Tag: Rabbi

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Rabbis

What is the State of Your Mindset? Becoming a Superb Supervisor

As an Assistant Rabbi in a mid-sized congregation Devora Silver (name fictionalized) excelled at being an inspiring writer, insightful teacher, compassionate pastor, and innovative developer of programs. Devora spent the first decade of her career receiving lots of praise and enriching the lives of her congregants by “doing” the work of rabbi-ing.

When the opportunity arose, Devora accepted a senior position at a mid-sized congregation with an Assistant Rabbi, Cantor, and Educator. In preparation, she read some books about supervision and sat down with a few colleagues who gave her some tips for managing others.

Six months into the new job Devora knew something wasn’t working. Her colleagues and board members criticized her for “micro-managing.” She was working extraordinarily long hours, not only doing her job but doing others’ jobs as well. When asked about this by the congregational President, she would say, “I have a strong background in curriculum development so it’s best if I redesign the confirmation class” or “I need to make sure nothing goes wrong, so I’m going to officiate at this ceremony.” Although Devora had the skills and the smarts to succeed as a senior rabbi, something was lacking – a supervisory mindset. She had not made the mental shift from thinking like an individual contributor to thinking like a “player-coach.”

Like Devora, many rabbis believe that becoming a great senior is a matter of learning some new managerial skills. But while skills are essential for supervisory success they are insufficient. Here are four questions to assess the state of your mindset. On a scale of 1 to 10, to what extent do you agree with the following statements?

  1. I feel most fulfilled when I am achieving outcomes and enriching congregants’ lives through the efforts of others on my team. This question helps you assess your source of self-esteem – the kinds of activities from which you gain your sense of personal worth and contribution. The most effective supervisors gain an equal if not greater sense of fulfillment by achieving results through others’ efforts.
  2. I believe it is important to delegate to people who are not necessarily as talented as I am at doing a particular task. This question is about comfort with delegation and your willingness to have something achieved at a different level of quality (often, not even noticeable to congregants) in order to support someone’s professional growth.
  3. I am comfortable defining goals and success standards, and then letting go of “how” a team member goes about achieving what’s been assigned. Your answer this question is an indicator of your need to control details and have things done the way you would do them.
  4. Whenever necessary, I deliver difficult messages to members of my team in ways that might cause them to feel uncomfortable – even dislike or resent me. Rabbis in particular struggle with this one because their identity is so tied to easing suffering. However, as a supervisor you must sometimes cause discomfort in others in order to foster accountability and drive change. This question is about overcoming your need to be liked.

As a senior rabbi, you will always be an individual contributor. That won’t change. But what must change over the course of your career, if you hope to lead others, is your mindset. Can you learn to feel satisfied by achieving goals through others’ direct efforts rather than through your own? Can you let go of the details and delegate to people who will do the job differently, even less skillfully than you would? Are you willing to deliver a difficult message which may elicit anger, sadness or even conflict? To the extent that you struggle with the answers to these questions, stepping into a supervisory role becomes more than the next career challenge. It becomes a journey of psychological and spiritual development – one that inevitably invites you into deeper levels of self-awareness and creativity.

—

Larry Dressler is the founder of Blue Wing Consulting and an author of two books on collaborative leadership. He serves as an advisor and teacher to Reform rabbis around the country. Larry has worked with emerging leaders and teams in diverse organizations, including at Nike, Facebook, Auburn Seminary, and the Global Greengrants Fund.

 

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News

Wonder Woman is My Rabbi: A Fangirl’s Jewish Review of the Latest Addition to the DCEU

Let me start out with an admission: I am an unabashed fangirl of DC comics’ pantheon of characters. Ever since I secretly watched Batman: The Animated Series in my parents’ basement, I adored every hero (and some of the villains) DC produced. I still occasionally watch Justice League Unlimited as a special treat to myself. So, let’s just say I expressed more than a little excitement when DC and Warner Brothers announced Wonder Woman’s* emergence onto the silver screen.

Admiration is one thing; but why would a rabbi laude a Greek-myth-inspired pop culture icon? It boils down to three things.

First, love.

