It was the winter of 1983.

I had been ordained the previous spring.

I was finishing my social work studies and then I planned to… and then I planned to… I had no idea what I was going to do.

Do whatever a rabbi is qualified to do? It didn't appeal to me.

Social work? The education was good, but what was I going to do professionally with the degree?

I knew what I was going to do next.

I walked over to the Columbia Law School building.

I have no idea why someone in the office gave me an application—I think my hands were trembling—and off I went.

I soon stopped in my tracks.

If I wasn't Jewish, I might have called it a "Come to Jesus" moment.

In that split second, I confronted my reality.                                     

"C'mon – Susan and I have been married for nearly 3 years."

"It's time for me to take some responsibility."

"I can't go to my parents and ask for more help with tuition."

That's when it hit me.

"I've got to try a pulpit. Let's just see how it goes."

"Vayeefge'ooh bo malachei Elohim (Gn. 32:2)"

As holy angels of God encountered Jacob in Parshat Vayetze several weeks ago, I believe divine angels met me and stayed with me for many of the next 40 years.

Texas wasn't exactly a place where a Jewish boy from Minnesota expected to find God.

Many North Texans did recognize God there… Roger Staubach, the Dallas Cowboys.

Me? I saw God elsewhere.

I began to see God in my work in the congregation.

I began to see God in moments of challenge for my congregants.

Eventually, even as I failed at times, I began to develop spiritual skills that made a difference to my congregation and community.

I began to call myself the "South-Forkishe Rebbe."

You know why, don't you? Do you remember JR?

No rabbi served a congregation geographically closer to the filming site of "Dallas," that great evening soap opera.

"South-Forkishe Rebbe"—I gladly gave up that self-appointed title in favor of something dearer to me.

I don't know exactly when it occurred, but sometime during those first five years of my rabbinate, I developed a calling.

God never visited me in a Texas-size vision.

I simply recognized this calling and have known it ever since.

I, a rabbi who doubted he would ever take a pulpit, understood that he was doing exactly what he was meant to do.

I have the members of Congregation Beth Torah in Richardson, Texas to thank for my initial development in the rabbinate.

I'm grateful that I recently had the opportunity to share my thoughts with them on the occasion of the congregation's 50th anniversary.

I would spend the next 16 years in three congregations.

When a rabbi spends one year in one congregation and three years in another congregation, one can't ordinarily speak of happiness and profound satisfaction.

However, the 12 years we spent at Tifereth Israel Synagogue in Des Moines, Iowa were wonderful, largely because we raised our children there, created lasting friendships and became an integral part of the community.

The two congregations I served for a brief time presented me with challenges that taught me about myself.

Self-confidence was a key factor.

I was hardly the best rabbi I had ever met… but I was a lot better than I thought.

What I would learn at B'nai Amoona in St. Louis and the Marlboro Jewish Center in NJ would prepare me for my longest term of service as Senior Rabbi of Ahavath Achim Synagogue in Atlanta, Georgia and the most significant challenge of my career.

The young man who was ordained in May 1982 turned to his new congregation twenty-two years later in 2004 and said in effect, "Let's take some time and try to figure it out."

Though my immediate predecessor and Sandler family rabbi in Minneapolis, Arnold Goodman, of blessed memory, was in Israel, he remained a towering presence in our congregation.

When more than a few people said to me, "You've got big shoes to fill," my response was not meant to be cute. I was serious. I said, "I just have to fill my own shoes."

That's what I did here for 15 years as Senior Rabbi and nearly five years as Rabbi Emeritus.

Here at AA, I worked alongside the very best and the most committed professionals of my career.

When I single out Rabbi Rosenthal, Barry Herman, Susie Silverboard, and Jill Rosner for praise, I do so hesitantly because I have been most fortunate to work closely with every member of our staff.

Every single one of them has enhanced the life of our congregation and its programs.

I thank them for their commitment and dedicated efforts.

One other group of people is simply incomparable: Chris, Ken, Wesley, Ian, Anika and all who have supported their efforts over many years.

Our facilities staff is second to none.

For years, along with Rabbi Rosenthal, I sought to help our congregation become a more inclusive one. What had been unthinkable a decade or so earlier—namely welcoming and integrating those who had been born outside the Jewish community into our AA family—became desirable.

Along with caring lay leadership, we worked hard to make welcoming a natural and central part of our congregation's culture.

We largely succeeded.

But congregational life was changing.

Jewish life was changing.

I felt like some aspects of congregational life were passing me by.

So, more than five years ago, I stood in front of you on Rosh Hashanah describing what senior rabbinic succession would look like in our congregation, and I began the process of stepping back in favor of Rabbi Rosenthal.

My successes have never gone to my head, nor has my overwhelmingly positive experience of the congregational rabbinate dissuaded me from believing what I told you five-plus years ago.

So, today, I reach the end… of sorts.

Yes, I know circumstances will likely occur that lead me to officiate or speak from this bimah again.

If so, I only hope the opportunity arises before much of the congregation looks curiously at me and a person turns to his or her neighbor and says, "Who is that?"

Several years ago, I told you that Susan and I aren't going anywhere.

Atlanta has become our home.

We have now lived here longer than in any other community.

Truth be told, I wish I could live near all of our grandchildren.

But we raised our children to grow wings and fly and so they did… To Brooklyn, to Washington DC, and to Duluth.

Susan and I count our blessings every day.

Before I conclude, I want to thank you, the sacred community of Ahavath Achim.

Over my 40-plus years in the congregational rabbinate, I have heard a number of disturbing things from my rabbinic peers.

Colleagues have described awful experiences with congregants.

With very few exceptions, I can say, "I never had such things happen to me."

Congregants have approached me over the years and said, "I wouldn't want to be you… 750 bosses."

Each time I responded the same way. "I never felt like I had 750 bosses."

For 20 years, you have interacted with me in respectful and caring ways.

What more could a rabbi ask?

I have learned that if you—as a rabbi—are genuine, thoughtful, caring, and reliable, people will treat you respectfully and add blessings to your life.

Since the summer of 1983 I have loved being a Rabbi.

What would I have changed?

Well, I would have tried to avoid some of the painful times, but otherwise, I wouldn't change a thing.

Who wouldn't want to be able to say that after a long career?

We gather this Shabbat morning during the holiday of Chanukah.

Tonight, each of us will add a candle to our Chanukiah.

We will continue to add a candle each evening until every candle-holder on the Chanukiah contains a flaming candle.

Each evening, we increase the light.

Yes, we thereby increase beauty, but Hillel told us that we add something else, something that ought to be enduring.

In telling us to add a candle each evening of the holiday, Hillel insisted, "Ma'alim b'kdusha…"

We must increase holiness within our lives.

To add light, to add insight and possibility, is to add sacred quality to our lives.

For 40-plus years in the rabbinate, including 20 years here at AA, I have sought to nurture the presence of kedusha, of holiness, in your lives and in the lives of my congregants in other communities.

Thank you for contributing kedusha to my life.

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Urim Samayach.