Tag: 50 years in the rabbinate

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Convention

Fifty Year Reflections

In many ways, the Reform movement is quite different today than it was when I was ordained. The Union Prayer Book was used in our synagogues universally most of the service was conducted in English. The introduction of Gates of Prayer, Gates of Repentance, and most recently, Mishkan T’fillah and Mishkan HaNefesh brought with it a more traditional feel while adding optional readings that fill the worship with meaning. Gender inclusive language makes all feel a part of the worship.

As students at HUC-JIR, we could not wear a Tallit when conducting services and students who desired kosher food needed the permission of the president to live off campus. My first contract in Akron specified that I could not wear a kippah on the bimah. Now kippot and talliot are made available to the congregation and the Tallit has replaced the robe that was standard attire for rabbis in the pulpit.

Our movement is no longer “classical reform.” More and more, our congregants and our younger colleagues pushed our movement to embrace traditions that had been discarded. We embraced Zionism and Israel became part of our rabbinic training and central in our congregations. I, too, embrace these changes. What’s lacking is the notion that the synagogue is central to Jewish life. Today there is much that competes and Friday night is no longer “Temple night.” We talk of spirituality without including the synagogue experience as an essential component of our relationship with God. I now hear people tell me that they are spiritual, but not religious. We can be both and I hope the worship service will once again rise up as part of our search for God in our lives.

In 1969, there were no women yet ordained by the College-Institute. There had not yet been ordained an openly LGTBQ rabbi. Women rabbis have become part of the norm, as have LGBTQ rabbis. The inclusion of both in our rabbinic leadership has changed us for the better.

In the early 1990’s, those of us with LGBT children and our colleagues who identified as gay or lesbian (mostly in the closet) were not permitted to post a meeting in a colleague’s room. Today most of our members are comfortable with officiating at same sex weddings. Our movement has become more welcoming of a diverse population making many more comfortable in our synagogues. I was happy to be a part of that change. I recall the controversy that arose when I officiated at the first same sex Jewish wedding in Ohio.   We have led the way and for that we should be proud.

Every generation makes its contribution to the growth of Reform Judaism. I look back on my career with a sense of satisfaction. It is good to know that I have made a difference in the lives of many people. It is good to know that, both in my congregation and as national president of PFLAG, I have made LGBTQ people feel safe, helped their families embrace them, and helped make them feel a part of Jewish religious life.  It is good to know that I have been able to teach both Jews and non-Jews the lessons that come from our Jewish tradition and its literature. It is good to continue to be a part of the general community and continue to present to Christian and Muslim groups. It is good now to be a member of my congregation. I now learn from my rabbi, and for that I am grateful.

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Rabbi David M Horowitz is celebrating 50 years in the rabbinate at the upcoming 2019 CCAR Convention. 

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Convention

The First Time I Was a Rabbi

The first time I was a rabbi happened in a small town in West Virginia. It was not what I had expected. I’m pretty sure it was 1965 but I am certain it was Yom Kippur because Jan Peerce, the great operatic tenor, sang Kol Nidre.

I had just found out I was going to be the rabbi there only a few days earlier.

At the time, I was in my second-year of rabbinic school (age 22) and didn’t even rate a High Holyday student pulpit. That year there were only a few but I had missed the cut-off in the student-pulpit lottery.

Then, just two days before Yom Kippur, the student who had been assigned to conduct High Holyday services in Logan, West Virginia was taken ill and confined to bed. Since I was next on the list, within only a few hours, I found myself standing in the hallway outside a sick classmate’s bedroom taking notes:

You take the Norfolk & Western to Huntington. Then you rent a car and drive through the mountains to Logan. There will be a room reserved for you at the hotel. When you get in, phone a mister so-and-so and tell him you’re the replacement rabbi. He’ll tell you where the synagogue is. Services begin at 7.

He gave me his prayer book, marked with all the cues for the organist and the choir, and explained that, when it came time for the chanting of the Kol Nidre prayer, I should reach under the lectern where, hopefully, there would be a phonograph ready to play a recording of Jan Peerce (nee: Jacob Pincus Perelmuth) singing Kol Nidre.

“Have you decided what you’re preaching on yet?” my classmate asked.

Preaching? It hadn’t yet even dawned on me that I was supposed to give a sermon!

Nervous would be an understatement. I was terrified.

Within two days, on the holiest day of the year, I found myself standing up on the bima leading a congregation in prayer. Everything went pretty much according to plan until we got to the shema. (I am not making this up.)

