I spent a lot of time this past weekend at my friend and Rabbi's shul installation. One point noted by many speakers is that this Rabbi is beloved for his approachability.
This is not a small thing; how can you offer counsel and support when people are afraid to talk to you? And it's not necessarily easy to achieve, given the title and its baggage, as well as the popular rabbinic costume of dark suit, beard and hat. [I have my own problem of PermascowlTM, thanks largely to bone structure. It was useful on the New York subway of my youth, but it's just annoying now.]
Several years ago, in a different venue, I asked what Rabbis could do in order to avoid being intimidating. Here are some of the responses I received:
* Open your divrei torah with a joke [I don't like this approach, where it is intentional; I know the gemara about it, but it feels like pandering. "Please, please! Like me! Look, I'll do a trick for you!" I'll tell a joke when I feel like it.]
* Play racquetball
* Have a pet python [I had a boa constrictor as a kid, does that count?]
* Always have a joke on hand
* Walk around with a yo-yo
* Keep a kazoo, maracas or set of castanets with you
* Be seen socially with your wife, outside of a shul setting
* Practice smiling
* Dye your beard purple
* Wear a blue shirt (the beard is more likely; I don't know how to match a tie with a coloured shirt)
What would you add?
Showing posts with label Life in the Rabbinate: Appearances. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life in the Rabbinate: Appearances. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Rabbi Nebbish
One warm afternoon, some time back, I attended a shiur before which the rabbi took off his jacket, approaching the group in his shirtsleeves. I was surprised to hear an older woman turn to the person beside her and comment, audibly, “Nebbish.” She said it twice – there was no mistaking it.
I think she meant he was unimpressively thin, which he was. On a deeper level, though, the woman was channeling a stereotype of the skinny, knock-him-over-with-a-feather, bookish Orthodox rabbi.
Literature has several overlapping stereotypes for the Orthodox rabbi – the overweight, socially inept glutton; the avaricious user of his flock; the strict legalist of gaunt face and sharpened beard; and the nebbish, the skinny rabbi, often young, generally a wallflower.
I just finished reading Allegra Goodman’s “The Family Markowitz” the other day (this is definitely not a recommendation for the book), and she presents several appearances of this last, uninspiring mold of rabbi. It appeals, this vision of the clergy as a bookish young man who is socially inept and unimpressive. Discounting the religious message is easier if we can assume that the rabbi is a shy milquetoast who simply lacks the ability to pursue the sins he claims to willingly shun. Think of the initial impression of Father Mulcahy from MASH, until you learn that he has a sense of humor and can do a tracheotomy with a pocketknife.
Perhaps rabbis own a certain obligation to prove that they are not this pathetic; that feeling certainly figured into my decision to return to the gym several years ago. [Granted I haven’t gone since moving to Canada…]
But I think Jewish society owes itself some degree of freedom from the stereotype, which hampers the community as much as it hampers the rabbi. Assuming that the baal mussar [author of rebuke] does not know the pleasures he condemns is a cheap way out of taking his words seriously. Better to hear what he has to say, and weigh it seriously, regardless of the conclusion.
By the end of the shiur, the rabbi had completely won over this woman; she was laughing at his jokes, participating in the discussion, and calling, “More” when he concluded his talk. So he won the battle that day. But I wonder how many times the speaker is not given the opportunity to correct misimpressions, and so a valuable message is lost.
I think she meant he was unimpressively thin, which he was. On a deeper level, though, the woman was channeling a stereotype of the skinny, knock-him-over-with-a-feather, bookish Orthodox rabbi.
Literature has several overlapping stereotypes for the Orthodox rabbi – the overweight, socially inept glutton; the avaricious user of his flock; the strict legalist of gaunt face and sharpened beard; and the nebbish, the skinny rabbi, often young, generally a wallflower.
I just finished reading Allegra Goodman’s “The Family Markowitz” the other day (this is definitely not a recommendation for the book), and she presents several appearances of this last, uninspiring mold of rabbi. It appeals, this vision of the clergy as a bookish young man who is socially inept and unimpressive. Discounting the religious message is easier if we can assume that the rabbi is a shy milquetoast who simply lacks the ability to pursue the sins he claims to willingly shun. Think of the initial impression of Father Mulcahy from MASH, until you learn that he has a sense of humor and can do a tracheotomy with a pocketknife.
Perhaps rabbis own a certain obligation to prove that they are not this pathetic; that feeling certainly figured into my decision to return to the gym several years ago. [Granted I haven’t gone since moving to Canada…]
But I think Jewish society owes itself some degree of freedom from the stereotype, which hampers the community as much as it hampers the rabbi. Assuming that the baal mussar [author of rebuke] does not know the pleasures he condemns is a cheap way out of taking his words seriously. Better to hear what he has to say, and weigh it seriously, regardless of the conclusion.
By the end of the shiur, the rabbi had completely won over this woman; she was laughing at his jokes, participating in the discussion, and calling, “More” when he concluded his talk. So he won the battle that day. But I wonder how many times the speaker is not given the opportunity to correct misimpressions, and so a valuable message is lost.
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