Key Takeaways
1. Embrace the Heart of a Stranger: Finding Belonging in Difference
But when we understand what it feels like to be an outsider, we cultivate a radical compassion for others who have been dismissed.
Boundary crossing. Angela Buchdahl's life began as a boundary-crosser, born in Korea to a Buddhist mother and Jewish American father, then immigrating to Tacoma, Washington. This early experience of being an outsider, often feeling like a "freak" or "pathfinder," instilled in her a profound empathy for others who feel dismissed or marginalized. Her mother, Yi Sulja, also a boundary-crosser, taught her to embrace the heart of a stranger, a core theme that shaped Angela's spiritual journey.
Welcoming others. Her mother's experience as an immigrant, initially feeling like a "resident alien" in the Jewish community, spurred her to become a tireless welcomer of Korean strangers. She co-founded the Korean Women's Association (KWA), which grew into a major social service organization, helping thousands of immigrants with everything from housing to language. This demonstrated that embracing the stranger is a spiritual practice that transforms both the giver and receiver, turning the outsider into a host.
Personal transformation. Buchdahl realized that her own sense of being a stranger—a mixed-race, interfaith child in a predominantly white Jewish community—was, paradoxically, the most Jewish thing about her. This understanding allowed her to transform feelings of exclusion into empathy and resilience, ultimately leading her to a deeper sense of belonging and purpose. It taught her that home is not a fixed place but something you create through connection and compassion.
2. The Unlikely Path to Purpose: A Call Shaped by Music and Text
The first tug, at age ten, came through Jewish music: a vocalization of longing, release, pain, and praise that bypassed the intellect and channeled to every nerve ending in my body.
Music as a gateway. Buchdahl's spiritual journey began with Jewish music, particularly the folk-inspired melodies of Debbie Friedman, introduced by her childhood teacher, Ruthie. This music resonated deeply, making her feel alive and connected to God, fostering a visceral sense of belonging. This early passion for song leading at Camp Swig and Temple Beth El became a foundational element of her rabbinic calling.
Textual revelation. At sixteen, a transformative experience studying Talmud in Israel ignited her intellectual curiosity. The ancient questions and rabbinic commentaries felt profoundly relevant, revealing the rabbi's role as an immersive participant in an ongoing conversation about life's big questions. This intellectual engagement, combined with her musical passion, solidified her desire to pursue the rabbinate.
Divine guidance. Buchdahl's "call" to the rabbinate was not a sudden, blinding flash but a gradual unfolding, a "gasp" of "What? Me? A rabbi?" Mentors like Rabbi Richard Rosenthal and Rabbi Michael Paley, despite initial doubts or challenges to her Jewish status, acknowledged her path. This journey, marked by lucky breaks and stubborn determinism, felt guided by a "Divine Hand," affirming that her unique background was part of a larger plan.
3. Identity is a Choice: Reaffirming Your Core Self
It wasn’t until my mother posed that naked question—can you actually stop being a Jew?—that I realized my Jewishness was not superficial, but bone deep.
Challenged identity. Growing up, Buchdahl's mixed-race and patrilineal Jewish identity was frequently questioned, especially outside her liberal Reform bubble. Experiences like her Bronfman fellowship in Israel, where peers and even an Orthodox rabbi questioned her Jewish status, were "gutting" and led to profound self-doubt. She felt like an "imposter" or "counterfeit Jew" due to her "halting Hebrew" and lack of traditional religious literacy.
The power of giyur. Despite believing she was already fully Jewish, Buchdahl chose to undergo giyur (conversion/reaffirmation) as a "reaffirmation ceremony." Rabbi Elliot Dorff's perspective—that giyur is an acknowledgment of an existing Jewish soul, not a complete change—transformed her understanding. This ritual, performed with a Reform beit din and immersion in a mikvah, became a powerful act of self-acceptance and a "rebirth" into a more grounded Jewish identity.
Embracing complexity. Her mother's blunt question, "Is that really possible, Angela?" regarding stopping being Jewish, was a pivotal moment. It revealed that her Jewishness was "bone deep," intertwined with her Korean and female identities. This realization allowed her to celebrate the "many threads" that made up her Judaism, no longer needing to apologize for her unique background but embracing it as wholly who she is.
