During one of Abbot and Costello’s famous comic routines, Lou Costello was on trial in court. At one point he made a disrespectful remark toward the judge. The judge reprimanded him and said, “You can’t speak to me that way, young man! Why, I’ve been sitting on this bench for 20 years!” Costello immediately snapped back, “Naturally lazy, aren’t ya!”
A few weeks ago, at the end of June, I stepped down from my position as rabbi of Kehillat New Hempstead. In my final sermon in the capacity of rabbi I related the above anecdote. I continued that I had been standing at that pulpit for 11 wonderful years, but it was definitely not out of laziness.
Over the years I had shared many Torah thoughts, celebrated many wonderful occasions, including many of our own familial milestones, introduced some well-known Jewish personalities who spoke in the shul, and developed very strong and personal connections. On occasion I had been tasked to deliver eulogies, some for dear friends. That is of the most difficult components of being a rabbi.
Stepping down was a very grueling and difficult decision, but based on various personal factors we decided that the time had come to move on. The fact that the shul has a scholar of the caliber of my dear friend Rabbi Shimon Kerner, who immediately assumed the role as rabbi, mitigated the difficulty of my departure, albeit only somewhat.
An educator once told me that the greatest mashgiach (spiritual supervisor) for a rebbe is his talmidim. The fact that the rebbe knows that his students are looking up to him, and that he serves as an example for them, compels him to act the part, even if he would not otherwise do so.
What’s more, a rebbe/rav is blessed with insights and greater Torah understanding in the merit of his students and congregants. Conveying a thought forces the presenter to crystallize the subject matter in his mind and ensure that he has clarity about the matter before he seeks to convey it to others.
Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky, zt”l, related that when he became a rebbe and would prepare a shiur, in Shemoneh Esrei he no longer davened for knowledge, only in the bracha for knowledge (Atah Chonen). He began to also daven for insight and wisdom in the bracha for livelihood (Barech Aleinu), considering that it was now part of his job.
On another level, on numerous occasions I would have an epiphany wherein I would think of an insight to add to my sermon while I was walking to shul on Shabbos morning. When I would share that added perspective or insight in shul, I would relate that I was blessed with the insight in the merit of the tzibbur.
This is, of course, besides the many insights and thoughts that congregants themselves have shared, as well as intriguing questions they asked that forced me to ponder and understand many topics on a higher and deeper level than I had previously.
In that sense, the ending of my rabbanus in Kehillat New Hempstead means the loss of my “mashgichim,” and losing out on that special level of siyata dishmaya granted to a rav.
The one thing that will always remain part of me is the feeling of closeness and the wonderful relationships that I, and my family, forged with the membership of mevakshei Hashem (seekers of God) who comprise the shul’s membership. I will always be grateful to Kehillat New Hempstead for accepting me—a then-inexperienced novice—to be their rebbe and for placing their confidence in me 11 years ago.
At present, I am unsure where my rabbinical career will lead me, as I explore options. But I do know that Kehillat New Hempstead, and the wonderful relationships we forged during the over-a-decade that we were part of the shul, will always remain part of us!
By Rabbi Dani Staum
Rabbi Dani Staum, LMSW, is a rebbe and guidance counselor at Heichal HaTorah in Teaneck, NJ, principal at Mesivta Ohr Naftoli of New Windsor and a division head at Camp Dora Golding. He can be reached at [email protected].
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