Portrait of an American Rabbi: In His Own Words

I always wanted to be a rabbi. I never really seriously considered doing any other work, except to append a significant commitment to academic study to my rabbinate. I have been the luckiest of all people. I have had the chance and continue to have the chance to do both. The long hours take their toll on body and mind but not the spirit. I remain “in my work.” I felt I was called to the rabbinate as a child. I am still responding without hesitation to that call. In the course of twenty-five years, longer if you include my three years in a student pulpit- mine was in Richmond, Indiana- you see life, all of life, in all of its dimensions, complexities and variations, almost on a daily basis. Although much of what I am currently doing might be classified as administrative or managerial due to the needs of our congregation, the core of my rabbinate remains pastoral. The biggest thing I’ve learned about the rabbinate, despite my personal love of learning, is that what the congregation needs is personal emotional access to the rabbi and to the transcendent. Some need it every day; some need it once a year. But beyond the programs, the services, the campaigns, the initiatives and more, it’s really very simple: people need to feel the power of the tradition in their hearts and through that power of the tradition, a hit, an echo of the ineffable. My job is to help you connect to the sacred within you. There is nothing I would rather do. At every turn in the road of life, at birth, at the beginning of a child’s education, Bar or Bat Mitzvah, marriage, family crisis, a moment of accomplishment, a health issue, even death, there is a moment to connect. And sometimes it’s something you read or saw on a trip or thought about while commuting on the train. It doesn’t matter. That moment of spiritual opportunity is always there, always ready to break through and then share. For the next twenty-five years, I just want to continue being there for you, to continue learning and teaching, dreaming and building, doing my part in that very long, very noble generational baton race we call Judaism and KI. Remember the movie “Chariots of Fire,” when the Scotsman just puts his head back and runs on the beach with the wind? That’s what I wanted to do in a spiritual way on the unknown road that lies in front of me. It’s the joy of simply being and running and feeling the wind and the spirit. Thank you for helping me to be who I want to be. Thanks for bringing “you” to me. May we all go from strength to strength.