By Rabbi Einav Symons

For many years, my vocation as a Jewish educator has been rooted in classrooms, sanctuaries, and communal spaces where learning unfolds through celebration, inquiry, and tradition. My days were shaped by lesson plans, Hebrew letters, festivals, youth programs, and the delicate work of guiding young people toward identity and meaning. I believed this was my singular calling. Jewish education has always carried the sacred responsibility of shaping identity, nurturing curiosity, and transmitting values across generations. It is work grounded in relationship, patience, and the belief that every learner possesses a spark of divine potential.

As I now walk the path of chaplaincy as an ordained rabbi, I find myself at a profound crossroads where two callings converge. Though chaplaincy unfolds in hospital rooms, emergency bays, and quiet hallways, its core feels deeply connected to the foundation of Jewish education. Both vocations share a commitment to presence, compassion, meaning-making, and spiritual accompaniment.
In Jewish educational settings, teaching goes far beyond textbooks. It involves listening to students as they struggle with identity, family dynamics, grief, hope, and uncertainty. Chaplaincy, too, is built on the art of listening — listening beneath the words, to the questions and fears that remain unspoken. Where education invites growth through structured inquiry, chaplaincy invites growth through life’s most unpredictable lessons: illness, transition, vulnerability, healing, and loss. In both spaces, the “curriculum” is the human soul.
Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, “What we need more than anything else is not textbooks but textpeople,” reminding us that scholarship lives inside human beings. In chaplaincy, I witness this vividly. Illness, fear, hope, and resilience become sacred texts. Patients’ stories are commentaries on faith; whispered prayers are midrash; tears are liturgy.

Judaism teaches that within every person exists a ner tamid, an eternal flame. As an educator, I have spent years tending small flames — helping children find wonder in Torah and creative expression in ritual. In the hospital, I now encounter that same flame in adults of all backgrounds, often flickering at delicate moments. Chaplaincy asks me to sit gently beside that flame, helping patients and families find meaning, comfort, and dignity when life becomes fragile.

Rabbi Nachman of Breslov taught, “If you believe breaking is possible, believe fixing is possible.” With students, these words encouraged perseverance. With patients, they soothe fear and stabilize trembling spirits. Tikkun hanefesh — repair of the soul — becomes tender, immediate work. Sometimes the repair is comfort; sometimes dignity; sometimes simply being witnessed.

Whether in a classroom or at a bedside, I am not directing a performance but holding space, encouraging others to discover their voice. Jewish education creates sacred learning environments; chaplaincy creates sacred emotional and spiritual environments. Both require humility: the ability to sit with uncertainty, to ask better questions, to trust the process unfolding in another person.

One of the blessings — and challenges — of both professions is that the fruits of our labor are rarely immediate. As a Jewish educator, I seldom saw the full arc of a student’s growth; yet seeds eventually bloom. As a chaplain, I may meet a patient only once, but a single encounter can shape the spiritual memory of a family for years. Pirkei Avot reminds us: It is not upon you to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist from it.

This crossroads is not merely professional; it is deeply personal. After years of teaching children to see holiness in everyday life, I now encounter suffering and resilience at close range. My own history with illness and loss shapes the compassion I bring. Jewish education gave me language for meaning; chaplaincy gives me opportunities to practice it.

Here, teaching and healing, ritual and presence intertwine. My callings evolve without replacing one another. They deepen how I listen, lead, and love. The work ahead may be unpredictable, but it is illuminated by two traditions of care: the education of the mind, and the tending of the soul. And in that sacred convergence, I feel deeply at home.

Rabbi Einav Symons Is the Religious School Director of the Buffalo Community of Learners and a Chaplain at Sisters Hospital.