The Kesubah 

Every Jewish marriage begins with a kesubah—and so does our marriage with G-d.

The Most Important Thing in the House

A few months after Hurricane Katrina, one of the Chabad shluchos from New Orleans shared her story at the International Convention of Shluchos in Brooklyn, New York.

She described how suddenly the word went out: everyone needed to evacuate their homes immediately. They had only a few hours before they’d be stuck. There was no time to pack properly—just enough to grab the essentials: wallets, medications, a bit of food, some clothing—and get out.

So here’s the question: what’s the most important thing for a couple to take with them when they’re leaving their home, not knowing if there will be anything left when they return?

Some of you might be thinking: the wedding album, or family photos. Those are priceless, once-in-a-lifetime things you can never replace.

Others might say: tefillin. After all, a Jewish man needs them every single day.

So what did this shlucha actually take? What was the number one thing she made sure to grab?

The kesubah. The Jewish marriage contract.

Why the kesubah?

 What’s in a Kesubah 

The kesubah—the Jewish marriage contract—was first introduced during the Second Temple era. It was established by Rabbi Shimon ben Shetach, one of the great sages of Jewish history. Rabbi Shimon served as the Nasi, the head of the Sanhedrin—the Jewish “Supreme Court” in Jerusalem—during the reign of King Alexander Yannai. He instituted the kesubah as a way to protect Jewish women.

The opening section of a proper kesubah records the testimony of two witnesses. They attest that so-and-so, the groom, has taken so-and-so, the bride, as his wife. With G-d’s help, he promises to work for her, honor her, provide her with food, clothing, and support her as Jewish men do—generously and not stingily.

In plain English? The kesubah is the groom’s commitment to treat his bride the way a nice Jewish boy should.

But the kesubah is much more than flowery promises. It is a legal document that obligates the husband to pay a set sum of money should the couple ever divorce. The obligation is binding on all his assets. And in the tragic event of the husband’s death, the kesubah ensures that the wife inherits everything that belongs to him, giving her a source of security and livelihood.

Because of its importance, the sages were very strict about the kesubah. They ruled that a husband and wife may not live together without one. That is why the document is written and signed before the chuppah, the marriage ceremony itself.

Sometimes a young, freshly married couple comes home from the wedding hall after hours of celebrating. It’s their very first night together—and they suddenly realize they can’t find their kesubah among all the gifts and envelopes. Panic! They call their parents, they search everywhere, and still—nothing. At that point, they have no choice but to call the rabbi in the middle of the night, gather two live witnesses, and write out a brand new kesubah before they can officially begin their life together.

Of course, this doesn’t mean a Jewish couple needs to bring the kesubah along on every vacation. It just has to exist. If the document is ever lost or destroyed, a new one must be written immediately. Why? As the sages explained: “So that she should not be taken lightly in his eyes.”

In short, the kesubah is designed to protect women’s rights. Without it, divorce could be a quick and thoughtless decision. But when the husband sees that kesubah and remembers the financial commitment it represents, let’s just say tempers have a way of cooling down very quickly.

The Amount

These days, in Ashkenazic communities, the amount written in a kesubah is symbolic: two hundred zuz. A zuz was an ancient Talmudic coin—how much it would be worth today, I’m not sure anyone really knows.

In contrast, many Sephardic communities have the custom of writing in a large, very specific amount. To them, it’s considered a great honor to the bride. It’s a statement of how valuable she is, showing that the groom—and his family—are willing to commit a significant sum for her security.

Here’s a story that illustrates how seriously this was taken.

In one city in Israel, two weddings were scheduled for the same evening: one Ashkenazic, the other Sephardic. The same rabbi was asked to officiate at both, with the Sephardic wedding set to go first.

Well, later that night the Ashkenazi wedding was ready to begin—but there was one problem: the rabbi hadn’t shown up. So they sent someone over to the Sephardic wedding to find him.

When he got there, he discovered that the Sephardic chuppah hadn’t even started yet. Why? Because the two families were locked in an argument. The bride’s brothers were demanding a much larger sum to be written into the kesubah, and the groom’s family was refusing.

