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.

In a sense, the most successful negotiation with Hamas was the recent agreement securing the release of Edan Alexander, the last living hostage with a U.S. passport. Unlike those previously handed over, he wasn’t exchanged for Palestinian prisoners, and there was no cease-fire. Dan Diker explains what Hamas got out of the deal:

Alexander’s unconditional release [was] designed to legitimize Hamas further as a viable negotiator and to keep Hamas in power, particularly at a moment when Israel is expanding its military campaign to conquer Gaza and eliminate Hamas as a military, political, and civil power. Israel has no other option than defeating Hamas. Hamas’s “humanitarian” move encourages American pressure on Israel to end its counterterrorism war in service of advancing additional U.S. efforts to release hostages over time, legitimizing Hamas while it rearms, resupplies, and reestablishes it military power and control.

In fact, Hamas-affiliated media have claimed credit for successful negotiations with the U.S., branding the release of Edan Alexander as the “Edan deal,” portraying Hamas as a rising international player, sidelining Israel from direct talks with DC, and declaring this a “new phase in the conflict.”

Fortunately, however, Washington has not coerced Jerusalem into ceasing the war since Alexander’s return. Nor, Diker observes, did the deal drive a wedge between the two allies, despite much speculation about the possibility.