Before I could invite the congregation to rise—as per the dramaturgical instructions written in my prayer book—I felt a slight rumbling in the floor of the building and heard a distant roaring sound. Then the chandeliers began slowly swinging back and forth. At first, I thought it might be an earthquake. But the rumbling and the roar steadily increased. Soon, the whole building shook. The noise was deafening. Maybe I was having a mystical experience. I can only imagine what the expression on my face must have looked like.

But—and this is the crazy part—no one else in the congregation seemed to take any notice at all. Some began casually whispering to one another. Others simply closed their eyes and seemed to be meditating. Excuse me but does anyone else hear this loud roar? Pardon me, but are we concerned that the building is violently shaking? Perhaps I had slipped into an Isaac Bashevis Singer short story and a village whose inhabitants had become inured to the earth shaking and the heavens roaring whenever they declared God’s unity.

Thankfully, a member of the congregation, recognizing my dismay, came up onto the stage with a whispered explanation: A few feet behind the back wall of the synagogue—he inconspicuously gestured, right behind the five-member choir—was the main line of the Chesapeake & Ohio railroad’s coal division and, as it happened, every now and then, a two hundred car-long coal train passed by.

Fifteen minutes later, when the rumble and roar faded off into the distance, we continued our worship: Hear, O’ Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One.

That winter, in my Hebrew Bible class, we read I Kings 19:12. “And after the roar there was the thin, barely audible sound of almost breathing.”

—

Rabbi Lawrence Kushner is celebrating 50 years in the rabbinate at the upcoming 2019 CCAR Convention. 

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Convention

Reflections on 50 Years in the Rabbinate

Probably the greatest change in my life was the day Dr. Alvin Reines defined religion in Philosophy class as: “Man’s response to his finitude, his infinite striving and his finite factuality.” His elongated explanation changed my life due to the fact that for years I had struggled with my father’s suicide when I was 10 years old. Suddenly I had a cause and a mission to my life. I could bring comfort to the bereaved and a repurpose to those dealing with the death of a loved one. My life’s path suddenly took me on an adventure of trying to assist youth and adults preparing for the inevitability of the death and to reconcile this loss through mourning customs. A piece of this exploit took me into the world of teenage suicide and its devastating and profound impact on everyone; parents, fellow students and the community. My quest became as to what contribution I could make to prevent the next suicide? Utilizing members of my congregation, together we produced a video and called it Inside I Ache. This described not only the warning signs of suicide but that friends knowingly must break a confidence and tell someone in authority when they recognize such signs. This video began my adventure into the world of thanatology and my writing about death and dying issues, i.e. my book on Clergy Retirement: Every Ending a New Beginning, or The Suicide Funeral.

My rabbinate was also dedicated to offering a wide range of spiritual experiences through services filled with music and a sense of holiness and awe. We were once dubbed ‘the hugging congregation’ and awarded 4 stars by a newspaper reporter who made it his mission to go around and rate congregations in Cleveland. I also have a deep love of teaching adults and young people and have felt a sense of satisfaction by inspiring 9 of my students to become rabbis. I was highly involved in social action projects and perhaps felt most rewarded with the yearly observance of both Martin Luther King Jr’s birthday and the yahrsite of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. Our Temple and Antioch Baptist Church, a large, prominent church in Cleveland yearly held a MLK service and other discussions. As a result of this interaction, their pastor, the Rev. Marvin McMickle and I became the best of friends. I was invited to speak at each of his milestone celebrations at his congregation, and he at mine, and was prominently involved when he ran for the U.S. Senate. During my thirty-five years with Temple Emanu El, I led them to work cooperatively with other congregations and personally developed a community adult education program and a joint high school. I have a deep commitment to Israel and am on the local Jewish National Fund Board of Directors, as well as having served for many years on the National Rabbinic Board for Israel Bonds and am a member of AIPAC. I have lived in Israel twice for a year a piece and have traveled there about 30+ times. Prior to my retirement from Temple Emanu El, I positioned the congregation to make the transition to a new building in a suburb closer to where many young Jewish couples were living.   On a lighter note I have twice been dubbed Cleveland’s “Funniest Rabbi” at the bi-annual fundraising event at the Maltz Museum of Jewish Heritage.

I have continued my involvement in Judaism through serving as a monthly rabbi in Sharon, PA for 10 years, as an interim rabbi in Lexington, KY, and as a High Holy Day replacements in Rochester, NY, Virginia Beach, VA and Birmingham, AL, as well as being a rabbi on cruise ships that have taken us to Antarctica, India, Indonesia and the United Arab Emirates. We have traveled to Africa, Australia, Alaska and Vietnam.

