Being Ima on and off the Bima

Last night, I noticed a tweet from Rabbi Jason Miller, sharing with me an article written on the Forward's Sisterhood blog.

I read it at about 5am, while nursing the baby. A little ironic, no?

It struck me particularly hard, since I have had a little bit of a difficult week in terms of balance. Let me explain.

I'm currently serving on faculty at camp, as you may know. With me at camp are my husband and three children (the oldest is a camper, so I'm not only not responsible for him, I don't even get to see him very much!), and we are accompanied by a teenage babysitter. The babysitter generally shepherds the two older kids to their activities, while my dear husband spends his time with the baby. Often, the baby accompanies me to programming as well, since he likes very much to be the center of attention! Camp is a great place for my family - everyone has something that they enjoy doing, and we fall into a nice routine of sharing our lives with our friends at camp.

For various reasons, my husband kindly agreed to go along on a 3 day camping trip with one of the older units. He left early Monday morning. On Monday, my babysitter started to feel a little ill and began to run a fever...so she went home, ideally just overnight, to speed up her recuperation (she is fine and will be back soon, I hope!). So...I was left all alone with my kids AND my responsibilities to camp. So far, so good. I've weathered this minor storm, my friends have helped out and pitched in, and it's been fine. I am definitely looking forward to both of them returning to share the work, but I am not overly upset about how this has gone. But it's definitely on my mind, making sure that everyone gets what they need from me.

Yesterday morning and this morning, the three kids accompanied me to morning tefillah (prayer). The older two sat quietly during the service (You've got to love the outdoor chapel that makes a little bug hunting during tefillah possible) and the little one was snug in the sling. (I got Sammy to snap this picture for me right before tefillah began, because this blog post was ruminating around in my brain since I had read the article at 5am.)

Note the camp attire (flip flops), baby sling, and tallit. Just another day as the ima on the bima...well, not so much bima at camp. More like tree stump!

I do not know the writer of this article. And I do not actually feel that her post was, in fact, an appropriate response to the post that she cites, a post about young mothers in the rabbinate. Instead, I feel that Chasya-Uriel Steinbauer is trying very much to attack other mothers while justifying her own choices. This is remarkably common and prevalent on the internet - there are so many "mommy bloggers" who want to judge, rebuke, comment upon, and generally dismiss anyone who makes choices different from their own. The comments that I received when I posted this article on Facebook helped me to feel a little less alone when reading Chasya-Uriel's post - it was definitely a case of "I thought it was just me." But I was relieved to know that I am not the only one insulted by her simultaneous dismissal of my rabbinate and parenthood.

She writes:

"I don’t think congregations are concerned with how motherhood might interfere with a mother’s ability to do the job as rabbi; rather, I suspect congregations are concerned with hiring someone who is obviously allowing a rabbinic job to interfere with motherhood. And I have to agree. I would rather see at least one parent at home full-time with her/his baby or toddler — ideally the birth mother, unless the child is adopted. This is what is best for the baby."

Wow. This is quite a statement, Chasya-Uriel. There are some truly remarkable jobs (not just the rabbinate) held by mothers of young children. Do you also feel that mothers should not be doctors, lawyers, professors, social workers, teachers, artists....? And are you honestly telling me that fathers cannot be full-time caregivers of their children, if that is what works for the family? (Oh, and by the way, that IS what works for my family.)

Chasya-Uriel continues: "I do think that ima eventually belongs on the bima."

Ouch. "Eventually"????

And then:

"I agree with Rabbi Levy that all women, mothers or not, should be given the same chance to serve the Jewish community as their male counterparts. But women and men who are parents should be prioritizing serving their babies and toddlers before they prioritize serving the Jewish community. We also need to honor the unique relationship a new mother has with her baby. The attachment formed, especially when breastfeeding, is unparallel to that of the second parents, whether a father or another mother.

