March 8, 2002

Some of you may know the joke about the first Jewish president, who invites his mother to come to his inauguration. Living in Florida, she really doesn’t want to travel to Washington in January.  Besides, she doesn’t know who will do her hair there and she doesn’t have a thing to wear. After assuring her that the White House will fly her up in a private jet, and that there will be a hairstylist and dressmaker to take care of her, she finally agrees, with the stipulation that she be able to return home in time for her weekly mah jongg game.

At the dinner she is seated with the Secretary of State, the Speaker of the House, several Senators, and they turn to her and say, “You must be very proud of your son. To be the mother of the first Jewish president of the United States!” To which she responds. “That’s nice, but my other son…he’s a doctor!”

Two weeks ago in Cincinnati, my classmate, Rabbi David Ellenson, newly appointed president of HUC-JIR, presented for his very first time the honorary doctorates that the College-Institute awards its graduates after 25 years of service to the Jewish people. It was quite meaningful for him and for us to have someone who knows us so well make these personal presentations.

I would not be entirely honest if I did not tell you that for a long time growing up, I wanted to be a doctor. Perhaps it was motivated in part by my parents’ dreams and the expectations that nice Jewish kids should want that achievement. Indeed, I was pre-med in college for a year and a half until I got to Organic Chemistry. That, of course, forced me to ask question: do I really want to do this? That’s a good question for anyone to ask about what they do for a living.

There probably isn’t a person here who has not asked that question as we considered what our life plans, our career would be. How do we get to be who we are, professionally and personally? Each of us has a story to tell that reveals much about our values, our vision, and our goals.

The Rabbinate was a very unlikely path for me growing up. When I returned to Pittsburgh for my 10^th high school reunion, people were amazed that I, the kid who went off to Holy Cross, had become a rabbi. I was the difficult kid in religious school, the one who hated coming, the one who could not wait for my Bar Mitzvah so that I could quit and finally have fun. That is why I love to meet those unruly kids in our religious school. When they are sent to my study, all I have to do is tell them my story and they see the possibility of what might happen to them.

Many of you know that it was at Holy Cross that the rabbinate became for me a real option. My experiences as the only Jew there helped me to focus on how important my being Jewish really was. It did as much for my development as a Jew as all those years growing up in a Jewish neighborhood. That is something that gives me hope about the future of the Jewish people in the kind of world in which we now find ourselves. No longer do we have those ethnic enclaves where our Jewish identities are nourished by osmosis. We have a tremendous challenge before us: rabbis and serious Jews who feel and know how important it is to do the things that will preserve the precious legacy of Judaism. It takes more than just being born Jewish to transmit the valuable lessons and the life sustaining traditions that make up our heritage.

That has been the driving vision of my rabbinate, to encourage people to do more and more, to learn and study, to experiment with Jewish traditions that define and shape our way of life. After twenty-five years of traveling on this path, it seems natural that this is what I would do.

I must admit that the D.D. snuck up on me. 25 years is a long time in the context of a single life. It is hard to imagine that much time passing. Honestly, I hardly noticed. It is something that happened as I was doing other things – the rabbinate.

In truth, I was at first uncomfortable in some ways over the awarding of this degree. My teacher Chanan Brichto, z’l, said that when Rabbis become doctors that’s when Judaism got sick. I myself have joked when people ask if they should call me doctor. My response has been that if they do, they will need one.

Does the title doctor of divinity mean anything? Another classmate, Steven Kushner, who served as a scholar in residence here years ago, confesses that it might be considered fairly inconsequential. It is given to almost all graduates of HUC who have been in the service of God and the Jewish people for 25 years. It is, after all, just an acknowledgement of dedication and devotion. Commitment. For many of our colleagues it is merely a measure of endurance. D.D. Doctor of Duration. D. D. Doctor of Durability. 

Yet, putting aside all of the effete intellectual snobbery, the degree is well earned. President Ellenson said that while he had a PhD, this so-called honorary DD elicited requirements of effort and work beyond what goes into the more conventional doctorate programs. Congregational life includes a grueling schedule and inordinate demands. Days off are more theoretical than actual. The Rabbinate is not a career; it’s a calling. It is not a profession; it’s a way of life.

People who are part of Bet Shalom know in similar fashion that being a serious Jew is not merely a religion.  It, too, is a way of life. That is what makes my particular rabbinate so rewarding and enjoyable, without the degree. We have had a successful partnership here lasting over two decades from the very beginning of this community as a worshipping, studying, mitzvah-engaging congregation.

Receiving my doctor of divinity was an acknowledgement that you have allowed me to be “a doctor of the soul” in my rabbinate here. Drawing on the riches of our tradition, using Reform principles and methodology as our vehicle, we have attempted to enrich each other’s lives through the highs and lows. We use them medicine of mitzvot and rituals, books to read, study groups to join. We prescribe the practice of Jewish living, learning more and doing more. In the modern world of such demands on our time and loyalty, this is an arduous task.

But there is nothing like the rabbinate with its rewards of being there when people need you, of drawing upon the wisdom of thousands of years of life experience. As Jews, we are born with such a resource. Our task is to keep it accessible and useful, near the surface, not allowing its exhortations to be buried and forgotten.

