Attending the CCAR convention, an annual international gathering of Reform rabbis, is a long-established rite of passage. It is here that classmates and colleagues touch base, share stories from the trenches, describe their successes, compare workloads (“How many weddings did you officiate last year?”), and study and pray together—though rabbis tend to avoid morning minyanim, except for the large service on the convention’s first morning.
In years past, rabbis who felt overwhelmed, under siege, or utterly burnt out rarely shared their struggles. They feared appearing as failures in their colleagues’ eyes. Such vulnerability was considered distasteful, or as we say in Yiddish, “pahst nischt.” This “I’m fine” machismo has diminished since women began serving as rabbis. They were less burdened, though not immune, to concerns about saving face while drowning. This shift has transformed the Reform rabbinate.
The convention offers a window into other evolving trends. We observe newly ordained rabbis and absorb their fresh perspectives on life and the rabbinate. It’s both invigorating and humbling to recognize what exceptional humans they are and how fortunate our movement is to attract such compassionate, intelligent people to Reform Judaism. Many are remarkably young—younger than my own adult children. This realization is simultaneously sobering and reassuring.
These younger rabbis speak extensively about work-life balance, discussing when they do and don’t check emails or texts. They establish time off as sacred and draw clear boundaries between professional and personal life. Frankly, I believe this approach benefits them, their families, and their mental health.
When I was ordained forty years ago, we were cautioned against even mentioning work-life balance. Such inquiries might lead search committees to question our dedication to their congregation’s welfare. It could suggest divided loyalties or insufficient seriousness about the rabbinate itself.
So much has changed throughout my four decades of service. I remember watching the alter kakers—our senior colleagues—congregating at the back of meeting rooms in their signature blue blazers and neckties. I often wondered how they experienced the evolution—or sometimes lack thereof—of Reform Judaism and its rabbinate. The inclusion of gay and lesbian congregations, the acceptance of patrilineal descent, and the welcoming of interfaith couples represented seismic shifts during their careers.
And now, I’ve become one of those alter kakers. I proudly wear the traditional blue blazer while having abandoned the tie. I listen attentively to younger voices. I observe colleagues positioning themselves for influence within the CCAR. I wonder how this generation of younger rabbis evaluates the challenges ahead. There is tremendous turbulence on the horizon: addressing rising antisemitism, assessing the long-term damage to Zionism and democratic Israel, countering the drift away from democracy toward authoritarian intolerance and Christian nationalism.
I fear a certain complacency in their outlook toward the future. Only fourteen rabbinic students are entering HUC this year—fourteen students across two campuses! My entering class, as I recall, numbered seventy-five. What does this precipitous decline portend for our movement’s future? What does it suggest about the long-term availability of Reform rabbis?
These questions of sustainability and transformation demand our immediate attention. We must reconsider our position in the broader world. While continuing to uphold the Reform movement’s commitment to social justice, we must reassess who our allies have been and who they will be going forward. This is not the time for business as usual.
Maybe the alter kakers still have something to say from the back of the room.
Before Shabbat 