Being a rabbi is no job for a Jewish boy

In every organization there is a constant tension between the realization of opportunities for growth (making changes), and the preservation of the status quo (responding to the human desire for constancy). This has been a challenging week at Or Chadash in that regard, and I have been rather outspoken and have encountered, as one ought to expect, a spectrum of responses to my opinions. Rabbi Israel Salanter, the father of the Jewish Mussar movement, said: "A rabbi with whom no one disagrees is not a rabbi; a rabbi with whom everyone disagrees is not a mentsch." My intention, as those who know me well realize, is to strive to be a better rabbi for the entire Or Chadash community. Mindful of Rabbi Salanter's words, I am obligated to voice my ideas all the while remaining a mentsch. As our office staff restructures responsibilities and we address the concerns of our facility and its limitations -- as Or Chadash changes -- there are always going to be mixed emotions. No surprise, that, but still, not easy.

Rabbi Jonathan Romain wrote a wonderful essay on the challenges of congregational life for both members and clergy. I have included it here in its entirety. I encourage those of you who remain at a distance from active participation in Or Chadash to discover opportunities for meaningful involvement. All of us need you in order for us to grow. To those of you who have found that the Tzurrus (trouble) of synagogue life is exhausting yet exhilarating, I want to remind you that to create anything of value requires that we imbue it with a bit of our own souls. That can be overwhelming at times, but as the rabbis of the Talmud remind us in Pirke Avot (the Sayings of the Fathers): According to the labor is the reward. (Pirke Avot 5:26). And to those of you who are involved and love it, I thank you for your dedication.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Joseph M. Forman

As the saying goes, "Being a rabbi is no job for a Jewish boy", and the job does indeed have its pitfalls.

A recent report on the Church of England, The Future of the Parish System, revealed tales of in-fighting, bullying and malicious gossip at variance with the genteel image of church life. It seems that some Anglican clergy spend as much time separating warring factions and avoiding psychotic congregants as they do preaching the gospel of love.

Much the same can be said of synagogues. No longer offering a single core product - faith - but a range of wares - social, cultural, educational and welfare activities - means that they attract a much wider range of clients whose different motives for attending may conflict with those of other users.

In the midst of these tumultuous human needs stands the rabbi. Like the vicar, he or she - there is a growing number of female rabbis - works mostly with lay volunteers and wardens or a board. And like the vicar's, the rabbi's role is hopelessly undefined: is he the strong leader or does he merely carry out the wishes of his masters?

Much depends on the incumbent. Some are determined to dominate, some happy to serve, and some, the least content, wish to do the former but are obliged to do the latter.

In addressing these conundrums, rabbis and vicars can face a serious discrepancy between the theological training they receive before ordination and the social realities they encounter afterwards.

A high percentage of my own training centred around texts and prepared me for a life of scholarship. Once in a community, I rarely looked at such notes again and instead found myself relying on those from the hour-a-week class on practical rabbinics.

While sermons and study groups do demand a certain level of knowledge, they are only a small part of a rabbi's week, and a far greater challenge is dealing with the diverse and volatile situations that can arise in pastoral work. It is not just vicars who are suffering from some of their more unruly parishioners - rabbis have to be on their guard too.

During one particularly difficult period I had to resist the sexual advances of an attractive young widow, dissuade a conman from phoning for the fifth time that day, extricate myself from a flat where the owner had a distinctly murderous look in his eyes, and convince an overzealous congregant not to steal from another synagogue a religious item that we ourselves lacked.

Was it ever thus, or is it becoming harder to minister to congregants than before? Such incidents had not even been whispered about in my rabbinic training.

My mentor, the late Rabbi Hugo Gryn, used to say: "A rabbi whom the community don't want to run out of town is no rabbi; and a rabbi whom they succeed in running out of town is no man." Stress is simply part of the job spec and sometimes a minister's task is not to be nice but to be right.

Amid these swirling conflicts and demands, there have to be certain core beliefs that sustain ministers and enable them to persevere in their chosen career. For me, God is why I became a rabbi, but people is why I stay a rabbi.

My years as a congregational minister have brought a sense of awe at the complex lives so many people lead, with failures, triumphs, tragedies and joys constantly overlapping. Equally inspiring is the inner strength that so many call upon to deal with the crises they have to face.

Ministers are uniquely privileged in being able to enter those lives - whether as spiritual guide, family friend, relationship counsellor, personal adviser - and can sometimes transform them or rescue them.

It is holy work, but clergy of all faiths need to be tutored properly on what to expect, and then go about their tasks with their eyes wide open, good body armour and at least one guardian angel always with them.

Rabbi Dr Jonathan Romain is minister of Maidenhead Synagogue and author of Reform Judaism and Modernity (SCM Press)