Sermon – Emor: The Role of the Rabbi

Written by Rabbi Hannah Kingston — 18 May 2025

Just over a week ago Pope Leo was elected as the 267^th pope, and he is already making waves in his new role by offering the Vatican for Ukrainian peace talks.

I, like many of us, was struck by the pageantry of the papal election, when 133 Cardinals gathered, cut off from the outside world, to vote for the candidate they wished to become Pope.

I watched, along with the worlds, as plumes of smoke billowed from the chimney – black meaning no pope yet, white meaning the pope has been elected.

And I saw the elation in the faces of those in Rome as Pope Leo was elected quicker than his predecessor Pope Francis, showing the unity of the church in this current time.

Rabbinic ordination is a bit less fancy than this…with no smoke signals, or secret votes, we are ordained by the rabbi of our choosing, surrounded by family and friends, colleagues, and community. Perhaps this is because rabbis, unlike the pope, are not symbols of universal authority. We are not the high priests we read about in our biblical narrative, nor do we profess to be the prophets here to warn about the perils of the future.

I had a fantastic conversation just this week with two of our candidates about the conversion process. One, who of course will remain nameless, was anxious for their appearance before the Beit Din, a formed court of rabbis. They explained their anxiety about rabbinic authority, about the perceived gravitas of these figures, making decisions about the future of their Jewish journey.

The other person in this conversation, appearing before the Beit Din on the same day, responded ‘But Rabbis aren’t holier than thou.’ The truth in this comment made me laugh. The rabbis that this person knew, that had taught them Judaism over the past year, are truly not ‘holier than thou’, but instead normal people, inspired by a love of Judaism, community and ancient texts, who see the rabbinate as a vocation.

And truly this was also my view of the rabbinate before I joined it. I grew up as a fourth generation progressive Jew in a community where rabbis were to be revered, but not feared. My rabbi took the time to come to our Israeli dance performances, his daughters were my closest friends, I ate many meals around his dining room table.

But despite his familiarity, I still didn’t know rabbis that looked like me, rabbis that I could relate to, until much later. It was them, the young women, who made me realise that this was a path I too could follow.

The Progressive rabbinate in the UK shifted hugely just 50 years ago when Leo Baeck College ordained its first female Rabbi, rabbi Jackie Tabick, who was celebrated at a roundtable discussion hosted by Leo Baeck College on Wednesday night of this week. Rabbi Tabick paved the way for women like me to be standing on your bimah. In the past five decades, Leo Baeck College has ordained over 70 female rabbis, myself included. I am grateful for each of those women who went before me, and who have made my journey into the rabbinate a bit smoother.

Prior to the modern innovation of a rabbi, the Jewish community wasn’t so intimately familiar with their faith leaders. The priests of our biblical narrative, governed by the laws read by Felix this morning, were removed from the people, serving the temple instead.

Their calling to priesthood was inherited, passed down from generation to generation, father to son. Their job was not personal or charismatic, their role was required to add structure into Jewish life of the Israelites.

The strict code of conduct under which they practiced, dictated their role down to their dress. Talmud teaches in the words of  Rabbi Inini bar Sason (zevachim 88b):

…just as offerings effect atonement, so too, priestly vestments effect atonement.

The gemarra goes on to tell us that each symbol the priests wore was to protect against basic sins, gossip, idolatry, bloodshed, unchastity, arrogance. But none of these sins were unique to the priests. Their garments served as a reminder that we are all susceptible to these sins and showed that the priests were acting as role models for the moral life all humanity should aspire to.

Although your rabbis today are not like the priests in this way, we do not wear fancy clothes, we too reflect the imperfections of the Jewish community, by living a normal life whilst playing a role in community that is distinctive.  In some ways, assuming a leadership role despite not having a ‘holier than thou’ status, means we can, like the Priests of our biblical narrative, be a role model for living a moral Jewish life, even in the challenging moments.

Later in this week’s parasha, following on from what we read this morning, we hear of two traditions that are closer to the Judaism we practice today, in some ways. And the role the priest plays in these rituals, feels closer to the role of a rabbi as we know it today.

God commands Aaron, the serving High Priest, to light lamps in front of the tent of meeting and to arrange twelve loaves of bread, challah, before God every Shabbat. It is clear that the priest himself is only able to partake in the rituals that directly interact with God, but when it comes to the baking of the bread, the language is ambiguous.

Who could partake in this part of the ritual? Whilst it may seem this is a priestly job, elsewhere in Torah we are told that all who are skilled can partake in this ritual. Rabbinic literature tells of families where even children partook in the baking of the bread.

If this is the case, and all can take part, the priest becomes a facilitator, whose job is utilising the skills of his community, and guiding them through an ancient ritual, ultimately bringing the community closer to God. This role, of Priest as guide, feels far more familiar to the rabbi that we know today.

If even in our parasha we see the role of a priest evolve, how much more so should the role of a rabbi evolve to fulfil the needs of our modern and changing community?

There was a time, even in the progressive movement, where rabbis of the older generations, mostly men known for wearing robes and sporting a beard, wanted children to be seen and not heard. There were rabbis who you feared, rabbis who were not approachable but who held such a presence. Rabbis who held their hands out over their community at the end of every service in a Mr Spok  style final blessing.

Those rabbis are not us, but they were rabbis of a time, whose shoulders we stand on, who began shaping the path of a modern Progressive rabbi. Being part of Progressive Judaism, means that the vision of a rabbi is not stagnant, rather, your rabbis need to progress and change with you and the Judaism you practice. A Progressive Judaism, where there is a deep belief that the synagogue has permanently replaced the temple, the rabbi replaced the priest.

And this Progressive Judaism is being shaped in this very moment, by our community and by each community throughout Liberal and Reform Judaism. This Sunday is the Progressive Judaism EGM, an event that will hopefully declare that our two movements, Reform and Liberal Judaism, are ready to move forward together to shape a new movement shaped on shared values, diversity and hope. The vote on Sunday is a moment in our history, where we make a sacred choice to step into a new chapter in the story of Progressive Judaism, into a moment of co-creation.

I am pleased that our children are growing up in this Progressive Judaism, where rabbis are ‘not holier than thou’. I am grateful to be part of a changing rabbinate, where rabbis can walk alongside you as you travel through life’s journey. And I am proud that our community will be part of a moment in the  history of Judaism in Britain, where we support the creating of a movement, of Progressive Judaism, that continues to reflect our needs today.