I have had the privilege of watching hundreds of families go through the cycles of life. The births, namings, consecrations, B’nai Mitzvah, confirmations, conversions, marriages, and deaths are so numerous, yet each is unique.

To be a rabbi in this congregation includes the honor of standing in front of the ark as God’s representative in the eyes of the community, asking for God’s blessings and support at various times. I have been given the personal privilege over these years of making connections to individuals and families, invited in at the most intimate moments. It is a responsibility I accept with humility and gratitude. I do not take lightly this distinctive role.

Sometimes being a rabbi requires saying no.  The role of rabbi is not always fun and enjoyable. It is not supposed to be. There are times when responsibility is not something we want to assume, but we must. 

There also have been occasions, more often than I would have liked, when I come up empty. When I, along with you, yearn for a more simple answer. Is God there when we have tragedy? When it seems that we can find no comfort or answers, when we feel that we cannot help someone in need. It takes patience and perspective to see the big picture, to realize that God is there, not in the pain and illness and devastation, but in what happens afterwards, when we rebuild our lives, when we feel the love and help of those closest to us, when we use our sorrow to bring comfort to others, and in doing so bring meaning and purpose to our own lives.

Rabbis seem to get special opportunities for all of these things, but these issues are not confined to the Rabbinate. My colleague and friend, Jeff Salkin, the author of Putting God on the Guest List, wrote another lesser-known book called Finding God in the Workplace. He suggests that all people, no matter what their jobs, can find meaning and purpose in their occupational duties by applying the lessons and values of Judaism to their work.

We should all be willing to ask about our professions or work responsibilities: Can we make a contribution by what we do, making the world a better place? Can we translate what we do into partnership with God in one way or another? For some careers it may be difficult to fit easily into those parameters, but with some effort, I am convinced that we can do so for every labor there is.

One of my favorite anecdotes about comes from my good friend Rabbi Steven Bob, another classmate. As a student at HUC he was on his way to his biweekly pulpit when he sat down next to a stranger at the airport who struck up a conversation. This friendly Texan was pointing out that he served God by repairing airplanes. He was a mechanic who saw his work as a way to fulfill the teachings of his religion. He turned to Steven and said, “and how bout you?” A bit nonplussed, Steven responded, “I guess I serve God by serving God!”

The Rabbinate makes those issues a daily centerpiece. It is a special and unique way for a Jewish man or woman to do something important, to serve people and to serve God. For me, being Jewish is built into my job. While the role of the rabbi includes a multitude of functioning and activities, there is no doubt that the main responsibility of the rabbi is to be a Jew. What validates that and gives each rabbi, and indeed each Jew, authority is the study and knowledge of our texts and traditions. If we look at the rabbi's different pursuits, we see what a rabbi does is merely what all Jews can and should do.

Rabbis spend most of their time doing what they hope their congregants will spend some time doing. We do not engage in Jewish activities solely as surrogates, on behalf of the Jewish people. We seek to serve as Jewish exemplars providing various opportunities for Jews to do Jewish things, to devote themselves to study that leads to mitzvah.

Leonardo da Vinci had started work on a large canvas in his studio. For awhile he worked at it - choosing the subject, planning the perspective, sketching the outline, applying the colors, with his own inimitable genius. Then suddenly he ceased, the painting still unfinished, and, summoning one of his students, invited him to complete the work. The student protested that he was both unworthy and unable to complete the painting, which his master had begun. But da Vinci silenced him. “Will not what I have done inspire you to do your best?”

Rabbis may choose the subjects, plan the perspectives, sketch the outlines, and apply the colors. But it is important to remember that we are not alone here at Bet Shalom. We have other Jews and we have God. And we have a canvas that is so inspiring. It is the rich Jewish life that invites us all to pick up the brush and easel and add our strokes to the canvas.

While the “job” of the rabbi is to encourage others to think about being committed serious Jews, we also look for opportunities to encourage some of our youngsters to think about the Rabbinate, the Cantorate and Jewish educational careers. That is why I am so grateful that Bet Shalom has established the HUC-JIR scholarship fund in honor of this special occasion in my life. I cannot think of anything more fitting. It will make it easier for your rabbis to actively fulfill this part of our responsibility.

Considering the way in which the 25 years quietly crept up on me and the initial discomfort that I felt about what some might call an inconsequential honor, the ceremony was surprisingly inspiring. I was touched deeply by the impressive fact that Michael Pysno, Tom Silver, and Sam Stern, all lay leaders of this congregation and my good friends, made it a priority to accompany Andrea and me to Cincinnati for this event.

Surprisingly satisfying were the questions that this threshold raised for me about what I have done with those years. In talking about this with my colleagues, we concluded that it would be nice if all of our congregants would get honorary degrees, too. Not for the kavod, the honor, it purportedly carries but for the opportunity it affords: to take pause, to see ourselves within the context of our lifetimes. To ask ourselves “have we done what we thought we would do? Have we achieved our dreams? Did we even dream at all? And above all: to appreciate that you don’t have to be 27 years old to dream; that life can be an endless stream of new goals. 

Where do we go next? For us at Bet Shalom, that question has an obvious answer. We go to Minnetonka, to 13613 Orchard Rd. at the corner of Shalom Rd. There we will continue to share our achievements and accomplishments as rabbi and congregation: one Jewish year at a time.            

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