I do not mean romantic love. Yes, that is in this film, but most of all, love of family and love of humanity drive Diana. Her love evolves, starting simply and then eventually acknowledging humanity’s complexity and imperfections. She sees humanity’s darknesses, and consequently, experiences disappointment. Nonetheless, she still loves the human race. That love drives her to reexamine her own choices and capabilities. It deepens her understanding of herself and as a result, her powers amplify. This is not totally dissimilar to how the Bible sees love. In the Torah, the word love first occurs not between romantic partners, but as God’s description of a familial relationship, between a parent and a child (Genesis 22:2). Later usage of love includes romance (for example, Genesis 29:32), but it also commands how strangers should treat one another (Leviticus 19:18). It even defines humanity’s relationship to the divine (Deuteronomy 6:5) and God’s attachment to humanity (Deuteronomy 7:9). These different kinds of love characterize Wonder Woman as well; they turn her from a specially trained individual with powerful abilities into a hero.

Second, wonder.

Her power levels are equal to Superman, and she is a better trained fighter than Batman. However, Princess Diana of Themyscira is not just wonderful. She is full of wonder. Throughout the movie, Wonder Woman sees the world through fresh eyes. This enables her to experience a whole rainbow of feelings, earnestly and fully. Indeed, sorrow washes over her, but joy and happiness flood her as well. In his commentary on Genesis 9, the 11th century scholar Rashi connects the concepts of wonder and awe to the Hebrew word for life. I love this connection; when we open ourselves to wonder, to awe, even to fear, life becomes more vivid. Particularly throughout this film, we witness Wonder Woman’s understanding of life deepening and blossoming with each new experience in the greater world.

Third, values.

Wonder Woman consistently follows her heart; she makes every attempt to adhere to the traditions which guided her formative lessons. Her values propel her choices. In modern parlance, she lives a purpose-driven life. In her final conversation with her mother, Hippolyta begs Diana to remain on the Amazonian island; in return, the princess asks “but if I stay, who will I be?” This moment contains echoes of Rabbi Hillel’s famous statement “If I am only for myself, what am I?” (Pirke Avot 1:14) Wonder Woman knows that if she refuses to help when she can, she will betray not just others, but also herself. Her values guide her heroism.

When we empower ourselves to live according to our values, continuously seeing wonder in the world around us, and allowing love to color our choices, we set ourselves on a path of living as best as we can. We guide the hero that resides within all of us to emerge. And in this way, any person can become Wonder Woman.

*When I say Wonder Woman, I am referring to the version of the character as seen in Patty Jenkin’s 2017 film Wonder Woman. There are many versions of this 75 year old character, including some terrible re-imaginations during 1990s when she was forced into biker shorts after losing her title to Artemis, but for the purposes of this blog, we are sticking to the most recent cinematic incarnation of Wonder Woman. Which, actually, I think adheres fairly well to this character’s essence.

—

Rabbi Lauren Ben-Shoshan, M.A.R.E., resides in Palo Alto, California with her lovely husband and their four energetic and very small children.

Categories
General CCAR Rabbis Reform Judaism

Blurred Lines: The Role of a Rabbi

Thanksgiving can be a great time to be with extended family. . . Especially when it isn’t your own.

Even so it’s hard not to long for the familiarity of home, childhood memories, food that mom used to make.  Of course going home can also involve family drama and return us to familiar roles no matter how old we are or how much we have achieved.  This can be even more complicated when it’s you, the rabbi, spending time with family.

When I am with my extended family for holidays, especially Jewish holidays, I find myself in a strange space negotiating my role as relative and rabbi.

Often times I am with my in-laws, in their home for Passover.  When I have a seat at their Seder table, what role should I play?  I have the most Jewish knowledge at the table.  I have ideas that could enliven the Seder.  Yet, I have a different role too; I am a participant and son-in-law.  I’m not the family rabbi, I am not in charge and I admit it’s nice to have the “night off” and enjoy watching my father-in-law lead the Seder.

Rabbi Charles Briskin

Roles at the Seder are easy to negotiate. How do we respond when we are called to help family members or friends in their time of need?  What is our primary role? Rabbi or family member/friend?

A little over a month ago, my uncle died.  He was 86, and had been in declining health for some time. I called to check in with my aunt and cousins.  ‘Hi Terri” I said, when my cousin picked up the phone.  “Rabbi Chuckie,” she said with relief upon hearing my voice. (Only family who have known me since I was 10 or younger can call me that!)  “Rabbi Chuckie” I thought to myself?  I’m not their rabbi, I’m family.  I gently reminded my cousin that I am the family member who happens to be a rabbi.  Even so, I was pulled into that rabbinic role of helping my family in their (really in our) time of grief and loss.

