Personal
Statement
“The Jewish people have never considered youth as a barrier to leadership.” President John F. Kennedy’s words were proudly displayed over the entryway of Hillel at the University of Southern California, where I stepped into Jewish community and Jewish learning for the first time. I stopped to read those words with trepidation, as I, a life-long secular Jew, prepared to attend a Shabbat service for the first time in my life. I went in and discovered a group who immediately welcomed me with open arms, remembered my name, and made a point to guide me through the service. Three days later, I was asked to join the Ritual Committee. “But I don’t know any rituals,” I protested. “That’s precisely why you should be on the committee,” they replied. My classmates would not allow my “youthful” level of knowledge to serve as a barrier to leadership. The Jewish people invited me in and changed the course of my life.
“L’shana tova tikateivun…” The kids began to make their way to join their parents in the main sanctuary. Their teacher, who I had called up to hold the Torah as we dressed it, fought her way through the crowd of children to approach me. Strands of brown and gray hair framed her face, and her wide eyes glistened behind her glasses. “I had never even been close to the Torah before,” she whispered to me. “That was extraordinary.” I felt my eyes widen to match hers as I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. I felt a kind of swelling sensation in my chest. I had invited her in, despite her “youth.” The realization dawned on me: from here on out, I would be the one extending the invitation.
President Kennedy meant the word “youth” literally, and the folks at Hillel who painted the quote on the wall likely did too. But, in the course of the eleven years since I first nervously stared up at those words, I’ve seen that there are many ways in which people feel too youthful- too inexperienced or simply “not enough”- to enter. And in the course of the past eleven years, I have seen time and time again that the Jewish people will not allow any form of youthfulness to be a barrier. I am guided by the covenantal words of parshat Nitzavim, “You stand this day, all of you, before the Eternal your God…every householder in Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to waterdrawer…” (Deut. 29:9-10). I consider this my sacred task- to be a rabbi who invites in and lifts up any and all, from the woodchopper to waterdrawer. I invite in all those with questions and who are willing to learn, just as my community did for me.
As the Reform rabbinic intern at a predominately Orthodox Hillel, I had the privilege of extending our movement’s uniquely inclusive invitation. A student board member opened the weekend leadership retreat with a request that we embrace Shabbat and put all technology away. One of the rabbis noted that the staff would observe this rule too. One of the regulars at the Reform Friday night service, a freshman on the autism spectrum, rushed over to me, anxiously. What if he was running late and got separated from the group? What if he needed something during the night? Would he be left all on his own? I assured him that I would have my phone on me and would answer in the case of an emergency. He breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s what I needed to hear.” As a rabbi, I will offer invitations that consider and accommodate the full diversity of our people. I am there for my community from the woodchopper to the waterdrawer, and my phone is always on.