We need to allow what rabbinic work we have accomplished up until now to be put on hold, trusting that we will be much better mothers because of our earlier experience as rabbis. If we have set up our lives in which we tell ourselves that we “have” to work or attend school while having a baby, perhaps it is time to reexamine our lives and reprioritize so that we can find a way to be with our children."

Oh my goodness.

I am both a mother and a rabbi. Some days I'm more ima. Some days I'm more bima. (See blog title.) Some days, I'm trying to make it all work. But I don't think I'm doing it wrong. I just know that I'm doing it. I've created four wonderful little people and my husband and I delight in their growth of body and spirit. We definitely juggle, we definitely argue over who goes where and when. My children do not play multiple sports or attend a lot of extra programs. I do serve in small ways on the PTA but I'm not in the classroom helping out. I don't "do it all" but I do what I do. I try to do it all as well as I can, with as much love and attention and energy as possible. My children are washed and fed and cared for and loved by their parents. Most of their care is done by my husband or by me, or by Grandma or Bubbie & Zeyde, or some of our wonderful team of babysitters and friends who help us out. My congregation never fails to share my delight when my oldest sings in the Junior Choir or the baby accompanies me to Torah Study on Shabbat morning. I am often scolded for not having them around, since many people feel love and "ownership" of my children. I feel so lucky and blessed to have so many people who care about the well-being of my children and my family.

There is absolutely no question that I would be a different rabbi if I did not have children. Would it be better for my children? Would it be better for my career? Would it be better for my congregation? Would it be better for the Jewish people?

I strongly believe that the answer to all of these questions is NO.

Dear Chasya-Uriel,
Please enjoy the time that you are spending with your daughter. Cherish every moment. Please know that many people (women and men) who came before you have enabled you to spend that time and make that choice.

Please know that many others have made choices different from yours. I do not judge you for your choice. Please do not dare to judge me for mine. I am intensely proud of the life I lead. I work incredibly hard at all that I do, trying to be the most fulfilled person that I can be - while loving and growing and raising my family. I respect and admire my friends in all forms of their rabbinate - women and men who are juggling and balancing and maintaining remarkable families, careers, lives.

Our choices change over time, we make new decisions based on the situations in which we find ourselves. Lives change. Goals change. Purposes change. Focus changes.

Please remember that like the rabbinate, motherhood comes in all styles.

Enjoy yours.

I am most definitely enjoying mine.

Need Vacation!?

Many many people are overworked and in need of a vacation.

This article in today's New York Times, however, says that clergy are especially in need.

Members of the clergy now suffer from obesity, hypertension and depression at rates higher than most Americans. In the last decade, their use of antidepressants has risen, while their life expectancy has fallen. Many would change jobs if they could.

It's true. I know so many of my colleagues and friends who have a hard time separating work from life.

But "many would change jobs if they could"?

I might be tired out and I might be ready for the vacation that is coming up next week, but I do love my job and all that it entails.

Does this look like a rabbi-mama that needs a break?

Taking that sentence out of the equation, though, it is an interesting and powerful article. What is also interesting to me is that the rabbis I know are all buzzing about it. (Oh, and clergy parents, like my mom, who called to check if I'd seen the article.) Are our congregants reading it as well? No one would begrudge us a vacation, but how would they feel if our vacation coincided with their family event?

Either way, I'm headed out on a little family roadtrip soon. I'm sure that it will be interesting, to say the least, and perhaps not restful at all. I am hoping for a lot of fun, though!

I'll let ya know how it goes!

Am I Worthy?

Hanging out with a lot of other rabbis can bring up many feelings of inadequacy for me.
(I'm currently at the Central Conference of American Rabbis' annual convention)

We're all the same, we all have the same degree and training. But so many of my colleagues are wise and talented, well-spoken, well-written, and doing amazing work.

