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Mussar Reflections On Becoming a Rabbi

June 2, 2024 By Greg Marcus Leave a Comment

Even though my wife and I lived together for over a year, things felt different after we were married. I felt more settled, and in hindsight maybe a bit more whole. I felt a bit of that after my ordination becoming a rabbi.

When I finished my Ph.D, I felt a great sense of accomplishment. I remember clearly thinking, “No matter what happens, no one can take this away from me.” I put a lot of work in, and earned that degree. I felt the same way the evening of my ordination.

But the next morning, something amazing emerged. While my Ph.D. was an individual accomplishment, becoming a rabbi was a group accomplishment, a community accomplishment. I wrote the following when I first woke up, which has only slightly been edited.

I feel like a tree, with roots deeply embedded with my wife Rachel. But not just roots – vines, vein and arteries, and too many capillaries to count. She supported me through the day with such deep love. The toast she gave about me was special. She described someone who loves family and community; someone who is dedicated to their well being and also is dedicated to making the world a better place. And that someone was me. And I felt it and believed it. And my kids and cousins and friends who traveled to be there – the cheer everyone gave me was so filled with love. It felt wonderful, and I felt a great peace in my body taking it in. Not an ounce of discomfort. And I feel deeply embedded with them. Roots and rhizobium going back and forth. It was what Martin Buber would agree was a true “I Thou” moment – there was not an ounce of individuality – we were all in the moment, just souls together.

And I shared the ordination with twelve other people, three of whom I am particularly close with. It was a group accomplishment. We went through this together. The classes, the thesis and the ordination. We were in the here with each other and for each other. And when we went back to our seats after the Beit Din conferred ordination on all of us, we laughted and danced and cheered right along with the hundreds of people who were there to support us. It was a true moment of communitas.

I feel floated and sustained by our Jewish community, and I sense the neshamas, the souls, of the disconnected among us. Each one has a life beacon, calling for help and yearning to plug into the network. It is like the tiny people of Whoville, all crying loudly together – we’re here we’re hear we’re here…

At breakfast after I wrote the above paragraphs, I could literally feel lines of connections to the people around me. Alas like all experiences of I-Thou or communitas, it was transitory. By the end of the day, my normal perceptions of the world returned. Yet the memory of that connection is strong. Such experiences are rare and a gift.

The great 20th Century Mussar Master Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe taught that Hitlamdut was the most important Mussar practice. Hitlamdut means self reflective learning. He taught that every day we should learn something based on what we are experiencing and the demands of the moment. This is a time of incredible transformation that goes beyond a new career. I can’t wait to see where it goes.

Have you had major transformations or transitions in your life? What were they like? Please comment below – I’d love to know and promise to reply to every comment.

Harm Reduction as a Mussar Humility Practice

November 3, 2023 By Greg Marcus 2 Comments

This has been a challenging month for me, as it has been for many in the Jewish and Jewish adjacent communities. The War in Israel has cut to the core in ways that I can’t begin to enumerate. Many people both inside and outside of the Jewish community are fragile and overwrought by the scale of death and suffering, and the surge of antisemitism around the world.

This week as we enter our second week practicing Humility, I’m asking myself how much space I should take up. I’ve decided to take a harm reduction approach, and I invite you to join me in this practice. Harm reduction has its roots in drug treatment, and assumes that everyone has dignity, and that sometimes we can reduce harm to ourselves and others even if we can’t or won’t stop using completely.

The idea behind a harm reduction as a Mussar Humility practice is to assume that everyone is having a difficult time, and avoid things that could cause more pain. For example, I have friends who think Israel needs to end the occupation immediately. While I disagree, I am not going to get into it with them. This is particularly important on Facebook or social media. A time will come for us to work out these differences, but now is not the time, and social media certainly is not the place. In fact, I am reducing harm to myself by limiting my time on social media.

