at one of the ceremonies marking the  WW II Memorial dedication in Washington, DC, brought listeners to tears.

The origins of the shofar go way back. Author Ariela Pelaia (The Origins of the Shofar) writes that some scholars believe that its birth predates Jewish practice when making loud sounds on New Year’s night was thought to scare away demons, dybbuks and evil spirits.  As the religion developed, the shofar took on biblical proportions, mentioned as it is in the Tanach, the Talmud and a many pieces of historic Jewish literature. 

The shofar is the world’s oldest horn in continuous use. Biblical scholars state that the shofar dates back 6,000 years and was used in ancient times to announce the beginning of Jewish festivals, to signal the start of processions and to mark the start of a war. In fact the shofar’s most famous biblical reference is found in the Book of Joshua where  shofarot (the Hebrew plural form of shofar ) were used as part of a battle plan to capture the city of Jericho (Joshua 6:2-5). According to the account, Joshua followed God’s direction and the “walls came tumbling down!”

Yet it is the Jewish New Year, Rosh HaShanah (which literally means “head of the year”) where the shofar commands its greatest respect. In fact, Pelaia writes that ”the shofar is such an important part of this holiday that another name for Rosh HaShanah is Yom Teruah, which, in Hebrew means, “day of the shofar blast.” On each of the two days of Rosh HaShanah the shofar is blown one hundred times (with the exception of Shabbat where, in orthodox and conservative synagogues, the shofar is not sounded).

It was our most famous Jewish philosopher, Moses Maimonides, who wrote that the sound of shofar on Rosh HaShanah is meant as a Jewish “wake-up call,” where our souls arise to the possibilities of positive change. And the four specific sounds (technically the second and third harmonics) create an atmosphere were we can concentrate on self-improvement. 

The first sound, Tekiah, “is an unbroken blast that asks us to listen, focus and pay attention.

 

Shevarim represent a Tekiah sound that is broken into three distinct segments and is thought to symbolize sadness as we recall how our behavior during the past year may have fallen short of the ideal. It’s the “Oy vey” sound as we recall our failings.

Teruah, a series of nine rapid-fire blasts, is described as God’s “alarm clock.” Each group of three sounds reminds us of that catch in our throat - the little sob that escapes from our soul as we remember the mistakes we’ve made.

Tekiah Gadolah – is the “Extreme” Tekiah,  lasting at least nine seconds but many who sound the shofar will attempt to make this sound last as long as possible to the congregation’s awe and delight.

Tekiah Gadolah signals the end of Yom Kippur and the beginning of the New Year. 

Below, is a quick instructional video courtesy of a shofar maker from Belgium. If you've ever struggled with producing a sound from the shofar, here a few tips:

The person who sounds the shofar is called the “Ba’al (or the feminine, Ba’alat) Tekiah, or the “Master of the Sound.” The particular shofar chosen by this “Master Blaster” may be one of the many unusual types of horns available. The instrument itself is basically the hollow horn of a kosher animal that is crafted by hand according to Jewish guidelines and specifications. The exception is the horn of a cow or a calf because these are associated with the idolatry and false worship that was rampant in Biblical times. An ox horn is also disqualified. These, known as “keren” in Hebrew, have their own place in Jewish pilgrimage tradition. The traditional shofar refers specifically to the horn of a sheep, goat, antelope, gazelle, ibex or kudu. In fact, the large, curling Yemenite shofar is made from any of several types of antelope horn. 

Shofarot are never manufactured or factory produced. A shofar cannot be painted with colors but it can be delicately and intricately carved. Some Sephardi shofarot feature decorative silver-plating, which makes them (like eating rice on Passover) un-kosher according to Ashkenazi tradition. In fact, some Italian communities where “b’nei anousim,” have their ancient roots, these Jews who were forced into Christian conversion centuries ago continue to follow Jewish tradition. Centuries ago these Jews were prohibited from celebrating Jewish holidays and persecuted if they did so. But these ancient Jews found a way so even today it is not unusual to hear the soulful sound of a ram’s horn exactly at midnight on December 31^st.

