Reflections Upon Becoming Senior Rabbi of Temple Sholom

Monday is a significant day for our country. As we celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, Donald Trump will also be sworn in as the United States’ 47th president. Meanwhile, the next day, Tuesday, Jan. 21, will be a momentous day in my life: having been elected by its members, I will become the fifth senior rabbi of Cincinnati's Temple Sholom synagogue.

Looking out from the precipice of this spiritual milestone, I reflect especially on two matters − one that gives me pause and one that makes me excited.

To close on a positive note, I'll open with the "bad news": Cincinnati's interfaith ties have degraded substantially in the past 15 months. In my work as a Jewish community organizer, I have had a front-row seat to this accelerating decline, which began at the onset of the latest war between Israelis and Palestinians. Of course, the widest rift has emerged between local Jews and Muslims; however, many others are affected too, and the harm to relationships has been quite severe.

Men and women who for years had shared in one another's lives are no longer speaking; major collaborators have parted ways; the list goes on. Worse, national colleagues have shared that though every city has struggled with this issue, Cincinnati is doing worse than average. We are punching below our weight class.

Thankfully, we have tools to address the challenge. Organizations such as MARCC (the Metropolitan Area Religious Coalition of Cincinnati) and EquaSion were built for this. Unfortunately, many were overwhelmed by unceasing pressure opposing interfaith dialogue. We all, it seems, were caught flat-footed.

As a Jewish leader, it devastates me to know how hard we'll need to work just to get back to square one, where we were not even two years ago. I'm sad, but I'm not daunted. It's time for us all to step up.

As I assume my new role, allow me to make a promise: I will remain committed to interfaith dialogue, and I will fight to ensure it happens. I say so knowing that what we need is discourse that really "goes there," and that "going there" will be tough (even painful) for those involved, myself included. However, that's what it'll take both to repair the damage and to ensure that interfaith Cincinnati is more resilient in the future.

Now, on the other hand, here's something about which I'm quite excited: the potential to get more engaged fighting for matters of social justice in our community. Temple Sholom has a well-earned reputation for activism − that's one of the things that drew me to it (and, as a rabble-rousing rabbi, perhaps what drew its congregation to me!) I will work to use Judaism's unique, millennia-tested values as signposts to guide me toward partners in the fight for justice. The Jewish tradition teaches “tzedek, tzedek tirdof,” “justice, justice you shall pursue.” That “shall” isn't a request, it's a command, and it's one I intend to follow.

Again, I know this won't always be easy or fun. Another lesson I've learned in community organizing is that you often fight alongside an ally one day, then find yourself advocating against them the next. That can pose difficulties, but it makes the effort all the more rewarding. When partnership isn't made contingent on unequivocal agreement, we find an abundance of potential partners. And, in such partnership, we often discover that we are surrounded by a beautiful diversity of friends.

Let me name a few clear areas for collaboration: If you believe in LGBTQ rights, we should be allies. If you believe in women's right to bodily autonomy, we should be allies. If you believe in freedom of (and from) religion, we should be allies. It's OK if we agree on even just one thing − we should still be allies, and I imagine we may find down the line that we can be friends, too.

In my new role, I pray that I will perform works that allow me both to overcome these challenges and to seize opportunities. We only achieve our dreams if we actively advocate for them, and that's my plan.

The Temple Sholom community I will lead is entering its 71st year, and I have to wonder what its founders back in 1954 envisioned for their future back when we had yet to enter Vietnam, the Beatles were still babies, and Eisenhower was president. I hope they would be proud of what we've accomplished.

In turn, I want to develop a vision that will ensure our future community (Temple Sholom and Cincinnati) can look back proudly at our present − even in 71 years, in 2096, likely after most of us reading this are mere memories. I can't predict the future, but I'm anxious to roll up my sleeves and work to leave as little to chance as possible.