Joys and Oys of Retirement: A Rabbi’s Reflections

Rabbi Dennis C. Sasso,

For me, being a rabbi was never a job, a means to a livelihood. It was a lifestyle, not just what I did, but who I was, not a role, but part of my identity. Even though I am now retired, being a rabbi is still part of who I am. I loved being a congregational rabbi, and miss much of it, especially the human interactions, the teaching, the pastoring, the civic and interfaith engagement. I miss the people, professional and lay, with whom I partnered and labored over many decades. I do not miss the administrative 24/7 demands.

There are joys in being retired! It affords me the luxury of being more selective about what I accept to do. It allows me time to reflect, to write, to volunteer, to speak on things that matter to me as a person, as a Jew, as a citizen. I can spend more time with Sandy and the family, to travel together with the kids and grandkids, go to school concerts, competitions, and sports events that I often had to miss because of meetings, services, life-cycle responsibilities.

Not being immersed in the immediate demands of the day-to-day rabbinate, I can look more attentively to the “big picture issues” affecting Judaism, Israel, America, the world. On the one hand, some issues loom urgent. On the other, age affords the perspective of the long view, somewhat more patient, more forgiving, and even more hopeful. Looking at the big picture is living in the awareness that we are part of a continuum, that we do not live in a historic vacuum, that we cannot afford historic amnesia. The big picture reminds us that we do not live “in the past,” but “with the past,” that the past “lives in us.” The big picture perspective informs us that we are not just descendants of previous generations, but also ancestors of those who will follow us.

Retirement has taught me that we do not live in time, but time lives in us. Time has no reality unto itself, it is not some “thing” out there. Time is how we make sense of who we are, of meaning, existence, and purpose, individually and collectively. Time is how we link and organize experience, backward and forward. The ancient rabbis intuited this: Ein mukdam u’m’uhar batorah – “there is neither early nor late, neither before nor after in the Torah.” Soren Kierkegaard taught that “Life is lived forward but understood backward.” Only when we have attained some distance from where we have been, can begin to appreciate with greater clarity the road traveled, and the lessons learned.

There are also the “oys” of retirement. In retirement, I worry about the rise in antisemitism and anti-Israel sentiment, most recently painfully demonstrated by the murderous attack of Sarah Milgrim and Yaron Lischinsky, soon to be engaged young staffers of the Israeli Embassy in Washington, DC. I worry that antisemitism is often politicized and weaponized by the left and by the right to promote ends that are inimical to Jews and Israel. I pain that many of our young people, in their idealized quest for justice, disavow their own people’s narrative and cause. It concerns me that our response to such antisemitism and anti-Zionism is often in “form” (more activity and programming) rather than in “substance” (thoughtful reflection and attention to meaning and purposes). While we need to call out, decry, and combat hatred, our response needs to also be proactive, cultivating an affirmative sense of Jewish identity and belonging, inculcating knowledge, love, and meaningful observance of Judaism, along with engagement with our communities, the Jewish people in Israel and worldwide. We need to share with others the beauty, joy, and values of Judaism. We need also to remember that, comforting as it might be at certain moments to turn inward and to attend only to our own agenda, there are communities and constituencies with whom we should remain in conversation, partnering with civic, ethnic, and religious groups, new and old coalition partners in the arts, educational, and philanthropic communities. Many issues we face as Jews are singular and unique, but much of what concerns us today is shared with Americans of other ethnicities, cultures, and faiths. Circling the wagons is not a Jewish response. Judaism begins with the command to Abraham and Sarah: “Go forth… and be a blessing ” (Gen. 12).

Our advocacy for Israel should highlight the democratic values that Americans and Israelis hold in common. The security, legitimacy, and sovereignty of the State of Israel are non-negotiable premises. Our philanthropic and emotional engagement, our visits and partnerships, our mutual exchanges and educational efforts, our understanding and communication of the history and the challenges of the State of Israel are paramount. But, as faithful Jews and Zionists, we are not called to endorse policies, Israeli or American, that we might deem endangering of Israel, inconsistent with Jewish values, and injurious to the Jewish people worldwide. Certain criticism is not disloyalty, but an expression of care and commitment. Those of us who are not Israeli citizens, who do not live in the State, whose children do not put their lives on the line, should be cautious and humble in our expression and offer it in a spirit of Ahavat Yisrael, love of Israel which is a reciprocal covenantal responsibility. We take pride in the fact that close to a million and a half Israeli citizens are Arab (Muslim, Christian, Bedouin, and Druze) who participate in the political, civic, and cultural life of the State. Concern and care for the rights and dignity of Palestinians in the West Bank and compassion for the humanity of the residents of Gaza are not antithetical to Zionism. They are Zionism. The struggle against terrorism and for the security of Israel should not deter from the pursuit of peace between Israel and her neighbors and of long-lasting solutions for willing partners in the region. In the Zionist-Diaspora dialogue, we should not be silent partners.

