Even if you’ve never seen the movie, “The Graduate,” you’ve heard lines from it. You’ve heard the career advice that a family friend sagely offers Dustin Hoffman’s confused character as they walk together next to the family pool during his graduation party: “Plastics, my boy, plastics.”
You’ve heard songs from the memorable Simon and Garfinkel soundtrack. You may even recall the awkward exchange when the young protagonist of the film realizes that that Mrs. Robinson, the wife of one his father’s business partners, has amorous intentions towards him.
It’s a great movie with many memorable elements, but the one that sticks with me doesn’t take place until the very end, just as the credits are about to roll. In those climactic scenes, Dustin Hoffman bursts into the church where his (age appropriate) girlfriend is about to marry someone else. He sweeps her off of the altar, they run together out of the church and they jump on to a passing bus to make their escape.
But then, when most movies would stop and leave the audience in the exhilaration of that dramatic narrative apex, the director, Mike Nichols, keeps the camera on Dustin Hoffman and Katherine Ross sitting in the back of the bus, not talking to each other. Without saying a word, they communicate their discomfort about what might happen next.
In the afterglow of that thrilling rescue, they fidget and squirm and face the realization that they don’t know where the bus is headed. They don’t have anyone waiting to pick them up at the end of the route. They don’t know where they’ll sleep that night or what they’ll be doing in a week, or a month or a year. By the time the credits roll, we realize that we’ve been fooled. We were expecting the end of the story. Instead, we learn that this is the beginning of a new one. After the dramatic tensions have been resolved and the story has reached its conclusion, that’s when the real work begins.
In turning our expectations on their heads, this wonderful film teaches us something about real life. Real life is not like most movies in which problems dissipate, plot lines resolve, and justice wins out by the end of the story. In real life, momentary epiphanies are obscured by the surprise of subsequent realizations as well as the crush of mundane details and the tyranny of daily responsibilities. Moments of clarity give way to the confusion of the conflicting priorities that govern our days. Like this movie, there are so many ways that our tradition teaches us that endings are illusory, but it also teaches us that beginnings are ever-present.
In the Jewish tradition, this is evident in the story of Passover. The Israelites are freed from slavery in Egypt in order to begin the process of learning about freedom – a process that continues until this day. Similarly, the end of Moses’ life is the beginning of our responsibility to discern the will of God through our own exploration of Torah and of ourselves instead of through a prophetic intermediary.
I am approaching the end of my tenure as the rabbi of Kesher Israel and there are so many conclusions that crowd my consciousness: every Sabbath and every Bar and Bat Mitzvah bring me closer to my departure. Every newsletter article, every board meeting, every meeting in the hallway and every interaction with our preschool and religious school students feels like a process of resolution. It is easy to fixate on mourning all of the losses that come with the close of this particular chapter of my life. Yet, as spring unfolds and I turn back to the narratives of our tradition, I am reminded that every ending is also a beginning.
As I contemplate the new beginnings that I am about to encounter, I know that everything that I have learned during my time in Chester County along with all of the relationships that I have formed here have prepared me for them. It is my hope that my community, too, will look at the years that we have spent together and find in them inspiration for the years that are to come.
And, while none of us can know what will come next, I look forward to the excitement of staying in touch and sharing the stories that are about to start.
About Rabbi Eric M. Rosin
Rabbi Eric Rosin began his professional career as an attorney in Los Angeles serving the entertainment industry, but discovered he needed to be doing something he was passionate about. He left the practice of law and began studying for ordination at the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies in Los Angeles. After ordination, Rabbi Rosin served for two years as the assistant rabbi of Temple Beth-El in Richmond, Va., then assumed the pulpit at Kesher Israel Congregation in West Chester, Pa. in 2004.
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