Elaine and my children number 5 with one daughter living here in Cleveland, three sons in Denver and one son on Long Island. We have 9 grandchildren spread around the country and no great grandchildren as of this writing in 2019.

It has been a wonderful and meaningful life being a rabbi and if I could choose it over again I would do it in a heartbeat.

—

Rabbi Daniel A. Roberts is celebrating 50 years in the rabbinate at the upcoming 2019 CCAR Convention. 

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Convention

50 Blessed Years in the Rabbinate

“Love is Blue” was playing on the radio as I drove home from HUC on Clifton Avenue after the lottery was over and my number guaranteed that I would “volunteer” for the U.S. Army. Chaplaincy school was now on the horizon, and Fort Belvoir, Arlington National Cemetery, and Vietnam were in my future. Of course I didn’t know all that as I opened the door of our apartment in Clifton Village, I just felt sorry and angry for Eileen, our newborn son and me – a lamb on its way to slaughter.

But life has a way of imparting its own truths and healing is a presence too often recognized retrospectively. If I lived in a different time or were a different person then, I would be talking about God here. Maybe I still am. Because a Lieutenant from Mississippi, a Private from Brooklyn, a Captain from Minnesota and countless others taught me what it can mean to be called “Rabbi”, present in the jungles of their confusion and fear, connecting us all to each other, to whatever the word God or Jewish meant to us in that seductively lush and dangerous setting.

The Placement Commission of the CCAR gave me a bonus when I came home from Vietnam. I was eligible to apply for a “B” congregation even though I was only two years out. Eileen gave me even a better one when our two-year-old looked up from his crib that first morning and said: “That’s my Daddy”. I guess even in an age of reel-to-reel tapes sent back and forth from Nha Trang to New Jersey we found our way to each other.

My first pulpit was in Springfield, New Jersey. Temple Sha’arey Shalom was looking for someone to follow a powerful, socially active, controversial and adored Rabbi. Do we ever know what we are walking into? They taught me to love and listen. There was no “incoming” to dodge but plenty of battles to navigate as divergent visions of what the past meant for their future collided. The Army served me well. “KISS” Keep It Simple Stupid. Be there as consistently as you can; stand tall and true to yourself and your understanding of the Jewish continuum. But don’t be afraid to cry together, laugh together and dream even as you “never let them see you sweat.” We lived there almost twelve years; our family and our congregation growing and maturing, nurturing each other in times of strength and weakness.

I was in the middle of working towards an MSW in Pastoral Counseling from Wurzweiler School of Social Work when Temple Israel of West Palm Beach called to ask if I would consider interviewing for their congregation. Sometimes things are just meant to be and since I was conducting a wedding in Del Ray Beach two weeks later, I said – yes – if you can make it happen within that time frame. The interview took place in the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach over breakfast with 30 people. Talk about first impressions! A 28-year-bumpy, frustrating, exhilarating, challenging journey began that day. It was filled with new opportunities for growth some of my choosing some chosen for me. The position propelled me into community activism both in our Jewish Federation and the Interfaith Arena. In the meanwhile I was invited to serve on the Reform Pension Board where I am now Vice-Chair. An unexpected blessing, my years on the RPB have linked me with lay and professional people who care deeply and religiously for the professionals and congregations of our Reform movement. It taught me how the sacred flows into the secular; how a shared vision and commitment can become God’s work.

I retired in 2008 to a new chapter. I spent two years learning to become a Jewish Spiritual Director. The Hasidic and Mussar masters informed my heart as my Judaism evolved finding a new home in my soul. With a friend and colleague from the Episcopal tradition we became lecturers at Florida Atlantic University’s Life Long Learning Centers as well as the Palm Beach Fellowship of Christians and Jews. In my Jewish communal life, I serve as a consultant to the Synagogue Institute of the Jewish Federation of Palm Beach County, working in synagogue transformation and leadership initiatives.

I have been very lucky. My Episcopal friend corrects me when I use the word “lucky”: “Blessed, Howard – blessed.” My life is full; my cup overflows.

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Rabbi Howard Shapiro is celebrating 50 years in the Reform Rabbinate at the upcoming 2018 CCAR Convention in Orange County, CA.

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CCAR Convention Rabbis spirituality

50 Years a Rabbi: A Path Less Traveled

Martin Buber’s philosophy and Hasidic spiritual revival, along with my attraction to intensive small group experiences, brought me to rabbinical school. Five years later, as a senior at HUC-JIR in Cincinnati, I had my life mapped out: I accepted a Fellowship to the Social Psychology Department at the University of Michigan, along with an appointment to the part-time congregation there. But Richard Levy, an upper-class mentor at HUC, urged me to meet with his senior rabbi, Leonard Beerman, z”l, even though I insisted I was not available to be his next assistant.