I am NOT fishing for compliments here, I'm being serious. I know very well that I'm happy with my work, doing well in my job, and outside of the professional realm, absolutely unbelievably BLESSED  with my family and friends. But it doesn't really matter. I still feel that little question nagging at me - do I really belong here? How on earth can I stand shoulder to shoulder with so many amazing people and really feel my own sense of worth?

The rabbinate isn't really like academia, for example, with its concept of "publish or perish." I can dwell in obscurity and do my work happily. I don't have any need to be "important" in the rabbinic world - I'm not aiming to be president of the CCAR or even sit on a board. But I do want my voice to be heard, I do want to bring something to the table and share my ideas and beliefs with my colleagues. Often, though, I am reticent to open my mouth since I usually think "oh, there's someone way more qualified than me to say that."

Maybe when I'm older.
Maybe when I've been at this for longer.
Maybe
Maybe
Maybe.....

And so it goes.

It just so happens, however, that the blogging  world has done it again. It has reminded me, in its infinite wisdom, that I AM WORTHY.

Just by being me. That no matter how I feel in the presence of colleagues and friends, no matter how I might, in the secret moments just before bed at night, wonder if I'm really just pretending to be something that I'm not....that no matter....I am worthy. Today and Everyday.

But, damn, it's hard to say sometimes.

#WhatRabbisDo

A while back I said I would start an infrequent feature called "What I do" - which is a tiny little insight into the life of a rabbi.  Then I started the hashtag #whatrabbisdo on Twitter, which offers insight into so many things that rabbis do, mundane and spiritual both!

Last week, a group of 6th graders from the local Catholic school came into the synagogue for a tour and discussion with The Rabbi. I showed them around and answered all of their questions, which seemed random but interesting: "what do you wear for your Mass?" "Can you get married?" "Why do Jewish people want to live in Israel if that's where Jesus lived?"

You get the idea.

I answered question after question, in no apparent order but they sat still for nearly an hour as I talked about all sorts of things from ritual garb to holidays to food to politics and history.

Today I got two envelopes stuffed full of thank you notes from the kids. Most were very simple - thanks for teaching us about Judasim.

I did, however, have two favorites:

Dear Rabbi Sommer,
Thank you for teaching us about Judaism. It was cool. You are really smart.
Thank you!
From,
W.T.

Thank you for all of those questions you answered. You answered them very accurately and clearly.
Sincerely,
C.F.

Aren't you glad to know that I answered all the questions accurately?


Me too.

Tom and Me

I had one of my coolest rabbi experiences ever right before Shabbat started. I was truly honored to be invited to give the closing benediction at the inauguration of the new President of Northwestern University. I had no idea how much pomp and circumstance is involved in the inauguration of a university president!

Here is the text of my benediction (in case you're interested, which you must be because you're reading my blog!):

It is fitting that we gather here today to honor this academic institution on the eve of the Jewish holiday of Simchat Torah – a holiday that celebrates a most sacred book, the Torah, the Five Books of Moses. To truly celebrate knowledge, one must be a lifelong student, as President Schapiro is.

The Jewish sages ask the question: “Which is greater, study or action?” The great Rabbi Akiva answers: “Study is greater because it leads to action.” Through study and learning, teaching and imparting, we become the people that the world needs.

Today we ask for God’s blessings upon President Schapiro and the tasks he is about to undertake. Under his leadership and guidance, may learning flourish and may students and teachers alike grow and prosper. May this institution truly fulfill its motto, to think on the things that are true, honest, just, lovely and pure. And in so doing, may we all be blessed.

Keyn yehi ratzon, may this be God’s will.

