Chaos, Yuck, Joy, People who annoy me, De-blogging

Mixed bag today; nothing really coherent, just a few thoughts here and there.

Lots of stuff went haywire this morning, requiring bandaging. I am even stuck with checking the Eruv this week. On the other hand, lots of people stopping in at shul and wishing each other Good Yom Tov, lots of (somewhat stressed) smiles exchanged, a good feeling of achdus all around.

And in the middle of it I was brought “power of attorney” forms to sign for my friend. Not for a Living Will - the full power of attorney. I know plenty of people who have it for their parents, and that has its own associated nightmares; doing this for a friend is its own world of Yuck.

No, Yom Tov, v’Samachta, got to get happy. I’m happier about:

-Good weather for Succos.

-The good personal email feedback I’ve gotten from my Transition Document post. I’ll admit I had hoped for a link or two, but the email has been good.

-Ice cream, even if they are artificially flavoring Tom Carvel’s legacy.

-Mahmoud Ahmedinajad giving me a target to mock, and making me laugh. Yes, I know, you’re not supposed to laugh because that trivializes the danger, but I can’t help it.

-Seeing RenReb back to posting, if only occasionally.

-Having friends outside of this blog – I think I’m up to two now, an all-time high for me since entering the rabbinate. Now, if I can only keep them, and keep them alive.


I can see why the Sages specified meat as a joy-inducer; the aforementioned joys are all fleeting, and can be easily ruined, but a good burger can’t be beat. (And if you want to know why I didn’t mention wine, see here and here. Since the Beit Yosef says it's not obligatory, I see no need to specify it.)

One thing that is really getting on my nerves today: People whose sense of humor is out of sync with mine. Like the guy at the Daf who thinks its funny to ask why I need to be at the Succah Hop with my kids instead of teaching the Daf – he thinks he’s joking, but I don’t find it funny. Or the person who stops in to talk about something he read in the paper and takes great chunks of my time for this conversation that MUST TAKE PLACE TODAY, and then, after it seems that several hours have gone by, says with a smile, “I guess you have a few other things to do today, right?” Smile away, pal, just stand still long enough for my fist to get there…

Time to de-blog, then. As I did last Pesach, I will be taking a break for Succos; I expect not to post until after Simchas Torah. Feel free to comment, or to email me; I will be responding to email.

Have a great Yom Tov,
RWAC

Transition Documents

I am leery of sounding laughably self-important by branding this idea crucial, critical, or otherwise a Really Big Deal.

So having suitably disclaimed self-importance, I say this: Shuls could help themselves and their leadership immensely by maintaining a basic Transition Document. This is the most important piece of original administrative advice I could give a shul. I wish I had possessed such a document when entering each of my new shuls; it would have made my life much easier.

And yet: A thorough Google search ("transition document" "synagogue") turns up precisely 1 (one) temple that has such a document - and that doesn't appear to be for the synagogue as a whole, but rather for individual committees.

What is a Transition Document?
To my mind, a Transition Document is the cornerstone of institutional memory. It should include information like:

Minhagim: Hallel on Yom haAtzmaut. X number of Sifrei Torah are held for Kol Nidrei. Shofar at what point in kaddish at the end of Yom Kippur. Tachanun on the 14th of Shevat at minchah. Hoshanos after Hallel or Musaf.

Halachah: Status of Kosher/Pasul Sifrei Torah. How we calculate Zmanim. Contacts for Kashrus Commission, Eruv, Mikvah, Chevra Kadisha. Who purchases our Chametz before Pesach, and how much we pay him when we buy it back.

House issues: How timers are set for the lights and heat on Shabbos. Instructions for non-Jewish Shabbos employees. Tallitot cleaning arrangements. Who orders Yom Tov flowers.

Community contacts: Contact people for the Community Calendar, Federation grants, JCC scheduling, BJE, School Board, Newspapers and TV, etc.

Publicity: Locations/institutions which will publicize shul events listings. Weekly/biweekly/monthly/seasonal mailings include X, Y and Z information, provided by the rabbi/president/Sisterhood/etc. List of shul email addresses. How the Shul dialer works.

Financials: Lists of shul funds, their purposes, who is responsible for managing each. Key donors for each fund. System for drawing on those funds. Local grant organizations. Who may sign checks. At which stores we hold accounts and receive discounts. With which services the shul has contracts - Internet, phone, pest control, etc.

Governance: List of standing and ad hoc committees. Job description for board positions. Procedures for creating new committees, for making expenditures, for hiring and dismissing personnel.

Codes: Kitchen key-holders. Tallis-locker combinations. Alarm codes. Bank codes and account numbers.

Shul secrets (rabbi’s eyes only): Members with questionable conversions. So-and-so is not eligible for an aliyah. The Benevolent Fund has the following loans outstanding…

This is not even close to an exhaustive list; I know, because I am currently drafting a Transition Document for my own synagogue, and realizing how much more belongs there.

Two caveats:
1. Presidents and Rabbis need separate Transition Documents; their needs differ. Also, the president’s document will be used frequently, since most shuls today change presidents every two or three years. The rabbi’s document, hopefully, will be used less frequently - but it should be well-maintained, in case of emergency, Gd-forbid. (Hence the need for my own such document; RWAC is still in Wacville!) And, I suppose, Office Managers and Executive Directors need their own.

