My Journey to Rabbinical School

The following is taken from my Rabbinical School "Personal Statement."

“Birth is a beginning / And death a destination. / And life is a journey: / From childhood to maturity / And youth to age; / From innocence to awareness / And ignorance to knowing; / From foolishness to discretion / And then, perhaps, to wisdom; […]” As I stood in shul beating my chest at the recitation of the ashamnu and the Al Chet confession, I could not help but think about all that has happened to me over this past year. We read in the Unetaneh tokef, “On Rosh Hashanah it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed.” As we ask God to write us in the Book of Life, God asks us to ask ourselves what our strengths and weaknesses are. It is as if He begs us to be open to all of the opportunities this New Year presents, to be wary of all the threats that may come our way, and most of all to never to forget our past.

This year, unlike in years past, the Yamim Nora'im took on new meaning. I stood before the Heavenly Tribunal and the earthly court, before God and the Jewish community as a new person, ready to pray, confess, and remember. The last two years have been marked by moments of both great personal joy and sorrow. I received my rejection letter from the rabbinical program at HUC-JIR; only to open my acceptance letter from the New York School of Education at HUC-JIR a few months later. I sat with my 95 year old grandfather after he broke his hip, only to watch him pass away before my own eyes. As a result, I now have a better understanding of what it means to be a student, teacher, preacher, and mourner.

“[…] From defeat to defeat to defeat – / Until, looking backwards or ahead, / We see that victory lies / Not at some high place along the way, / But in having made the journey stage by stage, / A sacred pilgrimage […]” After years of contemplation and soul-searching, I decided to apply to the rabbinical program at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion. My need and desire to be a Reform rabbi were then compiled into a five page - four essay application. After a relatively smooth interview, I waited for a few weeks to receive an answer, and then it came – Lech Lecha! I was told to “Go to myself,” to find out who I am, to learn and to study.

“The Eternal One said to Abram, ‘Go forth from your native land, from your land, your birthplace, your father’s house, to the land that I will show you […]’ So Abram went forth as the Eternal had told him, […]” (Gen 12:1, 4). It is at this tzomet, intersection, that we find Avraham Avinu – Abraham our father. God commanded Abraham to change not only his location physically, but spiritually as well. The rabbis tell us that besides the commandment to make a physical move, it was also a call for a change in Abraham’s state of mind. Rabbi Moshe Alshich of Tzfat offers a deeper interpretation commenting that Lecha means "to yourself." By journeying throughout the world, Abraham was setting out on a path of self-discovery, one which would ultimately enable him to understand his own identity. It is that same pursuit of self-discovery that has helped me understand my own identity.

The mitzvah of giving our children a Jewish education is deeply rooted in our tradition. The commandment V'shinantam l'vanecha – “And you shall teach them diligently to your children" – has been a basic precept of Jewish life from the time B’nai Yisrael received the Torah at Sinai. It is that time-honored commandment which has kept us strong as a people. Over the past two years I have learned what it means to teach our children diligently; because I myself have learned what it means to learn diligently. I have studied many theories that have helped ground the way I teach.

In chapter five of Pirke Avot we read about four different types of learners. The Mishna describes each of these learners as having a specific learning style which ultimately must inform the way we teach them. Just as our rabbis had to accommodate a diverse group of learners, we today must do the same. We must learn to see our students’ passion, their love, and their desires. We must recognize that each one is created b’tzelem Elohim, and that they are our future.

“[…] From weakness to strength / Or from strength to weakness – / And, often, back again; / From health to sickness / And back, we pray, to health again; / From offense to forgiveness, / From loneliness to love, / From joy to gratitude, / From pain to compassion, / And from grief to understanding – / From fear to faith; […]” Almost a year ago my family got a call from my grandmother that my Grandpa Munio had fallen and broken his hip. My unstoppable, impatient, and most of all loving grandfather was in the hospital unable to move. For the first time in my life I was speechless and scared.

I went to visit him almost everyday; and on the days I was not able to go I made sure to call him. My grandmother asked me to pray for him, and I said that we should all pray for him. Sadly I did not know what to say to God. Was my faith being tested like Abraham about to slay his son Isaac on Mount Moriah? I was waiting for God to scream out to me. Unlike Abraham, I did not hear the voice of God cry out to me. Without a siddur, without a prescribed liturgy I felt lost. Worst of all I felt helpless, and ultimately alone.

My grandfather received a hip replacement and was eventually transferred to a rehabilitation facility. One Friday afternoon after physical therapy, I wheeled my grandfather down to the social hall for some pre-Shabbat singing with the other residents. My grandfather asked for his kepelah, what he called a kippah, and smiled at me. This was the last time I would ever see him smile, and the last time he would give me a kiss.