I was then asked by their family rabbi to help officiate at his service and offer a eulogy.   Was this because I was so close to my uncle and could offer special insight?  No.  I was being honored for my title.  It wasn’t easy being the rabbi for so many people who have known me since I was called “Chuckie.” I would’ve preferred to have been sitting next to my mother (my uncle’s sister) rather than on the bimah.  However, those lines were blurred.  That day I was the rabbi more than the nephew.

These two experiences are powerful reminders of how complicated and blurry our roles in private life can be as spouses, parents, children, in-laws and friends who happen to be rabbis.  Where do we draw our boundaries?  How flexible must they be?  Are there times when we can truly step outside of our rabbinic role simply to be the truest essence of who we are, stripped of the vestments that we place on ourselves and that others place on us as well?  I am sure Edwin Friedman and Jack Bloom have written about this already, and I should return to their works to see what they suggest.  My sense is that we simply need to be attuned to the way we project our more public role (as rabbi) even when we are trying to be family or friend first.   Our relationships with those who knew us before we became rabbis are vital and can be quite liberating as well.  Nevertheless, among the many things we are to them, “rabbi” is one of those roles we play.

We should accept the way others view us. We can never turn it off completely.  If our friends or family members need us to provide rabbinic guidance, do it.  That’s what a good friend would do.  And the opportunity to name a friend’s baby or stand under the huppah with a cousin is a unique blessing.  Know, too, that we can offer something even more substantial.  The power of a deeper connection that goes well beyond the rabbi-congregant relationship.  Our primary role is friend or family member.  However, be the best rabbi you can in that time, especially a time of need.  It is the blessing of this role and offers unparalleled opportunities for profound moments of sacred meaning.

 Rabbi Charles Briskin serves Temple Beth El in San Pedro, CA

Categories
General CCAR High Holy Days Rabbis Reform Judaism

Lost in the Pews: An Ode to the Non-Pulpit Rabbi

Three years ago, I left my congregation to join the URJ.  I proudly professed to my spouse that I did not believe I would miss much, and certainly not the stress of the holidays.  I would rather spend them as a Jew, as a wife, as a mother.

I lied.  As Walnut Creek temperatures neared scorching and the moon began to wax toward crescent and newness, as Facebook posts decried the arduous task of crafting sermons in time for Rosh Hashanah, I slowly became aware of sadness trellising up my psyche.

At first I thought I felt left out.  So, I offered up my editing services to friends preparing their sermons.  How fun it was connecting with old classmates and colleagues across the country!  But, the sadness kept growing.

Perhaps, I missed being part of the amazing Sinai team (Oakland, CA).  So I wrote to each of my former clergy partners, remising about the thrill of standing in the Paramount Theatre’s green room, laughing to the point of tears as we celebrated the joy in each other’s lives and supported the pain.  We all connected over this, but, the sadness kept growing.

Could I miss the adulation I received when a sermon stood out?  I would miss the praise, but not enough to justify the strength of the sadness.

So why was I sad?  Finally, one Shabbat morning a couple of weeks before the holidays, I realized what or who I missed.  I missed God.  Or more specifically, I missed God’s awareness of me.  I subconsciously believed that because I was working toward a uniquely divine purpose, because I was striving to inspire God’s people toward spiritual height, because I was sacrificing my family and my own holiday experience, God had a particular awareness of and gratitude toward me.  And even more surprising; I was afraid.  I was afraid God would not find me that year.  I would be lost as a Jew in the Pew, not where God knew to look for me.

Consciously, I knew how silly this was.  But, subconsciously, I approached the High Holiday’s with a different type of nora from the awe and fear I had felt since I began working the High Holidays at age 18.  And it was with this feeling of trepidation I found a seat in the pews of a synagogue which never knew me in the role of rabbi, and prepared to seek holiness at a service over which I had no control.

I want to write about my lightning bolt moment when I discovered a new soulfulness and connection with God.  This did not happen.  But the next day as we sat with friends and community by our local reservoir laughing and playing, watching our children giggle ruthlessly, talking about the depth and meaning of what our lives could be… I felt the rise of a new joy, a new connection to the divine energy of Yamim Noraim, a new importance to God for just simply and only being me.

