Until I turned 31, my organized Jewish involvement consisted of attending a friend’s daughter’s bat mitzvah and a couple of seders. The thought that I might become a rabbi—preposterous!

This all changed after my parents died, and after attending the Boston Biennial in 2001.

At my mother’s memorial service, the rabbi invited me to say Kaddish, so I went to Shabbat services at Congregation Ner Tamid in Las Vegas, and I cried for the entire hour. In my grief, I started attending services and asking questions. Soon I became involved in Sisterhood and was part of a small group who started our Saturday morning minyan. Then I joined our synagogue’s Board. Making use of my graphic design skills, I produced the weekly service handout and prepared all the synagogue’s advertising. Volunteering was meaningful.

I was now interested in creating meaningful “young adult” programming at our synagogue, so Assistant Rabbi Jennifer Weiner suggested attending the upcoming URJ Biennial—I’d learn about existing programs and experience different worship models. I was on a tight budget, so she invited me to share her hotel room. Plus, there was a reduced registration fee for a brand new track with my name on it: “Striking Sparks, Raising Ruach,” aimed at young adults aged 25–39.

“Striking Sparks” was everything I’d been looking for. Here I was, surrounded by sixty other young people who either were doing the kind of work I wanted to do or, like me, trying to start something new. Two dynamic young rabbis, Jonah Pesner and Jeremy Morrison, told us about their exciting young adult programming (with reduced membership fees)—the Riverway Project at Boston’s Temple Israel. They spoke lovingly about their passion for “meeting the people where they are”—how important it is to make people of all backgrounds and levels of knowledge feel comfortable in finding their Jewish home. They were helping me—a not very knowledgeable Jew—find my place in Judaism.

On Friday night our “Striking Sparks, Raising Ruach” group went to Temple Israel for services. The synagogue’s rabbis and the cantor stood together leading the “guitar service,” and the music didn’t stop from the time we walked into the sanctuary until the sermon. It was transforming.

Then at Shabbat dinner in Temple Israel’s social hall, Rabbi Norman J. Cohen of the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion delved into the Torah portion “Lech L’cha,” in which God calls out to Abram to leave his homeland in Haran and journey to the land of Canaan. It would have been far easier for Abram not to take the risk to leave Haran, Rabbi Cohen explained to us. The hard part was answering “the call” with “Hineni”—I am here—and leaving his place of comfort. “What is your Canaan?” he asked us. It was as if he were asking me, “What would it take for you to leave Haran?”

I returned from Biennial invigorated and full of ideas. More importantly, I was empowered…if all those people could actualize their visions of Jewish community, why couldn’t I? What was stopping me?

I gathered together a few people to make young adult programs happen at our synagogue. We partnered with the JCC to create religious, social, and educational events; and initiated an innovative dues structure for young adults. We were reaching unaffiliated Jews.

And yet…I looked at my life, and I was still in Haran.

Being a lawyer wasn’t unpleasant, but I didn’t feel I was doing enough to make the world a better place. As a civil litigation attorney I was primarily working to save big insurance companies money.

I felt ever more drawn to Judaism and to the synagogue. I loved the mental gymnastics of figuring out the “what” and “why” of our choices as Reform Jews. I loved helping the women in the Sisterhood kitchen prepare onegs each Shabbat. The Biennial had exposed me to a spectrum of new Jewish music, and I loved thinking about how different music could be selected to create the right atmosphere for prayer. It was time for me to turn my avocation into my vocation. It was time for me to leave Haran.

Becoming a rabbi wouldn’t be easy. I would have to satisfy the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion’s admission committee and pass a Hebrew entrance exam—though I was practically unschooled in Hebrew.

With the help of a tutor, I learned college-level Hebrew in ten weeks; we met three nights a week, then four nights a week, finally five nights a week. I was still working full-time as a lawyer and no one knew of my plans. My friends were worrying because I had to go to “meetings” all the time.

Fourteen months after Dr. Cohen asked us about our Haran, I convinced the HUC-JIR admissions committee of my readiness to enter rabbinical school. And I passed the Hebrew test.

At the age of 39 I started a whole new life as a rabbi. The 2001 Boston Biennial struck my sparks and raised my ruach. And like Abram, my answer is “Hineni—I am here.”

Cookie Lea Olshein is a fifth-year HUC-JIR rabbinic student in Los Angeles.