What makes a rabbi? A series of moments
This past weekend I was installed as the Rabbi of Congregation Kneseth Israel. It fulfills a lifelong dream, which my ordaining rabbi pointed out, started at my own Bat Mitzvah. I don’t even remember telling my 8th grade English teacher in Grand Rapids that I was going to be a rabbi, but she did and when I started rabbinical school she sent a lovely note to my mother telling her that and assuring her that the hand of G-d would be on my shoulder every step of the way.
This past weekend was filled with many singular moments all of which contributed to my officially becoming the rabbi at CKI. Friday evening we had Shabbat dinner at the home of one of the members we have grown close to. The table was set beautifully, the fish was delicious, the conversation was good. How she had time to do all that in between cooking for the weekend, attending a funeral, getting her husband ready to do a triathlon and the other myriad number of things we all do during the course of a week, I do not know. But I do know that when we sung Shalom Aleichem I was thinking about her preparedness and the grace she displayed.
Saturday morning there was a minyan before we even started at 9:30. My ordaining rabbi in town to do the installation, was giving the d’var Torah. I led most of the service. I love it when of my Bar/Bat Mitzvah students leads Ashrei because it is such a generation to generation moment. This week was no exception. My dear friends, Linda and Marylin walked in just as we were singing V’ahavta which says in part, “Speak of these words on your way and in your home.” I knew that Linda and Marylin had traveled a good distance and that they no doubt had discussed Torah on their way. I also knew that when they walked in they entered my home. More to the point that I knew I was home. I beamed from ear to ear as they were welcomed and then sat down with Sarah. They have been some of Sarah’s other mothers but let’s face it, they are actually some of my other mothers too! Then one of our congregants, another of Sarah’s other moms, joined them in that row. The world felt whole, complete.
Rabbi Neil Kominsky’s sermon was about mistakes. The Torah portion this week, Shelach Lecha, includes a piece from my Bat Mitzvah portion, where Moses pleads for forgiveness. The 13 Attributes of the Divine are repeated and from here they become part of the liturgy for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. G-d answers, “Vyomer Adonai, silachti kidvarecha.” “I pardon, according to your word.” This is what we sing right after Kol Nidre. How perfect for this morning. Not only was it a repeat of part of my Bat Mitzvah portion, but it is the reason I entered rabbinical school and the very verses I wrote about for my thesis. You can’t plan this stuff.
Neil’s take on it is important. G-d expects us not to be perfect, but to make mistakes. There is a system already in place for making it right. Every body makes mistakes. No one is perfect. No community is perfect. Sometimes those mistakes are made “unwittingly.” And that is OK. You will be forgiven by the community and by G-d.” I thought he was speaking directly to me, who wrestles with needing to be perfect. Others thought he was speaking directly to them who wrestle with balance.
Later that afternoon, when more of our out-of-town guests were here, we went to the Lucky Monk for dinner. Yes, it can be said that I am a member of the Monk Society, a place where the slogan is “Elevate Your Soul”. So a rabbi, a priest and a minister went into a bar and it is not a joke. It had rained off and on all afternoon but the sun was struggling to peak out. I couldn’t find my Monk Society card so I went outside, by myself and without my cell phone. Wouldn’t you know it? There was the rainbow I had hoped to see earlier in the day. No one to witness. No photos to prove it. And I smiled, because it felt like G-d was smiling on me. Too anthropomorphic perhaps, but it felt that way.
Belief in G-d did not come easily to me. My parents were rationalists, scientists. G-d can’t be explained or easily proven. My belief grew slowly over time. One of the ways that I came to a belief in G-d was through studying in a parsha ha’shavua class, a weekly class looking at the portion of the week. I had never done this kind of in-depth Bible study before. The portion of Noah comes early in the academic year. There was something magical, mystical, beautiful, in the idea of a rainbow being a sign from G-d. A rainbow requires the perfect balance between sun and rain, just the right angle of the sun. For me that was “proof”. Now when I see a rainbow I am reminded of that night, the world feels whole and my place secure. Seeing a rainbow on the eve of my installation was a brief spiritual affirmation.