2. This document is not meant to preserve policies in stone or perpetuate old systems; rather, it is meant to enable growth by providing basic building blocks. It should be dynamic, continually updated. Properly done, this will save new presidents and office staff months of confusion, and a new rabbi years of confusion.

Do it now!
Bring this up at your board meetings, please - this is the perfect time, with people back from vacation but before the big fundraisers start up.

And especially to all of you synagogues who are currently rabbi-hunting - that would be you in Atlanta, Deerfield Beach, Skokie, etc - please work with your outgoing rabbis to write up such a document. Your departing rabbi will (hopefully) be glad to help you move forward, and your incoming rabbi will thank you for it.

And finally: I would love to see the RCA, OU, Young Israel, etc, devote a Convention session one year to Transition Documents, or at least send materials to their member synagogues about the importance of preparing such a document.

(Could one of my RCA-member readers please make this suggestion on Rabbi Korobkin’s RCA listserv? You’ll understand if I can’t do that myself…)

Post-Yom Kippur: Moshe, Yonah and Tom Carvel

A few post-Yom Kippur reflections, as I wait for the grass to dry so I can put up my Succah:

Yom Kippur was good, although without the exhilaration of last year. Not sure why that was. Could be because I felt the pressure of trying to match last year. Could be because I had more concerns this year for individuals in my community, and I had a hard time believing that my own davening might change their verdict. Don’t know.

Two big positive notes:
1. I love "Ki Anu Amecha." How can you not love it? Right before Viduy [confession of sins], we sing this short paragraph, "We are Your nation, and You are our Gd, we are Your children, etc" and describe the relationship in all sorts of positive ways, usually sung with a jubilant tune.

In years past I was disturbed by the juxtaposition of this ecstatic love poem with the tell-all confession of sin that follows, until I realized that this “We’re your nation, so forgive us” approach matches Moshe’s approach post-Meraglim (Devarim 9). You know, when Gd says He's had it with us, and Moshe replies, "Sorry, Gd, but that's not in the contract. "v'Heim Amcha v'Nachalasecha," "This is Your nation and Your portion, whom You took out of Egypt with a mighty hand." That's right, Gd - Even You don't get to choose whether You have us or not. We are Your nation, descendants of the people You loved - deal with it.

2. And Yonah. Oh, do I love Yonah. I couldn’t stop laughing this year, all through Maftir Yonah. It's really the fourth chapter, specifically; everything else is just background to get you there.
How could you not love a Gd who could make fun of a serious prophet this way? Gd does everything but stick out His tongue at Yonah.

First He gives Yonah a mission He knows Yonah will hate (a long story to explain this, but it's so), Yonah tries to kill himself and Gd saves his life, then Gd gives him the same mission again just to prove a point.

Yonah does the job, Nineveh repents, and Yonah is livid, and Gd asks him, “Are you good and angry?” [It reminds me of Umberto Eco’s signature Piedmontese line in Foucault’s Pendulum - I’m mangling it, but it’s something like “Do you really think so?” very deadpan, as in, “I don’t think so at all.”] Are you good and angry that the city will survive?

Then Yonah goes native, camping out in the wild outside Nineveh, and Gd gives him shade and Yonah is happy as a barbarian… until Gd takes it away - Oops! - and suddenly Yonah is miserable again. So Gd repeats the question, “Are you good and angry?” Are you good and angry that the shade died? All in order to reach the point of saying, “Yonah, quit questioning Me.”

Yonah is the anti-Iyyov. Iyyov can’t stand suffering, Yonah can’t stand benevolence.

Oh, and one other thing. I’m eating my post-Yom Kippur Carvel (cholov stam, yes), and notice the following label on the box, with these font changes, I kid you not:

LAYERS OF CHOCOLATE AND ARTIFICIALLY FLAVORED VANILLA ICE CREAM WITH CHOCOLATE FLAVORED CRUNCHIES AND WHIPPED FROSTING.

Do they think the consumer is stupid, or just near-sighted? If I cared about the artificials, I wouldn’t buy it; I wouldn’t be fooled by smaller print.

Somewhere, Tom Carvel is fuming over his legacy.

Looking forward to Yom Kippur

Yes, Gloomy Doomy Pins-and-Needles RWAC is actually looking forward to Yom Kippur.

Even though Yom Kippur means Succos is coming, and Hoshana Rabbah, and Shmini Atzeres, and Simchas Torah. And the usual post-Succos letdown. And the million meetings and classes which follow immediately thereafter, avalanching in to bury the rabbi.

I’m looking forward to ridding myself of my nervous tension.
I’m looking forward to the catharsis of a serious Viduy.
I’m looking forward to waking up tomorrow morning and thinking, “If I’m only this thirsty at the end of the fast, I’ll be in good shape.”
I’m looking forward to feeling fulfilled, like I did something great, after teaching during the pre-Neilah break.
I’m looking forward to the rush I felt last year on Yom Kippur; that would be out of this world.
I’m looking forward to ice cream after the fast.
I’m looking forward to not panicking, Did I say HaMelech haKadosh or not? once Yom Kippur is over.
I’m looking forward to feeling like I am “one with G-d,” a phrase that sounds foolish to my own ears, but really describes the state we are shooting for with all of this fasting and teshuvah, etc.

