The week before our wedding, the endless to-do list included “type the ketubah,” or marriage contract. I wanted an egalitarian ketubah. The rabbi produced a poor-quality photocopy, not exactly suitable for framing.
“We can retype it in Aramaic on your word processor,” one of us volunteered in a moment of insanity.
My husband-to-be and I both read Hebrew at the sound-it-out and look-it-up level. As for Aramaic — at least the alphabets are the same.
I dictated. “Bet. Alef. Sorry, make that ayin.” Peter typed. After a surly hour, we printed a draft to proofread during a surly lunch.
“Hey, the man and the woman are making different commitments here!” I said.
“What’s the difference?” asked Peter.
“I don’t know! I can’t read Aramaic!”
We headed back to the rabbi’s computer. Then Peter noticed a file we hadn’t seen before. With a double-click, there appeared a truly egalitarian ketubah. The rabbi had forgotten he had one on file.
We decided to treat the wasted morning as one of those premarital tests. I dictated our Hebrew names so Peter could type them in the blanks.
On our wedding day, the rabbi directed me to sign my Hebrew name on the ketubah. My mind went blank. “I spelled my name out loud two dozen times last week,” I explained, “but now I can’t remember how.”
Despite the rabbi’s prompting, we both made mistakes — in ink, of course. Word processing may be new and feminism may be new, but nervous brides and grooms are as old as ketubot.