Nevertheless, Leonard offered me the job, and then brought me to Los Angeles to meet some members of Leo Baeck Temple, a congregation famous for its social activism and non-theological teachings. Just before I was to return to Cincinnati, having once again declined his offer, Leonard said something like, “When I was beginning my career, I wish I had been able to be with someone who could help me with things like weddings and funerals.” Suddenly feeling how very unprepared I was, I said, “Okay. I’m coming.”

Not everyone was happy with my sudden change of direction, but, months later, when I met with a father and three children who brought with them the suicide note of their 41-year-old wife and mother, I gratefully marched into my senior rabbi’s office and laid out the situation. “What do I do?” I asked. He thought for a moment, then said, “I have no idea. Let me know what you do.”

It took me a long time to get past my sense of betrayal and realize what a gift Leonard had given me. In many ways, that moment pushed me onto my own path, needing to trust my own instincts and access a deeper Wisdom.

Pursuing my interest in small-group process, I became a Sensitivity Group leader. In the context of that intense training, some of the shells around my heart broke open, and things began to change both personally and professionally. Returning from a week at Esalen Institute in December 1969, a rockslide on Highway One shattered my basic sense of reality with what I later learned was called an OOBE, an out-of-body experience. Although it was some time before I would share that with others, I awakened to an identity beyond the limits of my physical self. Because of the profound clarity of that realization, I began learning and practicing meditation, hoping to revisit that sacred space less dramatically. I was no longer the same person who had been hired by Leo Baeck Temple a year and a half earlier, and I declined an offer of a third year.

This time, I followed Richard Levy into the Hillel environment, and at Cal State University, Northridge, I worked with Rabbi Michael Roth, a yeshiva classmate of Shlomo Carlebach, who would become my primary teacher, mentor, and friend, until his death in early 2017.

Because spirituality and meditation had become primary for me, but were not core agendas of synagogue life, I entered a graduate program at the California School of Professional Psychology in Los Angeles, where I could more openly pursue my spiritual and psychological interests. Away from the professional rabbinate, I found a surprisingly natural way of being rabbi, counseling and officiating at life-cycle moments for faculty and fellow students. Since that time, I have focused on sharing the spiritual authenticity at the heart of Jewish tradition, developing a psycho-spiritual approach to Torah. My work has included the founding of two meditative synagogues (Makom Ohr Shalom in Los Angeles in 1978, and Bet Alef in Seattle in 1993); practicing as a therapist and spiritual counselor; becoming, along with Pastor Don Mackenzie and Imam Jamal Rahman, an Interfaith Amigo; and authoring or co-authoring a number of books.

While I retired from congregational life at the end of 2009, I continue to write, do counseling, travel with my Amigos, and work as an independent teacher of a universal spirituality based in Jewish text and tradition, seeking universal teachings from other great spiritual paths in order to support the healing of person and planet that needs to be. I am deeply grateful for the road less traveled on which I have found myself.

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Rabbi Ted Falcon is celebrating 50 years in the rabbinate at the upcoming 2018 CCAR Convention. 

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chaplains Rabbis

Reflections on 50 Years as a Rabbi

I was ordained a rabbi on the Shabbat before the Six-Day War erupted in Israel in 1967.  Little did I realize then how powerfully that event would transform American Reform Jews for generations. Since that time, we have reclaimed once-discarded traditional rituals and have embraced Zionism enthusiastically.

After ordination, I became an Army chaplain for two years, first at Ft. Belvoir, Virginia. In that capacity, I officiated at all Jewish burials at Arlington National Cemetery, many of which involved Vietnam casualties- a painful, frustrating assignment. I was told the name of the deceased and the grave site, but nothing more. Yet I was expected to eulogize the deceased when I arrived at the grave site. After that experience, I committed myself to learning as much as I can about the deceased prior to the service to give him/her an appropriate final tribute.

While at HUC-JIR, I envisioned becoming a congregational rabbi, with an emphasis on scholarship, preaching, and teaching and without much attention to social action. Vietnam changed all that.

At Ft. Belvoir, as a military officer, I became an outspoken opponent of the Vietnam War and was punished for my actions by being reassigned to Korea.

Discharged in June, 1969, I interviewed for seven pulpits, three of which were assistant-ships. During that process, I discovered that I am not temperamentally suited to be an assistant rabbi and needed a solo congregation. My first pulpit was Temple B’nai Israel, in Galveston.

