From the time he was a young boy in Munich through his decades as a pioneer of interfaith cooperation, Rabbi Herman Schaalman never stopped searching for God.
Even after turning 100 in April, the longtime leader of Emanuel Congregation in Chicago’s Edgewater neighborhood and former president of the nation’s Reform rabbis continued to evolve and experience spiritual awakenings. Forever shaped by the horrors of the Holocaust from which he escaped, Schaalman taught at a number of Chicago-area Christian seminaries, devoured volumes of theological exegesis and forged deep friendships with spiritual leaders that enriched his faith and the city he called home.
"One of his absolute convictions is that the quality of Chicago and our willingness to talk across normal boundaries sets Chicago apart and makes it fertile ground for pioneering interfaith work," said Rabbi Michael Zedek, one of Schaalman’s successors at Emanuel.
Schaalman, the longest-serving leader of Emanuel Congregation and a powerful force in shaping interreligious conversations in Chicago and beyond, died Tuesday at his home, Zedek said. His wife of 76 years, Lotte, died Jan. 13.
In addition to more than 30 years as the rabbi of Emanuel — and nearly 30 more as rabbi emeritus — Schaalman participated in groundbreaking conversations among Reform rabbis about interfaith marriage and whether children with a Jewish father can be considered Jewish, prompting the movement to embrace both. He also opened the nation’s first summer camp for Jewish youth in Oconomowoc, Wis., a concept replicated across the country that endures today.
Born in 1916 and raised in a traditional Jewish family in Munich, Schaalman got his first lesson in anti-Jewish sentiment at age 7 when some friends believed that he had "killed Christ," a belief among some Christians that Jewish people as a whole were responsible for the death of Jesus. For his bar mitzvah, Schaalman memorized a Torah portion from Leviticus 19, the passage including the commandment to love the stranger.
"What the stranger is, how do you react to the stranger and what claim does a stranger have on you, particularly when you live a consciously Jewish life, became a real issue for me," Schaalman said in an interview with the Tribune in 2011.
Though Schaalman did not want to leave Germany, his father and rabbi urged him to join four other rabbinical students accepting scholarships to the U.S. in 1935 to attend Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati.
"Those five men quite literally changed the face of liberal Judaism in America," Zedek said. "While they all had impact, clearly none any more so than Herman Schaalman."
Schaalman married his wife, Lotte, the day after he was ordained in May 1941. While Schaalman served a congregation in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, the couple had two children, Susan and Michael.
By the end of World War II, Schaalman heard horrific reports of the Holocaust, or Shoah, out of his homeland. While he had been raised to believe God was the almighty ruler of the universe, he could no longer offer encouragement about living in a world under a God that would allow that milf porno to happen.
"I simply couldn’t face the congregation and do what I needed to do for them with a kind of integrity," Schaalman told the Tribune. "The Shoah was an impenetrable wall that simply excluded me from what I thought I needed to teach."
He wanted to quit but eventually justified his career by determining his role was to help God, rather than petition him.
"My job now is to make somehow the world capable of giving God some joy, some confidence that the existence of humans is not a fatal mistake," he told himself.
In 1949, Schaalman came to Chicago to serve as central region director of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, the forerunner of the Union for Reform Judaism. In 1952, he founded Olin-Sang-Ruby Union Institute, a summer camp for Jewish children and families in Oconomowoc. The camp now attracts families from 35 congregations in the greater Chicago area and more than three dozen others across Illinois, Wisconsin and Minnesota.
Jerry Kaye, director of the camp since 1970, said Schaalman came to the camp every summer for two weeks to teach high school kids. While he was no outdoorsman, he loved to play tennis and remained a loyal Cubs fan.
"The kids loved him," Kaye said. "They just had an ongoing, abiding respect for him. It came from the fact that he cared about you. He wanted you to learn to love the camp."
In 1956, Schaalman became the leader of Emanuel Congregation, where he served for more than 30 years. Even after retiring in 1986, he remained active, hosting a Torah study every Saturday morning in his office study until last year, among other contributions.
Schaalman’s friendship with other religious leaders also helped shape his evolving view of God.
Shortly after Cardinal Joseph Bernardin arrived in 1982 as Chicago’s archbishop, he invited a group of rabbis to his residence, introducing himself as "Joseph, your brother."
"He immediately won my heart," Schaalman told the Tribune in 2011. "And then we became such good friends. I wouldn’t have as close a friend as him while he was alive."
The two worked to bridge gaps between the faiths and include other religious traditions. When Bernardin reconstituted the Council of Religious Leaders of Metropolitan Chicago, he became the group’s first president. Schaalman became its third.
"How do you speak about God in contemporary society? Herman pushed Cardinal Bernardin to reflect on those key questions," said the Rev. John Pawlikowski, director of the Catholic-Jewish Studies program at Catholic Theological Union. "Their friendship away from the cameras enabled them to engage in such discussion."
Pawlikowski credits Schaalman with making sure the group included Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus and, of course, Jews. He also credits Schaalman with making sure conversations were rooted in personal relationships, like the one he had with Bernardin.
"Herman had the recognition that while texts are important in dialogues, personal encounters and sharing on a deep level is even more important," Pawlikowski said. "I think he became convinced that not only was it enriching, but that it was also essential in trying to overcome the deep-seated antagonism that had resulted in Christian-Jewish relations from the long history of Christian anti-Semitism."
While many rabbis aspire to be scholars in the Jewish world, Schaalman’s wisdom earned him renown in Christian academia. In addition to establishing programs in Catholic-Jewish dialogue at Catholic Theological Union and Chicago Theological Seminary, he taught for decades at Garrett Evangelical Seminary.
"He didn’t put himself in the position of being a Jewish scholar in the Jewish world, but he did become a scholar effectively in the non-Jewish world, in the Christian community, particularly Catholic, and people saw him as a great teacher," Kaye said.
Zedek said Schaalman always impressed him with his provocative thinking and youthful spirit. When for Schaalman’s 91st birthday Zedek and a congregant scored him an invitation to throw out the first pitch at a Cubs game, he confessed to never having thrown a baseball. He trained by playing catch with Zedek in the synagogue’s parking lot.
"What was stunning to me and one of the many reasons why I loved him — you often associate with older people looking back and being nostalgic. But he was always pushing boundaries," Zedek said. "For lots of traditional folks, whatever their affiliation, he was dangerous because he called into question your commonly held certainties. … He had this magical ability to communicate with any and every age."
Schaalman is survived by a son, Michael; a daughter, Susan Youdovin; five grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. Funeral services will be held at 11 a.m. Friday in Emanuel Congregation, 5959 N. Sheridan Road in Chicago.
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