 | This month, we're on the runway to not one but two congregational weddings. The second of them, metaphorically speaking, is next month in June, when the collective Jewish people stand at Sinai again to receive Torah anew. In many ways, it's like a "wedding." We'll get there shortly. On May 19, we – the Shir Ami community , and I as rabbi – are slated to have a "wedding" of sorts. That day, we'll gather to confirm my installation as rabbi of Shir Ami. What is this about, and why is it like a "wedding"? |
Happy May, Shir Ami!
At last, spring has sprung. Passover is past. Nature is in her full glory. Our long-awaited Civil Rights trip is imminent, in progress or just finished depending on when you're reading this.
And it's wedding season. We're about to get married – well, not quite. But kinda.
Metaphors can be powerful: words matter. Words like "wedding" and "marriage" conjure all kinds of images and feelings. In Jewish life, we say at Shavuot that the One we call God "married" the Jewish people: Sinai was the setting, Torah was the ketubah, and the mutual promises of relationship confirmed a binding covenant between us that continues today and tomorrow. The people experienced that their fate as a people was bound up in their relationship with God.
The relationship between clergy and congregation isn't quite the same, but it is covenantal. It's more than a set of promises, and far more than a mere working relationship. The ideal link between clergy and congregation is to be sacred, tender and intimate – one of mutual growth and becoming that transcends particular circumstances come what may. The fate of congregation and clergy become bound up with each other.
For these reasons, it's long been custom for clergy and congregations – in Jewish life and beyond – to envision their official launch as a "wedding." We make a huppah out of a tallit, we stand under it together, and ritually we confirm our mutual covenant and mutual fate.
That's the gist of what we'll do together on May 19. I'm sure there'll be lots of words, music, dancing and a lot of fun. I want to say a word now, though, about what kind of covenant I envision we're making together.
I cast my fate with yours. I mean this both individually and collectively. Each of you who has shared your heart with me has shared with me a great gift, and it's my joy to share my heart in turn. My heart leaps for your joys, and breaks for your woes. Your life touches mine. And what's true for each is true for all. As Shir Ami wobbles or wanders, grows or soars, so does my rabbinate... and so I personally. We're in it together.
It's not just about now. I'm not on my way somewhere else. I decided to come to Shir Ami. I decide to cast my fate with yours, to assign my heart the job and joy to shine or shatter depending on how "we" are. How Shir Ami fares in all her ways – intellectual, emotional, social, spiritual, financial and all the rest – will pivotally shape how we are together in the time to come. That's no small commitment for just a moment in time: we make our shared future together.
It's about all of us, and more than us. I'm here for the Shir Ami of today, and the Shir Ami of tomorrow. What tomorrow will bring, and who the future will bring through Shir Ami's doors, are things we'll help decide together. Futures are inherently uncertain: literal couples who wed under the huppah bind their futures precisely without knowing what futures will entail. Same here. But I'm in for everyone at Shir Ami willing to do the same, whoever and whatever the community may become as we move forward together.
You get my best. A healthy covenantal relationship generally doesn't keep score except for important policy and practical reasons. Come what may, you get my best. I promise the best that my head and heart can offer. When I'm needed, I'm there. And when I miss the mark, or when my best isn't good enough, I promise to do my best to lean in. That's what covenantal relationship is about.
It's one of my life's great joys and privileges to journey through life with and for others. Thank you for allowing me to serve as your rabbi. May we grow together from strength to strength.
At last, spring has sprung. Passover is past. Nature is in her full glory. Our long-awaited Civil Rights trip is imminent, in progress or just finished depending on when you're reading this.
And it's wedding season. We're about to get married – well, not quite. But kinda.
Metaphors can be powerful: words matter. Words like "wedding" and "marriage" conjure all kinds of images and feelings. In Jewish life, we say at Shavuot that the One we call God "married" the Jewish people: Sinai was the setting, Torah was the ketubah, and the mutual promises of relationship confirmed a binding covenant between us that continues today and tomorrow. The people experienced that their fate as a people was bound up in their relationship with God.
The relationship between clergy and congregation isn't quite the same, but it is covenantal. It's more than a set of promises, and far more than a mere working relationship. The ideal link between clergy and congregation is to be sacred, tender and intimate – one of mutual growth and becoming that transcends particular circumstances come what may. The fate of congregation and clergy become bound up with each other.
For these reasons, it's long been custom for clergy and congregations – in Jewish life and beyond – to envision their official launch as a "wedding." We make a huppah out of a tallit, we stand under it together, and ritually we confirm our mutual covenant and mutual fate.
That's the gist of what we'll do together on May 19. I'm sure there'll be lots of words, music, dancing and a lot of fun. I want to say a word now, though, about what kind of covenant I envision we're making together.
I cast my fate with yours. I mean this both individually and collectively. Each of you who has shared your heart with me has shared with me a great gift, and it's my joy to share my heart in turn. My heart leaps for your joys, and breaks for your woes. Your life touches mine. And what's true for each is true for all. As Shir Ami wobbles or wanders, grows or soars, so does my rabbinate... and so I personally. We're in it together.
It's not just about now. I'm not on my way somewhere else. I decided to come to Shir Ami. I decide to cast my fate with yours, to assign my heart the job and joy to shine or shatter depending on how "we" are. How Shir Ami fares in all her ways – intellectual, emotional, social, spiritual, financial and all the rest – will pivotally shape how we are together in the time to come. That's no small commitment for just a moment in time: we make our shared future together.
It's about all of us, and more than us. I'm here for the Shir Ami of today, and the Shir Ami of tomorrow. What tomorrow will bring, and who the future will bring through Shir Ami's doors, are things we'll help decide together. Futures are inherently uncertain: literal couples who wed under the huppah bind their futures precisely without knowing what futures will entail. Same here. But I'm in for everyone at Shir Ami willing to do the same, whoever and whatever the community may become as we move forward together.
You get my best. A healthy covenantal relationship generally doesn't keep score except for important policy and practical reasons. Come what may, you get my best. I promise the best that my head and heart can offer. When I'm needed, I'm there. And when I miss the mark, or when my best isn't good enough, I promise to do my best to lean in. That's what covenantal relationship is about.
It's one of my life's great joys and privileges to journey through life with and for others. Thank you for allowing me to serve as your rabbi. May we grow together from strength to strength.
RSS Feed