Unfortunately, I am also incredibly nervous, just like last year. Not about anything I can pinpoint – the speech, the fast, the kids, whatever – just a general nervousness that will keep me from eating a good meal today. My wife knows not to prepare much for the Seudah haMafsekes; I never eat more than a few bites.

I can’t do anything productive today, because of my nerves, so I always save a lot of busy work for Erev Yom Kippur. Moving Sifrei Torah for Kol Nidrei. Lots of tzedakah checks, flyers, schedules, etc. I’m also working on an emergency transition document – more on that next week, in what I expect will be the most important post I have ever featured or will ever feature on this blog. No joke.

Yes, a rabbi can look forward to Yom Kippur.
A day without formal meetings.
A day without a million phone calls and two million emails.
A day without someone walking into my office to complain about something.
A day without the distraction of having to stop and eat a meal or two.
A day to discard my doubts and speak to G-d from my heart.
A day to tell the chazan not to wait for me, but just put my tallis over my head and daven at my own pace.
A day to cry for my friends, because that’s okay, that’s what today is for.
A day not to wear a jacket because I have a kittel instead, and wow does that feel good in shul; jackets are too heavy and confining.
A day to hear the Kohanim convey HaShem’s berachah.
A day to feel close to everyone in the kehillah, so many of whom will actually be in shul at one point or another.

I am looking forward to Yom Kippur. I don’t appreciate it all through Elul, but after Rosh HaShanah I come close to recognizing the truth of Rabbi Akiva’s words, Ashreichem Yisrael, we truly are fortunate to have this day.

See Rabbi Sit, See Rabbi Stand, See Rabbi Complain

My father tells me that his father used to stand for all of the Yom Kippur davening. It feels like I do the same - I stand for Psukei d’Zimra, chazaras hashatz (repetition of the amidah) and the Torah reading, the speech and Yizkor, so what’s left? Haftorah and Hinini, I suppose.

As I look forward to Yom Kippur and remember this story about my grandfather, another thought about standing for davening comes to mind.

Years ago, a cantor from another synagogue attended my daily minyan. One morning he asked me why people sit during Psukei d’Zimra. After all, that section is supposed to be full of praise for G-d, to get a person in the proper frame of mind for Shma and Shmoneh Esreih, so how could we dare to sit, in a relaxed position?

I had to agree with him; sitting is a position of apparent complacency. When a king or president or one’s rebbe enters the room, we stand. How could I sit while praising G-d? Wouldn’t that defeat the mood-setting purpose of Psukei d’Zimra?

Since then, I have stood [בלי נדר] for Psukei d’Zimra.

Side note: I sit for Ashrei, both at Shacharis [see Yerushalmi Berachos 5:1] and at Minchah [as a means of establishing a fixed location for davening, before the Amidah; I recall this from Tosafos somewhere, perhaps in Arvei Pesachim on kevius makom for a meal].

I see two problems with standing, though:
1. As I age, should I merit to do so, I will probably find standing more difficult.
2. Standing leads to distractions, especially when I pace or sway. When sitting, I have a narrower field of vision.

Perhaps leaning lightly on a shtender would be best, if we had room for those in our shul. That would remove the complacency of sitting without forcing unsupported standing, and it would also limit my field of vision and wandering.

These meandering thoughts brought another problem to mind - the showcase that is the rabbi’s seat along the Aron wall. I face the shul as I daven, and it bugs me no end.

Bad enough that I have to be on display so that people can observe me davening:
Did you see? The rabbi puts his tallis over his head during Kaddish, right before Barchu. Why don't you?
The rabbi doesn’t shuckle during Shmoneh Esreih; is he following Rav Moshe’s minhag, or does his back hurt?
The rabbi picks his nose during Uva l’Tziyyon, is that halachah, or his minhag?

But the fact that I daven facing people is even worse.
I have a hard time focussing on Shma when I can see everyone else. Good thing only about one-third of the population arrives by Shma on Shabbos morning!
I like to help my younger children follow the Haftorah when everyone else can see me, but it feels so posed with everyone able to watch me.
I hate turning to face people after the Amidah on Rosh haShanah and Yom Kippur, when I emerge emotionally exhausted - but it’s rude to keep my back to them.

So to combine my two themes, maybe this is what we should do: Eliminate the rabbi’s seat altogether, and just leave a shtender, facing the wall. Hmm... there's a thought.

Fast Death, Slow Death, it's all Death

I’m sorry for not responding to a lot of good comments lately; things have been very tough, aside from all of the Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur preparations.

A few years ago, I lost a close friend in a car accident. He was in the prime of health, mid-30's, everything going great with job and family and life. And then Bang, he was gone to the next world.

At the time, I wondered morbidly whether losing him instantly was better or worse than after a long, drawn-out disease. An UNetaneh Tokef question: "Who quickly, and who slowly?"

Obviously, this quick death left all of us without a way to tell him to his face how we felt, to hear what he wanted to say to us to plan, to say Good-bye… but I wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad.

Now I find myself in the opposite position. Another close friend, barely older than the first one I mentioned, is fighting what has been a year-long losing battle against a serious, pervasive metastasis, and he just got some very bad news.

We have had plenty of opportunity to talk and to plan, although I have been loathe to frame blunt questions. (“So, what do you want on your headstone?”)