RabbiBerlinColor

This feeling and relationship has evolved over the last 3 years.  I do still miss the connection I felt to the rest of you, and especially my immediate team, as we prepared to create a sacred experience together.  But, I don’t miss God.  God knows where I am. Right where I belong.

 

Rabbi Andrea Berlin is Director Congregational Networks – West District with the Union for Reform Judaism and is the co-director of NCRCR.

Categories
News Rabbis Reform Judaism

Month One: Thoughts from a New Rabbi

I have frequently been telling others that now that I am a rabbi, my dreams have become a reality.  Yet, I’m not quite sure how real this reality feels.  There are days in which I still feel like the student Rabbi who visits his pulpit for the weekend, or the rabbinic intern who has a myriad of responsibilities that exposes him to all aspects of congregational life.  I sometimes have to be reminded that when someone refers to someone as “rabbi,” they very well could be talking about me.   Even with the numerous signs in my synagogue that addresses me as “Rabbi P.J. Schwartz,” I still think I am in the dream and this is not my reality.

During my second unit of CPE, we spoke a lot about the power of a title such as rabbi.  I always asked, “Where does P.J. fit in all of this?”  I have learned that being a rabbi and being P.J. are not separate things, but two aspects of who I am that are inextricably linked together.  In some sense, my name has become my title, and my title as become my name.  Believe it or not, I know which rabbi my administrative assistant is referring to when she speaks about my Senior or I.  “P.J.” and “Rabbi” have become interchangeable terms and I’m getting used to the idea that maybe I am no longer visiting my student pulpit or no longer an intern.

Transitions are difficult, and I can’t deny the fact that transitioning from student to working professional or in my case rabbinical student to Rabbi has been overwhelming and exciting, scary and thrilling, and nerve-wracking and affirming.  As my eyes begin to open, the dream begins to fade, and the reality sinks in, I am constantly reminded of the fact that we are in the month of Elul.  We are supposed to reflect upon our transitions, our growth, and our lesser strengths.  We are supposed to think about what it means to have a support team, reexamining how we manage our time, and explore what we can do to renew ourselves for the year to come.  I’ve always looked at my Judaism as a road map for how I should live.  In this case, my Judaism is guiding me, one day at time, as I fully integrate myself into this new role.  My excitement only grows as we head to the kickoff events of the year and I start to meet more congregants.  Soon enough, the hallways will be filled with kids from the Early Childhood Center and Religious School, my days will be filled with planning meetings, programs, and kids hopefully will be calling me Rabbi P.J.! (which, of course, is my solution to the name and title dilemma).

May my reflections inspire you to reflect in this month of Elul, and may the year to come be as sweet as you want it to be, inspirational as you need it to be, and awe-filled as it can be.

Rabbi PJ Schwartz is Assistant Rabbi at Temple Israel, in Westport, CT.

Categories
General CCAR Rabbis Reform Judaism

Unexpected Detours: The Rabbinic Career Path

One morning a few weeks ago, orange detour signs appeared on both ends of my street, making it a challenge to get to  my office.  Road closed – detour, they say, local traffic only.  This is going to be a pain, I thought, when I first saw the signs. I didn’t realize how fascinating it would become. I didn’t realize how much I would learn from the response of patients coming to my office A few people reported inching around the detour sign in hopes that they could get through to my office. One person gave up in advance and parked on a side street.  Another person called in a panic, announcing that she would not be returning for future appointments until the detour cleared.  A few people called in advance to find out whether it would be possible to get through.

Everyone reacted in character, I realized.  It was such a graphic example of how we respond to unanticipated obstacles.  Do we forge ahead? Do we skirt around? Do we avoid?  Do we become paralyzed?  I was reminded of the Midrashic rendition of the groups of fleeing Israelites when they arrived at the Red Sea.  Who wanted to return to Egypt? Who wanted to turn around and fight the Egyptians?  Who wanted to run off to a certain death in the desert? Who wanted to dive in? Like the Jewish people, we have all learned different ways, some healthy and some not, of negotiating the detours that have blocked our paths.

76154_456196075821_3347695_nVery few rabbis have a career with no detours.  I learned a long time ago that no matter the kind of rabbinate you think you are going to have, that is rarely the one you end up having.  Sometimes that is because external circumstances don’t correspond to your needs in that moment.  You want a solo position in the New York metropolitan area but so do 100 other rabbis.  You want to lead a JCRC but the position has fallen victim to Federation budget cuts.  You were hired to be an educator but now the congregation wants to expand the position to include youth group advisor.