Without detracting from the honoree, President Morton O. Schapiro (a really nice, mensch-y guy with a great sense of humor), one of the highlights for me was meeting the Inaugural Speaker, Thomas Friedman. (Listen to his Inaugural Speech here.) You may be familiar with Mr. Friedman's columns and his books, as I am, and I was a little bit starstruck to meet him in person. When asked by my colleague what he thought of the Peace Prize, he replied by explaining that he was planning to re-write his column for Sunday's paper. He explained to us (and by us, I mean the TWO of us who were standing with him - this was very cool) that he would write what he thought President Obama should say for his acceptance speech at the Nobel ceremony. And he did! It's a great column (as usual). And while I don't usually say much in the political arena here on this blog, I think he's got the whole thing spot-on. I asked Mr. Friedman if he would mind if I blogged about that conversation, and he said it was okay. So, Tom, if you're reading this, {{{waving}}} hi and thanks for a great speech and an excellent column!

P.S. Those of you who know me know that I'm a proud graduate of another Big 10 institution. While I was encouraged by many to root for my home team, I did behave appropriately and even wore a purple kippah to the event.

Summer in Cincinnati

There are lots of "official" beginnings to summer. One of these is, for me, the Rabbinic Ordination ceremonies in Cincinnati, Ohio, the first weekend in June each year. Since my 2nd year in school, I attended every Ordination leading up to mine (in 2003) and many since. It's really an incredible thing to witness these rabbinical students turning into rabbis right before our eyes.

In true Cincinnati fashion, the ceremonies are a celebration not only of these rabbinical students, but also of the whole heritage of Reform Judaism that stems from that small city on the border between North and South. Cincinnati, Ohio is truly the birthplace of Reform Judaism where Isaac Mayer Wise founded his synagogue, seminary, and most of the institutions that today comprise the backbone of the modern Reform movement. He was quite a visionary, really creating a "minhag America" - an American custom - that endures today. (Minhag America was the name that Wise gave to the prayerbook he composed.)

Ordination takes place at the historic Plum Street Temple, an incredible structure in downtown Cincinnati that is at once living Judaism and living museum. It is gloriously restored, much of the original parts like flooring and pews and lecterns still a part of it, and used regularly and lovingly by the Wise Temple community. There is a great deal of pomp and procession, a service unlike any other, and a moving ceremony in which each student stands before the open Ark as the President of the College-Institute places his hands on their heads in ancient blessing.

 

  

(interior shot of the beautifully painted ceilings inside Plum Street Temple)

  

The exterior of the Moorish-style building

Following the Ordination services, the 1000+ attendees stream onto Plum Street, which is closed off for the occasion. The Ordinees hug and greet their families, friends, teachers, and colleagues.

Zeh ha-yom asa Adonai, nagila v'nismicha vo.
This is the day that God has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it. (Psalm 118)

It was truly an honor for me to be present, to recall the moment of my own ordination, and to welcome my friends as colleagues. May they be blessed in their endeavors and may the work of their hands and hearts be fruitful.

(More Summer Stock Photography here....)

Why Spin Instructors are Like Rabbis (Re-Post)

This is a repost from September of 2008. I've been doing a lot of spinning lately, and this week I thought of this post again, so I thought I'd pop it up here again.

I think I've discovered why I like going to Spinning classes.

It's just like being at services, except I'm not in charge:

It lasts about an hour, just like services.
I can get into a rhythm, just like in a good prayer experience.
There's a rubric to follow. Sprints, climbs, flat roads....Sh'ma u'virchote-ha, Amidah, Torah service...
There's music, sometimes to sing along with....
There's a sense of shared purpose. We're all in this together.
There's a lot of stand-up, sit-down.*
The instructor uses her hands to indicate "stand up" and "sit down"... just like I do.*
She offers encouragement, similar to the way that a rabbi might offer explanations of the prayers.
She sometimes throws out questions for the group to answer, just as I might when leading services or giving a sermon.
People are often reticent to answer. Just like at services.

I can lose myself in the experience, and feel uplifted at the end.

Do I think that Spinning or exercise can replace a religious experience?
No.

But they do strike me as quite similar....

*This was the part that got me thinking during Spin class. Like any good blogger, I actually considered getting off my bike and jotting down some notes. It seemed like a reasonable excuse to take a break...but I didn't. I remembered anyway! See, working out is good for you.

