26 March 2011 | 20 Adar II 5771 | Leviticus 9:1-10:11

Rabbinical School provided many life lessons that I hold and cherish. Of these lessons one stands out above the rest. Unlike much of my rabbinical school education which was taught by my professors, this pearl of wisdom was taught by my greatest teacher of all, my wife Brooke. From the very first day of school, an exam loomed over my head - the Daf exam. The Ziegler Rabbinical school curriculum was primarily focused on Talmud, the great compilation of spiritual wisdom and law from the rabbinic period. To graduate every student needed to pass an oral and written exam based on the totality of Talmud study throughout their 5 plus years in school. Regardless of how well or poorly a person did in their other class-work, everything came down to the Daf exam. Some students were prescribed antianxiety medication a few months prior to their exam. This was the level of fear and trepidation associated with the test and this is what was looming since day one of my studies.

I was scheduled to sit for the exam at the end of August, 2007. In May, I began an intense study schedule with other class mates. We would meet at 9:00AM, study until 6:00PM I would leave to staff the minyan at Adat Ariela synagogue and then return to study from 8:00PM until 1:00AM. Our spouses coined the term, “Daf exam widows” in response to our absence during this time. Towards the end of August, I was into my 5th, maybe even 6th time through the massive amount of material but there was still some great uncertainty.

I was the last student slated for the first day of testing and the moment of truth had arrived. The exam was approximately 30 min and they asked me all sorts of questions. I left feeling good but didn’t know how the examiners might vote. After I checked in with some fellow classmates awaiting my emergence and prepared to leave, I was stopped in the parking lot by one of my professors; a member of the examination team. I had passed the Daf Exam!! After years of dread and months of intense study and sacrifice, I had made it. I remember having an intense swell of emotion. It was impossible to hold back the tears. After all this work; after all the questions about my place in the school, my obstacles with learning, my fear and trepidation about my ability to become a rabbi; all of it was now put aside. I was to become a Rabbi of the people Israel.

I drove home with a smile on my face and an occasional holler out the window. It was truly a moment of triumph.  I made my way home to share this wonderful news with the one other person who sacrificed so much to get me to this great moment, my wife. I walked into a quite house. Avram Eli, just over a year old, was sleeping in his room.  Brooke, who was forced to become a single mother for the last few month was also napping on our bed. I walked into the room and stood at the foot of the bed. My shoulder and head held high waiting for her to awake. She lifted her head and our eyes met. Again, emotions began to swell as the first words came out of my mouth but I held back the tears.  I proudly pronounced, “I passed the Daf-exam!” With a tired, somewhat groggy smile she responded, “That’s wonderful….You forgot to take out the trash.

“You forgot to take out the trash.” The lesson taught to me that day is also found in this week’s Torah portion, Shemini. Our Torah states:

On the eight day Moses called Aaron and his sons and the elders of Israel…Then Moses said to Aaron: “Come forward to the altar and sacrifice your purification offering and your burnt offering, making expiation for yourself and for the people; and sacrifice the people’s offering and make expiation for them, as the Lord had commanded. (Leviticus 9:1;9:7)  

Our parsha begins on the eighth day, the day after Aaron and his son’s seven day celebration in honor of their ordination to the priesthood. On this eighth day, they are commanded to: “make expiation for themselves”. The Hebrew word for this offering is Hatat, literally a sin offering. God is commanding these newly ordained and celebrated men to make an offering for their sins. In my younger days, this was what we called a “buzz-kill.” When everything is going so well and your head is swimming in satisfaction and accomplishment, something comes along to ruin your feelings of grandeur and bring you back-down to earth. This is where we find Aaron and his son’s at the beginning of our parsha - experiencing the ultimate buzz-kill; a reminder that no matter how great they might think they are, they still have sins and must make reparations for them.

So my wife’s reminder about our rubbish became an important lesson that has served me well as a new and aspiring rabbi. I am very blessed to have the opportunity to work with many people and sometimes I receive thanks and praise that so easily could find its way to my head. Luckily for me, I have a beautiful family that is always willing to remind me that I have plenty of trash that needs to be taken out. I pray that you have similar people in your life, as well.

Shabbat Shalom