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FRIDAY FEBRUARY 19, 1988
Continued from preceding page
was little dispassionate about
the study of religion. From
my first day at the "Div
School," as it was known
familiarly on campus, I felt
emotionally engaged and
spiritually challenged.
At first, I tried to resist. In
those opening days of school,
I carried a small reporter's
notebook, ostensibly as a way
to record the experience, but
more importantly to try to re-
tain the aura of a detached
observer so well honed as a
newspaper reporter. But soon,
I put the notebook aside and
let myself go, delving into the
New Ibstament, the Koran
and the Upanishads.
No, I did not convert. My
Jewish identity, cultivated
through a warm Orthodox
upbringing and an intensive
•yeshiva education, never real-
ly came under siege. But
what did happen was an ex-
traordinary dialogue, one that
began between the religious
ideas I encountered and
Jewish ideas within myself.
The dialogue continued every
day in the classroom, in Bud-
dhist meditation, in Christian
prayer, in Moslem poetry and
in fellowship around my own
Sabbath table, around which
I assembled people of various
faiths.
As a result of these en-
counters, I learned how
others experience their faith.
In short, I learned that the
professor was right on that
first day: If you know one
religion, you don't know any.
Or to put it another way: If
you know many religions, you
can begin to understand your
own.
What happened at Harvard
was that I learned not only
about others, but about
myself. My Judaism was
enriched and broadened in, of
all places, a Christian divini-
ty-school. For a time, in fact,
I seriously considered becom-
ing a rabbi. The seed of the
idea began with an innocent
comment of a neighbor and
grew to be an obsession that
kept me awake nights think-
ing. "What is it that is really
important in life?"
The neighbor was a retired
career Army officer in his 60's
with the unlikely name of Bill
Doe. He lived next door to the
house we rented on Chester
Street in Somerville, about a
mile from the school. Bill,
who spent most of the day on
his stoop smoking cigars and
swapping stories with pass-
ers-by, was the unofficial
mayor of Chester Street. On
the day I moved in with my
wife, Shira, and our infant
son, Adam, he arrived to in-
troduce himself. I told him
my name and that I was from
New York and a new student
at Harvard Divinity School.
A few days later, as I
walked home from school,
Bill, engaged in conversation
with another neighbor, waved
and called in a booming voice,
"Hello, Rabbi!" I went over to
explain that I was not a rab-
bi, just a student of religion,
but he was already introduc-
ing me. "Rabbi, I would like
you to meet the Judge." The
Judge was a small man, long
retired from the bench, who
also smoked cigars.
I smiled politely, shook
hands and excused myself,
thinking, "I guess there isn't
much harm in him thinking
I'm a rabbi." Besides, I
What we
encountered at the
Div School of dance
was spiked hair,
fishnet stockings,
short skirts
and couples,
both heterosexual
and homosexual,
dancing to U-2 and
Michael Jackson.
thought later, maybe that is
what I should be doing with
my life — finish this year at
the Div School, quit the
newspaper business and en-
roll in a rabbinical seminary.
Maybe being a rabbi was my
true calling.
I was especially susceptible
to the idea of becoming a rab-
bi because I was surrounded
.at school by people studying
for the ministry. These were
different from the caricature
of the self-centered, upwardly
mobile, competitive student
of today. At the Div School,
there were men and women
interested in serving God and
society in an age when many
seemed to serve themselves.
In a refreshing way, attend-
ing Harvard Divinity was a
throw-back to my student
days of the late 1960's, when
questions like "What are you
going to do for society?" and
"What are you doing to-
night?" seemed so much more
pressing than "How are you
going to make a living?"
At the Div School, hair was
worn a little longer than at
Harvard's other schools. The
jeans tended to be torn and
faded rather than designer.
From 1967 to 1971 I at-
tended Yeshiva College in
Manhattan, the men's
undergraduate school of
Yeshiva University. The
rebellion, excitement and tur-
moil of the times had not
escaped my conservative col-
lege. After all, we were only a
few subway stops from Col-
umbia, the epicenter of stu-
dent rebellion in 1968. We felt
the shock waves and sensed
the liberation it helped
spread.
Back in school in the 80's,
I found the Div School and
its values familiar and com-
forting. It was, however, no
place to study to be a rabbi.
Harvard was founded 351
years ago as a training
ground for Puritan ministers.
The divinity school was spun
off as a separate theological
school in 1816, becoming,
after Harvard Medical
School, the university'second
professional school.
During the 19th century
the divinity school main-
tained an affiliation with the
Unitarian church and served
as a principal training ground
for its church leaders. In the
early 1900's it severed its
denominational ties and
began training ministers for
all Protestant churches.
The Div School does not or-
dain anyone, however. It
trains students in theology
and the Scripture and then
sends them back to their par-
ticular churches to be or-
dained. Over the years, the
school has developed a strong
department for the teaching
of world religions. All can-
didates for the Christian
ministry must take one
course in world religions in
each year of the three-year
program. The Div School
faculty is as much known for
its Islamicists and Hindu
scholars as its Christian
theologians.
Much of this background is
in the Div School catalogue,
which conjures up the image
of a devout and serious, if not
celibate, student body, deter-
mined to shape the future of
the American Protestant
church. At least, that is what
my wife and I thought until
we arrived at the orientation
party during the first week of
classes.
The event sounded serious,
even though it was billed as
a dance, so we split the dif-
ference and wore khaki and
tweed. Anticipating an even-
ing of hymns and mulled
cider, we told the baby sitter
we'd be home early.
What we encountered at
the Div School dance was
spiked hair, fishnet stockings,
short skirts and couples, both
heterosexual and homosex-
ual, dancing to U-2 and
Michael Jackson. We called
the baby sitter and told her
we'd be late.
Over the next few months,
I was to get to know my
fellow students and their
stories. There was Meg — the
one with the fishnet stock-
ings — who had given up her
job as a buyer at Lord &
Taylor to become a Unitarian
minister. And there was
Justin, a 23-year-old
Midwesterner from a family