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. My mind wanders into eulogies in the middle of talking to him. I can’t bear the thought of officiating for him.

I plan for Yom Kippur and am trying to draft a stirring speech about Fringe Jews, but all I can think of is death, fear, and lost friends. I talk to people about how Yom Kippur is a day of joy, but I don’t feel it inside, and I know it must show. My gloom is made worse by the fact that he hasn’t informed most people about his latest decline; anyone can tell from looking at him, but that’s different from hearing the numbers, so people don’t understand why I’m walking around with a grimace.

This is a guy who I email all the time, he’s been a real workhorse for me on some key committees. He has been at my Shabbos table so many times. He has served as gabbai for years. Losing him is incomprehensible. Losing him daily is impossible.

I don’t know, folks. The gemara says that it’s best to die after a few days of illness, allowing enough time to take care of affairs but not dragging on. The wisdom in that prescription has never been clearer to me.

Sorry to be such a mope. Happy and healthy new year to you, too.

I am the Entertainer... but I am also Batman

[Thank you to all who have been posting comments on "Review Your Rabbi." I hope to get around to replying to the comments... after I finish writing my Yom Kippur derashah.]

Rosh haShanah wasn’t bad, which is really saying something; I rarely come out of Rosh haShanah feeling anything but annoyed.

I come away annoyed because of all of the chatter that goes on in shul.

I come away annoyed because, despite my best attempts at concentration, my mind is drawn away from davening by all of the issues of the day – Where is so-and-so? Will the Gabbaim remember that pesichah they never remember? The Baal Tekiah seems a little weak; will he make it through? I wish those people two rows away from me would stop whispering. Etc.

I come away annoyed because, despite all of my efforts toward connecting with people and drawing them into the spirit of the day, so many of them still leave davening early, still fall asleep during the speech and/or musaf, still seem to be unaffected by Yom haDin, still don’t show up for selichos and minyan. (Yes, I know much of this is beyond my control, but I am a hubrish person.)

Of course, much of that is a pessimistic read on things. In truth, my davening for Rosh haShanah isn’t that bad. And in truth, some people are affected enough by the speeches that they contact me after Yom Tov (and even Shabbos Shuvah) to ask me to email them a copy. And in truth, the day after Yom haDin is not the time to be looking for results; real results come long-term, not short-term.

But it’s hard, especially because the degree of latitude I give the once-a-years, and the dilution of my derashah depth on their behalf, makes me feel cheap. It makes me feel like an entertainer.

I often feel like I am providing a show for many of the people who come to shul, an event, as though I were a caterer for a bar mitzvah or a dancer or a stand-up comic. (Except that I don't do many jokes. At least not intentionally. I'm funnier by accident than I am on purpose.)

Interestingly, my once-a-years tend to feel the opposite. Based on their own testimony, they feel that the derashos are hard-hitting and demanding. They feel that the davening is a real challenge. They feel that they are rising a level, not that the shul is kneeling to meet them.

But enough moaning. This year, as I said above, was a relatively good one. The baalei tefillah were really good. My children davened beautifully. After I presented some fairly elaborate and explicit pre-shofar introductory remarks, Musaf was actually very quiet, even decorous. My speeches went over well, particularly one that I based on a blog post of my own. I even managed to squeeze Breaking Benjamin and Weezer into a drasha, and to great positive effect, believe it or not. Even the weather cooperated.

And, just for you, Jack – I had a great Batman moment (For those who don’t get it – the scene I channeled is approximately 1 hour and 27 minutes into the film, according to this site which was clearly put together by someone with way too much time on his hands.):

Our baal tekiah had trouble at the end of the first day, so on the second day I looked for possible fill-ins. When the first possibility entered davening, I came off the bimah and went over to him to discuss Shofar arrangements.

After we were done talking, I walked quickly back up the aisle to the bimah. On the way, my gabbai gave me a quizzical look, as if asking, “What was that?” To which I replied with as good a Batman deadpan as I could muster, “Backup,” as I swept up on to the Bimah, my cape-like tallis trailing behind me. I could fairly hear the music swelling.

Review Your Rabbi

[First: If I have hurt any of you this year, please grant me forgiveness. I aim to entertain, and occasionally to provoke thought, but not to hurt. This includes the commenter I banned.]

Rabbis love feedback. As a matter of fact, the only thing we love more than feedback about how we do our jobs, is feedback about how other rabbis do their jobs. [Not like "Boy, you're better than that other rabbi," of course; I'm talking about constructive feedback. Of course. Certainly. Scout's honor. Really.]

So here’s my Rosh HaShanah request: After Rosh haShanah and Shabbos, please post here your review of your rabbi’s derashot – Rosh haShanah and/or Shabbos Shuvah.

Many rabbis (although clearly not all) put an inordinate amount of work into crafting these messages. This is their chance to reach people who are otherwise absent from shul, and draw them in. This is their chance to inspire people to daven the most serious tefillos of the year. This is their chance to chart a visionary path for the shul for the year ahead, and beyond. So rabbis often come across ideas as early as Kislev or Shevat and write them down, saving them for just this occasion. This is Prime Time.

Therefore, I would love to hear from as many people as possible – not just for the vicarious pleasure of hearing other rabbis reviewed, but also so that I can steal their material for next year.

