As we move toward the conclusion of our third year of rabbinical school and we near the addition of the first “b” to the “r” and the “a” we’ve already earned on our way to “rabbi,” a powerful feeling is sweeping across the members of our 3^rd year class in Cincinnati.

After gorging ourselves on Jewish learning and professional development for the past three years, we’re starting to feel like we’re gaining the beginnings of a foothold on our educations. This feeling has become manifest on numerous occasions this semester; for example, while we’re in a class learning about medieval biblical commentators, we find ourselves referencing material we learned in a history class from the previous year or a philosophy course from the fall semester.

While this should be a fundamental goal of every educational curriculum, during the educational experience it can be easy to lose sight of the big picture as we endeavor to absorb as must material as possible in a limited amount of time. With the demands of a program that seeks to satisfy the demands of both a graduate school and a seminary and with the addition of outside professional and personal responsibilities, often time for reflection is limited and at a premium. And then, suddenly it seems, we have the experience of our educations beginning to gel. The lights come on and things start to make sense. A bigger picture emerges. And it’s an awesome feeling.

This is irony in the truest sense of the word: my experiences in rabbinical school are often totally contrary to what I expected, and all I can do is shrug my shoulders, drop into life as a rabbinical student and just go with the flow. I do truly love this experience.
If life is a balancing act between form and presence, being a student is all about the world of form. In this case, form takes the shape of scheduling, “to-do” lists, classes, reading, writing, teaching, student pulpit responsibilities, and the going and the doing that are the everyday reality of rabbinical school.

Presence, on the other hand, is none of that and yet it holds the potential to permeate it all. Presence, I believe, is the feeling that inspired each and every rabbi who came before me to walk this path and presence is the pull that will guide every one who follows. Presence is the knowing there’s something deeper, a sense that we’re a part of a great unification that calls us to live life with reverence and just a little bit less of the hyper-reactionary behavior, attachment and judgment we carry as our burden.

If form is right up in your face, we feel presence at 35,000 feet.

I don’t begrudge form. I need form. Form – the learning, the skill acquisition and the professional development that comprises this program – is what is giving me the tools to explore Presence through our distinctive Jewish lens. But may I always remember that there is another side to life and, without the awareness that it takes both form and presence to feel whole, my passion for life and God will be unfulfilled.
 

I'm tremendously excited for the opportunity to contribute in this space and to, on occasion, give voice to what it's like to be in rabbinical school while balancing the responsibilities of being also a husband and a father.

Whether you are married and/or a parent or not, if you are one of the visitors to this blog who is considering applying to the rabbinical program at Hebrew Union College my sincere hope is that a desire burns inside of you so strongly that it cannot be ignored. May you maintain the clarity of your conviction, may you never lack the faith and confidence that anything is possible, and may no one else determine your limitations.

Although from time to time I’ve wondered what it would have been like to have only myself to care for and to have been able to devote my life 24/7 to my education, it’s just not the way things worked out. Without regret, I enjoyed a rich and varied life experience prior to beginning school that affords me a different perspective than I would have had otherwise. As it is, doing school with a family adds a depth of purpose and an ability to prioritize my life. But for the “seasoned” among you, make no mistake if you are considering rabbinical school: this is harder with a family. Much harder. And while Hebrew Union College is a welcoming environment for second-career students, I ask no quarter with regards to the demands of the program. I typically expect to put in 18-hour days, at least. And even with that level of commitment to career and family, I feel like I don’t come close to doing all the work assigned to us nor do I spend as much quality time with my wife and daughter as I would like to be able to. It’s just the way it is.

But if you’re reading this, and you’re hearing the call to action becoming louder with each day until you know that you must absolutely follow your dream and do everything you can to make it a reality, then nothing I’ve written should dissuade you. At the end of the day, being here and doing what I love is worth every bit of the sacrifice. To be able to live a life with purpose gives me great joy. Doing school to the best of my ability and embracing the myriad opportunities I am consistently presented, validates this decision. And, through my actions, making my wife proud and teaching our daughter the joy and satisfaction of following our dreams gives me great pleasure.