At that point, the rabbi stood up and announced, “I’m leaving now to go officiate at the other wedding. Hopefully by the time I return, you’ll have this sorted out.”

Realizing they were about to lose their rabbi entirely, the families quickly came to a compromise, and the chuppah finally went ahead.

Nakdimon’s Daughter

But getting back to the subject of the kesubah, the Talmud tells a remarkable story about Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai, the great leader of the Jewish people during the destruction of the Second Temple.

The Talmud relates that Rabbi Yochanan was once riding out of Jerusalem on a donkey, with his students following behind him. In the distance, he saw a young woman bent over a trash heap, desperately rummaging for scraps of food. She was literally “dumpster diving” to keep from starving.

When she noticed Rabbi Yochanan watching her, she stood in front of him and pleaded: “Master, give me sustenance!”

He asked her, “My daughter, whose child are you?”

She answered, “I am the daughter of Nakdimon ben Gurion.”

Now Nakdimon ben Gurion was not just anyone—he had been one of the three wealthiest men in Jerusalem. And yet here was his daughter, reduced to digging through garbage in search of a meal.

Rabbi Yochanan asked her, “What happened to your father’s fortune?”

She replied with a well-known Jerusalem saying: “Money needs salt.”

To explain: in those days, people salted their food to preserve it. So the saying meant that money, too, needs “salt” to endure. And the “salt” of money is tzedakah—charity. Her family had failed to “salt” their wealth, and so they lost everything.

Rabbi Yochanan pressed further: “And what about your father-in-law’s money?”

“That too was lost,” she answered.

Finally, she said to him: “Master, do you remember when you signed my kesubah?” Rabbi Yochanan turned to his students and said: “I remember it well. When I signed her kesubah, I read that it promised one thousand gold dinars from her father’s house—not even including the sum from her father-in-law’s house.”

And when Rabbi Yochanan said this to his students, he burst out  in tears, weeping at how far this poor woman had fallen. 

The point of that story is that in those days, families wrote enormous sums into the kesubah—and they meant it. These weren’t symbolic numbers; they were real commitments that the groom’s family was expected to stand behind.

Today, of course, it’s taken for granted. Prenuptial agreements, divorce settlements, and civil law all require a husband to divide at least part of his assets with his wife. But two thousand years ago, no other nation had ever heard of such a concept.

It was the Jewish people who introduced the idea of a marriage contract that protected women’s rights. It was Judaism that established laws to honor and safeguard the dignity of the woman.

Our Kesubah

And now we come to this week’s Torah reading.

The Rebbe would often point out that Nitzavim is always read in the days leading up to Rosh Hashanah. At the very start of the portion, Moshe Rabbeinu tells the Jewish people about the bris—the covenant—that G-d is making with them: “You are standing here today… to enter into the covenant that G-d is establishing with you.”

Judaism describes marriage, too, as a covenant—a bris nisuin—where husband and wife commit to remain faithful to one another forever. And in the very same way, the covenant between G-d and the Jewish people is a marriage. G-d “wed” us at Sinai, and we pledged to remain His people forever.

And just like every Jewish wedding includes a kesubah, so too did G-d give the Jewish people a kesubah at our wedding. That “kesubah” is the Torah itself. 

Think about that for a moment. Just as the shluchah in New Orleans took her kesubah with her as the most precious item she owned, G-d placed our kesubah—the Torah—in the safest place possible: the Holy of Holies, right next to the Ark of the Covenant. There was never to be a moment when our marriage contract with Him could be lost.

But there’s something even more special about this kesubah. Unlike a standard one, it includes no clause, no condition, and no possibility of divorce. In this sacred contract, G-d binds Himself to the Jewish people for eternity. Yes, He may sometimes be frustrated with His “wife.” Yes, He has even sent us into exile. But the bond itself can never be broken. The Jewish people will always, always remain G-d’s beloved bride.

As we stand before Rosh Hashanah, the anniversary of this marriage, let us renew our commitment to G-d. And let us pray that He renews His commitment to us in the ultimate way—by bringing the final redemption, with the coming of Moshiach, speedily in our days. Amen.