I care. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have been in this line of work for the last 25 years. I care about teaching a Torah that is alive, relevant and instructive; about creating moments of meaningful connection for people with their Jewish identities; about our shared past and our shared future; about empowering people to use Judaism as a perspective by which they can view, understand and influence the world around them.
I care about raising people up in their moments of joy, and about being present to those who are brought low by life’s circumstances.
I care about challenging people’s assumptions and about shaking people from their complacency, and about exposing biases and calling out intellectual laziness. I care about their ability to communicate what they believe and why.
I care about an organization, its financial health, its administration and operations and about the people who staff and volunteer their time to make it successful. I care about its reputation, its ability to welcome and meet diverse personalities, needs and challenges. I care about its mission and goals, and about the processes and procedures it follows to achieve them. I care about policies and consistency, and about the flexibility to allow for exceptions and individual needs.
I care about a building, its sanctuary and its learning spaces, its social spaces, its sound systems, WiFi, heat and air conditioning. I care about its security.
Living on the synagogue grounds for the past 25 years, I’ve been able to look out my bedroom window every morning and every night to see the parking lot and who is in it, the synagogue front door, my office window. When someone has left a light on in the building, I know it.
And I can’t imagine living my rabbinate any other way.
Of course, I also care about my family. And I care about myself and my ability to keep doing what I love. And I am so grateful that my synagogue community cares about its clergy as well.
As an adjunct faculty member at the Jewish Theological Seminary teaching the senior class of the Rabbinical School for the past 15 years, I advise the future rabbis and cantors who want to work in pulpits that while a synagogue may commit itself initially to a clergy-person for a two- or three-year term, the clergy-person will be at their best if they approach their commitment to the community from the outset as a lifelong commitment. Once that commitment is recognized and appreciated, the congregation will want to honor, nurture and reward that commitment. I believe that if clergy care, congregations care.
In the world of academia, the sabbatical is a time for a scholar to pursue intellectual and personal growth. In the world of clergy, the sabbatical is an opportunity to regenerate. Just as God rested (or refrained) from the work of creating (shavat) and recharged (vayinafash), a clergy-person’s sabbatical is ideally spent re-energizing for the future. Just as the Shabbat allows us to cease from “doing” and provides the time just to “be” in order to renew our creative energy for the week ahead, the sabbatical offers clergy the opportunity to process what has been and reimagine what can be. If a community cares about its long term well-being, it will care for the long term well-being of its clergy as well.
I am grateful for the gift of a 3-month sabbatical every four years, and for the community’s care and commitment this opportunity reflects. My absence doesn’t reflect in any way a lack of care. If anything, it should tell you that I’m already preparing for the next chapter with you, excited to greet the next set of opportunities and challenges refreshed and renewed.
I already look forward to catching up with you again in March. And if you happen to see me around before then, please don’t be afraid to say hello!
Rabbi Craig Scheff