Timeless Torah

They taught me many things in Rabbinical school, but one subject never fully elaborated was the concept of rabbinic authority. No professor ever sat me down and said, "Remember, as a Rabbi you are the living embodiment of Torah. Your halachic opinion is in effect the word of G-d filtered through the ages. Your word represents the Divine will."

It was just as well that my congregation was not informed on this point. Did they not believe in me? Of course they did. They just didn't trust me.

But Rabbis have been dealing with this problem since the beginning of time. Even Moses with his 'big stick' couldn't make more progress. After whipping up the wind, parting the waters, leading the Jews across on dry land and drowning the Egyptian army, the Torah states, "the people believed in G-d and in Moses, His servant."

Believe, yes. Trust, no. Shortly thereafter they complained about the lack of food and water because they simply didn't trust. Most Rabbis, present company included, have not fared any better.

Personally, I have come to the realization that I am considered entirely believable about the time for Yizkor or the date for next year's Seder. However, I am not trusted when I say that it would probably be a good idea if they came for the entire services or joined a pre-Pesach refresher class. Most congregants also have no reservations accepting my decision that the Jewish name equivalent for Nicholas or Betty Lou (there is none) might as well be Nechemia or Bracha Leah.

I recall that when I spoke about anti-Semitism, I was their halachic authority. But when I asked why black athletes are called Isaiah and Jewish children Peter, I was their very young Rabbi who would some day mature.

When I lectured about our glorious past, they had faith in my every word. But when I suggested that without the daily practice of Torah we may not have a future, I was sadly deemed out of touch with the present.

When I stood up to give the invocation, mine was the voice of authority, someone to be listened to. But when I asked why someone didn't come to morning minyan, I was being pushy.

And so a pattern was established. At births, weddings, Bar Mitzvahs and funerals, I remained the unchallenged articulator of our hallowed tradition. In sickness and in times of international or family crisis, I was their entree to the Holy One. But when it came to life's major decisions; how much tzedakah to give and where to give it, how to educate a Jewish child, how to live a Jewish life, it was "Rabbi, you're the greatest and we love you but the Torah was for then and this is now."

While all this may sound frustrating - and it is - being a Rabbi is also the most wonderful experience allowing you the luxury of teaching and learning. For in the process of impacting others, you change the world, and they in turn change you.