Life Lessons from My Stint as Junior Gabbai
Rabbi Doniel Schur, z”l (1922–2006). Illustration: Yisroel Mendenhall
While sitting in my shul in Memphis, Tennessee, on a recent Shabbos, I watch a group of young boys surrounding the bimah, belting out “Ein Kelokeinu” with infectious enthusiasm. I smile and find myself awash in a sea of memories.
Growing up in the 1980s, shul was a central part of my childhood. Our family was proud to be active members of the Heights Jewish Center in Cleveland, Ohio. We also shared a close relationship with its beloved rabbi and rebbetzin, Rabbi Doniel and Rebbetzin Shoshana Schur, z”l.
My brother Micha, four years older than me, held the prestigious role of “junior gabbai.” His duties came toward the end of Shabbos morning davening, distributing three kibbudim (honors) to other children.
One lucky boy would lead the shul in “Ein Kelokeinu,” “Aleinu” and “Anim Zemiros,” a second would open the aron for “Anim Zemiros,” and a third would lead “Adon Olam.”
As children, we all thought the biggest honor was leading “Ein Kelokeinu,” “Aleinu” and “Anim Zemiros.” We couldn’t wait for our turn! Micha, fully aware of his responsibility, was fair, ensuring every boy had a chance.
After Micha became a bar mitzvah, he left for a yeshivah high school in another state. The shul needed a new junior gabbai. At just nine years old, I was entrusted with this important role.
And then, something went wrong. Never before had I held the power to bestow honor on others—or myself. I became intoxicated with my newfound power. Lord Acton’s words rang true: “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” As the new junior gabbai, I fell into that trap.
I was fair when assigning opening the aron for “Anim Zemiros” and “Adon Olam.” But in my youthful lust for glory, I kept the crown jewel—singing “Ein Kelokeinu,” “Aleinu” and “Anim Zemiros”—for myself.
Never before had I held the power to bestow honor on others—or myself.
About a month into my solo performances, I sensed something was off. Rabbi Schur descended from his seat near the aron kodesh. As he approached, I remember his tallis flowing gracefully behind him.
Gently placing his hands on my shoulders, he bent down, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Akiva, I know how much you enjoy singing ‘Ein Kelokeinu,’ ‘Aleinu,’ and ‘Anim Zemiros’—but so do the other boys. It’s not fair for you to do this every single Shabbos. It’s time to share this with the other kids.”
He motioned for Danny Kraut to come up to the bimah and take over. Rabbi Schur took the tallis I had been wearing, draped it over Danny’s shoulders, and I returned to my seat beside my father.
As I sat there, the weight of my actions sank in. I wasn’t upset at Rabbi Schur—I knew he was right. I had been selfish.
After shul, I spoke with my parents, then approached Rabbi Schur, waiting for him to finish his conversation with some of the congregants. When I had his attention, I apologized, promising to share the honors more fairly. He smiled and gave me a warm hug. I can still feel the soft hairs of his grey beard and moustache against my young face.
I faithfully served my shul as junior gabbai for about four years. Like Micha, I eventually left home for yeshivah high school. But for the remainder of my term, I distributed the kibbudim fairly and equitably, always mindful of the lesson Rabbi Schur had taught me.
More than four decades have passed since I last led my shul in “Ein Kelokeinu.” Over the years, I’ve occasionally caught myself “stealing the spotlight.” In those moments, I remembered my lesson as junior gabbai.
In my present-day shul in Memphis, I watch the enthusiastic boys complete singing “Ein Kelokeinu” together. Taking note of how nicely they share that honor with one another, I smile and think of Rabbi Doniel Schur.
Rabbi Akiva Males serves as the rabbi of Young Israel of Memphis and teaches Torah at the Cooper Yeshiva High School for Boys in Memphis, Tennessee.