Sometimes your personal needs become obstacles in your rabbinate.  You always thought you wanted to be a congregational rabbi but you need more personal time.  Your spouse or partner wants to move and there are no rabbinic positions available in the new location.  You love your small remote congregation but you are single and there is no one to date for hundreds of miles.  You have children now and the perfect job has taken a back seat to the requirement to earn a living.

Or maybe you yourself have changed.  You once loved the challenge of crafting a sermon every week but now you have come to dread it.  You never thought you would enjoy pastoral counseling, but sessions with your constituents have become the highlight of your day.  You love walking through the door of the hospital room but you can’t bear the thought of one more Tu Bishvat Seder.  You jump when the phone rings, praying that it isn’t another funeral. Or you realize that funerals are the most satisfying part of your work.    You have enjoyed working with college students but now you want to forge relationships with people who don’t leave every four years.

I remember joining a professional supervision group because I felt like something was missing in my rabbinate.  I wasn’t sure why, but I wasn’t having the rabbinic experience I had hoped to have.  It was a great relief to join a supervision group and get help with how to be with my congregants. I never intended to finish the program and become a psychoanalyst, but the more I got into the training, the more compelling it became.  The training not onlyenhanced my rabbinate and made me a happier rabbi,  it also made me realize I wanted something different. The training had changed me – or maybe I had already begun to change and the training encouraged it to happen.  I realized I could no longer stay doing what I had been doing. The obstacle in my path had become too great.  I was lucky that I didn’t have IMG_2756to do a complete career about face. I was able to move to a part-time pulpit as I finished training and began my practice.

We know now that few people will have only one career over a lifetime.  People who enter the rabbinate are no different.  When I had my HUC interview in Jerusalem in 1974, Dean Spicehandler looked at my college transcript and commented, “I see you changed your mind about your studies a number of times. What is to say that you won’t change your mind about the rabbinate, too?” In my naivite, I gave him an honest answer:  “Nothing, “ I said.  I think I also remember telling him that I would never be a congregational rabbi because I didn’t want to do funerals.

You can understand, then, why no one is more surprised than I that I have spent 33 years  in the pulpit rabbinate.  I don’t know what kind of rabbinate I anticipated having, but I know this wasn’t it.  There have been detours large and small along the way.  Some have challenged me more than others. But somehow, this path has led me where I needed to go.

Rabbi Ellen Lewis (www.rabbiellenlewis.com) has a particular interest in the integration of religious and psychoanalytical concepts and has worked at developing models of clinical supervision for rabbis, cantors, and other religious professionals.  In her private practice, she works with rabbis and cantors in therapy and supervision.  After her ordination at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in 1980, she served congregations in Dallas, Texas, and Summit, New Jersey, where she was named Rabbi Honorata.  Since 1994, she has been the Rabbi of the Jewish Center of Northwest Jersey in Washington, NJ (www.jcnwj.org).  

Rabbi Lewis is also a certified and licensed modern psychoanalyst in private practice in Bernardsville, New Jersey and in New York City. She received her analytical training in New York at the Center for Modern Psychoanalytic Studies (www.cmps.edu) and at present serves on the faculty of the Academy of Clinical and Applied Psychoanalysis (www.acapnj.org).  She is a Fellow in the American Association of Pastoral Counselors (www.aapc.org). She can be reached via email at rabbiellenlewis@rabbiellenlewis.com or in her NJ office 908 766 7586.

Categories
General CCAR Prayer Reform Judaism

In Praise of the Rabbinic Robe

Rabbi Ellen Lewis BlogMy black  pulpit robe has served me well in my rabbinate. It has seen me through two pregnancies and three congregations (actually six congregations if you include student biweeklies). It is older than my children.  It has traveled many miles and was once lost for 6 weeks in the unclaimed luggage room at Newark Airport.  Although it has been restitched countless times, the pocket lining continues to shred,  allowing tissues and lozenges  to make their way through the holes and  become unreachably bunched up inside the bottom seam.   I fear my old friend has become irreparably worn out.

When I took my first pulpit job in 1980,  the new decade heralded the trend of discarding the rabbinic robe.  It was too Protestant, too  archaic and too  removed for our more intimate time. I tentatively shared this information with the chair of the Rabbinic Search Committee in Dallas.   In  his memorable Texas drawl,  he said, “I can handle hiring a female rabbi but I can’t handle hiring a female rabbi who doesn’t wear a robe.”  That was the end of that discussion, and frankly, that was fine with me.

