At the final meeting of our Rabbis Without Borders group, our teachers asked, “What is a Rabbi Without Borders?”

I am a Rabbi without Borders.

Seven years since leaving academia to become a congregational rabbi; seven years since moving to Canada; seven months since beginning my hybrid medical-naturopathic treatment; seven weeks since my mother entered a U.S. hospital. Any way you count to seven, I have crossed many borders.

Now I know that I am a spiritual teacher. On a given day, I may talk to God, dream about God, write about God, sit with someone in the Presence of God. To convey spirituality, I don’t have to do anything more than be aware of my own thoughts, feelings, and perceptions as I work.

As a spiritual teacher, I speak out of my own experience. From the pulpit, or in one-on-one pastoral care, I only speak about what I know to be existentially true. I offer no theories about Divine or human nature that I have not explored or understood myself, no matter how many books reiterate them as core truths. If I don’t know the answer to a spiritual question, I don’t pretend; I affirm it as a deep existential question.

The Jewish wisdom tradition guides me. Our core texts express profound truths about human nature. Torah describes group and individual life in all its flawed beauty, and invites multiple interpretations of everything it explores. Our rituals provide guidance through times of challenge and transition. When people seek guidance from me, I use these rituals as resources rather than rules. When preparing a family for a funeral, for example, I don’t begin with an outline of the structure of the time of mourning. I listen, converse, learn about the family’s needs, questions, thoughts, and feelings. Only then do I explain how time set aside for coping (aninut), laying out of responsibilities (shiva), and gradual re-entry (sheloshim) can help them in their particular situation.

God’s love holds me. In all my work, I serve God, not any particular human being. Before entering a difficult situation, I pray, “Holy One, help me serve You.” I am not perfect. I cannot be everywhere at once, or know everything, or be completely purified of fear, anxiety or sadness. And now I know: no one expects me to be. This is love. This, honestly, is how I understand God’s love. We don’t have to be perfect to matter; we just have to accept that we are held. If you want to put Jewish metaphors to it, you can say: every human being has a yetzer hatov and a yetzer hara. We do some things out of our highest inclination, and some out of petty impulses. We are part earth and part Divine Spirit. As Aristotle might put it, through imperfection, we fully realize our human nature. Knowing that others love me in this human way affirms my mission as a congregational rabbi: to love the people I work with. As Carl Rogers might put it, I do my best to offer genuineness, acceptance and empathy.

I am always in transition.

I am a Jewish Renewal Rabbi and a Rabbi Without Borders.

Images: “Day and Night” by M.C. Escher, fusionanomaly.net; rabbiswithoutborders.org