Is a Rabbi just a glorified service professional?

The role of the rabbi has evolved over time. Whereas once he was only the arbiter of disputes or perhaps the director of divine ritual, nowadays he has developed multiple roles.

The yeshiva system was not developed with the modern rabbi in mind. Its curriculum lacks emphasis on pastoral care, managerial skills, program development and public speaking, not to mention the subtle art of politics. Rabbis have to manoeuvre their way through the labyrinth of communal challenges, drawing at times from anecdotal advice of peers but having to manage mainly through trial and error.

This issue is slowly being addressed; more modern yeshivot have implemented managerial programs as well as public speaking and counselling courses to assist young rabbis who are pursuing their calling.

The rabbinate has its share of ups and downs, but what distinguishes it from other careers is that the rabbi considers his role as one thing while the congregant sees it as another.

Perhaps the most difficult area is where the rabbi is viewed as a therapist or celebrant. Although these are seemingly unrelated fields, they both highlight where the rabbi-congregant relationship breaks down.

Therapists fulfil an extremely important function. They provide support during times of distress and encouragement when self-doubt abounds. But the therapist’s role extends as far as the door. When the client leaves the therapeutic encounter, the two remain strangers. The therapist may share in the client’s successes, but it occurs only inside the consulting room. The therapist is paid for their advice and counsel, not their friendship.

The celebrant, on the other hand, shares in the couple’s greatest joy. He serves a critical role of officiating at their wedding, but he too is only superficially involved in their lives; the next day, all that remains is to settle the bill. There is no relationship, there is no connection. He is, after all, a paid official.

In contrast, the rabbi sees his role as a connector  ̶  connecting Jews to one another and connecting people to their tradition. In order to facilitate his role, the rabbi engages his congregation. He desires to share in their joys and mourn their sadness. He seeks to facilitate lasting bonds between children and their parents. He endeavours to create shalom between husbands and wives. He pursues opportunities to unite his community. He tries to formulate a lasting bond between Hashem and His people.

This is the rabbi’s calling.

When parents use the rabbi as a celebrant for their children’s weddings but do not allow the relationship between their children and the rabbi to germinate, they deny the next generation an opportunity of connecting. They do both the rabbi and their children a disservice.

When the rabbi is called upon to resolve your most intimate life problems, but you exclude him from your triumphs, you sever the connection that could have been. He has become a service provider.

The rabbi of your shul doesn’t have to be your rabbi of choice; perhaps the rabbi you feel connected to officiates elsewhere. One needs to feel a connection of love, concern and friendship with their ‘Rov’ ̶  his wisdom will not be well served if his community is not open to hearing it.

“Aseh lecha Rav, ukaneh lecha chaver” ̶  make for yourself a rabbi and acquire for you a friend. – Ethics of the father 1:6

The little white lie that snowballed

Why trying to protect others usually ends up hurting them

Trust is the cornerstone of all relationships. Their success depends on believing the person that we are speaking to, and trusting everything they say.

That being said, there are times in life where we seek to hide the painful truth from those to whom we are deeply connected. Our motives are often sincere; we want to spare them from the stress and anxiety of the truth so we tell a ‘little white lie’.

The best litmus test of whether these lies are helpful in relationships is to reverse the roles.

Would you prefer to be lied to or told the truth?

This inconsistency is very problematic not only because we are breaching the trust of those who depend on us, but also because the very idea of ‘sparing ‘ someone pain often snowballs into bigger pain.

Invariably, little white lies evolve into larger lies in order to cover the tracks of the original lie. The inability of the liar to backtrack leads him down a path of perpetual lying, which will inevitably be discovered.

Once the lid is lifted on this game, trust is broken forever. The relationship is irreparably damaged and often spirals into a vicious cycle of mistrust. Every statement is viewed sceptically and even the truth is doubted. “The punishment of the liar is that even when they tell the truth, no one believes them.”

The short-term pain of sharing your fears and failings with those who you care about is more likely to bring you closer together. Hiding them in an attempt to show that “I know what you need” causes long-term pain that cuts deeper and leaves scars ... if they heal at all.

same same...but different

“We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”  ̶  Thomas Jefferson

“We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men and women are created equal.”  ̶  Elizabeth Cady Stanton

“Same same ... but different”  ̶  Nike

The world has developed and progressed in virtually every area of gender equality. Whereas once women could not vote, today we have seen many female prime ministers internationally, as well as a potential United States president. Women were once denied all educational opportunities, but now in most developed nations, women outnumber men in tertiary institutions.

But there are still two areas where the difference between men and women is very stark and pronounced: religion and sport.

In the sporting arena, athletes compete in gender-separate events in virtually every category. Equality is not expected and we demand that the sports remain segregated. The natural physiological differences deny the opportunity for a level playing field. We accept this fact, and although there are campaigns to equate the quality of the sportsmanship and publicity of women’s events, the status quo is accepted.

In other words, men and women are the same, but they are different.

What should our approach be to the question of religious equality, both in observance and leadership? On the one hand men and women are not the same, but on the other hand, aren’t we? Is religion more akin to the sports field or the classroom?

We need to distinguish between divinely ordained differences, be they physical or spiritual, and those imposed by social conventions.

The question is, which is which?

Can a woman teach Halacha? Give a sermon? Lead a community? Officiate?

Many of these questions have clear answers, but some still fall into a grey area.

Perhaps the personal question we should ask is if it is our social norms or the divine imperative that drives our motives  ̶  whether that be towards equality or ‘digging in’ the heels of tradition.