I worry that while we are appropriately troubled about external threats and the security of our institutions, we do not sufficiently invest in securing protections for the minds and hearts of our young people. We raise funds for institutional infrastructure and activities, but do not equally engage the deeper questions of what we mean by religion, the life of the spirit, questions of justice and compassion, the ends and purposes of Jewish life. We are good about organizational stuff, about standing with Israel and standing against antisemitism and terrorism, but not so clear about what is it that we stand for. The serious threats and challenges we face require more than just defensive strategies. They demand that we move beyond performative Jewishness towards formative and transformative Judaism. We teach our young people to “be proud” of being Jewish. But a sense of belonging and a healthy Jewish identity are nurtured by learning and introspection about what is it that we believe, the values we affirm, what we aspire as Jewish human beings. Our youth yearn for integrity, for thoughtful reflection and conversation about the community we want to shape, the America that we want to achieve, the world we want to build.

As leadership changes, and that is a positive sign of renewal, we need to cultivate a sense of continuity, and that is a sign of endurance. Institutions thrive which have a clear windshield as well as a well-positioned rearview mirror. Congregations and communities need to honor their institutional histories and cherish their ideological commitments. Congregations and organizations thrive because they are faithful to their heritage, the ideas that generated them, the values that inspired them, the people that lived them, the stories that informed them. The urgency to address present concerns often comes at the expense of forgetting our past, our histories. I worry about the loss and indifference to institutional memory in Jewish communal life. Growth and creativity require historical rootedness, intellectual clarity, moral integrity, esthetic appeal, and spiritual audacity.

I worry about the fraying of Judaism as the religious movements are pulled to the right and to the left by constituencies more focused on divisive social and political issues than on common principles and shared values. Liberal denominations are challenged by friction and division over Zionism and Israeli politics. This weakens congregational life.

Regrettably, in today’s marketplace of Judaism there have arisen religious expressions that offer the trappings of tradition, community, and an appealing façade of welcome. People flock to their “programs” in the name of unity, when in fact they are promoting a religious mission that undermines congregational and communal Judaism. Fundamentalist, missionary, quasi-cultic Judaism, grounded in a pre-modern theology of messianic expectation with an allure of traditionalist authenticity, comes with a heavy price as members of liberal synagogues who themselves would never abide by the group’s ultra-orthodox lifestyle, uncritically fund their outreach efforts in the community and on campus. The respected Orthodox thinker, Rabbi Irving Greenberg has criticized such groups as being “intellectually self-enclosed” and of playing a role which is “damaging to Israel and the Jewish people” (The Triumph of Life, pp. 263-4). It is critical that congregations respond in creative, generous, educational and substantive ways by developing the welcoming, affordable, and engaging outreach that will counter such efforts. My teacher, Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, warned that an intelligent and instructed public is as indispensable “…for the teaching of sound religion as for the practice of good medicine.”  Otherwise, “…various kinds of religious quackery are peddled around and bought at bargain prices” (Not So Random Thoughts, p 139).

In retirement, I worry, and I hope. As I acknowledge the “Oys,” and celebrate the “Joys,” I’m reminded that above the Aron Hakodesh (the Holy Ark) of many congregations appear the words from the Talmud: Da’ lifnei mi atah omed – “Know before whom you stand.” (Berakhot 28b). Most people interpret this phrase as an expression of reverence in the presence of God, or of the Torah. For me, it is a reminder that in each holy space, and wherever we might be, each of us stand as a link in the historic chain between the past and the future. Da’- is an invitation to reflect on what it means to stand in the presence of those who came before us and of those who will come after us, to embrace the joys and the oys, the honor and the responsibility of being simultaneously descendants and ancestors. Rabbi Tarphon would challenge us: Lo aleikha…. “It is not incumbent upon you to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist from it” (Avot 2:16). Even in retirement.