by Rabbi Jonathan P. Kendall
Once again, the spinning wheel of time has reminded me of its swiftness. This weekend I participated in the service at which a young woman became a Bat Mitzvah, I had named her in our sanctuary. Better than that, I was a part of her mother’s conversion. I have known the family since my days in Miami and this week, her mother will ascend to the presidency of my congregation.
I have known many Temple presidents. Some have been fine, dedicated people who have understood and embraced the covenant between the clergy of a congregation and its lay leadership. They have been forward looking, energetic and devoted. Because nature abhors a vacuum, some have entered the office because no one else would take on the responsibility and since they were unlikely to rise to the presidency of anything else in their lifetime, they jumped at the improbable chance. Some have been duplicitous schmucks (not to put too fine a point on their accomplishments or integrity). Each has contributed – or detracted – to the advancement of congregational Judaism. Manys the time when I have thought that our Hasidic cults have it right: no lay leadership at all; the Rebbe calls the shots and they brook no opposition, which is not considered adversarial. It is viewed as apostasy. I also have enjoyed some presidents who have taught me a great deal – about dignity, fairness and generosity. The corpus of Jewish humanity is such a jumble of different personalities and competing agendas that just as being a Rabbi or Cantor is difficult, so too is any position in synagogue leadership. After all, we both live in a universe of hyperbole; it is the mother’s milk of congregational life. There is no end to powerful moments of spirituality and religiosity; there is no terminus ad quem to acting out and seeking a blessing for behaving badly. We encounter people who don’t know the difference between qiddush and qaddish, and yet will blithely stand toe-to-toe with us over some minute point of Jewish practice. Just as Rabbis are often at the center of the bull’s eye when accusations of malfeasance or indifference raise their heads, so Temple presidents are often buried under an avalanche of schtuss. Sometimes we both must be aerialists as we navigate across one abyss after another.
A modern MIdrash: a young, energetic, dynamic Rabbi informs his congregation that he is moving on. The compensation is too meager and the demands are too great. The leadership quickly calls a congregational meeting to address the crisis. Mr. Cohen, well healed with deep pockets, pledges an additional $20,000 per year for the Rabbi’s salary. Others step forward with promises of lesser but not inconsiderable amounts. Mr. Schwartz pledges to pay the tuition for the Rabbi’s children at the day school. Mr. Goldberg, who owns a dealership, offers to give the Rabbi a new Buick (which he amends to a new Cadillac when some in the crowd begin to murmur) every year. Mrs. Goldfarb, a spry octogenarian, rises to speak.
“If the Rabbi stays, I will have sex with him!”
Everyone gasps and then the sanctuary falls silent as all eyes turn toward Mrs. Goldfarb in astonishment.
“Mrs. Goldfarb, whatever do you mean,” asks the president?
“I asked mine husband what I should do before I came to the meeting,” she said. “He said ‘Screw the Rabbi!’” And so it goes, the Great Mandala of Jewish Life; sometimes it hums with serenity; sometimes it whines with adversity – but the big wheel keeps on turning.


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