AWE-SOME JOURNEY copy

Our new Rabbi, Colin Brodie, started at the same time, and that image went straight down the tubes. He called me the gabbai, and I had to look up the word. I’m still not quite sure how it happened, but he asked me to daven maariv on his very first day, which was a Friday. Even though I had grown up on the bima, I was terrified. The words, “barechu et ado-nai, ha m’vorah” had never come out of my mouth before, and I spent three days practicing titkabel tslothon … in Kaddish Shalem.

But it was a magical night for me, and it made a clear statement that the synagogue was now egalitarian. I became one of the two Torah readers, and when he would invite me to lead something, if I didn’t know it, I made it up — at least the melody. I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, and Colin often called me “unflappable,” especially when he would call or email me a week before Rosh Hashanah to tell me be was going to be a rabbi on a cruise ship, so he wouldn’t be in shul for the holidays.

Time went by, we worked well together, and I learned more than I could have imagined. His wife Amanda, who is also a rabbi, tutored me in biblical Hebrew so I would know what I was reading. When she asked me about my homework one evening, her young son turned white and asked, “Ima gives you homework?” Learning never ends. Poor kid, he’s now a junior in high school.

When Colin needed to be away for a Shabbat, I led services, including writing a Friday night sermon and the divrei Torah for Shabbat morning. At Kiddush, people would threaten to take up a collection to send me to rabbinical school. I would laugh. I explained that there was more to being a rabbi than leading services, and that I could never do “all that other stuff.” That other stuff included visiting sick people and officiating at funerals. At that point, it was difficult enough for me to sit through a funeral, even for someone I hardly knew. I couldn’t imagine having to actually deliver a eulogy, and not cry through it.

At some point, I decided that perhaps I could do “that stuff,” and toyed with the idea of rabbinical school, but I had no idea where to start. I also assumed that I was probably too old to get into school. This is where I believe God stepped in.

My husband, daughter and I were in Florida, in July, of all times, for a bar mitzvah. During Kiddush, I was seated next to a woman about my age, and she was pursuing a Master’s in Jewish Education online through JTS. Well, I thought, if she wasn’t too old, maybe I wasn’t. Next came the task of finding a place to study, and Colin and Amanda told me about someone they knew who was studying at AJR. I was thrilled to find a school where I was about the average age, as opposed to being old enough to be everyone’s mother.

The first thing I learned in rabbinical school was how much I had to learn. I had very good synagogue skills and had enough Hebrew literacy to pass the entrance exam, but I was convinced that those common dreams, where you come to class and everyone else knows what’s going on, except for you, would turn into reality.

On my very first day, my last class of the day was on Jeremiah and Ezekiel. The teacher went around the table asking each of us to introduce ourselves, say what year and program we were in, and something we knew about Jeremiah and Ezekiel. I was in in a total panic. I knew they wrote haftorahs; that was about it.

The woman who spoke right before me said, “My name is Enid, I’m in my 4th year, and I know Jeremiah was a bullfrog.” You can feel my blood pressure dropping, right? Of course everyone laughed, and I felt the tension drain out of my body. I knew I was in the right place. I learned a lot about these two prophets, about the lawsuit formula prevalent in much of their writings, and how society shifted from collective to individual responsibility preceding and during the time of the Babylonian exile.

I learned to relax and enjoy the process of becoming a rabbi, and I loved my classes. I also found out that many other people shared my fear of not being good enough, and in this same prophets class, one person made a comment of some sort about not understanding something. The teacher put her hands on the table, looked around, and said, “People. This is the beginning of the semester. You’re not supposed to be ready for the final exam yet.”

That was what you might call an “aha” moment, when the light bulb goes off. For me it was a “duh!” moment that was a turning point in my life. I was there to learn, I didn’t need to know everything. As a sort of bookend, the day after my ordination, Rabbi Wallin, who hadn’t been able to attend, called to wish me well. He gave me some important advice: to not feel that I need to answer every question, and to not be afraid to say, “I don’t know, I’ll have to find out.” Shall we say I had a lot of wonderful teachers?

I had the honor and privilege of serving a variety of congregations as a student rabbi, which is also called baptism by fire. Each one gave me a different perspective on the Jewish community, and gave me the opportunity to work with people from many backgrounds and with many different ways of engaging with Judaism. At each congregation I was challenged to think about my own way of engaging with our texts, traditions and teachings, and learned much about balancing my own observances and thoughts with those of others.

I became a rabbi because I want to make Judaism accessible to Jews. When I wrote that in my application essay, I wasn’t quite sure what I meant, but I hoped it would impress the interviewers. They accepted me anyway. The reality is, I still don’t have it all figured out, but one thing I’ve learned is that it means meeting people where they are, regardless of their level of observance, their spirituality, their background or literacy.

I see too many Jews who feel disconnected, and disenfranchised, perhaps they have negative memories of authoritarian synagogues or couldn’t find a sense of spirituality along with the dogma. Plus, growing up Jewish in America, in the shadow of the Holocaust, left many young Jews with the idea that they had to be Jewish, marry Jews and raise Jewish children as a way of thumbing their noses at Hitler. It wasn’t a joyful Judaism. I was lucky to grow up with a rabbi who loves everything about Judaism and Israel, and instilled, at least for me, a joy of Judaism and of being Jewish.