One of my rabbis

I don’t remember who first said it, though Oprah certainly popularized it: people may not remember what you said, but they will remember how you made them feel.

I remember how Paul Reichenbach made me feel.

When I was in my twenties, working for the Union for Reform Judaism - NFTY in Israel out of the Kutz office, Paul was my boss. Every morning I made the reverse commute from the Upper West Side, and I remember pulling into Kutz and looking for Paul’s maroon Volvo. It was, in retrospect, the perfect Paul Reichenbach car: practical, reliable and sturdy. If it was already there, I was disappointed. I hadn’t beaten the boss to work.

I wanted to please Paul. Not because I was afraid of him, but because I admired him.

There are people in our lives who teach us explicitly, and others who teach simply by the way they move through the world. Paul was the latter. He was a dugma ishi. I watched the way he handled difficult situations. He was calm. He figured out what could be solved and solved it. He brought in other people when he needed them. He never seemed overwhelmed, even when I’m sure he was. And there was always a moral center to the way he approached things.

Years later, when I learned formerly about crisis management—break the problem into manageable pieces, fix what you can fix, prioritize, ask for help, and never lose sight of your principles—I realized that I had already seen someone do all of that. Paul just made it look easy.

He was also extraordinarily efficient. Once, when I escorted a group of EIE students to Israel, I had the brilliant idea that I could stay a few extra days and work from the NFTY in Israel office in Jerusalem. This was long before anyone “worked remotely.” Paul thought that was ridiculous. He needed me back at Kutz.

So I flew to Israel, delivered the students, slept one night at Beit Shmuel, and the next morning headed right back to the airport.

I was in my twenties. If someone asked me to do that today, I would emphatically say no.

But Paul would have done it.

As I grew older, I came to appreciate something else about Paul. He was one of the great Jewish professionals of the Reform Movement, yet he wasn’t a rabbi. He didn’t have smicha. And somehow that always mattered to me, because I didn’t either.

But Paul taught. He counseled. He modeled Jewish values. He provided ethical, moral and even spiritual leadership. In every way that mattered to me, Paul was one of my rabbis.

I was fortunate to have several extraordinary mentors during those years. Rabbi Lee Diamond z”l and Rabbi David Forman z”l taught me about Israel and helped shape my relationship with the land and people of Israel. They are both gone now. And now Paul is gone too.

There is something profound about reaching an age when the people who formed you begin to leave.

When we’re children, many of us imagine God in very literal ways—an old man somewhere in the clouds. I never really believed in that version of God. But apparently I still have one slightly pediatric idea about the world to come.

Because if there is something after this life, and if someday I arrive there and hear a voice welcoming me, I think it will sound like Paul Reichenbach.

And I think he’ll say:

“You’re about to have the greatest adventure of your life. Where you’re going, and what you’re going to experience when you get there, will change you in ways I can’t explain to you right now.”

And I’ll know I’m in good hands.

May Paul’s memory be for a blessing.