An unusual detour on the road to rabbi-hood leads to
encounters in the wildest parts of the 49th state.
At the age of 23, I was in desperate need of a rite of passage. I'd just finished writing my first book and in a couple of months I'd be in the Holy Land, beginning the five years of
training that would turn me into a rabbi. But the summer was mine. I wanted to mark this moment of transition, this break from the storm and stress my life had been up to then.
