Spiritual Muscle Confusion

For nearly twenty years I have tried to bring people together for creative and purposeful prayer services. Whether Friday Night Live, One Shabbat Morning, or Shabbat Live, the key building block for our services was an appreciation of diversity. No matter how many people were in attendance, we always recognized the ned to fill our sanctuary with contrasting voices.

We invited musicians, singers, dancers and spoken word artists to share their songs and art. No two services were alike! People often joked that “we never did the same thing once.” As artists, it was in our DNA to create freely what our souls and spirits reflected. 

For the past 2,000 years the leadership of our religious communities has been in the hands of Rabbis. They were the rov, rebbe, rav, rabi, or moreinu rabienu: loosely translated as anything from a teacher, mentor, master or guide.

I watched him tie his shoes!

There is a story from the Lubavitch community about a man who hides under his Rabbis table. Why? Because he knew that at the seat of a true master he could learn everything about life—even how to tie his shoes! Unfortunately, most modern Jews don’t view their Rabbis as mentors, let alone have an intimate relationship with them. I think it's time that we mixed things up.

• What if we exercised some spiritual muscle confusion?
• What if our community found inspiration not only from masters of the law, but also masters of love and life?
• What if our leadership was the people?
• What if we sought out spiritual leaders who created a Jewish community built on personal relationships that mattered and had purpose?

To some, what I'm writing might sound like a blasphemous departure from tradition. In fact, the basis of the rabbinic tradition was to “crowd source” the voices and opinions of the people. In the first century our great leaders were divided between two groups: the touchy-feely school of Rabbi Hillel, and the school of the much more rigid Rabbi Shammai.  

In the same way that farmers practice crop rotation to maintain a healthy soil, these creators of Rabbinic Judaism understood that there was strength in diversity. They recognized that in order to empower individuals to “Aseh lecha rav, u'kneh lecha chaser“—find yourself a mentor and acquire for yourself a friend—they would need multiple voices and an abundance of ideas.  

There never was and never will be a “one size fits all” leader or community. Yet, each of us, every human being, could use a community and a Rabbi in our lives—true role models, people to talk with, and learn from.

In order for a Jewish community to work, it needs people with purpose, and to be inclusive to people on the fringes—questioning Jews, queer Jews, Jews in interfaith relationships, Jews who are alone and seeking relationships.

As Rabbi Harold Schulweis taught: we are “choosing people.” We are the creators of our own future. Whether by design or accident, we sow seeds today that become our legacy tomorrow.  What will be your legacy? What will be your choice? 

I'd love to hear!