Being a rabbi’s partner is much like being that of a therapist AND politician’s partner, and not in the best ways of either. Therapists’ spouses can’t know anything about the patients and thus no notion of what secrets their partner is carrying; then again, their privacy is gloriously intact. Politicians’ spouses do know their partners’ secrets, if only because the entire world is ruthlessly discovering and intently sharing them, and there are also the endless public appearances and spearheading good causes. But at least there are also the money and book deals.
I love the rabbi’s community, but his life – our future life – inexplicably belongs to them. He is a pulpit rabbi, by necessity a public figure, a model of Judaism (fine) and good living (who needs to know?). This invites public scrutiny into our private lives at a level that I, having forsworn a career in politics, had not expected (he argues I do the same w this blog, but at least I haven’t invited any of you over dinner. As an additional distinction, as an introvert, I prefer online communication to dinner party small talk, because I can ignore everyone as needed). Perhaps one day this blog, or something else, will land me a book deal, but until that time, I often feel like we are consigning ourselves to a life of suffering in silence – he because he can’t tell me about the trials he helps congregants face, me because mouthing off to the shul president is rarely good form. I am being flippant; we have an exceptional (and I am beginning to realize, unfortunately rare) degree of communication and brutal honesty in our relationship, and both of us are CHOOSING this life, realizing that we must make our own path, both in rabbi/rebbetzin/shul relationships and extrovert/introvert compatibility (I am NOT being flippant when I say the latter is by far the more difficult). Still, overall, I have wonder: what was God smoking when he made this match?