4. Beyond Perfection: Finding Holiness in Brokenness
There is a crack, a crack in everything / That’s how the light gets in.
Brokenness as inheritance. Kabbalah, the Jewish mystical tradition, offers a creation narrative where divine light shatters into vessels, scattering holy sparks. This perspective asserts that "brokenness, not perfection, is our true inheritance," and our task is to find these sparks and repair the world. This reframes flaws not as failures but as integral to character and potential for genius, as seen in figures like Beethoven or Stephen Hawking.
Kintsugi and repair. A personal experience with a shattered Korean antique vase, a gift from her mother, led Buchdahl to the Japanese art of kintsugi, "golden repair." The vase, mended with lacquer and gold, became stronger and more beautiful with its scars, symbolizing how brokenness can lead to new stories and enhanced beauty. This act of repair, performed by a Japanese artisan, felt like a "cosmic tikkun" or golden repair, bridging cultures and healing historical wounds.
The krechtz and renewal. The Jewish "krechtz," a mournful sigh or wail, is an essential expression of sorrow and survival. It's a raw, jagged sound that allows for emotional release and regeneration. Rabbi Nachman of Breslov taught that a sincere krechtz, expelling sound from deep within, automatically replenishes the body, connecting to the "ruach-of-life" that created the world. This practice acknowledges pain but builds regeneration into the sigh itself.
5. Love as Action: The Power of Kindness and Connection
V’ahavta l’reyacha kamocha: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
Love as responsibility. The central command in the Torah, "Love your neighbor as yourself," is not about emotion but about action and responsibility. It means performing loving deeds: visiting the sick, showing interest in friends, honoring dignity, and contributing to justice. This obligation stems from the "Oneness of God," implying interconnectedness and a duty to protect one another.
Welcoming the stranger. The Torah's emphasis on hachnasat orchim (welcoming guests) is a core teaching, exemplified by Abraham and Sarah. Their radical hospitality, even in a compromised state, nourished their own hearts and transformed them from strangers to hosts. Buchdahl's mother embodied this, becoming a welcomer who helped other immigrants, realizing that their newness made her "the American now."
Friendship for higher purpose. Maimonides' highest form of friendship, chaver ma’alah, is a "friend for higher purpose"—a candid, clarifying partner who shares core values and collaborates on making those values manifest. Buchdahl's friendship with Abby Pogrebin, her synagogue president, exemplifies this, transforming their bond into a powerful engine for impacting their community. Such friendships, though costly in time and vulnerability, are essential for achieving one's highest purpose.
6. The Courage to Lead: Balancing Ambition and Authenticity
I knew at that moment that I could never hope to be a senior rabbi like Peter Rubinstein. Just a senior rabbi like me.
Breaking barriers. Buchdahl's journey to become the first female senior rabbi of Central Synagogue, a historic institution, was fraught with challenges. She faced doubts about her "gravitas" and whether a woman, especially a mother, could manage the demanding role. Her mentor, Rabbi Peter Rubinstein, questioned how she would balance the job with three young children, a concern rarely posed to male colleagues.
Authentic leadership. Despite these doubts, Buchdahl chose to "lean in," recognizing that her ambition was not "unseemly" but necessary for gender equity in leadership. She realized she couldn't be a senior rabbi like Peter Rubinstein, but rather "a senior rabbi like me," embracing her unique approach to leadership and motherhood. This meant prioritizing family dinners and finding ways to integrate her children into her work, rather than sacrificing one for the other.
Humility and purpose. The Jewish concept of anavah (humility) is not self-effacement but a clear-eyed self-assessment to assume one's rightful place in service of a higher purpose. Buchdahl learned that false modesty can be irresponsible, and taking up appropriate space, even when perceived as arrogant, is necessary for leadership. Her decision to accept the White House Hanukkah party invitation, despite initial reluctance, exemplified this, representing her community and her unique identity.