I continued my anti-war protests, in Galveston and received considerable affirmation from many members of my congregation. While engaged in social justice causes, I still maintained a commitment to scholarship. In 1975, I received my DHL degree, having written a dissertation on the noted medieval biblical commentator, Obadiah Sforno.

In 1976, I became Senior Rabbi of Temple Beth-El in San Antonio, where I served for 26 years. I succeeded Rabbi David Jacobson, who had served the congregation for 38 years. He and his wife, Helen, were revered community leaders who supported and encouraged me during my tenure. I have tried to do the same with my successors.

From 1984 to 1990, I was editor of the Journal of Reform Judaism (now the CCAR Journal), and am grateful I could disseminate the wisdom and insights of my colleagues through this medium.

I often felt the sting of subtle anti-Semitism during my formative years. Therefore, I pledged to devote my life to combating bigotry and prejudice and to advancing interfaith understanding wherever I served. Fortunately, both Galveston and San Antonio are renowned for their healthy inter-religious climate.

I have also tried to avoid the turf battles which plague many Jewish communities and to cultivate mutually respectful relationships with rabbinical colleagues and members of all other local synagogues.

Since my retirement in 2002, Lynn and I have spent our summers at Chautauqua Institution. At this “adult brain and soul camp,” as Lynn calls it, in western New York State, I am a member of the staff of the Department of Religion. I was once named Theologian-in-Residence and have lectured there frequently. Chautauqua is the ideal setting for my interfaith work. Though its foundation is Christian, about 30% of its current participants are Jewish.

Serving as a rabbi for half a century has been a privilege and an honor. In no other calling does one gained instant entry into people’s lives, during their times of trials and triumphs.

Having been raised in western Pennsylvania, I still can’t believe that I have spent my entire civilian rabbinate in Texas. The Jewish people here are warm, gracious, and caring, but many are culturally more Texan than Jewish and tend to be more politically conservative than elsewhere.

I close with the insightful observation, “Dor dor v’dorshav– Each generation requires its own interpreters.” My rabbinate has been exceedingly rewarding and fulfilling. Yet, I realize that the Reform Jewish world has changed so significantly since my ordination 50 years ago that I doubt if I could be an effective pulpit rabbi today. Fortunately, HUC-JIR is producing a new generation of rabbis who are more attuned to the needs and aspirations of contemporary Reform Jewry.

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Rabbi Samuel M. Stahl is celebrating fifty years as a CCAR Rabbi.

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Rabbis

Knowing Before Whom I Stand

Bashert: I believe that my encounters in the Rabbinate were meant to be! My paternal grandmother was my first spiritual teacher. Her wisdom shaped my vision for a better world, healed of hate, bigotry, and oppression. Her affirmations taught me to seize life’s opportunities, to open sacred windows.

Family expectations sculpted my intention to become a concert pianist.  My piano stood as a symbol of their plan for my future. My professors were sources of spiritual, religious, and musical wisdom, whose combined impact on my soul determined my destiny.  Hartford’s “classical Reform dean,” Abraham J. Feldman, influenced my consideration of career alternatives. Pianist Rudolf Serkin’s brilliance and humility, the impact of my teacher, Madame Dayas, of Cincinnati’s Conservatory of Music, and the insight of Dean Pelletieri at the Hartt School of Music, taught me to be true to myself. HUC-JIR Professors, Werner Weinberg, survivor of the Holocaust, and Samuel Sandmel, innovative scholar in Christian-Jewish dialogue, ignited my commitment to Torah study and interfaith relationships, defining my rabbinic choices.

The marriage of religious thought and social justice sparked my passions. Professor Sheldon Blank inspired my zeal for Reform’s prophetic vision. My rabbinate embraced involvement in the 1960’s Civil Rights movement. A cherished association with Rev. Fred Shuttlesworth, Dr. King’s successor, joined us in pursuit of “tikkun olam.”

The UAHC visionary and my congregant, Al Vorspan, taught me the merit of “chutzpah,” in molding better days. The discipline of piano practice nourished my ability to wrestle with God and humanity. The need to confront the imperfections of life awakened my spiritual pursuits. Our ordination, coincident with Israel’s Six Day War and the Vietnam conflict, and dramatic episodes in my Army chaplaincy, previewed my rabbinate.

While difficult, change insures the evolution of the “reform” attribute in Judaism.  No one owns a monopoly on religious truth, and rabbinic leaders must blend idealism and realism to nurture communities that welcome the Divine. Though disappointments and failures intrude, the Eternal Light demands our refueling.

