A Chequer-Board of Nights and Days

A rabbi is the spiritual leader of a synagogue and for most people, a relationship with a rabbi stems from their mutual Jewish faith. But the term "rabbi" can also refer to any kind of teacher, guru or sherpa; thus, the Christian former Budget Director, David Stockman, referred to his onetime Roman Catholic mentor Daniel Patrick Moynihan, as his rabbi.

Arnold Jacob Wolf was Jewish, as am I. I am a member of the synagogue where he was the Rabbi and Rabbi Emeritus for a span of nearly three decades. Because of our mutual Jewish faith and because he was the spiritual head of my synagogue, he was my Rabbi in the Jewish sense. But even if I was not Jewish and had the chance to meet and interact with him, I would have called him a Rabbi of mine. Or my guru. Or my sherpa. Or a teacher, a mentor, a role model and a dear and wonderful friend.

I lost him last week to what appears to have been a heart attack.

A cursory Google search will find that Rabbi Wolf held political views that were different from mine. Very different. I don't know how much he knew about my views; perhaps he was somewhat unaware of the fact that I was on the other end of the philosophical spectrum from him. Then again, it is likely that he did know; Rabbi Wolf was smart as a whip and more mentally active than ten intellectually impressive and curious people put together. There were few facts--no matter how granular--that he did not know. The man made it his business to keep his finger on the pulse of his congregation and he did so in ways that never failed to impress, amaze and delight for as long as I knew him.

What I do know is that Rabbi Wolf would have reveled in our differences instead of resenting them. He loved argument and debate and he was truly excellent at presenting and defending his side. Gifted with the ability to spot the flaws in the arguments of another and to shore up his own position in an intellectually honest yet forensically powerful way, he was a mighty presence in any conversation.

But what made Rabbi Wolf an especially strong debater was not his ability to defend his views or persuade his critics to rethink and perhaps even change their minds. No, Arnold Jacob Wolf's participation in any discussion was truly impressive because he had a way of bringing out the best in others. I think he honestly cared less about defending or advancing his views than he did about inculcating in others an ability to discern, dissect and discuss ideas. He was an awesome advocate. But above all, he was an awesome teacher. He would be disappointed if someone did not sufficiently challenge him and it was a challenge and an education he sought for himself and tried to impart in others. When he got that challenge and education and when he was able to give it back, his eyes would twinkle, his face would break out into an irrepressible smile and his boisterous laugh would cause smiles to break out amongst all those within earshot of him.

On Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, I fast and abstain from drinking anything for a full twenty four hours. As one can imagine, this oftentimes causes fatigue and headaches. Under normal circumstances, the last thing I am in the mood for is a heady conversation; one has trouble ginning up any kind of enthusiasm for heady conversations when one feels lightheaded for lack of food or drink. And yet, I would go to my synagogue with a sense of joyful anticipation because on each Yom Kippur, Arnold Jacob Wolf--my Rabbi--would deliver what I would call The Annual Epic Sermon.

The Annual Epic Sermon was usually a 20-25 minute case study in erudition, a tour de force of spiritual sensitivity and intellectual firepower--with a healthy dose of well-timed, well-conceived and well-executed humor to boot. There was absolute silence during The Annual Epic Sermon unless Rabbi Wolf meant for the audience to laugh. Otherwise, voices were stilled and ears worked to catch every word of his speech.

He would praise his congregation during The Annual Epic Sermon. He would chastise his congregation during The Annual Epic Sermon. He would goad, cajole, inspire, warn, surprise, stun, delight and educate his congregation during The Annual Epic Sermon. He packed the gamut--or close to the gamut--of human emotions into his speech while delivering it in an urgent but dignified tone. He poured his heart out to us every year.

And he did it because he loved us. He loved his congregation.

In the Hyde Park neighborhood of Chicago, where my synagogue is found (right across the street from the home of the President-elect of the United States, whose candidacy Rabbi Wolf strongly supported), there are found a whole host of different personalities with different backgrounds, different education and income levels and even within the same political camps, different views on what means are best to achieve certain ends. My congregation is overwhelmingly of one particular political mind but that doesn't stop individual members from being disputatious with one another on political and social issues of the day. Being in Hyde Park means either wading deliberately into an argument or stumbling into one and your average, ordinary, run-of-the-mill rabbi would blanch in terror at the prospect of herding a congregation full of iconoclasts--especially when so many of those iconoclasts are intellectual and professional high achievers.

Rabbi Wolf never shied away from challenging and being challenged by this mini-university found in my congregation. Too often, the clash of ideas brings with it a clash of personalities that leads to bitterness and hard feelings. But my Rabbi was able to transcend and avoid such clashes--not because he held anything back and not because any of the congregation members did. Rather, he was able to do it because he showed--indisputably, undoubtedly and without reservation--that all of his work for, with and on behalf of the congregation stemmed from his deep and abiding love for it and for all of its members. He held us to high standards, he was disappointed with us when we fell short (as one of his eulogizers reminded us) but he always gave us another chance. When we made the most of that chance--by either challenging him in an honorable way or by showing him that we listened to him and cared about his point of view--he felt that his love affair with our congregation was justified. Rabbi Wolf's spiritual leadership was an affair of the heart and everyone in my congregation returned his affections in full.

He gave his blessing to me and to members of my family for bar and bat mitzvahs and for a wedding that was graced with his kind and generous decision to officiate. He was always ready with a kind, a funny and an interesting word that made meetings with him a pleasure and a delight. He was simultaneously one of the smartest, wittiest, most knowledgeable, most passionate, most graceful, kindest and warmest people I have ever had the privilege to meet. And he was stubborn, tough, unyielding, infuriating, argumentative and at times, even maddening--but for all of the right reasons.

I shall miss him more than I can express. The loss hasn't even begun to register. But even now, the loss is devastating.

Zicharon tzadik l'veracha. "The memory of the righteous is a blessing." Words that testify more fully and completely to the life and work of Arnold Jacob Wolf than anything my poor efforts could possibly express.