Some
months ago I made a somewhat dramatic decision. After 36 years serving as a
congregational rabbi, I decided to step out of that role (which I've now held
in my current community for eighteen years.) It was almost as if
something was pushing me, or perhaps pulling me. I felt a calling to explore a
different path, to write a different chapter before I finally settle into
retirement, which is a good ways off. Yet I was feeling the need to grow
in a new direction, that I might yet have something new to share in a different
way.
Around
the time that my decision became public, a friend, also a rabbi who had faced a
similar crossroad in his own life some years back, shared a piece he’d
found helpful during his transition. It’s by Danaan Perry and is entitled “The Parable of
the Trapeze: Turning the Fear of Transformation into the Transformation of
Fear.” I read it, and
found that Perry had described my inner landscape quite accurately.
For months I’ve been joking when asked about my plans that “As of July 1st I have nothing on my calendar . . . for the rest of my life.” That’s not entirely true. I have some teaching gigs. There a number of active conversations about roles I may yet play elsewhere in the broader community in the year (or years?) ahead. And I have already begun laying the groundwork for a study project which may evolve into a Scholar gig I might one day offer, or even a book. I find myself looking forward with incredible optimism. I’m also looking around, and occasionally backwards, with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the people and opportunities who have been so much a part of focus of my life over these 36 years.
Now it’s early May and June 30th is on the horizon. I just finished a coffee visit with a young man whom I’d first met when I came to my congregation 18 years ago. In the ensuing years, I have officiated his Confirmation, his sister’s Bat Mitzvah and Confirmation; his wedding and the naming of his now 1-year old daughter. He asked me about my role and availability for future life cycles. That's a puzzle yet to be solved. I assured him that I am not leaving Boston and the broader community that has become home over these 18 years. While my role will change, relationships are the stuff of which successful ministry (and living for that matter) are made. Change is inevitable. As I clear out my study at the synagogue, discarding files I’ve accumulated over 36
years, and giving away or donating books I will no longer have space for, I’m not discarding the people with whom I have life’s ups and downs. When we meet again, the terms and context will be different.
years, and giving away or donating books I will no longer have space for, I’m not discarding the people with whom I have life’s ups and downs. When we meet again, the terms and context will be different.
For months I’ve been joking when asked about my plans that “As of July 1st I have nothing on my calendar . . . for the rest of my life.” That’s not entirely true. I have some teaching gigs. There a number of active conversations about roles I may yet play elsewhere in the broader community in the year (or years?) ahead. And I have already begun laying the groundwork for a study project which may evolve into a Scholar gig I might one day offer, or even a book. I find myself looking forward with incredible optimism. I’m also looking around, and occasionally backwards, with an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the people and opportunities who have been so much a part of focus of my life over these 36 years.
I’m
nearing the edge of the platform. My
hands are about to grasp the bar I will use to leap from the comfortable perch
which has been my professional life for a long time. I don’t quite see the next bar out
there ahead of me. Rather I
see a myriad of possibilities and, I pray, opportunities which will enable me
to grow as a person, a husband, father and now grandfather. And yes, I hope, to grow as a rabbi.
These have been months of letting go and refocusing. The true journey hasn’t
yet even begun. But it’s
close now.
The thing
that has sustained me more than anything else, along with my family’s love and
support,
has been my spiritual practice, Mussar. It nurtures me and calls me to
work at strengthening the traits of my soul: humility, respect, gratitude, and
so many more. And among the Mussar soul-traits upon which I have been
focused, it’s bitachon (trust) and emunah (faith) that have helped me steady my
feet, my mind and prepare for the leap with a sense that in ways I do not yet
know or understand, my hands will yet rest on another bar which will carry me
to my new place in the community.
Eric—Thanks for writing and congratulations on "taking the leap". I hope (and expect) that we will stay in touch to follow both of our trajectories. I trust that after finding your footing (or, using your analogy, "establishing your grasp on the trapeze bar"), you will enrich some other aspect of the community.
ReplyDeleteThanks Matt - I hope you and your son are well. I look forward to our paths crossing soon!
DeleteBravo and well-said.
ReplyDeleteThank you Anita - see you at the Mayyim Hayyim event!
DeleteInspirational as always. I too hope to grab my bar. L'chi Lach
ReplyDeleteThank you Nancy Talk soon
DeleteEric, Beautifully written. I wish you success as you reach for newer challenges, challenges that will re-invigorate you, challenges that will offer you wonderful new pathways to self-fulfillment, pathways that will provide you with ever-evolving ways to strengthen our people. Hold fast to Bitachon!!!
ReplyDeleteHugs. Stan Davids
Thanks Stan - hope you and Resa are well
DeleteSounds like you need a trip to Jackson to come full circle before jumping off to something new! (Please!)
ReplyDeleteWE do! We do! It's on our list. Best to Steve and all the O's
DeleteBeth stated my sentiments exactly. You are a man of faith and integrity- you inspire everyone you touch. I know you will continue to impact lives in whatever you do.
ReplyDeleteThank you Susan - best to Macy!
Delete