Lessons that grow with us 

Shabbat Shalom!

Last Tuesday marked the 36th anniversary of my Bar Mitzvah.

Thirty … six … years.

The truth is that I remember surprisingly little about the actual service. What I do remember are the details that seemed monumental at the time.

I remember having to special order a size 20 husky suit. If you grew up in the late 1980s, you know exactly what that meant. There was no online shopping, no endless options. There was the one place in town where everyone got their Bar Mitzvah suit and a tailor who somehow made it work.

I remember the phone ringing at 6:30 in the morning. It was Lucy, the cook at our synagogue. Calmly but with a sense of urgency she informed my parents that the ice machine had broken and that if we wanted cold drinks at the luncheon, we’d better pick up several bags of ice on the way to synagogue.

Nothing says “the reality of becoming a Jewish adult” quite like continuing thousands of years of sacred lineage as I prepared to lead the congregation in service … and remembering to pick up ice.

And I remember my Torah portion: Korach.

At the time, Korach seemed pretty straightforward to me. There was a bad guy who challenged Moses. The bad guy lost. The earth swallowed him up. Lesson learned: don’t challenge authority.

Like many 13-year-olds, I viewed the world in simple categories. Right and wrong. Heroes and villains. Leaders and followers.

But Torah has a remarkable way of growing and changing with us.

Now, approaching 49, I find myself reading Korach very differently.

Korach wasn’t entirely wrong when he said, “The entire community is holy.” In fact, he was right. Every person deserves dignity. Every voice matters. Every member of the community has value.

The problem wasn’t his message. The problem was his motive.

Korach’s challenge was rooted in power, not service. In personal ambition, not in building community. In resentment, not responsibility.

As a teenager, I thought leadership meant being in charge.

Since then, my personal and professional journeys have taught me that leadership is rarely about being in charge. More often, it is about being responsible.

Responsible for listening.

Responsible for bringing people together.

Responsible for making difficult decisions.

Responsible for putting the mission ahead of personal interests.

The older I get, the more I appreciate that healthy communities need both leaders and people who challenge them. Judaism has never feared debate. Our tradition is built upon it. The Talmud is essentially generations of people respectfully disagreeing with one another.

The obligation we share is ensuring that disagreement serves a purpose greater than ourselves.

Are we arguing to strengthen the community or to divide it?

Are we challenging ideas because we seek a better outcome or because we seek a larger spotlight?

Are we motivated by responsibility or recognition?

Those questions did not occur to me when I was 13 years old.

At 13, I was mostly concerned about remembering my Torah portion, not tripping over my oversized suit, and whether there would be enough ice for everyone at lunch.

Thirty-six years later, I am grateful for the perspective that comes with time.

I am grateful for the parents, teachers, rabbis, and mentors who helped me understand that becoming a Jewish adult is not something that happens on a single Shabbat morning. It is a lifelong process.

Every year brings new lessons.

Every year reveals new meaning in familiar texts.

Every year offers another opportunity to grow into the responsibilities our tradition asks of us.

This week, as we read Parashat Korach once again, I am reminded that true leadership is not about demanding a seat at the head of the table. It is about making sure the table is large enough for others to find their place at it.

And perhaps that is the greatest lesson of all: the measure of our lives is not how loudly we speak, but how faithfully we serve.

Wishing you and your loved ones a peaceful, meaningful, and restful Shabbat.