My Story 15

My four years in that small Northern Westchester congregation taught me several things about the American synagogue of which I had not been aware. Some of these lessons, unfortunately, only became clear to me in retrospect. The first lesson was, as I pointed out in my series "Orthodox and Non-Orthodox Judaism" is that knowledgeable, strictly Orthodox people don't generally belong to formal synagogues. They prefer a Yeshivah minyan, or an informal "shtiebel" (prayer room), where prayers could be said with appropriate concentration and devotion, minus the noise of gossip and discussions of current events that occur in most synagogues. For people who regularly study Torah, no need is felt for someone to get up and preach to them. Whereas today, Orthodox synagogues are mostly filled with people who have a commitment, to one degree or another, to Torah Judaism, this was mostly not true in the 1970s. The membership in Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform congregations, were all on the same level of observance (or lack thereof), with the "denominational" preference based on personal taste in style, rather than ideology. In one city I lived in, a synagogue boasted on its stationery that it was "the foremost Orthodox synagogue in the Mid West". But it had not a single Shabbat observant member. Rabbis taking these positions usually go in with enthusiasm to teach Torah, and raise the level of people's Jewishness. I quickly learned that the congregants had a very different goal. They wanted to be told that they were fine just as they are. They wanted to hear that coming to synagogue once a week would keep their families Jewish and happy. I was told "Rabbi, instead of talking about Torah and spirituality, can't you just give book reviews?" It soon became clear that this was not the only conflict of interests. A rabbi comes to a community, hoping to uplift it. He might make improvements in both the halachic and aesthetic aspects of the liturgy. But congregants want CONTINUITY. They want the same tunes, the same prayerbook, that they had known as children. One rabbinic friend of mine was dismissed from his congregation. I knew that he was a good rabbi, and an exceptional scholar. I asked one of the members of his board why they had fired him. "He didn't respect our traditions!" was the reply. Neither side had a clue, or even cared, what the other's goals were! Another problem is the parameters of the rabbi's authority. "Rabbi, you are in charge of the Kashrut in the kitchen". I inspected the kitchen before all events, and told the women present that certain foods were not acceptable. I was called before the board. "Rabbi, the women are complaining that you are looking over their shoulders in the kitchen". "But I was told that I am in charge". "You are in charge of certifying the kitchen as kosher, not to go in and look". The issue that "did me in" was not so much these, but the matter of separating the genders at prayer services. Until about 1970, this was not an issue in most places. Although separation, with a mechitzah (partition), is an old Jewish tradition, going back over one thousand years, many American communities, even Orthodox ones, had abandoned it. It really had no halachic basis, other than custom. However, Moshe Feinstein had falsely declared mixed seating to be a Biblical prohibition (!!!), despite it being neither in the Tanach or the Talmud. Even J.B. Soloveichik, a staunch liberal in most areas, said "If you heard Shofar in a mixed seating situation, you have not heard Shofar". Many ascribe this to a personal slight he had recently suffered at the hands of the Conservative Seminary (JTS). By 1970, few Orthodox synagogues had not fallen into line with the new pronouncements. But Orthodox rabbis were still encouraged to accept positions that called themselves "Conservative", although not necessarily having connection with the Conservative movement, but merely maintaining mixed seating. It was felt that the presence of an Orthodox rabbi in these places could only uplift these communities. By the late 1970s, Soloveichik had changed his mind, and ordered Orthodox rabbis, even those placed by his own organization, the Rabbinical Council of America (RCA) to immediately leave their congregations. Those failing to do so, would be seen as pariahs and renegades. Fearing for my career and position in the Orthodox community, I begged my congregation to go over to separate seating with a mechitzah. They refused, and I was fired. I would come to regret my stance (to be discussed in another few posts) and came to lose my respect for these two men who had, for political reasons, made mechitzah the be-all and end-all of Judaism. (I can no longer prefix the title "rabbi" to either of their names). As far as I can see, they were willing to cut off two-thirds of American Jewry in order to preserve what they saw as traditional, Lithuanian Orthodoxy. Another thing I learned was that few rabbis are in one position for more than three years. I was there for four. I learned that congregants who seemed like friends (or even like family) could turn into heartless employers.One disgruntled congregant could easily get a rabbi fired.  Whereas wealthier congregations generally pay a rabbi's mortgage, so that he will at least have equity in a house when he leaves, smaller synagogues provide congregational housing, which, of course, must be vacated at the end of the contract.Therefore, a rabbi whose contract is not renewed, finds himself homeless. Another lesson was that American congregations want young rabbis "in order to attract the youth". Rabbis over forty will rarely be hired. Those over fifty will rarely have their contracts renewed,.The Rabbinate, like professional sports, is a young man's profession. So, after four years, with a wife and not-yet one-year-old baby in tow, I was out of work with nowhere to go. Most Orthodox rabbis today are also lawyers or accountants for just this reason. (Conservative and Reform rabbinical organizations are much better at protecting a rabbi's rights). It would be twenty-one years until I would occupy another U.S. pulpit. However, besides the valuable lessons I learned, my proximity to the Nitra community introduced me to the Hungarian Orthodox tradition, totally unlike anything most people know. This would soon prove fortuitous for me and my family, besides giving me a deeper understanding of Judaism and its modes of expression. The cloud did have a silver lining.