(When I checked out this old post I also realized that at some point I stopped doing the five places I've been this week thing on Sundays. Why did I stop doing that? I'm not sure...should I start again?)

What I do....the Life of a Rabbi

So I've decided to start a new feature here at Ima on (and off) the Bima.

Okay, I just decided it.

So I don't know how often or when I'll be doing it.

But here goes.

Each Friday, I teach a one-hour Shabbat class to 3- and 4-year-olds. It's called "Hello, Shabbat!" and I teach with a wonderful co-teacher who also teaches in our Religious School (and happens to be a good friend).

11 little kids.
Cute, runny nosed, potty-going, talkative little kids.

3 sets of twins!
(and they all regularly remind me that they are twins. And each time, I act surprised.)

And I love it. I'm not sure I would want to be a preschool teacher all the time, but it is so much fun to have this once-a-week gig.

I can't post pictures of these cuties, of course, but we made such a cute project yesterday that I have to share...

Aren't these the most lovely little mezuzot? 

So that's part of what I do.
I love my job!


Want to play along? What do you do all day? or all week?

Why Spin Instructors are Like Rabbis

I think I've discovered why I like going to Spinning classes.

It's just like being at services, except I'm not in charge:

It lasts about an hour, just like services.
I can get into a rhythm, just like in a good prayer experience.
There's a rubric to follow. Sprints, climbs, flat roads....Sh'ma u'virchote-ha, Amidah, Torah service...
There's music, sometimes to sing along with....
There's a sense of shared purpose. We're all in this together.
There's a lot of stand-up, sit-down.*
The instructor uses her hands to indicate "stand up" and "sit down"... just like I do.*
She offers encouragement, similar to the way that a rabbi might offer explanations of the prayers.
She sometimes throws out questions for the group to answer, just as I might when leading services or giving a sermon.
People are often reticent to answer. Just like at services.

I can lose myself in the experience, and feel uplifted at the end.

Do I think that Spinning or exercise can replace a religious experience?
No.

But they do strike me as quite similar....

*This was the part that got me thinking during Spin class. Like any good blogger, I actually considered getting off my bike and jotting down some notes. It seemed like a reasonable excuse to take a break...but I didn't. I remembered anyway! See, working out is good for you.

--00--

Five Places I've Been This Week

Mini Caramel Apples - think I'll have time to make these for Rosh HaShanah?

The Carbon Footprint of my Diet Coke (from jcarrot.org)

Planting Fall Bulbs (think I'm going to get to that?)

Project Forgiveness

Juggling Frog's Carnival of Overdue Thanks (I'm trying to get to all the posts!)

from my delicious (Are you in my network?)
P.S. Anyone know when they changed from del.icio.us to just plain delicious?
Where have you been?

It's Just a Week....

...but doesn't it feel stressful when the ads on your blog are for PASTA!?

No, seriously, it does seem like the whole world is not with us during Pesach. Everywhere I go, everything I see, I am aware more than ever during the year that I am separate. We can't just stop for a snack...keeping Passover doesn't bother me. Eating chametz-free isn't the difficult part. It's figuring out how to keep it together in a world that isn't on break, doesn't remember or think about what we are thinking about.

This is when I miss living in Israel, when it really felt like the whole world was Jewish, the whole world revolved around me and my Pesadik needs...like my friend FrumeSarah, I too feel a bit of discontent at this time of the year.

I love Pesach. I love Jewish life.

I sometimes just wish it wasn't quite so hard.

And you know it must be when even the rabbi-mom says so.

What's your torah this week?

Visiting the Mikveh - 13 Things I Loved About It

The Mikveh is a Jewish institution shrouded in mystery and confusion for modern Reform Jews (and probably some Conservative ones too!). The mikveh is defined as a ritual bath, used not for purposes of physical cleanliness, but rather ritual purity or spiritual cleanliness. According to the Wikipedia entry, (which is actually pretty accurate - thumbs up!)