My greatest gifts grew from seeds sown in various gardens. Ft. Hamilton’s Army Chaplain School and my chaplaincy at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center aroused concerns about theodicy. Counseling people from differing backgrounds required my creativity. My assistantship under the tutelage of Nathan Perilman, z”l, and Ronald Sobel at NYC’s Temple Emanu-El refined my rough edges.  The congregation of Lawrence, Long Island’s Temple Sinai prepared me for what was yet to come. Cincinnati’s Rockdale Temple, K.K. Bene Israel, challenged me to move a classical Reform congregation into the 20th century, becoming their first Senior Rabbi permitted to wear a kippah.  My struggle to position Israel’s flag on our bimah opened avenues for four congregational trips to Israel.  Officiating at the funerals of a rabbinic mentor, Victor Reichert, and at that of my treasured professor, Werner Weinberg, became transcendent moments. My collegiality with the Rev. George Hill, Rector of Cincinnati’s St. Barnabas Church, ushered in unforeseen collaborations that became instructive for the community. When I retired, the Church framed documents declaring me as “Sometime Rabbi In Residence.” Failing retirement, I accepted a “part-time” position at St. Augustine’s Temple Bet Yam, becoming their first Rabbi, conducting services in a Unitarian Church for 55 congregants.  Expanding to 125 families, we designed their first spiritual home, the façade of which proclaimed: “My House Shall Be Called a House of Prayer for All People.” Teaching at Flagler College in St. Augustine provided mentoring opportunities for a future Catholic and a future Episcopal priest.

My musical and spiritual beginnings nurtured the yearnings of my soul. The pathos of Beethoven and the precision of Mozart flowed into Judaism’s unrelenting wisdom. I learned to find fulfillment to dream impossible dreams. The Rabbinate was the right choice for me to compose new music for a rapidly changing world.  God willing, I shall fulfill my personal challenge to return to the piano, complete my reflections on Bashert, while exploring the world and nature.

When I peer in to the precincts of my soul, I am grateful for the blessings of that Light I shall never truly comprehend. My favorite Torah personality Jacob wrestled with the Almighty to become himself. In my way, I tried too.

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Rabbi Mark Goldman is celebrating fifty years in the rabbinate.

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Rabbis

Reflections on 50 Years in the Rabbinate

Little did I know that when I was accepted to a new undergraduate-graduate program at HUC-JIR and the University of Cincinnati in 1958 that one day I would be sitting down to write about my experiences as a rabbi for the last 50 years. We were a handful of high school graduates then, participating in an experimental program, living at the HUC-JIR dorm while attending the University of Cincinnati. Most of us matriculated to the rabbinic program and eventually found ourselves, five years later, at Plum Street Temple in June of 1967 receiving our s’micha and blessing from Rabbi Dr. Nelson Glueck.

One of the folk songs of the day said, “The times, they are a changing,”  and that was surely the case. The Vietnam war was raging. The Jewish Welfare Board, in conjunction with the various rabbinical seminaries, concluded that 15 chaplains were needed from HUC-JIR’s class of 1967.  I was one of 15 who served as a Chaplain in the armed forces. The army and Ft. Lewis, Washington awaited its new Post Jewish chaplain, Capt. Robert Gan, fresh out of Chaplains school at Ft. Hamilton N.Y. With baited breath, Sheila and I and our very young son drove cross country and I reported for duty. We were determined to make the best of our new venture, not sure if I would eventually have to go to Vietnam.

Fortunately, I was able to remain at Ft. Lewis for my full two years of service. My boss there, Col. Estes, a Southern Baptist minister, wisely told me when I arrived that as the Jewish Chaplain I could run my program as I saw fit and to come to him if I had any questions. So, off I went, one of 30 chaplains at an Army Post of 60,000 including soldiers and dependents. I learned a lot, dealing with clergy of all stripes, as well as husbands and wives and young men facing the prospect of Vietnam. Times were tense and there were many challenging moments.  But there was also plenty of laughter and humor, especially given my imperfect military bearing. Thankfully, most everyone was quite forgiving. I also came to realize, during those two years, that I still had much more to learn about being a rabbi in the real world. The best side benefit was the birth of our daughter at Madigan General Hospital. The bill $7.50. What a bargain!

As a Bostonian, I had never been further west than Worcester, MA before coming to Cincinnati and thanks to the Army, we were now on the west coast in the beautiful State of Washington. I remember Dr. Jake Marcus saying there was no Jewish life west of the Mississippi but we were soon to find out, as we made our way to Los Angeles after my discharge, that there was a vibrant and wonderful community there and it welcomed its new young rabbi and his family.

Temple Isaiah would be our new home and I would become the associate to Rabbi Albert Lewis. We weren’t so sure about L.A. and we said to ourselves that we would give it a try for a couple of years. We could see that it was a warm and creative place with a founding rabbi immersed in issues of social justice. Right up my alley.