Among the areas in which ratings would be welcome:
Theme – What was the topic of the speech? Was it timely? Was it good for your particular crowd?

Message – What was the chief message? Was it stirring, something that would move people to action? Or just a message delivered because he had to say something?

Rants - Did he rant for Shabbos Shuvah? If so, about what?

Delivery – Dynamic? Reading the words off the page? Walking around the shul, pacing, swaying, or just standing at a lectern? Anything particularly good about the way he did it?

Midrash pliah - Did he cite any midrashim that were just bizarre? You know what I mean; the ones he uses to wake you up and get your attention, and that he says he will explain but that really defy explanation?

Jokes – Did he dare to start a Rosh haShanah or Shabbos Shuvah drasha with a joke? If so, how did it go over? If it was good, feel free to repeat it here.

Stories – I love it when rabbis tell good stories, particularly original stories; these can be a great way to get a point across. Were there any particularly memorable ones?

Endings – Did the rabbi end every speech with “and so we will merit a kesivah vachasimah tovah / to be inscribed and sealed for a good year,” or “mashiach tzidkeinu amen?” Or was it a dead ending, “I finished my topic so I’ll just sit down now”? Or did he have a great big bang of an ending?

There is only one rule: Please respect your rabbi’s anonymity. I will have to delete any comment that gives away a rabbi’s identity. Thank you.

May all of us be blessed with a happy and healthy new year, a year of blessing, a year of peace, a year in which HaShem will grant us the fulfillment of all of our wishes, for the best.

The Worst Rabbinic "Al Cheit"

[Subtitle: In which RWAC beats himself up yet again, for your listening pleasure. No need for the traditional, reassuring, "I'm sure you do your best" comments; I'm really not looking for pity or even sympathy, but thank you anyway. I'm just putting this out there so that people might better understand their rabbis, and so that rabbis will shep nachas from reading it.]

Regrettably, rabbis are vulnerable to many sins in their professional roles – flattery, lashon hara (harmful speech), and carelessness with communal tzedakah funds are but a few. (Of course, these sins may apply to non-rabbis as well, but rabbis are presented with more frequent opportunities.)

To me, though, one of the worst transgressions for which many rabbis must klop al cheit (confess sin) is that of letting down their congregants, abdicating their responsibility to the people who trust them. It happens all the time, no matter how good the rabbi is.

I don’t mean “letting the congregants down” in terms of the congregants’ expectations – I’m talking about the Torah’s expectations. The rabbi is supposed to provide courageous halachic guidance, and to take care the needy, as we have discussed elsewhere. A rabbi who doesn’t do both is letting down his congregants.

Halachic guidance
The gemara comments (Kiddushin 82a) that the best doctors are destined for Gehennom (Hell). I believe that the context makes the meaning clear: Those who become arrogant, and forget to be afraid of error and to rely on Gd, are guilty of grave sin.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe, though, added an interesting note in his Sichos: The doctor who feels sorry for the patient, or is intimidated by the patient, and so doesn’t demand too much from him, is guilty of malpractice, possibly murder. If my diabetic patient resists my advice, and so I tell him it’s all right for him to exceed safe dietary intake levels, then I am guilty. If I don’t tell my heart patient what she needs to know about lifestyle and exercise, then I am guilty.

I would apply the same to rabbis, who are charged with helping their congregants grow.

I have congregants whom I have helped persuade, through Gd’s great intervention, to attend minyan more frequently, to reduce their chatter during davening, to be kinder to others, to attend a shiur, to kasher their kitchens. But I always ask myself – what if I could be getting more out of them? What if I could have gotten them to put on tefillin, to learn more, to walk on Shabbos instead of drive?

And yes, I know that I am walking a tightrope, and that אין לדיין אלא מה שעיניו רואות, a judge can only work with the situation as he perceives it. I don’t deny that. But how much of my decision of "He's not ready yet" is based on my own timidity, my own desire not to alienate? It’s very hard to speak honestly on this point.

Taking care of the needy
In terms of taking care of the needy, the issue of letting down the congregants comes up again.

It’s impossible to take care of everyone – but I draw a distinction between taking care of everyone, and taking care of those who really need us.

I recently heard from several people that a local rabbi had “let them down,” in one way or another. One had an infant child’s surgery, and the rabbi didn’t do anything – call, visit, nothing. Another was dealing with spousal abuse, and the rabbi was told about it, and he declined to intervene.

I had an issue with this same rabbi a couple of years ago, when he was contacted by a juvenile institution about a Jewish child who was there, and he didn’t visit. Eventually they contacted me, and I took it on. When I asked him about it he explained that he had tried to visit, but the institution hadn’t complied with his schedule, it hadn’t worked out, etc… but the bottom line, to me, was that he let the kid down.

I’m sure I do the same, at times; it’s impossible to be a perfect juggler and keep all of the congregants in the air at the same time. I have had people tell me, “I could have used a call when X happened.”

For our pre-Selichos program the other night, I copped out and showed the "Awaken" video instead of providing my own material. The result? No one showed. Not a single soul. Oh, we had plenty for Selichos itself, but no one came for the movie. Had I taught a class, I know that we would have had quite a few people come. But I have enough to do at this time of year, and spending time working on the class would have degraded some of my other work.