Wearing a robe meant not having to think about what to wear on the pulpit. That fact  alone would have offered salvation to  any woman  living  in Dallas at the time.  During my five years there, I  felt perpetually and inevitably underdressed.  Dallas in the 80’s was the city of the accessory.  My congregants shopped at Neiman Marcus (Stanley Marcus’ mother had been a devoted member of the congregation) before the store  moved outside the borders of Texas. Even the saleswomen were temple members, making shopping that much more of a complicated procedure.

So the robe thankfully removed me from the congregational social competition. But more than that, it allowed the congregation to see me as a rabbi, not as a woman rabbi.  The robe unified the three rabbis (two older men and I) as we stood on the pulpit.  Congregants could imbue us with whatever emotional and spiritual transferences their individual psyches required.  Yes, they could still see my shoes (you could write a book about how people comment on the shoes worn by female rabbis and cantors) but they were too polite in that southern way to comment to me directly.  One time, a distant aunt visited Dallas and came to Shabbat services.  In the receiving line, she gave me a long look and observed, “Your cousin wears a robe, too, but his is white with gold trim.” That was how I found out that  my cousin had moved to the Himalayas and become a serious Buddhist.

The robe issue might seem insignificant given the challenges we face in our profession, but it is symbolic  of other  gender-related issues in the rabbinate. Those of us who were ordained in the early days of women in the rabbinate had high hopes that our charting the way would relieve our younger female colleagues from having to fight the same battles.  We have become increasingly aware that, when it comes to the rabbinate, issues of gender run deeper than we had first thought. Eliminating the rabbinic robe might have resolved some very real theological issues but has also created new ones.

During these last few years of patching my black pulpit robe, I vowed that I would not buy a new one.  If I got to that point, I knew I would have to revisit the choice of whether to wear a robe at all.  And so my robe will retire from the pulpit along with me this June 30. It will be just a pulpit retirement for me, not a full retirement. But for my robe, it will mean the end of a long and satisfying career.

Rabbi Ellen Lewis (www.rabbiellenlewis.com) has a particular interest in the integration of religious and psychoanalytical concepts and has worked at developing models of clinical supervision for rabbis, cantors, and other religious professionals.  In her private practice, she works with rabbis and cantors in therapy and supervision.  After her ordination at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in 1980, she served congregations in Dallas, Texas, and Summit, New Jersey, where she was named Rabbi Honorata.  Since 1994, she has been the Rabbi of the Jewish Center of Northwest Jersey in Washington, NJ (www.jcnwj.org).  

Rabbi Lewis is also a certified and licensed modern psychoanalyst in private practice in Bernardsville, New Jersey and in New York City. She received her analytical training in New York at the Center for Modern Psychoanalytic Studies (www.cmps.edu) and at present serves on the faculty of the Academy of Clinical and Applied Psychoanalysis (www.acapnj.org).  She is a Fellow in the American Association of Pastoral Counselors (www.aapc.org). She can be reached via email at rabbiellenlewis@rabbiellenlewis.com or in her NJ office 908 766 7586.

 

 

Categories
CCAR Convention CCAR on the Road

CCAR Conventions, Then and Now

CCAR Convention, 2012
CCAR Convention, 2012

I wonder how many CCAR conventions I have been to over the years.  I remember the first.  It was in Pittsburgh and I had just been ordained. As I walked up to the L-Z registration line, I was scared and excited until a lovely volunteer pulled me aside.  “The registration line for the wives is over there,” she said kindly while pointing across the room.   This memory surfaced recently when I  told a friend I was going to the CCAR conference and she asked if I enjoy it.  I do now, I said.

Those early conventions are pretty much lost in the haze of the years, but I remember moments like that.  Since there weren’t many female rabbis, we all ended up being cycled and recycled through the various committees.  In those years, there would only ever be one woman on any given committee. I remember once being on the Nominating Committee and suggesting two female names.  We already have a woman, I was told.