I had a mentor who shared all of his responsibilities with me. He was very insightful about congregational and community life, and he passed those insights on to me. He and the congregation were very patient with my “creative” services and programs and I always felt free to experiment.

Those first tentative years turned into a lifetime, from associate rabbi to co- rabbi to senior rabbi, and thirty-eight years later I retired. I had the joy of naming children whose Mother or Father I also named.  Lifecycle events always gave me the most pleasure and I came to know many wonderful families over their lifetime and mine.  I came to realize that congregational life was ultimately about relationships.  As I encounter congregants ten years after retirement it is still the case.

I had many excellent Assistant rabbis over the years and two wonderful cantors. I learned from my predecessor that sharing responsibilities equally is a good thing. It is good for one’s health and one’s rabbinic life. The concept of partnership between rabbis and cantor was especially important to me. So was laughter and not taking oneself too seriously.

After fifty years, I still have my hand in the rabbinate, though with slightly less pressure than when I was working.  For several years we  lived in Milan and then Florence, Italy where I was the progressive rabbi and we have been on several world cruises where I was part of the clergy staff. It has given me the opportunity to teach, to practice my very broken Italian, and to see incredible places around the world.  This new phase of my rabbinic life came to us quite accidentally, but it has been a real blessing. To be busy after retirement is a good thing.

New people and communities have enriched our lives. All of this was only possible because fifty years ago I went to Cincinnati with my dad to scout out HUC-JIR and decided to stay. The rabbinate has embodied so much of what I wanted to do.

For me, the practical congregational rabbinate has included a bi-weekly in Morgan City, Louisiana, a high holiday congregation in St Johnsbury, Vermont, eating lunch with the troops in the field with one of my congregants- Major Bernstein, officiating at B’nai Mitzvot in Milan, and conducting seders aboard the MS Amsterdam for as many as 200 Jews and Christians.

What a life it has been. I have treasured it all, my congregational rabbinate as well as all the new adventures that have come our way.  How was I to know that conjugating verbs on a surprise quiz in Dr. Tsvat’s Tanach class would lead to the challenging, meaningful and wonderful world of the rabbinate.  Fifty years, kayna hora!

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Rabbi Robert Gan is celebrating 50 years in the rabbinate.

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Rabbis

Looking Back on 50 years in the Rabbinate

As the 50th anniversary of my ordination at HUC-JIR approaches, I’d like to share three of the most rewarding aspects of my thirty-six year rabbinate at Temple Beth David of Westwood, Massachusetts.

Like many Reform congregations, we have a Sabbath morning minyan in the library led by congregants, followed by refreshments and an hour of studying the parasha hashavuah. On the Sabbath mornings when I was not conducting a Bar/Bat Mitzvah in the sanctuary, I was able to attend this Shabbat Morning Chevreh, but I never took it over. It was always lay led.  I think it was successful, because it empowered Temple members to become leaders in worship and teachers of Torah. On Erev Shabbat, because I felt that it was tremendously important for congregants to see, hear, and study the actual Torah, I would read Torah from the scroll and engage the congregation in a brief discussion of the text. I think the result of these weekly rituals was that the congregation gained a genuine appreciation of the Torah scroll as a “tree of life to those who hold fast to it.”

A second significant pillar of my rabbinate was the founding and sustaining of chavurot. Our congregation in southwest suburban Boston is comprised of Jews from many different neighboring communities in which the Jewish population is no more than two per cent. By joining a Temple chavurah of five or six couples, Temple members immediately acquired a new Jewish family that was there for them in times of celebration and in times of grief. I found that the most successful way of establishing a chavurah was to match people who were at the same stage in their lives. I required each chavurah to commit to the study of a Jewish book or text which would be the focus of discussion at a monthly meeting. Without this commitment to Jewish study, I felt there was a danger that a chavurah might develop into nothing more than a schmoozing club. Chavurot also engaged in many other kinds of Jewish activities such as gathering together for Sabbath and festival home celebrations or finding ways to contribute to Temple life by participating in a social action program, by leading a worship service, or by volunteering for a Temple project. Some chavurot have lasted for thirty years and are still going strong, while others have had a shorter life span, but even when a chavurah lasted for only two or three years, chavurah members were able to develop deep and abiding Jewish friendships and as a result of their experience, felt more connected to the Temple and Jewish life.