This practice is particularly important for me because I have been wracked by judgement, and set off by small things. For example, in a class this week we became “sidetracked” only five minutes into class by a series of questions from my fellow students . I was disturbed, and ready to ask that we “get back on track.” Two things held me back. First, I realized that it was not my place to tell a professor how to run their class. Just because I didn’t like it did not mean it was the wrong way to go. And second, I realized that my objections could potentially upset the professor and my fellow students engaged in a lively discussion. “I don’t want to do any harm here,” I said to myself and kept quiet. After the break the professor shared how happy and excited he was at the participation, and that the content per se was not as important as our collective engagement with the material. I was really happy that I’d kept my mouth shut.

Alan Morinis wrote, “No more than my place. Not less than my space.” Now it is particularly important to be mindful of how much space to take up.

Photo by Kai Pilger on Unsplash

Contemplating Mussar Silence In Tel Aviv

October 10, 2023 By Greg Marcus 3 Comments

My wife and I are still in Israel, trying to get a flight out. We went quiet for a few days on Facebook, and people were asking if we were safe. As I am processing what we are experiencing, the soul trait that is most applicable is Silence.

Because sometimes there are no words. What can you say to the murder of hundreds of people? Entire families wiped out?

What to say after watching distraught family members crying on tv in a language I largely don’t understand? What to say about refugee children burst into tears as we walk into the safe area during a rocket attack? The words we say really matter. And for this I have no words. Last year in my Chaplaincy training, we were learned that being present with someone is far more important than talking. We strive to create a safe space for them to process.

I am touched that so many people who have checked in. “Thinking of you and checking in” offers presence and care. I have been bewildered how to answer those who ask if I am safe. I am in a country at war, with missiles flying. I am ok in an area that is relatively ok. But safe?

Silence is the sound of a closed hotel kitchen, no longer serving dinner because the cooks were called into service. Silence is the empty beaches.

Silence also governs speech and other holy sounds. Laughter from children finding toys as they explore the hotel. The relief and black humor from their resilient parents, who are happy we have 90 seconds to get to the shelter instead of 10 seconds like they did in the South.

I had questions for people who on Facebook who said they are praying for peace. The words we say matter. And this is a time to think and contemplate before we speak or write.

“What do you mean by peace?” I might ask. I have more thoughts, but I’m not sure they will benefit either me or you if I share them. So Silence reigns.

What Will You Learn This Year After Rosh Hashanah?

September 18, 2023 By Greg Marcus Leave a Comment

A Jewish thought leader recently said on a podcast “You can’t teach character.”

As a Mussar guy, I objected – of course you can teach character.

I kept percolating, and realized they were right. And while you can’t teach character, you can learn it. It’s like that old joke: How many psychiatrists does it take to change a lightbulb? One, but the lightbulb has to want to change. Indeed, I have gone great pains to say that our weekly Mussar Gathering is not a class, and I am not a teacher. We are on a journey of personal growth together. I can facilitate the process, and we can learn together, but I can’t teach you how to grow and build character. The work is all on your side.

The question I am asking myself this Rosh Hashanah is what do I want to learn next year? I have goals like writing my thesis and getting a job. I’m taking classes in Jewish Education, Hebrew and the prophets Jeremiah and Ezekiel. But none of them will teach me, they will only provide me with opportunities for learning. (In fact, I’m realizing that this mindset is influenced by reading in my education class, which invited us to change from a teaching mindset to a learning mindset.)

But our character, who we are, is what we are all invited to put under the microscope during the High Holidays. The prayers, the rituals, at the end of the day they are there to help us with the process of Cheshbon Ha’Nefesh, accounting of the soul.

This is the season where we strive to see ourselves as we truly are, and to love ourselves at we truly are. For if the Divine can forgive us, then we should be able to forgive ourselves. And then from this perspective of self acceptance, we go about growing and correcting our mistakes from the past year.

Wishing you a Sweet New Year, and meaningful learning to guide your journey.

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Photo by Noah Buscher on Unsplash