I try not to compare myself to Moses. But sometimes, I cannot help but notice when he and I have something in common. Moses had a hostile crowd. He knew from the moment he was given his job that his labored speech and unconvincing persona would be a bit of a problem. And he was right. A number of times, including in this week’s Parashat B’shalach, he has to confront the Israelites who are discontent and doubt his leadership. His people are stubborn. Even a charismatic, confident leader struggles when she has a tough group. So it is with my students—they are a tough bunch.
I watched the incredible film Selma through a near-constant film of tears. Many of these tears were a function of the brutality depicted on screen that so many people of color faced 50 years ago in their struggle to gain the rights ostensibly bestowed upon them as American citizens. However, most of those tears were shed because I knew, deep down, that we still have so much further to go, and it seems that there are too many factions in our society today who are perfectly content in taking us backwards, rather than forwards. I cried copious tears because I know that I have an obligation to do right for those who have been dispossessed, for those who have been beaten and broken, not in spite of but because of my Jewishness.
I find myself sitting with students who are stressed out and frustrated. They are doing everything “right” yet find themselves craving meaning and a sense of direction. Although they are active on campus, most of them don’t feel that they really belong to a Jewish community. Few are generating their own solutions and starting initiatives. For the most part, they are searching for a connection. As experiential Jewish educators, the gap between inspiration and action is one that should concern us. We create close-knit cohorts, inspire teens, and tell them that they can change the world. However, the world often sends them the opposite message. The reality they encounter leaves them feeling that they are on their own, disconnected, and disempowered.
To me, Judaism is not just about doing Jewish things with Jewish people. Through my TJF Fellowship at Cedar Village Retirement Community offering pastoral care to the non-Jewish patients of the physical rehabilitation program, this belief has been reinforced.
I invite you to listen in on my ongoing conversation with God. Perhaps you will recognize God in it. I hope you will recognize yourself in it. I invite you to be part of this journey, both in listening and in writing your own Dear God letter and submit it to our editor for publication here, where we try to model how reflection, service and a commitment to the sacred in our lives shape effective and inspiring Jewish leadership.