All that seems like ancient history now although it was a mere 30+ years ago.  For all that we wonder at times whether anything has changed, it turns out that much has changed, at least when it comes to the CCAR. We now come together with intention, defined by what we do as rabbis, not by our gender or sexual orientation.   We take for granted that two of the five rabbinic members of our senior CCAR  staff are women.  Our immediate past president is a woman.  Women have chaired our convention planning.  The WRN is an ex-officio member of the CCAR board. The brochure for this next conference calls the CCAR  “the organization for every Reform rabbi, retired, community-based, congregational, part-time, portfolio and full-time.”

The year I was directed to the wives’ registration line at that Pittsburgh Conference, the overwhelming membership of the Conference held congregational positions.  My friends in Hillel simply didn’t bother coming since there was nothing there for them in the program (as well as a feeling of being invisible in contrast to the pulpit rabbis).  The part-time rabbinate existed only for retired rabbis who still wanted to keep a hand in pulpit life.  The rabbinate was a much narrower place.

And, in a not-so-well-kept secret,  it turns out that not all male colleagues enjoyed CCAR conventions.  Many of my friends joked about the “how big is yours” syndrome.  They complained that the very convention that should allow us to relax and be ourselves often turned out to be a bastion of judgment and competition.  They also wanted to talk about their personal doubts, their professional conflicts, and the challenges of balancing the rabbinate with family.  They, too, yearned for a different, more truly collegial experience.

For many years after I left the full-time congregational rabbinate, I stopped coming to CCAR conventions.  All kinds of considerations came into play. I served a part-time congregation without the financial resources to send me to conferences.  I would have had to cancel patients in my private practice, which had both economic and psychological consequences.  Since I was self-employed and funded my own vacations, I needed to be selective about how much time I spent away.  If the choice came down to going to the CCAR convention versus going to visit my children, my children won.

Rabbi Ellen Lewis at 2012 CCAR Convention with Rabbis Michael Weinberg, Rabbi Ellen Weinberg Dreyfus, and Rabbi Steve Fox.
Rabbi Ellen Lewis at 2012 CCAR Convention with Rabbis Michael Weinberg, Rabbi Ellen Weinberg Dreyfus, and Rabbi Steve Fox.

While all of the above reasons seemed valid at the time, I also confess that I wasn’t as drawn to going to the convention as I am now.  For many years, the CCAR didn’t feel like the organization for every Reform rabbi, or at least not the organization for this Reform rabbi. The happy confluence of women’s entering the rabbinate and society’s undergoing parallel shifts has sparked many positive changes in the rabbinate and in our conference. We all know that there are changes yet to come, as acknowledged by the title of this conference (Rabbis Leading the Shift: Jewish Possibility in a Rapidly Changing World).   I am happy about returning to these conferences.  I am excited about seeing old and new friends.  And yes, I plan to enjoy it.

 

Rabbi Ellen Lewis (www.rabbiellenlewis.com) has a particular interest in the integration of religious and psychoanalytical concepts and has worked at developing models of clinical supervision for rabbis, cantors, and other religious professionals.  In her private practice, she works with rabbis and cantors in therapy and supervision.  After her ordination at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in 1980, she served congregations in Dallas, Texas, and Summit, New Jersey, where she was named Rabbi Honorata.  Since 1994, she has been the Rabbi of the Jewish Center of Northwest Jersey in Washington, NJ (www.jcnwj.org).  

Rabbi Lewis is also a certified and licensed modern psychoanalyst in private practice in Bernardsville, New Jersey and in New York City. She received her analytical training in New York at the Center for Modern Psychoanalytic Studies (www.cmps.edu) and at present serves on the faculty of the Academy of Clinical and Applied Psychoanalysis (www.acapnj.org).  She is a Fellow in the American Association of Pastoral Counselors (www.aapc.org). She can be reached via email at rabbiellenlewis@rabbiellenlewis.com or in her NJ office 908 766 7586.

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Ethics Israel News

And Let Them Make a Sanctuary: Remembering Rabbi David Hartman

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This week we have buried a giant of Judaism.  Rabbi David Hartman, z”l, died on Rosh Chodesh Adar and was buried in Jerusalem.  Rabbi Hartman was my teacher and the founder of the Shalom Hartman Institute where I have been privileged to study over the last number of years.  Rabbi Hartman was a firebrand! An Orthodox rabbi who was anything but orthodox in his thought and deeds.  He challenged your mind and the status quo. He was passionate about learning and critical thinking.  He was demanding of his students and often said provocative things to rile up the conversation. He demanded excellence. He was a force to be reckoned with.

