Where Would I Be Without Rabbi Mort Hoffman?

Every rabbi has a rabbi to whom they can point as the reason they are a rabbi today. Mine was Rabbi Mort Hoffman. Let me explain.

I arrived on the campus of Michigan State University in East Lansing, Michigan, in late August 1994. I had returned from my first visit to Israel only weeks prior and was now frustratingly trying to figure out how to get back to Israel as soon as possible. The term "Gap Year" wasn't as popular twenty years ago as it is today, but I was regretting not registering for a freshman year program like USY's Nativ. I had fallen in love with Israel and was not excited about commencing my four year experience at MSU.

During "Welcome Week," I received a call on my dorm room land line phone (remember, this was 1994!). The voice on the other end introduced himself as Rabbi Morton Hoffman of the local Congregation Shaarey Zedek.

He told me that he had gotten my name from someone at the Michigan State Hillel house who said I could teach Hebrew at his congregation's religious school. I acknowledged that I had a Jewish day school education, spoke and understood Hebrew, but had no teaching experience. Rabbi Hoffman said that he didn't expect I would have had any teaching experience since I was a college freshman. He then went on to explain that his wife, Aviva, had been diagnosed with breast cancer and would be unable to teach her 4th grade class while she was undergoing aggressive treatment. Hebrew school was about to begin in a week and he was now scrambling to find a temporary replacement for her.

Rabbi Mort Hoffman and Jason Miller (April 1998) at Michigan State University

Robin Williams, Jacob in the Torah and Depression

I’ve never cried when a celebrity suddenly dies. It has always seemed like something that just happens. Certainly, it’s a sad day when an actor or musician, athlete or politician has “cashed in their chips” early. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’ve been shocked and saddened when I’ve learned of the lethal overdose of a promising young athlete or when the news breaks that a famous actor has lost his battle with cancer. But Robin Williams wasn’t just any comedian. He wasn’t your typical actor or entertainer. Robin Williams was the textbook definition of “comedic genius.”

Robin Williams grew up in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan only a few miles from my childhood home and, while not Jewish by birth, he was widely known as an honorary Jew – both for his brand of humor (always peppered with a Yiddish expression and Jewish inflection) and for his unwavering commitment to Jewish causes. I’ve cried several times in the past couple of days since hearing of his untimely death. He was a brilliant at entertaining us.

Like most of my generation, I was first introduced to the silliness of Robin Williams as a young child tuning in to every episode of “Mork and Mindy.” It was my mimicking of Robin’s goofy antics in kindergarten that led the teacher to tell my parents I was a “class clown.” And then I found my father’s audio cassettes of his standup routines, “Robin Williams: A Night at the Met” and “Reality… What a Concept.” I listened to those tapes dozens of times and brought them with me to summer camp to entertain my friends. The counselors told my parents I should be a standup comedian. Not long after that my dad took me to see “Good Morning Vietnam” in the theater and then I bought the video tape as soon as it came out, memorizing long segments of the movie and then performing them in front of my class at my Jewish day school. The teacher told my parents that I should tone down my R-rated humor.