When I became a rabbi, when I was officially ordained there were lots of little moments along the way. The dean saying yes, my name would be on the invitation that year, the presentation of my thesis, the trip to Israel, the last comp and ritual skill passed, the handing out of the tallitot atarot, the tying of the knots on the tallit, going to the mikveh at Mayyim Hayyim, going to the mikveh with my class, the blessing circle, the quiet walk along the Long Island Sound the morning of ordination, the signing of the document, the actual ordination, driving back out, all alone from the College of Mount Saint Vincent. At what point did I become a rabbi?
Then I took a rabbinic job as a Jewish educator. I sat on my favorite rock in Oqunquit right at the ocean’s edge along the Marginal Way and debated its merits. It would give me a chance to work as a rabbi and to test out my theories as an educator. It would give me new, fresh experience. It would pay me a salary and I could keep my consulting practice going while paying off rabbinical school. I took the job. Congregants debated whether I was a real rabbi. After all I didn’t go to JTS. I hadn’t trained as a pulpit rabbi, whatever that means, and I was a woman. My position on Israel was seen by some as too liberal. I was not Conservative, traditional or observant enough. I didn’t like some of the inconsistencies of practice. I loved working with the families and miss many of them. But it wasn’t a good fit, even if I was a rabbi if not the rabbi.
I began writing my own vision of what I wanted my rabbinate to look like. I went away by myself, back to Ogunquit to write. I walked along the Marginal Way. I walked the beach for hours. When I got back to my hotel room, the dean of placement at the Academy had sent me an application for “spiritual leader” of Congregation Kneseth Israel. Its vision mirrored my own and they were intentional about it. My application was completed before I went to bed on my birthday.
Sending an application, going through a phone screening interview, then a Skype interview, then an in-person demo weekend, then waiting for a search committee vote, a board vote, a congregational vote seemed to take forever. Negotiating a contract was slow. I was beginning to wonder if it was ever going to happen. More trips to Ogunquit. Do I really move my family half way across the country? Will this rock still be here when I return? How can I leave my friends, my house of 23 years, this ocean? Every time I asked the questions, the answers came back yes. There was a pull, a calling, something I can’t explain.
I started this job in August. Along the way there have been lots of highlights. Some deep spiritual moments. Some less spiritual and more community oriented. When did I become the rabbi at CKI? When the congregational vote passed? When the contract was negotiated, voted upon and signed? When I arrived for the picnic and a funeral? When Sarah and I camped that first week? When the moving truck arrived? When I led my first Shabbat morning service? When we celebrated the first High Holidays together?
Sunday night I was installed as the rabbi at Congregation Kneseth Israel. It was really the public affirmation of what has been already true. A confirmation. When did I become the rabbi? When the Torah was passed down? When the officers read the covenant and I responded? When the priestly benediction was proclaimed? Each of these had deeply spiritual overtones.
The words my friends and colleagues spoke, drove many, including myself to tears. David Ferner spoke about the need to ask questions and to search for answers and to realize that not everyone has the same ones–and that is OK. That is OK as long as the focus of the spokes is on the hub–that hub is G-d. Neil spoke about allowing the image of the divine to shine through in all that we do so that we can see the divine in everything. Linda Shriner Cahn spoke about my quest for tikkun olam and making the world a better place. Maralee Gordon spoke about returning to my roots and welcoming me back to the neighborhood. Keith Frye talked about how I have already been a friend and a pastor to him and how we are already collaborating together. There was much humor, much laughter, much joy. i felt loved and appreciated. This is a good fit. It is comfortable.
Like many liminal moments that mark a change in status, I am not sure it is any one of these moments. Rather, like believing in G-d, it happens slowly over time. It is each of these moments taken together. Today I can say I am very proud and very humble to be the rabbi of Congregation Kneseth Israel. It was an amazing weekend.