I also devoted a great deal of my active rabbinate to participating in the founding of several new Jewish institutions in the Boston Jewish community.  My most notable contribution was my role as the Founding Chair of the Rashi School, the Boston Area Reform Jewish Day School. Today, thirty years after we opened the doors, the Rashi School is host to over three hundred children in a beautiful school building in Dedham, MA that shares a campus with a cutting edge Hebrew Senior Life residential facility that has made possible a wonderful intergenerational program. The Rashi School concentrates on making its core values of  limood, tzedek, kehilah, kavod and ruach Elohim come alive in every aspect of school life. I was also blessed to serve on the founding boards of the Gann Academy, the excellent pluralistic Jewish high school located in Waltham, Massachusetts and Mayyim Hayyim the Living Waters Boston Community Mikveh and Education Center.

Looking back on my rabbinate at this fifty year anniversary, I take a great deal of satisfaction from the three aforementioned activities: the encouragement of the study of Torah at Temple Beth David, the establishment of Temple Beth David chavurot which brought lasting friendship to many congregants while strengthening their connection to the Temple, and my contribution to the enrichment of Jewish life in Boston by joining with others in the founding of the Rashi School, the Gann Academy, and Mayyim Hayyim.

I also have a deep sense of gratitude to my wife Barbara for supporting me and aiding me throughout my rabbinic career.

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Rabbi Henry A. Zoob is celebrating 50 years in the rabbinate.

 

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Rabbis

The Road Not Taken

I grew up in a loving Orthodox family in Boston.  When I was 9 years old, my world changed.  I was playing in the streets with an African-American friend at my grandparents’ home in Roxbury.  Someone came running down the street, shouting racial slurs in filthy language against my friend.   Scared, I ran into my grandparents’s house.  My father took off after the person.

At 9, I knew something was wrong in the world.  I didn’t discern it all.  I went to my Rabbi.  After I left him, I decided I wanted to become a Rabbi and do something with my life to overcome hatred and prejudice.

At 13, I tried with a lifeguard to save a 9-year old from drowning in Maine.  After he was rushed to the hospital, he was pronounced dead.  One of the doctors said to me, “Don’t worry, God wanted another young person up there.”  Right then, I stopped believing in God.  In time, I came to believe in Godliness is how we treat one another.  The only option for me was to become a Reform Liberal Rabbi, the best decision of my life.

In the 1960s, I was drawn to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Reverend Jesse Jackson.  I opposed the Vietnam War and marched with them.  I was drawn to suffering and those who had virtually no voice.  I went to Moscow to meet, assist, and sponsor Soviet Jews.

When I served in Miami as an assistant Rabbi, I met with gay individuals and preached a sermon in 1968, ” The Jewish Community and the Homosexual ”  It opened a door, though there were many threats against the sermon.  I have never stopped passionately supporting the LGBT community.

When Saigon fell, I traveled to Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia and met with refugees.  Rabbi Erwin Herman and I traveled with Vice President Walter Mondale to Geneva to assist with Vietnamese refugee resettlement.  The Boat People became our people.  Our own Boat People were on the St. Louis.  We went to Camp Pendleton, where I took in a family to my home.  We resettled 13 families at Temple Judea in Tarzana.  Rabbi Herman and I, with the support of Rabbi Alex Schindler and the UHAC, traveled the country to meet with our colleagues and assist them in resettling Vietnamese refugees in our Reform Congregation.

I traveled with Reverend Jesse Jackson, joining him in his quest for greater involvement in civil rights and human rights.  I joined him to speak at the 25th memorial service in Philadelphia, Mississippi in memory of Schwerner, Goodman, and Chaney.  I traveled throughout the Middle East with Rev. Jackson, meeting with Yasser Arafat, Bashar al-Assad, and leaders of Israel and Lebanon supporting peace efforts.  Our interfaith group went to Belgrade, Yugoslavia, to meet with Slobodan Milosevic to free the 3 American POWs.  We brought them home.  Our interfaith work continues, more important today than ever as Muslims, Sikhs, and other communities are the target of hatred in America.

The road not taken.  Being ordained a Rabbi 50 years ago has opened my world as a passionate, liberal Jew to make a difference.  I am blessed to have been a dreamer and realized those dreams as a Rabbi.  Never could I have imagined a life that has so fulfilled me.  No other profession could have prepared me to travel on the Road Not Taken.  The journey continues.

Today, I pursue my civil rights and human rights work with my wife, California State Controller Betty Yee, in pursuit of economic equality for all.

I thank the Hebrew Union College, Temple Israel of Greater Miami, Temple Judea in Tarzana, Kol Tikvah in Woodland Hills, and my teachers, students, and colleagues.

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Rabbi Steven B. Jacobs is celebrating 50 years in the reform rabbinate.