7. Shabbat and Stillness: Building a Sanctuary in Time
Sacred time is designed to help you see yourself and the world around you as whole, enough, perfect as is.
The gift of rest. The concept of Shabbat, a "sanctuary in time," is a radical innovation in Judaism, designed to counter relentless striving and productivity. It's a day set apart from ordinary time (kodesh and chol), where one focuses on being present, appreciating gifts and blessings, and feeling whole. Buchdahl and her husband adopted traditional Shabbat practices, finding them "surprisingly liberating" and essential for family cohesion.
Unplugging for connection. By suspending electronics, travel, and work on Shabbat, the family created space for leisurely lunches, board games, reading, and naps. This intentional pause allowed for deeper connection with loved ones and oneself. Her son Eli's profound observation, "Mom, this is the point of life," during a quiet Shabbat afternoon, underscored the value of these moments of complete presence and contentment.
Effort in rest. Ironically, rest requires effort—a conscious letting go of productivity and the desire for more. The pandemic, an "involuntary sabbatical," taught Buchdahl to trust in the possibility of quiet and unexpected connection, even in scarcity. This period of forced stillness, including daily meditation, helped her find a more personal voice and realize that a "fallow field" can still bear fruit, nourishing and anchoring one in uncertainty.
8. A Mixed Multitude: Redefining Jewish Identity and Community
But Jews have never been just one color or cluster of chromosomes. When the Torah first calls us a “Nation”—when we come out of Egypt—we are described as an erev rav, a “mixed multitude.”
Debunking "race." Buchdahl directly challenged the notion of Judaism as a "race," explaining that this construct originated from oppressors like Pharaoh and the Spanish Inquisition to dehumanize Jews. She emphasized that Jews have never been homogenous, citing the biblical description of the Israelites leaving Egypt as an erev rav (mixed multitude), including converts and even Egyptians. This diversity is a foundational aspect of Jewish peoplehood.
Invisible Jews of Color. Her sermon on race, prompted by a Black congregant's experience of feeling like an outsider, highlighted the marginalization of Jews of Color within mainstream Jewish communities. Despite representing 12-15% of American Jews, they often face questions about their authenticity. Buchdahl's own experiences of being asked "Are you Jewish?" despite wearing a Chai necklace, resonated with many who felt their Jewishness questioned or diminished.
Covenant over chromosomes. Buchdahl advocated for redefining Jewish peoplehood not by race or "bloodline" but by a shared covenant with God and a commitment to repairing the world. She argued that every Jew who feels responsible to this covenant, whether by birth, adoption, or conversion, should be counted as an equal. This inclusive vision aims to transform the Jewish community into one where "the color of my skin and the shape of my features were no longer the markers of my authenticity."
9. Hope in the Face of Despair: Choosing Life and Peace
Because we, as a Jewish people, are unshakably, doggedly, eternally captives of hope.
Unsettling realities. The October 7th massacre in Israel left Buchdahl and the Jewish world reeling, facing "Ein Milim" (no words) to describe the brutality. The subsequent global response, including the valorization of Hamas's actions and the "ethically opaque" statements from moral leaders, was deeply unsettling. This period highlighted the lethal power of words and the deafening impact of silence in the face of barbarity.
Choosing life. Despite the despair, Buchdahl found grounding in Israel, witnessing "breathtaking resilience" and a refusal to crumble. The Israeli response, from thousands of volunteers to families choosing to celebrate weddings amidst captivity, embodied the Jewish principle of pikuach nefesh (preserving human life) and the spiritual defiance of choosing life even when it feels impossible. The naming of five babies "Be'eri" after a devastated kibbutz symbolized reclaiming life-giving meaning.
Captives of hope. Buchdahl confessed her struggle to find optimism but ultimately affirmed that Jews are "unshakably, doggedly, eternally captives of hope." This hope is not blind faith but a trust in an outcome for which there is no other alternative, requiring even the smallest steps toward peace. Rachel Goldberg-Polin's poem, speaking of shared tears and planting "one tiny seed" of hope in the "desert of despair," provided a powerful spiritual strategy for imagining a different, gentler future.
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