Here's a thought about how we respect some of our principal Jewish teachers, our communal rabbis.
It seems to me that, at least since the 1960s and the dawn of the teshuvah movement, one can divide Jewish communities into three broad categories.
The first consists of communities that are far from the epicentre of Jewish life, either in geographical or spiritual terms, and where the level of knowledge and commitment to learning within that community is relatively modest.
The second consists of communities where the average standard of attainment in terms of religious knowledge and practice is quite considerable, and where its members have the confidence and the capability to participate actively in synagogue services and learning programmes.
The third is made up of communities where the level of knowledge and commitment is extremely high, and where the majority of congregants may well be rabbis themselves -- or may have spent several years in full-time Torah learning before entering a profession, business or trade.
In the first category, respect for the rabbi is likely to be high since he possesses a suite of talents that may not be replicated to any great extent within his community. These might include the ability to read unpunctuated and vowel-less Hebrew and Aramaic text fluently, knowledge of how to officiate at weddings, funerals, a broad range of pastoral skills, and the like.
In the third group too, respect for the rabbi is likely to be high since the congregants, who likely share the rabbi’s linguistic and learning skills, are in a position to appreciate its quality and know how much time and effort he would have had to expend in order to acquire them. They will be able to savour the subtleties of his sermons and shiurim, and they may seek his advice with their most difficult and delicate personal and professional issues.
In the middle category, however, it seems to me that the rabbi is likely to receive less respect. This is because his congregants may have enough knowledge, learning and commitment to be able to challenge his rulings and test his learning, but may lack sufficient patience, willingness or understanding to enable them to accept his decisions and appreciate his answers. Here, superimposed upon the rabbi-congregation relationship, is something that is almost akin to sibling rivalry: he is a sort of older brother, entitled to respect and often genuinely loved, but generally vulnerable to challenge and sometimes ignored or taken for granted. It is within this middle ground, therefore, that the practical challenge of respecting the rabbi is put to the greatest test.
Comments, anyone?
