My wife and I retired the night before our early morning flight to Pittsburgh last week for a family wedding in which I was the rabbinic officiant. We love these two young cousins and were excited to go with our sons and their partners to celebrate their marriage.
I suddenly became aware that two deaths had befallen members of my congregation. My two rabbinic colleagues were unavailable to officiate. What to do? I wanted so much to officiate at the wedding. But who would comfort the two families and officiate over the burial of their loved ones? How was I to be in two places at once – in Los Angeles and Pittsburgh?
I was torn whichever choice I took. I sat up, put my feet on the carpet, and began to walk. Full consciousness came to me. Alas, I realized I was only in a nightmare. No one had died. The wedding was still on.
It was a spectacular wedding. The bride and groom, beloved by family and friends, are comedy writers, as are most of their friends from “The Onion,” The Late Show with Stephen Colbert,” and “Saturday Night Live.” The rehearsal dinner the night before the nuptials was a marathon of comedy writing and performance, one hilarious person taking the mic after another keeping us in stitches as each feted the couple.
It was thrilling to stand under the chupah with these two lovebirds. When they broke the glass and kissed for the first time as husband and wife, pandemonium broke out. The party was as joyous as it gets.
Thank goodness it was only two funerals and a wedding in my dreamscape, and my rabbinic nightmare passed.
Rabbi John Rosove's Blog 
Rabbi Rosove,
I, too, and relieved for you that this was only your nightmare, and not a true scenario.
Mazel tov on being able to rejoice with the bride and groom and with your family. From my perspective, the true nightmare, however, is that this potential choice feels like a nightmare at all.
One of the most sad and troubling aspects of the reality of clergy life is that so many clergy feel as if we are expected to choose jobs and congregants over family. In your “nightmare,” you had presumably arranged to take appropriate and deserved personal time in order to celebrate with family under the chuppah. And presumably, despite the fact that your rabbinic colleagues were unavailable, there were surely other members of the clergy in the area who could step in and serve adequately in your absence – or there was even the possibility of postponing the funerals until you could return. While your congregants might have been sad or perhaps angry to learn that you were unable to be with them at their time of loss, or that they might have to await your return, the truly nightmarish part of this seems to be the expectation that a member of the clergy should be expected to choose to abandon obligations to family in order to serve congregants.
Sadly, far too many clergy families seem to suffer the consequences of such choices. I wonder if we create these expectations ourselves, and encourage them when we consider choosing to sacrifice family for unrealistic professional expectations. So many clergy families suffer as a result. I am convinced that we must try to shine the light on this challenge and help educate our congregants to help us to preserve our families with the same sanctity that we teach them to apply to their own.
I see this scenario as a potential screenplay. But Hugh Grant is too old to play you in “Two Funerals and Wedding.”