a gift of love

A young man studying for conversion turned to his teacher and said, "But, Rabbi Kushner, Fitzpatrick isn't a Jewish name." To which Kushner replied, "It will be."
--Anita Diamant, Choosing a Jewish Life

I received a call at 8:28 this morning from someone who told me that I should become a rabbi. Oh, and by the way, she said, Happy Valentine's Day.

First, a little background. When I made the decision to convert to Judaism three years ago (that story will have to wait for another time), two of my biggest supporters were the Episcopal chaplain of the boarding school at which I worked, and his wife, also an ordained minister. In fact, I would say that "supportive" doesn't properly characterize their reaction. "Wildly enthusiastic bordering on envious" is more like it. The two met in a Hebrew class, and while they share a passion for the language of the Jews and do belong to that wacky and most liberal of Christian denominations, I was still surprised--though gratifed--by their interest. I mean, my mother (a Southern Baptist, just a slightly different breed) cried when I told her.

However, the chaplain and chaplainess would probably be considered "quirky" even in the Episcopal church. They practice yoga, own prayer crystals and chakra bowls, perform reiki, and at dinner regularly countenance the extremely frank sexual discussions that are the hallmark of otherwise repressed dorm staff. But seriously, while some of these things may not be my cup of tea, these two have guided me though some tough times. I love and respect them very much.

So the chaplainess called me this morning to tell me that she had been thinking about me, that she and the chaplain are reading a book on Jewish spirituality, and that they have hired a "life coach." (There was an interesting article that I read in the Times about a month ago concerning the popularity of such services, but of course it is now $#@%&!Times Select.) All of this had come together in her mind to the decision that I should go to seminary. "And I have a great one for you--a friend of mine told me about it. Let me find the email. [Sounds of rifling through papers.]" I should also mention that the chaplainess was driving to work, "doing like 80 on the highway." So I made the radical suggestion that she call me back later with the information. Yikes!

This is not the first time this idea has floated through my head. After I read The Chosen, which detailed the rigorous course of study prescribed by an Orthodox yeshiva, I wanted to spend the rest of my days studying Talmud, just like Reuven and Danny. Of course, after reading The Brothers Karamazov I also wanted to be a Russian orthodox monk, just like Aleksei. So maybe I am just susceptible to romantic religious ideals. But the chaplainess's confidence touched me: "You're brilliant," she said. "And you have such a gift for languages." And I have been pondering my strengths lately, one of which, I have determined, is straight from my mother: an eagerness to give of myself for the betterment of others.

Could I actually become a rabbi? I have had stranger impulses. It's possible I may have to change my last name, as "Rabbi Pearce" doesn't exactly ring kosher--not like, say, "Rabbi Schooler" (ahem) or "Rabbi Berman" (ahem) or "Rabbi Mamber" (ahem AHEM). Then again, maybe Kushner is right. It will.