Today has been my first day as Rabbi of Society Hill Synagogue.
In some ways, I never planned on this path, and in some ways, I have been preparing for it my entire life.
I never planned on it in the sense that, in college, I majored in economics; after college I worked on issues of racial and economic justice through AmeriCorps*VISTA; and after that I went to law school. None of that exactly screamed “congregational rabbinate.”
On the other hand, looking back, the common thread for me throughout all this was a pretty simple question: how can I serve?
I don’t mean to sound self-aggrandizing. I’ve had plenty of selfish and self-involved moments in my life. And yet I truly believe a navigational pulse within all of us is an instinct to serve—to sense that we are not on this planet to live solely for ourselves. We are here, at least in part, to recognize the shared Divinity underlying us all and to reveal that Divinity through our actions—actions that lift up one another and that make space for contemplation and for togetherness.
Still, there are many ways to live out that purpose that don’t include the congregational rabbinate; each of you does it every day.
But the die in my life was particularly loaded towards becoming a rabbi for reasons many of you know: my father was a rabbi, albeit on an abbreviated basis, passing away at the early age of 35, leaving behind my mother, seven-year-old me, my four-year-old sister Sophie, and my four-week-old sister Henya. There is no doubt that his unfinished legacy worked its way into my psyche, gently nudging me down this path.
This became clear to me when I was in law school. Despite there being plenty of terrific classes on civil rights and constitutional law at Berkeley, none of it satisfied my desire to situate these conversations in the context of the Divine. (I don’t think everyone needs to do that, mind you; I just needed to do that.)
So I essentially vowed that I would finish out law school but one day become a rabbi. Five years (and a lot of student debt) later I found myself at the end of my first year at the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College (RRC), pondering what was next.
Into my inbox floated a posting for an internship at a previously unknown-to-me independent synagogue in Center City, Philadelphia. “Society Hill Synagogue is a vibrant, egalitarian congregation,” the advertisement said, “welcoming people of all backgrounds and approaches to Judaism.” The posting carried an important note: “The intern will work under the supervision of Rabbi Avi Winokur.”
For those who do not know, Rabbi Winokur and I go way back. He and my father were classmates and friends at RRC. While I don’t have vivid memories of those times—I was just a little kid after all—it was clear when we first reunited after nearly 25 years that he did. The warmth Rabbi Winokur showed me at that reunion and, frankly, ever since, evinced an affection for my family and for me that I have deeply cherished.
If that were the sole basis of our relationship, dayenu, that would be enough. But instead, or, in addition, we developed our own independent relationship over the past six years based on mutual respect, admiration, and friendship.
This experience was mirrored in my relationship to the members of this congregation as a whole. From day one, I felt welcomed with open arms, with congregants looking to engage in a dialogue, to see what they could learn from this young rabbinical student showing up at their door, and what they could teach him. (To the latter point, it turns out: a lot.)
Even a couple of years into my tenure here, though, it wasn’t necessarily clear that I would be a congregational rabbi. I paired my rabbinical studies with a masters in nonprofit leadership at Penn (a program conceived by SHS member Richard Gelles, z”l), still open to the possibility that my professional future lay in administration and organizational work.
But over time, my life centered here. I met my wife Caroline while working here. We were married at SHS. Our daughter Lila Daniela received her Hebrew name here. At each step of the way I felt lifted up and supported by the members of this congregation. Jewish community has moved to the center of my life in an entirely new way at SHS, and I can’t imagine going through the rhythm of the Jewish year anywhere else.
So, now, I feel fortunate: fortunate that I found this community, fortunate that it has helped me forge meaningful connections, fortunate that it is here that I am able to serve.