Via Jerusalem School of Visual Theatre

Throughout history Jewish communities created shofar shapes and sounds unique and appropriate for its people. At the time of the Expulsion and Inquisition, the Jews of Spain used a flat, straight shofar that featured a low pitch. Shofar maker Zvika Bar-Sheshet explains that “in the past Jews were not allowed to carry a shofar or use it. So it was necessary for these Jews to smuggle it hidden between the body and the trouser belt. The straight shape was adopted for this purpose. To make the hiding possible.” Today many Sephardic communities preserve this tradition by using this type of  “temple trumpet.”

After the Expulsion from Spain, some Jewish communities migrated through Central and Eastern Europe, where it was difficult to find or make the shofarot they were used to. It was during this period that the ram’s horn became popular. The sound produced from these new horns was a high, thin, weeping-like sound. Because the ram’s horn shofar was bent and not straight as the ibex horn had been in Spain and North Africa, the rabbis taught that the bent horn was a symbol of the human heart, which, on Rosh HaShanah inclines or “bends” toward God.

In Yemen and Iraq, Jews created the long, spiraling shofar. Unlike European shofarot that were drilled lengthwise to create the traditional sound, the large Yemenite antelope or bushbuck horn was cut width-wise at its hollow point, thus creating the long, low sound that creates an echo effect. Some historians believe that the Yemenite Jews preferred the antelope horn because its strong echo brought to mind the image of the mountain where Abraham nearly sacrificed his son.

Will Seberger/TusconSentinel.com Interfaith Service in Tuscon

With its Hebrew roots in the letters “shin, peh, resh,” the word “shofar” originates from the Hebrew word meaning, “hollow.” Regardless of its specific type, the shofar is a perfect hollow shell that, with the human breath, brings to life the culture, tradition and meaning of the season.

Not Coca Cola Lite

Modern Liberal Judaism--We're Not "Coca Lite" (as Diet Coke is called in Italy)

As the first and only woman rabbi and non-orthodox rabbi in Italy, I am often asked to explain the differences between modern liberal Judaism and the more traditional approach to Jewish belief and practice.  From my very first year in Italy (2004) when I was appointed rabbi at Italy’s first non-orthodox synagogue in Milan, the population in general, as well as specific groups, from journalists to Jews, wanted to know how this modern approach to Judaism interfaces with orthodoxy – the only branch of Judaism that Italy has ever known.

At first I was given to long explanations where I would try to weave theology with history and history with heritage – all in Italian, which is not my madrelingua.  Oy vey! As my discourses became more complicated and as my audiences and I became more frustrated, it was a young lady who was a guest at a wedding where I was the officiant who turned things around for me and helped me find my way.

The ceremony was held in a gorgeous setting – on the grounds of a villa that bordered Lake Como in the north of Italy.  The bride, a Jewish girl from Milan was marrying her beloved, a young man from a Catholic family. When I first met Rubina I was impressed with her determination to incorporate both faith traditions into the ceremony and I was honored and delighted to help this couple who so very much wanted to invite God into their interfaith partnership. 

On a lovely Sunday evening we three stood under the chuppah, the Jewish bride, the Catholic groom and the modern liberal woman rabbi!  The ceremony itself was “meravigliosa!”  Wonderful!  It included the traditional bridal canopy, the kiddushin blessing, the Shevah Brachot (seven wedding blessings where the bride circles the groom) and the ketubah, the Jewish wedding document that the couple designed to celebrate their mutual respect for each other’s faith. Readings included Bible passages from the Book of Psalms and Proverbs, which were part of the groom’s  Catholic traditions, along with an instrumental version of Ave Maria. Of course, the ceremony concluded with the breaking of the glass.

But it was at the wedding reception when I was confronted by one of the bride’s close friends, that I truly understood how important it is to clearly define the differences between traditional and modern streams of Judaism.  The guest’s comment enlightened me when, after she thanked me for the beautiful ceremony, she went on to say, “I didn’t expect to see anything Jewish at this wedding.”  When I asked her why she thought that way, the young woman said, “Well, you are a woman rabbi which is not permitted. You have broken all the Jewish rules. I heard that you make Shabbat in five minutes, that you don’t ever read Torah and that at the Passover seder you serve lobster!” 