Rabbi Hartman had made aliyah to Israel in 1971 with his wife and five children.  He had been a pulpit rabbi in Montreal and the Bronx.  He had attended Yeshiva University, been ordained a rabbi and had a Ph.D. in philosophy.  He was a prolific writer including works of philosophy and theology such as his book about his teacher and philosopher, Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik; Hartman’s own theology in “A Living Covenant” and two important works about the great philosopher and legalist, Maimonides.  His latest books,  The God Who Hate Lies, and From Defender to Critic: The Search for a New Jewish Self show his own increasing impatience with the Orthodox status quo and its increasing hostility to change and innovation that Hartman found among the rabbis of the Talmud!

Perhaps some of Rabbi’s Hartman’s greatest gifts were his daring in creating an Institute that helped rabbis of all denominations become better rabbis, educators become better educators and creating a space for scholars to explore their learning by writing and research. Studying at his feet a Reform Rabbi like me was able to encounter an Orthodox colleague and share a page of Talmud together while he challenged us to think critically of our past and prepare for a Jewish future.  The Shalom Hartman Institute is a special kind of sanctuary. It is a place of true learning and encounter with God and our tradition.

David Hartman loved rabbis.  He loved rabbis of all sorts.  But he had no time for rabbinic pomposities. Instead he tried to make Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Tarfon as well as Rambam engage in a dialogue with each of his students.  As a Reform rabbi I always was amazed that Rabbi Hartman eventually adopted a position long held by our movement-whether it was his growing appreciation for the contributions of women to the tradition or his demand that all Jews matter and the chief rabbinate of Israel had it completely wrong to exclude Reform and Conservative Jews.  Hartman was ortho-prax but Reform in his outlook as Judaism lived in the 21st century.

He was an ardent Zionist who loved Israel and understood that it like all nations are a work in progress.  He conveyed that to us his students whether we were Jewish or of other faiths.  Remarkably, Hartman encouraged not only intra-faith dialogue but interfaith dialogue in the land of Israel.  Perhaps more common in North America but a rarity in Israel.

Philosophers and teachers are not usually institution builders.  But Rabbi David Hartman did so and his son Rabbi Dr. Donniel Hartman leads and builds the imagesinstitution his father began.  The Shalom Hartman Institute is a special place of Jewish learning and life that has changed my rabbinate but more importantly changed me as a Jew. My learning there has deepened my own faith in these troubling times. It has made me a more ardent Zionist, even with Israel’s challenges, successes and failures. My studies at the Machon has deepened my love for the experiment we call the Jewish Democratic State of Israel and allowed me the opportunity to see it in its fullness.  My studies at the Machon have widened my circle of rabbinic colleagues and challenged me to think more openly about the  idea that the Jewish people has always had many different kind of Jews.  There are many voices and many paths through and to Torah.  This is a message of my teacher Rabbi Hartman and the influence that he has had on so many. He built a unique kind of sanctuary, a place where regardless of denominational ties, we could be in concert with one another.

This week’s Torah portion is T’rumah in the book of Exodus.  It describes the instructions for building the Tabernacle in the desert. God instructs Moses to tell the children of Israel to bring their gifts forward so they can build a sanctuary for God.  The Torah portion outlines the many kind of gifts, gold and silver, yarn and fabrics that are the materials that will make up the Tent that will be the place of Divine dwelling.  The sacrifices will be eventually be made there. The ark of the covenant which will be fashioned from all of the materials donated will hold the recently given Ten Commandments. And it is this exact space between the cherubim that God’s presence will dwell and speak to Moses, Aaron and the Children of Israel.

This Tent of Meeting is in some ways like the Machon that Rabbi David Hartman built.  It is a place to encounter God and our tradition. It is a place made up of the many gifts of its scholars and teachers and students.  It is a place to have an encounter with the Divine Holy One through our texts and our colleagues and Eretz Yisrael.  The Shalom Hartman Institute has become truly an Ohel Mo’ed-a Tent of Meeting, a place to meet with teachers, Talmud and Torah and theology and a place where the disciples of Rabbi David Hartman gather to engage with each other.  I am proud to be one of those students who is a disciple of Hartman- never satisfied with the status quo, ready to challenge any kind of orthodoxy, even my own. May Rabbi David Hartman’s memory and teachings continue to inspire us and may his work continue to be a blessing to us and to our world.