At least, that's the justification I offer myself. But in practice, I wonder how much of it was laziness.


Bottom line? All you can offer is your best - but make sure that your best is what you offer.

Last-Minute Rabbinic Speechwriting

The jitters are here, even though all of my speeches and classes for Rosh HaShanah and Shabbos Shuvah are done, my cheshbon hanefesh is well underway, and preparations for Yom Kippur are going, thank Gd, well. The jitters are here anyway, largely because of lack of sleep. I find that when I don’t get enough sleep, I become antsy and nervous over every small thing.

Other rabbis, though, are not yet done with their speechwriting. This I know because of the remarkable number of hits on my site from Google searches for rosh hashanah dvar torah.

This is sad for many reasons: Why are you waiting so long and writing a last-minute speech, don’t your mispallelim deserve better? And how about picking up a sefer, instead of a blog? And it’s particularly sad given how far down I appear in the search results, at least as of this morning - those browsers are really working the list.

As you can probably tell, I don’t believe that rabbis should be browsing blogs for ideas at the last minute. Just to be malicious, then: dvar torah rosh hashanah yom kippur succos teshuvah tshuvah repentance shofar sermon speech tashlich apples honey shanah tovah.

That’ll show ‘em.

Of course, the Google searches might not be rabbinic searching; it might be people looking for nice divrei torah for their Yom Tov table. In which case, carry on.

[Update: Two or three hours after this post was published, I received a visitor who had Googled tefillah teshuvah tzedakah board leadership dvar torah, and had turned up this page. Someone's got to speak at an upcoming board meeting...? Or are we picking board nominees at Kol Nidrei?]

Alcoholism, Part II: RWAC’s paranoia

I am addicted to addiction.

I don't use the term clinically. By addiction, I mean the compulsive need to engage in a given activity, even when engaging in that activity is irrational, and even when engaging in that activity works against my own best interests.

I am addicted to getting approval. Think Everclear’s “Everything to Everyone.” I know quite well that much of what I do is, unfortunately, driven by this base need to have others smile upon me. (The other day, the phone rang and I showed my wife the "call waiting" screen - it said "World Savings." Seems I was calling myself...)

I am addicted to eating chocolate. If it’s around, it’s in my mouth. I might not even want it at the moment, especially after the 15th piece – but in it goes.

I am addicted to working out at the gym. It’s tedious, it drains my sleep, and I am no longer seeing the dramatic results I saw in my first few months… and yet I do it.

I am addicted to Moshe Rabbeinu. I was barely even aware of this until some time last year – but the more I think about him, about his life, about his accomplishments, about his stories, about his frustrations – the more I hunger to know more about him. Just thinking about his life right now, I feel myself on the verge of tears. I lack the hubris to call him a role model; it's just that the man was unbelievable, beyond all human scale. I do believe that if I knew I could meet Moshe in the next world, that would cure my all-consuming fear of death.

I am addicted to music. I drive my (adored, admired, worshipped) wife absolutely nuts, because – like my children, come to think of it – I can listen to the same song over, and over, and over again. I get addicted to a particular song, and I can’t get off it. Lately: Nickelback’s “Rock Star,” as well as “Pain” and “Animal I have become” by Three Days Grace. (No, I’m not recommending any of these for anyone else. I don’t need your chesronos on my Yom haDin.)

And the list goes on.

And so, when it comes to alcohol, I am genuinely afraid that I might develop an addiction, simply because so many of my over-practiced habits slip into addiction without my realizing it.

It would be a natural fit – I enjoy the high from a shot or two of Scotch, and it even improves my speechwriting. And two or three drinks don’t make me non-functional, they just make me ‘happy,’ and it’s very easy for me to rationalize that I am still in control.

So I stay far away from the stuff on most occasions. I make kiddush, I make havdalah, and I’ll even allow myself to finish the kiddush cup after it’s been passed around, if it’s a wine I like, but I’m afraid to let myself go beyond that.

At one point I wanted to start drinking a glass of red wine in the evenings, as the doctors recommend - but I can't let myself do it, because that would certainly become a pre-addiction habit.

On one level, I’d say this is paranoia; I’m more a creature of strong habit than I am a creature of addiction. But you know what? I think this is a healthy paranoia. אשרי אדם מפחד תמיד – Fortunate is one who is always afraid.

Alcoholism, Part I: An Ugly Insensitivity

A while back I attended a wedding, and after the Sheva Berachos at the end the chasan and kallah (groom and bride) followed the popular practice of circulating their wine among their single friends. The concept, for those who are unfamiliar, is that drinking this wine ‘helps’ a person’s chances of getting married soon.

I found in this an ugly, ugly, ugly insensitivity, on two levels.

First, what about the single man or woman who is embarrassed to be publicly identified as single-and-looking?
“Hey, we got a live one over here! Get her some sgulah (no translation available, sorry) wine, quick!”
Or “Better give that guy a double dose, he needs all the help he can get!”
To say nothing of the fact that the person may not be “looking” at all, for any number of reasons. It's the whole Fringe Jews phenomenon all over again - their singular situations just don't get the necessary consideration by others.

And then second, they went to a man whom I know to be a recovering alcoholic, and practically pried his mouth open and poured the wine down his throat in their zeal.

