June is the most popular month for weddings, which makes June the most common month for wedding anniversaries. Including mine. It's been 16 years since Jim and I signed the ketubah –the Jewish marriage contract – that hangs in our bedroom.

It is a pretty document. The border is a multi-colored Eden, with mountains, a lush river, and creatures of land, sea, and sky. The words, in English and Hebrew, reflect our understanding of marriage as a mutual pledge made "according to the tradition of Moses and the Jewish people," a promise to devote ourselves to each other, as Jewish husband and wife, "with integrity."

The Baal Shem Tov, charismatic founder of Hasidism in the 18th century, advised couples to re-read their ketubah whenever they were fighting. It would remind them, he said, of how they felt as brides and grooms, hopeful, smitten, surrounded by good wishes. The Baal Shem Tov was right, of course. My ketubah conjures up the whole wonderful day for me. The shaggy dog story my father told. How much we laughed. How it was so hot, we ran out of soda and beer.

But it shouldn't take a fight to re-read your ketubah. It ought to be one of those health-and-safety habits, like checking your smoke detector when you change the clocks for daylight savings. Likewise, on every wedding anniversary, Jewish couples should sit down and read the contract they signed with stars in their eyes. I can make this proposal because most American Jews actually know what a ketubah is. Only 25 years ago, the Jewish marriage contract was a vestigial practice. For couples who signed one (and many did not), it was an unadorned piece of paper supplied by the rabbi, polished off in a thoughtless rush. After the wedding, it was often misplaced or even lost.

But in the 1970s, the Jewish renewal movement revived the ketubah with unbridled creativity. Today, it's a wonderful little industry, with Jewish calligraphers and artists helping engaged couples make something beautiful and meaningful out of a legal mechanism that dates back to the first century.

Judaica shops and catalogs carry a dizzying selection of ketubot, with designs, prices, and texts for every taste, pocketbook, and religious point of view. Brides and grooms can select the ancient Aramaic text decorated with exquisite paper-cut roses, or an egalitarian document set in watercolor. Or they may commission an original work of art with a choice of texts and a design that reflects a love of Jerusalem, or roses, or elephants.

None of these ketubot are meant to be hidden away. Like the mezuzah on the doorpost, the framed ketubah is becoming a hallmark of Jewish homes.

Like a mezuzah (parchment scroll containing the Torah), too, even the most exquisite ketubah is never simply a work of art. A ketubah always signifies the Jewishness of a love story, a marriage, a home, a family, a past and a future.

The border of my ketubah is a biblical quote: "I will betroth you unto me forever ... in justice ... in righteousness... in loving kindness... in compassion ... and in faithfulness." The words form a circle, like the ring on my finger, without beginning or end.