Over the next few weeks, I will see several friends receive the title “Rabbi." I remember how touching my ordination ceremony was for me, but also how much was unknown outside the walls of the sanctuary where my ceremony took place: What kind of work did I want to do in the long run? How would I continue to thrive outside the community of learning that had formed me as a rabbi? How would I make new friends as an adult? What would “success” look like to me in my rabbinic work?
Read MoreA few months ago, even though I’m afraid of heights, I joined the local rock gym. No, I had never been rock climbing before – it just seemed like a fun activity I could do together with my partner. But before we were allowed to climb on our own, we had to pass a series of small tests given by staff at the gym. The first lesson was “mat placement,” i.e., how to move the gym mats right under the highest part of our climb so that if we fell, we wouldn’t get seriously hurt.
Read MoreAs I look at the headlines, I see continuing fallout from police killing another black man, this time in Baltimore. It’s easy for me to forget that humans are created with a soulful wholeness, what the Torah calls tzelem Elohim, or “the image of God.”
Read MoreAs I strolled through the greenhouses at Longwood Gardens the other day, brilliant blossoms of yellow and white and blue dazzled my senses. The sun on my pale skin told me it had been snowing only yesterday, and reminded me how suddenly the seasons change—and how sensible, in this time of powerful transformation it is to celebrate Passover, our (perennial) liberation from slavery in Egypt. But this riot of color also made me wonder: How does the Omer—this period of quiet, patient waiting—connect to the process of liberation and the revelation that we experience at the end of the Omer on the holiday of Shavuot?
Read MoreAt the end of the week, I embark on a weeklong meditation retreat. As the retreat starts, and for its duration, I will not be permitted to check e-mail or use my phone. Though I’ve gone on over a dozen silent meditation retreats, the prospect of a week away from these distractions still frightens me. I will miss seeing what news stories my friends are interested in and sharing on Facebook, and being able to text friends and family to say “hi,” or wish them a Shabbat Shalom. On the other hand, I worry sometimes that all this focus on building up my virtual self—“Liking” and “Sharing” the right things, posting enticing photos on Facebook, and trying to respond to all of my e-mails—prevents me from experiencing the world around me.
Read MoreI’ve been looking for meaningful full-time work since crash-landing in Philadelphia in August. After living in Boston for eight years and being known and seen as a resource in the community, I suddenly found myself a stranger again, trying to make it as a rabbi in a new city – one full of other talented rabbis, no less.
Read MoreWhat does it mean that the donor is not Jewish? What is the significance of using someone else’s genetic material?
As a queer man who has thought about how he might have children someday, these questions resonate with me. Friends of mine, invested in having a child, recently asked me if I would consider donating my genetic material — and whether I might want to co-parent.
Read MoreOn a single day last week, we were stunned by news of the Charlie Helbo attack in Paris and a bomb going off at an NAACP office in Colorado. At the same time, this day was no different than any other: our media regularly saturates us with stories of death and violence. In her prophetic book All About Love, bell hooks describes this phenomena as a symptom of America’s death-obsessed culture. She says, “It may very well be that…the constant spectacles of dying we watch on television screens daily, is one way our culture tries to still that fear [of death], to conquer it, to make us comfortable.” Our culture’s efforts to comfort us and conquer our dread depict deaths that are sudden, faceless, and violent. This ultimately deepens our anxiety about death.
Read MoreThe week began with me feeling self-conscious gesturing with my hands and glittery purple nails. I recently read Rebecca Sirbu’s piece about how rarely we heed life’s painful reminders that this is it. To honor the memory of a friend she had lost, she wore a purple hair extension for a week. When I read Rebecca’s reflection, I recalled how much I wanted to paint my nails. I wrote Rebecca my thanks for her piece. I shared what I wanted to do, and my hesitation about doing it. I was afraid it would be too distracting to the students I teach, or my hospice patients and their families.
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