Its main uses nowadays are:
by Jewish women to achieve ritual purity after menstruation or childbirth
by Jewish men to achieve ritual purity
as part of a traditional procedure for conversion to Judaism
for utensils used for food

It's the first one that makes many modern women crazy, the second that less people know about, the third that is the most well-known in most Reform circles, and the last that is also less well known. But what is not accurate in the Wikipedia entry is the brief entry about Reform Jews and their lack of use of the Mikveh for anything other than conversion. Okay, maybe this is somewhat accurate, but we are working on it! Organizations like Mayyim Hayyim in Boston are making mikveh more accessible to modern Jews.

Okay, so all that said...where am I going?

It is customary, in that second idea up there, that "men" go to the mikveh to achieve ritual purity. These days, anything the men can do, so can the women! Often, people (okay, men) will go to the mikveh before Shabbat or holidays in order to fully prepare themselves physically/spiritually. I've never used the mikveh in this way (I've only been once before, right before my wedding). This year, I decided to go to the mikveh to prepare myself for the High Holy Days. As a rabbi, I spend these weeks before the holidays stressing and preparing and basically running around like crazy and I rarely have the time to prepare myself in any meaningful way. (In an earlier post, I referred to teshuvah, which is the Hebrew word for repentance...the "work" of the High Holy Days)

So the mikveh it was for me...and to describe it, here is a list of
13 things I loved about it...

1. The quiet. It was in the evening, and it was dark. It's traditional to go at night to show humility and to increase privacy (of course, blogging about it doesn't make it too private, does it). It was quiet. I had a few moments before all to myself to breathe and just be.
2. The reminder. The mikveh lady (a technical term) reminded me of the special nature of this moment. She knows that I come all the time to the mikveh with conversion candidates but she reminded me to take my time, to pay attention to each item of clothing or jewelry or act like brushing my hair, to realize that this was more than just a shower and then a dip in the pool, and more than just getting ready for bed.
3. The words. I hummed the tune for Hashi-veynu, one of my favorite penitential prayers that we sing at our Selichot service this coming Saturday night. To me, that tune really "kicks off" the holidays. Hashiveinu Adonai elecha v'nashuva, chadeish yameinu k'kedem...Help us to return to You, O God, then truly shall we return. Renew our days as in the past. I felt like this helped to remind me why I was doing this.
4. The washing. As I washed my eyelashes (the purpose of the pre-immersion cleansing is to remove all "barriers" to the living waters of the mikveh, so you wash carefully all your crevices -- like blowing your nose and cleaning your navel -- and you wash the parts you might not normally wash, like eyelashes, as well as comb out all snarls and tangles in your hair so the water can fully reach every part of you.)...I thought of how unusual this was, and how much more special it made it, and different from other shower/washing/hygiene experiences.
5. The privacy. Once I was prepared for entry into the mikveh, the mikveh lady was so careful to ensure my privacy. She is required to "guard" my immersions and to help make sure I've gotten the stray hairs from my skin, but she takes such care to be modest and private about the experience. She takes the towel and holds it up in front of her face until I'm fully immersed in the water.
6. The water...ah, the water. It's warm and wonderful, embracing and uplifting. As I stepped into the middle of the small pool, I realized how deep it actually is -- just about my height! The water didn't weight me down, though, in fact, it buoyed me up, encouraging me to float. When I was prepared, I took my first immersion, deep under the water, spreading my fingers and toes to get water into every nook and cranny of my being...these living waters holding me up and filling me up with their powers of personal purification.
7. The second immersion...this is the one where the mikveh lady takes a step outside the room following the immersion to offer the dipper a few moments of personal prayer or meditation. It is a mitzvah to ask for something for yourself, and as I floated in the water, feeling how safe and warm and comfortable I was, I was reminded of the title of a book by Rabbi David Wolpe - "Floating Takes Faith" -- and I knew that to be there in that moment, I was truly renewing my own faith.
8. The third immersion. To say shehecheyanu, the blessing for a first time, it was as though I were new again, reborn so to speak. If you think about it, the last time we were so surrounded by water like this was in the womb...this is a re-creation of that living water, a chance to be spiritually re-born for this new year.
9. The exit. As I stood in front of the mikveh lady, with my back to her, she wrapped the towel around me. She is a very traditional lady, and she avoids personal touch throughout the whole process. But as she wrapped the towel around my shoulders, she gave my shoulders a little squeeze. It felt like a whole hug, as though she were giving me her most heartfelt wishes and prayers. I really believe that she feels that what she does is truly one of the most precious jobs in the world -- and she acts like it. This squeeze was, I feel, her way of telling me that. And I am grateful.
10. Getting dressed. I put on all my clothes, my jewelry, my contact lenses...and then I examined myself in the mirror. Am I different now? Somehow more pure and more ready for the holidays? I decided the answer is yes. I did look different. I looked relaxed and happy and ready to face the holidays with a whole heart.
11. The drive home. To know that I was going back out into a world unchanged, but I, I was different somehow. I felt more calm, more prepared. With Rosh HaShanah only one week away, I could face the moment with far more ease than I had felt all day long. I felt refreshed, washed clean.
12. The work. I'm not done with the work of teshuvah, repentance, just because I washed clean in the mikveh. Jewish life doesn't work that way! I still have the obligation to ask forgiveness and work on my own spiritual and personal faults and shortcomings. But somehow I feel that it will be made easier or more do-able for me after this visit to the mikveh.
13. The blogging. I was so excited for the opportunity to share this experience with those who read this blog as well as my other one, http://rabbiphyllis.blogspot.com, so I could share a different and new way of welcoming the Jewish New Year. As a rabbi, my preparations are often different than other Jews. This was a great moment for me to have a personal opportunity to expand my own spiritual practice.

