The k’tubah, or marriage contract, is a crucial element of the Jewish marriage—traditionally signed just before the wedding ceremony begins, and usually read aloud as part of the ceremony. For a millennium, artists have produced illuminated and illustrated k’tubot, and many couples today frame and hang them in their homes. But, as David Bashevkin notes, these documents—traditionally written in the legalistic Aramaic of the Talmud—are not especially poetic.

Instead, the k’tubah delights us with such deeply romantic stuff as who precisely owns the bride’s furniture or the 200 silver pieces the husband promises to pay in the event of divorce. That’s a far cry from “to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part” [used by so many English-speaking Christians]. So, why did this mundane financial document guaranteeing the rights of the woman become so paradigmatic of the Jewish marriage? . . .

Because, as the Talmud explains, the k’tubah may not coo sweet nothings but it goes a long way toward making a marriage work by making divorce more difficult.

By centering the k’tubah as the affirmation of Jewish love, we are also recognizing the gravity of love’s responsibility. And not only the love we feel to our husband or our wife. The love that is fostered between spouses . . . is emblematic of the love between God and the Jewish people. We should be lovesick with God, Moses Maimonides writes.

We all have seen what relationships with God look like without the enduring responsibilities of a k’tubah. A relationship without a k’tubah exists so long as it is convenient and fun. Without a k’tubah, we may have Shabbat, but just as long as it isn’t too onerous or comes at a bad time. We may have prayer, but just as long as we have enough free time and the synagogue isn’t too far away. Without a k’tubah, every relationship, even the one we have with Creator of the universe, runs the risk of fading away once things are no longer hunky-dory, convenient and comfortable and gratifying.

Yasir Arafat was often quoted as saying that his “strongest weapon is the womb of an Arab woman.” That is, he believed the high birthrates of both Palestinians and Arab Israelis ensured that Jews would eventually be a minority in the Land of Israel, at which point Arabs could call for a binational state and get an Arab one. Using similar logic, both Israelis and their self-styled sympathizers have made the case for territorial concessions to prevent such an eventuality. Yet, Yoram Ettinger argues, the statistics have year after year told a different story:

Contrary to the projections of the demographic establishment at the end of the 19th century and during the 1940s, Israel’s Jewish fertility rate is higher than those of all Muslim countries other than Iraq and the sub-Saharan Muslim countries. Based on the latest data, the Jewish fertility rate of 3.13 births per woman is higher than the 2.85 Arab rate (since 2016) and the 3.01 Arab-Muslim fertility rate (since 2020).

The Westernization of Arab demography is a product of ongoing urbanization and modernization, with an increase in the number of women enrolling in higher education and increased use of contraceptives. Far from facing a “demographic time bomb” in Judea and Samaria, the Jewish state enjoys a robust demographic tailwind, aided by immigration.

However, the demographic and policy-making establishment persists in echoing official Palestinian figures without auditing them, ignoring a 100-percent artificial inflation of those population numbers. This inflation is accomplished via the inclusion of overseas residents, double-counting Jerusalem Arabs and Israeli Arabs married to Arabs living in Judea and Samaria, an inflated birth rate, and deflated death rate.

The U.S. should derive much satisfaction from Israel’s demographic viability and therefore, Israel’s enhanced posture of deterrence, which is America’s top force- and dollar-multiplier in the Middle East and beyond.