Responsum: Why did you become a rabbi?

This post appeared in the 100 Centre Street Journal in February of 2017

Q: Rabbi Jim, this is the first time that I’m asking you a personal question (in two parts), and I believe the answer will be of great interest to all my fellow residents. When did you decide to become a rabbi, and why?

A: Thank you, Dodie, for these questions, which like many questions have quite a few answers, depending on how far back in my life I push my memory. 

The first thing to know is that I was not born Jewish, so the thought of becoming a rabbi could not have occurred to me until I was in the process of converting. Although it might seem unusual for a convert to become a rabbi, at least 10 percent (and perhaps more) of the rabbis to emerge from my seminary have been Jews by choice. So I am far from the only one in this position.

I did have a period in my teens when I still considered myself Christian and contemplated with some seriousness the idea of becoming an Episcopalian priest. Thinking back, I realize that what attracted me to that role is not so different from what attracts me to the life of a rabbi: a clergy person accompanies people through some of the most intense moments of their lives, helping them to make meaning from their experiences and to find something sacred (or at least something larger than themselves) in the world around us. As clergy, I get to teach all the time (but I don’t have to take roll call or grade papers!), to lead religious services, to sing and play guitar, to advocate for people who need help and for social justice, to study Jewish and other texts, and to develop programming that enriches the lives of the people in my communities. I’m sure I was not fully aware of all of these privileges when I was 16 years old, but I certainly had a sense. And more important, I had two ministers in my family’s church who served as solid, down-to-earth role models. 

Like many people, however, I had a crisis of faith later in high school and in college. I was never theologically attracted to Christianity, so what mattered was the relationships, and when my family changed churches (and I no longer remember the motivation for that change), I never developed strong connections with the new pastor or to the members of our new church. Unmoored from that connection, and assailed by my youthful atheism, I left the church and never found my way back, despite many attempts. As I moved through my twenties, I despaired of finding a spiritual home and ended up concluding that I didn’t belong anywhere. 

Then I met Michele, the Jewish woman who would become my wife. As we discussed the possibility of marriage, I understood that even though she was (and remains) a secular person, our children would be Jewish. Still feeling the loss of religion in my life and wanting to be the same religion as my children, I agreed to look into conversion.  Needless to say, I took to Judaism quickly, finding great resonance both with the emphasis on questions in addition to answers and with the absence of theological litmus tests (Jews can be atheists, even some of the Jews who show up every week for services--I had struggled with that for years at church!).  

Those of you who know me likely also know that I never do anything by halves, so clearly conversion would not be enough--I would also need to become a rabbi! Joking aside, the process took a bit longer than that, but I was already considering the possibility of rabbinical school before I had even finished the conversion process, which started in 1998. Sure enough, after my conversion in 2000, I began preparing for rabbinical school in 2002, matriculated in 2003, and graduated in 2008 among the first class of rabbis ordained by Hebrew College in Newton.

I think what drew me most towards the rabbinate (in addition to the more general benefits of the clergy role I described above) was the intuitive way that both ancient and modern rabbis read Torah--literal “correct” answers were less important than creative associations and productive struggles with difficult questions. And even final answers weren’t final--opposing viewpoints were always preserved, not least of all because situations might change and perhaps that alternative reading would be more appropriate in a new context. I found this combination of rigor and openness completely invigorating, and almost 20 years later I still can’t quite believe that I found it.