See more Thursday Thirteen posts here...
Crossposted on http://rabbiphyllis.blogspot.com

Moving Out of the Shadows - BSM

This is my favorite shot from this week (there were a lot, actually!) and I can't believe that because it's Labor Day, I almost didn't even realize that it's Monday...and I almost missed Best Shot Monday. So here I am, better late than never.

I love this picture not for its technical merits or even its beauty, but for what it signifies for me. As my son walked away from me on the playground on the first day of school, I shot this picture of him...and at first, I tried to get my shadow out of it. Until I realized that my shadow is exactly what he's walking out of.

Over the last few weeks, there have been a lot of comments on my blog by new visitors (hi there! thanks for coming!) asking questions or wanting to know more about my job as a rabbi and what that means. I can't tell you all about it in one blog post but I plan to continue to write about my life and perhaps more about being a rabbi (since it seems to be interesting -- and btw, I apologize to those who commented on my Thursday Thirteen last week -- I have been under the weather and couldn't respond!)...

Which is all a long way of explaining my shadow.... up until now, my son has always been in Jewish preschools/daycares. I have always been somebody -- I'm not just a mommy, but I'm also the mommy who is a rabbi. People ask for my advice or invite me to come in and speak. They have a sense that I'm involved on a higher level in the community (and in a sense, I am).
In public school, which my son started last week, I am not really anybody more than a mommy. Of course, the school is wonderful and I'm not implying that they are treating me or my son in any way badly. But for now, he is on his own. He doesn't have my shadow to trail around after him as "my mom is the rabbi." He has to leave my shadow behind. I cannot completely control his environment any longer.
And so this picture...which as I took, I knew, would be this post,
and as I took this picture, I knew it was true.


My little baby is growing up, moving out of my shadow.

May he forge his own path, and may it lead him to a life of great fulfillment.


See more Best Shot Monday here.
(ooh, and see my BSM button over on the right!)