Yes, I know, looking at me you’d think it was only 47 years! While I mentioned my ordination a few weeks ago in connection with the first woman to be ordained, here are some tidbits. I want to put them in writing before I forget everything about that day…and there will be no order, just a stream of consciousness.
There were thirty-six of us. You should know that Jewish tradition says there are thirty-six righteous people on earth at all times, different ones of course because even the righteous are not immortal. They are called the “Lamed-vavniks,” based on the fact that the alphabetical equivalent of the number 36 is lamed (30) and vav (6). No one knows if s/he is one of the chosen, but the members of the class of 1972 were pretty sure that each of us in the class was, not only because Sally Priesand was one of us and surely had to be Divinely recognized, but because, if fact, each one of us ALWAYS thought we were among the righteous, but I digress (as usual).
Our class was unique in a few ways, not only for Sally. At the time, we had the oldest person to be ordained. He was about 60, had been a General in the US Army, and upon ordination served a small pulpit in South Carolina. Unfortunately, he died a relatively short time thereafter.
There was another classmate who became “high up” in the URJ. He got to know a lot of famous people. He even officiated at the funerals of, among others, Gilda Radner and Irving Berlin.
One classmate appeared to have disappeared after ordination. I really didn’t know him well at all, but someone said they ran into him selling records somewhere in California.
Others included a wonderful guy who became an attorney after a number of years. What made that most interesting is that his father had been a rabbi after a career as a lawyer.
And another, a good friend, was a Civil War buff. He “became” the rabbi that President Lincoln assigned to be the first-ever Jewish chaplain. My friend had memorized some of his speeches and dressed in an authentic Union uniform (that’s the Union army as opposed to the URJ), taking his show to many congregations and historical societies in the country.
As we were mulling around the basement of the Isaac Mayer Wise Temple in Cincinnati, nervously anticipating our formal procession for our ordination service, someone asked how do we line up. Knowing only what we used to say in New York City, I said, “Maybe by size-places.” I learned that’s an exclusive New York expression meaning “by height.” The funny thing was that everybody was looking at each other as if I had said something in Ugaritic. I guess to them I did.
Ours was always a very close class. We decided to have our party together. Family and friends came to our celebration venue on buses; who got on which bus was arbitrary. When my parents sat down, my father looked at the person sitting directly across from him, scrunched his eyebrows, and asked, “Ludwig??” What are the chances that his boyhood friend from Germany would have a son-in-law ordained with his son and be on the same bus looking at each other?! That was a very, very special treat. They hadn’t seen each other since the 1930s!
Now the road to ordination involved, as you know, classes in all kinds of subjects: Bible, Talmud, Commentaries, History in general, American Jewish History, Aramaic, Midrash, Homiletics and other stuff. But that was, as they say in the Ozarks, “book larnin’.” There was no class for the practical rabbinate; your bi-weekly congregation was your laboratory for that. And you know that it was Beth El/Harrisonburg that was my laboratory. I’ve maintained across the decades since June 2, 1972 that whatever I did right was because of the wonderful folks in this congregation. Patience, even mentoring, was the key…and Ruth Clayman would tell anyone she spoke to with any connection to Wilmington, “I taught Peter everything he knows!” In many respects, she was right.
(Speaking of rabbinical students, a group of them were caught red-handed as they played cards on Shabbat. “What do you have to say for yourselves?” asked the Dean. The first student said, “Rabbi, I’m sorry, but I forgot it was the Sabbath.” The rabbi replied, “Well, I guess that’s possible. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, but don’t let it happen again.” The second student said, “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I simply forgot that gambling on Shabbat is prohibited.” The Dean said, “That too is possible. You too are forgiven but sin no more.” It was in the dorm room of the third student that the game had taken place. He approached the rabbi who said, “And what’s your excuse? I suppose you forgot something too.” “Yes, Rabbi,” replied the young man dejectedly, “I forgot to pull down the shades.”)