Now, the guy happens to be ultra-cool, someone I respect a great deal for the way he handles uncomfortable situations, and this case was no exception - he managed it perfectly. But really, what gross insensitivity - how do you know what Pandora’s Box you might be opening when you offer someone a cup of wine?

In general, I find a great insensitivity to alcoholism in the Torah-observant community:
-Shabbos tables that feature only wine and not grape juice (“You simply must try this new Pinot Noir I’ve found!").
-An insistence that everyone present mach a L’chaim (“What do you mean, you don’t drink? Here, just have a little. Please, it’ll make me happy.”)
-An over-emphasis on use of wine over grape juice for Kiddush and Havdalah. (I personally follow the Rav’s instructions that one only use wine - but I hope I would never issue such an unqualified psak to a broad audience, lest it create problems for someone whose alcoholism was unknown to me.)

The age when everyone thought alcoholism didn’t exist in “our world” is long gone, but our minhagim (customs) are still catching up. I understand it takes time, but this lack of awareness, lack of caring, is just… ugly.

And to return to our newly wedded couple: The simple solution to both insensitivities is to leave the wine where it is on the table, and shift the group of post-bentching chatterboxes to another area, so that people can come up and drink as they choose.
Those who know about this sgulah and wish to take advantage will be able to quietly do so. And if you have a friend who doesn’t know about it and you think he might want to take advantage, no problem - just go over to him quietly, explain it, and leave it to his judgment.

דרכיה דרכי נועם, the ways of the Torah are pleasant; let's get rid of the ugly we sometimes unintentionally inject.

Next post, if I can find the time and guts: RWAC’s fear of alcoholism...

An Interview with RWAC's Therapist

[Disclaimer: Nothing in this post is meant to insult therapists, or their patients. I apologize in advance for my flippant use of the term “crazy.” I am a strong believer in professional counseling, and would recommend it for pretty much every member of my shul.]

Interviewer: We’re here with Dr. Sigmund Sigmund, therapist to the rabbinic stars. Thank you for being with us today, Dr. Sigmund.

Dr. Sigmund: You’re velcome!

Interviewer: Let’s get into it: Why does RWAC need a therapist?

Dr. Sigmund: To reasssure himself that he is crazy, of course.

Interviewer: Excuse me?

Dr. Sigmund: If he is not crazy, then this vorld is in big trouble. So, he vould like to make sure that he is truly crazy – and so, he comes to ask an expert, me.

Interviewer: So would you say that RWAC is crazy?

Dr. Sigmund: Unfortunately, no. A little psychotic, hypomanic and somewhat depressive, heavily narcissistic and hungry for affection and approval, but nothing more than that. In other words, the basic psychological portfolio of a nice Jewish boy. Or a rock star. Or both, in the case of the Beastie Boys.

Interviewer: If you don’t mind my asking, what training have you received that helps you serve as a therapist for rabbis in particular?

Dr. Sigmund: I spent a summer cleaning monkey cages at the zoo.

Interviewer: What?

Dr. Sigmund: You wouldn’t believe the stuff you have to clean out of rabbis’ psyches.

Interviewer: I… see. And tell me, are there any perks in your job as a rabbinic therapist?

Dr. Sigmund: Not really, unless you count getting shlishi on Yom Kippur.

Interviewer: To return to RWAC, then: What do you prescribe for RWAC, for his psychological ailments?

Dr. Sigmund: I prescribe a Sabbatical. A three-year Sabbatical, in fact.

Interviewer: How will that help him deal with his problems?

Dr. Sigmund: It won’t, but it will keep him out of my hair for a while. And his board will thank me.

Interviewer: I see. And what would you prescribe for his community?

Dr. Sigmund: Palliative care. The more they smile and nod at him, the better. And, perhaps, a three year Sabbatical for them as well.

Interviewer: If we could suspend HIPAA laws for a moment, please tell us about RWAC’s greatest fear.

Dr. Sigmund: I already told you, in the beginning – the fear that he is not crazy, after all, and the vorld really is as he perceives it.

Interviewer: Speaking of the world being crazy - RWAC very rarely talks politics. Is that tied to some childhood trauma?

Dr. Sigmund: No; it's because I hypnotized him to despise talking about politics.

Interviewer: Why did you do that?

Dr. Sigmund: It was a request from RWAC's board, as a condition for covering the cost of his treatment.

Interviewer: Ah ha! Now, that's a good idea for shul boards. Getting more personal, then: Has RWAC ever shared any interesting dreams with you?

Dr. Sigmund: Occasionally, yes. Most of them are your standard stress and anxiety dreams... but there vas that one about the maple syrup.

Interviewer: Maple syrup?

Dr. Sigmund: Yes, and marshmallows. But never mind; it is a fixation from his youth.

Interviewer: Any waffles?

Dr. Sigmund: No, no, no waffles. And none of that Jack or Jameel, either. And no men at all in that dream, other than RWAC, so don’t you start any rumors.

Interviewer: No, I won’t. Well, that’s all we have time for today… but please send us your questions for our next installment – An Interview with RWAC’s Barber.

Quit judging me

[Yes, I have joined WebAds. Welcome to the 21^st century...]

