For those who became parents around the time that my wife and I did, Marlo Thomas’ groundbreaking production “Free to Be You and Me” was the background music of our early parenting years.  Designed to re-direct children’s attitudes about male and female roles, it taught that we can, regardless of gender, be what we want to be, and become what we want to become.

One of the wonderful songs in “Free to Be You and Me” was titled “Mommies are People” (there was also a verse about Daddies, to be fair).  The song taught the lesson that both men and women, even after they have children, are more than just the people that their children see.  They play multiple roles, have interests outside their parenting responsibilities, etc.  In my house “Free to Be You and Me” was a favorite.  Both generations loved it, for different reasons.

On more than one occasion this past week, as I spent a few days off my feet dealing with a bad back (much better, thank you!), I thought of revising the song and adding a verse titled “Rabbis are People.”

A number of people from within my community, unaware that I was on bed rest, called me at home, for perfectly legitimate reasons.  One’s father was quite sick, another’s son was ailing and in a local hospital.  In both instances, when they had finished telling me why they had called, I had to explain to them that, while I wished I could meet them in my office to talk, or visit the hospital, I simply couldn’t, because I couldn’t get out of bed or walk very well.

On a cognitive level, I’m sure they understood what I was saying, and of course they wished me well.  But in those few seconds between what I told them and their responses to me, I could hear the wheels turning in their heads.  How could the rabbi be sick when I need him now?

It would be easy enough to get annoyed by the insinuation that I was somehow shirking my responsibilities- a natural, defensive reaction.  But the truth is that, particularly with people in the helping professions, there is a kind of subliminal expectation that they will always be there- always.

No one likes the idea of his/her doctor being away when needed (especially pregnant women, who understandably are upset when a favorite doctor in an obstetrics practice is not on call when they go into labor).  No one wants his accountant to be on vacation when he’s being audited, or their pediatrician to be away when their child is screaming in the middle of the night and they have to call some covering doctor whom they’ve never heard of.

And yes, no one wants his/her rabbi to be away when a loved one is dying, or a source of strength is needed for support.  When I taught professional skills to graduating rabbis and cantors at the Jewish Theological Seminary, so many of my students, including the best and the brightest ones, belittled the traditional role of clergy as caregiver.  They thought it hopelessly outdated, and said that people don’t need or want clergy to play that role anymore.  They couldn’t be more wrong, but they were so adamant on this point!

But I wasn’t even away… I was here!  And still, somehow, I was unavailable to do what was needed at the moment it was needed.  How could it be that davka when they needed me, I could barely crawl out of bed!

And the answer is- hit it, Marlo Thomas!- Rabbis are people.  We get sick like everyone else, have better days and worse days like everyone else, and on and on.  And though we try so very hard to meet the needs of those who depend on us in times of sorrow and joy, occasionally, illness and/or vacation do have us unavailable when someone really wishes we were available.

From personal experience I can say that it’s just as hard on the clergy end when that happens as it is on the congregant end.  When we are sick, or away on vacation, and there’s a need- not an innocuous need, but a serious need- that we cannot meet, it makes my colleagues and me feel awful.

Our work is all about being there when we’re needed, and there’s more than enough guilt to go around.  But if, indeed, it’s true that Rabbis are people, then it follows axiomatically that occasionally we will get sick, or go on vacation, or away to convention… and that’s part of being a normal, healthy person.

So the postscript is that I got to the hospital a day later, spoke with the congregant whose father is ailing, and even got into my office for a few hours.  Life goes on, backs get better, and the world continues to function as it should.

I guess it’s a tough lesson to absorb for both rabbis and laypeople, but no one can be there all the time, for every need.  Some rabbis I know try- and it ruins their health and sometimes their marriages.

Rabbis are people.  Thanks, Marlo.