Rabbi Aaron Bergman of
Congregation Beth Abraham
Hillel Moses

Rabbi Aaron Bergman

I

Sonny Rollins, Led Zeppelin and Dr. John
cassette tapes vie for space in one of the
crowded bookshelves in Rabbi Aaron
Bergman's office. A CD/cassette player
is jammed into a nook beneath the jum-
ble.
A glance over the rest of the office leaves
no doubt that its denizen is a person of
myriad interests who doesn't care too
much for order. His own paintings, many
of them imbued with mystical themes,
books ofJudaica, philosophy, psychology,
sociology and mythology, and a desk laden
with papers and books-in-progress give
the effect of comfortable chaos.
The screen saver on his personal com-
puter reminds him, "It's The Torah." The
word "stupid" used to follow the message,
but Rabbi Bergman deleted it lest he in-
advertently offend anybody who might
walk into his office.
Rabbi Bergman, 32, is in his element.
But to a casual observer, he looks decid-
edly un-rabbi-like. His longish hair brush-
es the collar of a wine-colored blazer. His
taste in music rims the gamut from heavy
metal to be-bop, and he'll openly tell you
he's "finally getting a grip on my own ig-
norance."
His singularity might stem from an up-
bringing that included public schools, He-
brew school at a Lubavitcher center next
door. to his house in Oak Park, and occa-
sional services at Congregation Beth
Shalom. His family kept kosher, he says,
but they weren't "conventionally religious."
But "it was culturally a very Jewish
house — a lot of Yiddish music. If anything

happened in Israel, you had to gather
around the TV."
His decision to become a rabbi after
graduating from the University of Michi-
gan in 1985 was a surprise to his parents,
David and Sharon.
"I wasn't keeping kosher, I wasn't nec-
essarily just dating Jewish women. I didn't
look like a rabbi — I really didn't at the
time," he says with a laugh.
His relative indifference to tradition
notwithstanding, Rabbi Bergman was in-
tellectually drawn to Judaism from an ear-
ly age and preoccupied with his identity
as a Jew.
At the university, he focused on Jewish
studies, mainly to avoid auditorium-size
classes led by teaching assistants. He fig-
ured he'd go to law school, although his
professors, he says, seemed to know be-
fore he did that he'd become a rabbi.
Today, Rabbi Bergman speculates that
the rabbinate was a way for him to deal
with the collective and individual psychic
wounds of the Holocaust.
"My father is a survivor. I'm sure that
had some influence. My being a rabbi is
sort of an act of vengeance to a degree, to
make right some of the wrongs done to the
family."
A healthy cynicism informed him, too.
Rabbi Bergman realized early on that he
didn't want a lifestyle that meant work-
ing "ten hours a day, 50 weeks a year, so
you could do something interesting those
other two weeks of the year. I wanted to
do something that was interesting all the
time."

He chose Jewish Theological Seminary
for a few reasons. The Conservative move-
ment attracted him because of its com-
mitment to tradition and intellectual
openness, he says.
His decision was sealed after reading
Man Is Not Alone by theologian Abraham
Joshua Heschel, a teacher at JTS.
"I thought if that was the place for him,
that's where I ought to be going," Rabbi
Bergman says.
He considered staying in New York af-
ter his ordination, but chose Beth Abra-
ham Hillel Moses because rabbis are "a
dime a dozen" on the East Coast and he
considered himself fortunate to be able to
return to his hometown. When Rabbi A.
Irving Schnipper retires in July, he will
become sole rabbi of the synagogue, the
youngest senior rabbi in its history.
When he joined Beth Abraham Hillel
Moses two years ago, Rabbi Bergman en-
countered bemusement rather than hos-
tility about his age.
"Some people would say, 'I've got ties
older than you.' But they were accepting
from the beginning. I also knew coming in
that I couldn't expect them to treat me like
I'd been a rabbi for 25 years," he says.
A recent graduate of the synagogue's
school, who also had Rabbi Bergman as a
teacher at Hillel Day School, says his style
and youthfulness bode well for the future
of the synagogue.
"I think the younger generation likes to
interact with him. He makes services fun
and his sermons are always interesting,"
says Cary Apsel of Southfield.

A few weeks ago, prompted by the death
of one of Superman's creators, a Jew, Rab-
bi Bergman was preparing a sermon on
how Superman fits into the Jewish expe-
rience.
"But usually I look to Torah, Midrash
or Talmud and try to make it relevant to
congregants. I try to put myself into it, but
I want to make sure rm not projecting onto
the Torah what isn't there. I'm not a fire=
and-brimstone preacher. I try to inject hu-
mor into it. I have to try to let the tradition
breathe and not just show I'm a learned
guy," he says.
Rabbi Bergman's wife, Ruth, who is ex-
pecting the couple's third child in June,
teaches the Melton adult-education pro-
gram at Midrasha and formerly served as
executive director of the United Synagogue
of Conservative Judaism. They were in-
troduced at a Conservative minyan by
Rabbi Bergman's roommate in New York
and got engaged a few weeks later.
"It was so obvious" they were meant to
be together, he says.
The couple and daughters Rina, 4, and
Shim, 2, live on the grounds of Beth Abra-
ham Hillel Moses.
Although Rabbi Bergman typically .
works 60- to 70-hour weeks, sermoniz-
ing every other week, teaching, studying
and meeting with congregants, his top pri-
ority is family.
"I told my wife that if it got down to a
point where I thought the family was be-
ing sacrificed, I would leave the pulpit rab-
binate. I try to be there for the kids as
much as possible."