One of the hard parts of the rabbinate is the set of assumptions people automatically make about me:

Their eyes see my hat and beard.
Their mouths say: “Oh, he’s an Awwwr-tho-ducks rabbi.”
Inside their skulls, their mind is saying: “He hates women, hates gays and lesbians, hates the government of Israel and the IDF, thinks non-Orthodox Jews aren’t Jewish, thinks Matisyahu is cool, loves kishke and chopped liver and matzoh balls, loves Bill O'Reilly and Rush Limbaugh, etc.”

Of course, everyone pre-judges; it’s a natural defense mechanism. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. It really hampers my relationships, as well as my work.

It means that some of my family members won’t talk straight to me, because they think they know what I am feeling, and how I will react. They call me when they have a nice dvar torah to repeat, which is nice, but I can’t help wondering whether they wait to call me until they have such a dvar torah to tell me.

It means that people who meet me at community events automatically trot out their stories about cousins and nephews who are “soooooooooooo religious.” [I’m never sure if that means the relative goes to services once a month, or if it means that the relative learns in kollel in Yerushalayim. My absolute ‘favorite,’ of course, is, “My grandparents were very Orthodox.” Olympic Grave-rolling is a Jewish-dominated sport.] I met a Conservative rabbi recently, and within 30 seconds of our meeting he was apologizing for all of the Conservative things he does, explaining that it's the synagogue and not him, etc.

It means that people who would otherwise be my friends feel like every conversation has to be oriented around the parshah, the shul, or the Jewish community. Of course, this has saved me from inappropriate conversations at times, I know, but it makes the much-needed intimacy of a true friendship very difficult to achieve. And I never hear the really funny jokes.

And it makes outreach difficult. The other day, at a social gathering, I saw a girl who grew up in WACville, has finished school and is out on her own. She was with a girl who seemed, to me, to be more than just a friend. But she didn’t introduce her, didn’t even refer to her presence. By her body language it was as though her friend wasn’t there; I felt like I would be intruding even by turning to her friend and saying, “I’m ________; what’s your name?” It seems to me that the former WACvillian was uncomfortable, unsure how I would react to her ‘friend’.

I'm pretty sure I don't project any aura of unfriendliness, and I do let people know that I am a human being, with human interests (although I admit I do walk out of the room for the commercials at the Super Bowl party). But certain assumptions go with the uniform and the seat in shul.

I would love to turn the label on and off at will, to say one day, “Now I’m being Rabbi” and the next “Now I’m not.”

I want my relatives to call me just to say Hello, and to feel comfortable telling me what goes on in their lives.
I want to meet people who care about who I am, not what I do.
I want friends who don’t feel like a whole range of topics are off-limits around me.
I want to have a friendship with, and possibly even help, the WACvillian girl who now has a girlfriend.

But I’m not willing to leave the rabbinate for any of these, at least not yet. Besides, everyone has these stereotypes; I'm not sure I'd really gain much by trading in my current set for a new set.

Bottom line? It is, of course, is an unfair desire for the best of both worlds. I know that. But it doesn’t stop me from wanting it.

Elul: Doubting myself

Like pretty much every other rabbi in the “Centrist Orthodox” community, I occasionally participate in programs with non-Orthodox colleagues, officiate at funerals where the deceased is praised for the great cheeseburgers he used to make for the grandkids, or allow my hand to be taken by women at social gatherings.

In short: I do things that make my halakhic mind cringe. I do them for the sake of Torah and in a manner that conforms with my understanding of the halachah, but come Elul, they still bother me.

Elul is, after all, the period for second-guessing. For asking myself whether this action was correct, whether I should have said that differently. For debating the decisions that have brought me to this point in life.

So during Elul I look at these cases and ask myself: When I do these things, am I really motivated by ahavas yisrael and outreach, or am I doing it because I want people to like me?

It happened to me again this Elul, as I sat at a wedding dinner while the dance floor filled with couples. (Rant to Centrist Orthodox Jews of a certain age: Please don’t be offended that I consider public mixed dancing inappropriate. I know that you danced mixed at your teenage parties, your wedding and your shul dinner - but your great-grandparents certainly did not. The "extremist swing" was your generation’s leftward move, not my generation’s return to the middle. End rant.)

The whole experience gave me a creepy feeling, a sense that I was somehow selling out by being there. I didn’t pretend to be anything I’m not - my black hat certainly stood out during the creative Conservative ceremony - but I smiled and nodded and congratulated even as I saw men embrace and kiss women who were definitely not their wives.

But then I go back in the other direction, remembering my Halachic justifications for participation. I am pretty careful about what I do, and how I do it. And I work hard to avoid maris ayin, the appearance of condoning impropriety. I state my own positions clearly, so that no one may be confused about my personal approach.

And I gain some comfort from this story: An extremely trustworthy gentleman who grew up in Rav Soloveitchik’s shul once reminisced to me about his Bar Mitzvah, which took place on a Shabbos. He recalls noticing the Rav looking on as people handed him presents and envelopes. The Rav nonetheless officiated and congratulated.

But does my Halachic analysis and the Rav's precedent mean that this whole doubting-my-integrity just another unproductive RWAC neurosis? Actually, I think not.

There is still this merit in my self-doubt: People who are sure of themselves, who don’t bother to second-guess themselves, don’t notice when they cross a line.

So when I recite the Viduy this year, I will include one for sitting at that wedding. I may have been right in the overall picture, but it still pays for me to doubt.