That’s when I knew. The orthodox community in Milan, and later as I observed, in most of Italy has the misconception that their brand of Judaism is “Coca Cola,” while we modern liberal Jews are “Coca Lite.” Attribute it to fear of the unknown, fear of change, fear of losing a level of comfort or security, but the perception that a modern approach is necessarily a watered down version of Jewish tradition is something that I now work hard to dispel.

Jewish law, “halakah,” as it is called in Hebrew, derives from the Hebrew root, “holech” which means “to walk.”  This relationship strongly implies that Jewish law is ever changing, adapting with the times, or, as the 15^th century Rabbi Isserles put it, “halakah must always be based upon new knowledge.” 

So as we modern Italian Jews do our “holech-ing,” or as we walk the path of progress, we incorporate new knowledge into existing Jewish tradition. Specifically that means that we study Jewish dietary laws and learn about establishing and maintaining a kosher kitchen. Then we modern Jews make personal choices about the food we eat, with the knowledge that if we maintain a strictly kosher diet, we know why we do it and if we do not keep kosher, we have made an informed choice as to why we do not.

Today an informed public understands that homosexuality is not a “life style choice,” but as biologists have discovered and as Lady Gaga emphasizes, people with gender differences are “born that way.”  Given this new knowledge, modern liberal Judaism openly welcomes gay and lesbian Jews as well as their partners and their children.

Rashi, said to be Judaism’s greatest commentator, pointed out that there was never a  prohibition that stated that women could not read Torah, lay tfillin or participate in prayer service and Talmudic studies. Rashi and others emphasized that women were “exempt” from these mitzvoth  given their responsibilities at home.  Over the years this exemption became a prohibition.

As modern liberal Jews we examine our history to verify the value of women’s participation and as such our women are free to become rabbis, to read Torah, and to become a Bat Mitzvah with the same level of participation as is required of her male Bar Mitzvah counterparts.

If my wedding guest were to visit our liberal synagogue, Ner Tamid del Sud, on a Friday evening or a Saturday morning, she would feel Jewishly quite a home. Like the traditionalists, we light the Shabbat candles, make all the blessings in Hebrew, sing the Shabbat melodies and on Saturday mornings, we read from the Torah scroll.  At a recent Bar Mitzvah service in our synagogue, Alessandro Yosef laid tfillin and, using an ancient Italian trope, chanted directly from our 1783 Torah scroll. And then we all enjoyed a kosher kiddush lunch. The two videos that appear in this blog post feature Alessandro; in the first video he chants Parasha Pincha, and in the second (below) he sings the Sh'ma.

It’s been nearly a decade that I’ve served as rabbi here in Italy, and I’ve learned so much. I’ve come to understand and respect a traditional approach to Judaism while at the same time offer an open and welcoming opportunity to those Jews who appreciate the incorporation of modernity and relevancy into Jewish belief and practice. 

How does that translate?  Very well, especially since I now begin my lectures with two familiar bottles, one in each hand.  “If Judaism is Coca Cola,” I say to my audience, “I am here to explain to you how modern liberal Judaism, is grounded in Jewish tradition. We are NOT “Coca Lite.”

The Cat That Ate the Cannoli

Tales From Jewish Italy


During the warm summer months our little synagogue in Bella Italia springs to life. Both my home and the synagogue I started in 2006 are located in the tiny village of Serrastretta in Calabria mountains, near the “toe” of the Italian “boot,” and throughout the late spring and early summer we welcome Bar and Bat Mitzvah families from around the world who want to give their children an understanding that there are places on the planet where it’s not easy to be Jewish.

A visit to our synagogue, Ner Tamid del Sud, (The Eternal Light of the South) makes the point. As the first active synagogue in the south of Italy since Inquisition times, we offer a pluralistic approach to Judaism in that we are open and welcoming to Jews of all backgrounds. We extend the hand of Jewish welcome to interfaith families, gay and lesbian couples and their children and B’nei Anousim, Italians whose Jewish roots go back centuries to the time when they were forced into Christian conversion.

