People like to say that being a rabbi is not a job for a good Jewish boy. It’s obviously a joke, but the underlying message is that there is something horrible about being a rabbi. I could not disagree more.
I get to teach Torah every day. I get to try to help people navigate the highs and lows of life. I get to be involved in projects that have the potential of impacting hundreds of people.
But perhaps the greatest perk is that I’m expected to be a role model – which forces me to try to become a better person myself.
If I am driving a little too quickly, there is this little rabbi voice in my head that says, “Nu, vat vould the congregants say?” and I slow down. (Naturally, it has a thick Eastern European accent.) Or if I am thinking of getting upset at one of my children, the rabbi voice says, “Dis is how a rabbi speaks to his children?
Also, von of your congregants is at the door. Don’t yell so loudly.”
It’s a really great job. I love it. And I love it here.
As our shul grows, a number of people have brought up the idea of getting an assistant rabbi. I am a big fan of hiring from within, so would anyone here like to be my assistant rabbi?
Here are some of the perks of being an assistant rabbi:
- You get a parking spot, though it’s usually taken by a Montessori mom.
- You are close enough to all the action to know what’s going on, but if anything goes wrong, just far enough to plausibly deny involvement.
- We’d get to hang out a lot. It would be great.
Who’s in?
The truth is, I already have an assistant rabbi. Not one, not two, but tens and tens of assistant rabbis. They may call themselves volunteers. I think a more accurate term is assistant rabbi. And there are many.
I was once out for a coffee with a rabbi from a different denomination. She told me how few volunteers she had in her shul. And I told her, I hardly know anyone in our shul who is not a volunteer in some fashion. The amount of people who assist me in one way or another is too long to list.
If my job is to make sure people feel connected, I have dozens of assistant rabbis inviting people for Shabbos and Yom Tov.
If my job is to make sure Torah is being learned, I have assistant rabbis who cover my classes and women who gather every week to teach one another.
If my job is to create uplifting davening, I have musical assistant rabbis who lead the davening – and many more who sing loudly enough to help fill this room with the sounds of tefilah.
And if my job is to keep this place running, I have a president, chair, board, CSS members, gabbaim, Kiddush crews, people fixing chairs and cleaning the shul – a whole fleet of assistant rabbis.
Thank you, all of you, for being my assistants!
Though I should probably clarify, this position does not come with health insurance.
What goes on in this shul really speaks to one of the core ideas of Judaism – Judaism does not believe that religion is a spectator sport, that one person gets up to speak and everyone listens, or that only the elite are meant to be educated or teachers, or that only one person is responsible. Not at all.
When Moshe addresses the people in this week’s parsha, he gathers them all, the men, the women, the children. Many ancient tribes had mass gatherings made up of men, but Judaism was the first to introduce the notion that all members of society play an integral role and therefore they all needed to be present.
When Moshe, in the last days of his life, gives a Torah scroll to the tribe of Levi, telling them that since they are the teachers of the Jewish People, they should hold onto it, the people protest; What about us? Are we not part of the Jewish People?!
Moshe is thrilled. According to the Medrash, he writes 12 additional Torah scrolls, one for each tribe, and then he proclaims, “Today, you have become a nation.”
To be part of the Jewish nation means you are responsible, not to be a recipient, but to be a giver. Not to be a consumer, but a creator.
If you are not yet an assistant rabbi, now’s a really good time to sign up.
Years ago, I was working for an organization in Washington DC, and I had to speak a couple of times over Yom Kippur. I was quite annoyed. I loved sitting in the back of shul on Yom Kippur, covered in a talis, not talking to anyone all day except G-d. And I was going to be in DC, with the expectation of shmoozing with people, many of them who didn’t take Yom Kippur very seriously, perhaps being distracted by the speeches I had to give. I was really not looking forward to it.
I was speaking to a rabbi of mine, Rabbi Eliezer Breitowitz, and I was complaining, and he said, “Are you out of your mind?!” By the way, until you have a rabbi who can tell you, you’re out of your mind, you don’t have a rabbi…
He explained: It’s the holiest day of the year. It’s the day on which you’re being judged. As long as you sat in the back of the shul with a talis over your head, G-d judged you as a guy in the back of shul with a talis over his head. But this year, this year, G-d says, “Whoa! Look at this! We need to assess this person not only as an individual, but as someone who is helping my children.” That’s a whole new judgement.
For every person you assist, for every person you inspire, for every person you make more comfortable, your spiritual net worth goes up exponentially. As Rav Chaim Volozhin used to remind his son constantly, “You were put into this earth to help others.” Every person you assist, every person you inspire, every person you make feel that they belong does not only change their Yom Tov. It changes your Yom Tov. It changes who you are as you stand before G-d.
As this year comes to an end, I just want to say thank you to every single one of you for making this Ner Tamid community the warm, growth-oriented, community-minded place that it is. We need every single one of you, your insights, your contributions, your participation, to make this community whole.
And especially at this time of year, I really need the assistance of all of my assistants.
If you see a face you don’t recognize, I may not get to him or her. Please say hello on my behalf. And then, say hello on your behalf.
If the person sitting next to you over Yom Tov is flipping helplessly through the machzor, help them find the page.
If you know someone who might appreciate an invitation, there are a lot of meals coming up over the next few weeks. See if you can fit one or two more people around your table. I am confident they will add far more to your meal than they take from it.
And when the chazzan begins a tune, sing. Beautiful davening doesn’t come from one person standing at the amud. It comes from an entire room deciding that this is our tefillah.
So yes, I love being your rabbi. It really is a great job.
But the truth is, the greatest privilege of being the rabbi of Ner Tamid is that I don’t have to do it alone.
I have a shul full of assistant rabbis.
May Hashem bless each of us with a year in which we don’t merely ask what our community can give us, but recognize how much we have to give one another. And in that merit, may Hashem look at all that we do for His children, hear all of our tefillos, and bless us all with a Shanah Tovah, a gut genbetched yur.