I planned to visit my grandfather on Sunday, after Shabbat, but it was too late. He was rushed to the hospital only to slip away. At the hospital my grandma looked at me and said “Lyle what do we say?” With tears rolling down my face all I could say was “I do not know.” Where was God and why my grandpa? Later on that evening after everyone had gone to bad, I sat up reading, searching, hoping for an answer and then I found it: Baruch Dayan Emet – Blessed is the True Judge.

The entire time my grandfather was in the hospital, I was searching for God, waiting for God to find me. At that moment I realized that sometimes we need to find God. As my grandmother and mom went through the mourning process, I too went through my own mourning process. I began to search for meaning in Judaism and gain comfort from all the people that surrounded me. As we left the cemetery my family and I walked through two lines of people saying, “Hamakom yinachem etchem b’toch sh’ar aveilei Tzion v’Yerushalayim - May God comfort you together with the other mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.” It once again hit me: to be a Jew is to yearn for community.

Life slowly started getting back to normal, even though there was a feeling of emptiness. I decided to take a short vacation from Jewish education and work at Robin Hood Country Day School, a secular day camp that I attended and worked at for many years. I was a group leader for twenty-six excited second graders. Of the twenty-six children in my group, about 75% were Jewish.

From the moment I walked into camp I realized that there was no such thing as a vacation from Jewish education. I walked in smiling only to be greeted by tears. Gene Roberts, the owner and director of the camp for over forty-nine years lost his short battle with cancer on the morning camp began. I immediately went into the mode of an aspiring rabbi, comforting the family and answering their questions. All of a sudden I seem to have found the faith that I lost only a few months before.

Later on that week, after the funeral, I went to pay a shiva call. I walked into the house and was immediately greeted with warm smiles from the family. Then Gene’s children, co-owners of the camp, and his widow Paula asked me to lead the shiva minyan. Initially I refused, knowing that the rabbi from his home synagogue would be there. Then his children said that it would be more meaningful if I led it because Gene knew me and loved me. Paula then said, “Gene often spoke about how he couldn’t wait to see me as a rabbi.” Once I heard that, I knew what I had to do.

I led the shiva minyan stopping at the v’ahavta as an opportunity to reflect on Gene as a lifelong educator who cared about each and every child that he met. With tears once again rolling down my face I led the mourners in kaddish yatom. For the first time the mourners kaddish took on new significance. I was not just a leader; I was a mourner and a comforter. The camp's educational philosophy states that “Robin Hood is a world for children to explore, to enjoy, to learn new skills and to make new and lasting friendships.” It was not until camp was over that I realized just how Jewish their philosophy is and how transformative my summer camp experience was. Jewish education takes place at all times and in various different ways. Sometimes all it takes is for us to open our eyes.

“[…] Birth is a beginning / And death a destination. / And life is a journey, / A Sacred pilgrimage – / To life everlasting.” A person once asked Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneersohn, “what is a Jew’s task in this world?” Schneersohn replied, “A Jew is a lamp-lighter on the streets of the world…That is the true calling of a Jew – to be a lamplighter, an igniter of souls.” Rabbi Dr. Gerald M. Meister, who works for the Israeli Consulate in Manhattan, asked me what I thought my role and purpose was as a Jewish educator and rabbi. He then said perhaps one of the most profound and striking things. He said to me that the job of a rabbi or Jewish professional is to take care of and nurture Jewish souls.

Until that time I had never actually thought about my future as a Jewish caregiver. More then a caregiver, according to him, my role would be to help guide people’s souls to realize their Jewish potential. In some strange way it took failure and tragedy for me to ultimately realize how to prevail.

My need, desire, and yearning to be a Reform rabbi cannot be marked by one significant moment, but rather by a series of defining events that I have experienced in my short lifetime. Rabbi Sergio Bergman of the NCI/Emanuel Synagogue in Buenos Aires Argentina once said that “the Promised Land could be anywhere as long as we walk in the path of Torah to get there.” My Promised Land is the Reform rabbinate, and it is my hope as a Reform rabbi to help, teach, and nurture Jewish souls to lead meaningful Jewish lives.

Just as God writes and seals, records and recounts, we too must do the same. I used this past High Holy Day season to write my own book. It was my time to look at my life and decide what I want to do in the year to come. I became my own judge and arbiter, counsel and witness. Hopefully in doing all of these things, I will hear the sound of the great Shofar: Tekiah G'dolah!