This summer we had the honor and delight to welcome eight Bar and Bat Mitzvah families from Italy and the United States. All of us, including many of our local members, kvelled as children from California, Chicago, Washington, DC, Rome, Naples and Jamaica read from our antique Torah scroll that dates back to 1783.

In Italy we have a saying, “i quattro gatti” – “The Four Cats,” which is used to describe a very under-attended event. For example someone might ask, “So how was the turn out for the lecture?” If there were fewer participants than expected, the response might be, “Ci sono stati quattro gatti.” – “There were four cats!” Meaning that attendance was not so good.

In 2006 when we dedicated our Calabrian synagogue, we were the synagogue “di quattro gatti,” the synagogue of “the four cats,” in more ways then one. In the early days we worked hard to help local Italians discover and embrace their Jewish roots and slowly, very slowly, residents of our village and surrounding towns began to want to learn more about their ancient Jewish heritage. Some Shabbat mornings we hosted five or six congregants and there were services where it was difficult to make a minyan. Synagogue Ner Tamid del Sud began as the synagogue of “the four cats!”

And then there is the fact that, yes. indeed, we really do have four cats! There’s Toppi, Tilllie, Tommasina and Tigrino, all of whom welcome our local and international guests to the shul. Our Bar and Bat Mitzvah boys and girls are delighted with our friendly critters and when Domenico, the local photographer arrives to shoot the family photos, most of them want at least one picture with the cats.

So that’s how it was when Maddy and her family from California came to Serrastretta for her Bat Mitzvah ceremony. All was going well until just before the Torah service. That’s when Maddy got the giggles. We all looked in Maddy’s direction to see what tickled her so and then we saw him. There was black cat, Toppi, perched on the oneg table, holding one of our cannoli in his mouth, wiggling it like he was smoking a cigar!

Later on as we made kiddush under the grape arbor, Maddy mused that becoming Bat
Mitzvah in Italy was truly a unique experience. She was touched that she stood on a mountain top in a tiny synagogue with Italians who want so much to be Jewish that some of them traveled hundred of miles just to share the service with her. “And not only that,” Maddy said. “I’ll bet I’m the only Bat Mitzvah girl who shared her day with the cat that ate the cannoli!”

Chuppah History and Traditions

...from Italy and Around the World

A gorgeous chuppah courtesy of www.violamalva.it

Of all of the traditions that define the Jewish wedding ceremony, the chuppah, or bridal canopy, is one of the most symbolic and important. The canopy itself is a symbol of God’s love above the married couple as well as the home that they will now share as husband and wife. The traditional chuppah (dating back to the 1300’s) features open sky above to acknowledge God as Creator, who infuses marriage with deep spirituality and cosmic significance, while the chuppah’s four open sides symbolize the open horizons that the couple will share in married life together. For all of these reasons it is most meaningful for Jewish weddings to be held outdoors with blue sky above, and below, a surrounding panorama of natural creation.

The word chuppah is a Hebrew word, whose origins are found in the Hebrew Bible in Joel Chapter 2 as well as in Psalm 19. The traditional cloth canopy and four supporting poles has come to represent the Jewish home. Additionally, it serves to remind us Abraham’s tent that was open on all four sides—the world’s first indication of the value of hospitality. During the ceremony, no chairs or other furnishings are placed under the chuppah to indicate that more important than possessions, are the people who live inside. This alone is the foundation of a Jewish home.

This original chuppah is the creation of a family heirloom.

As a rabbi who officiates for Jewish and Jewish Interfaith weddings in Italy, I often help couples incorporate Italian Jewish traditions into their ceremony.  For example, in the Italian Jewish wedding it is traditional to use a crocheted tablecloth or bed covering which, after the ceremony, will be used in the couple’s home. In fact, the Italian phrase, “sotto la coperta,” (or “under the covering”) signifies the bridal canopy from ancient times. Canopies are often passed from generation to generation as family heirlooms, while other brides and grooms might create their own chuppah covering that has its own special meaning.

Aid workers in Africa made their own from African Kente cloth.

The basic structure of the chuppah, a canopy supported by four poles, can be as decorative or as simple as suits the taste of bride and groom. Festooned with flowers, vines, olive branches or ivy, many chuppot visually represent the personality of the budding family it houses.