The first time I saw him I was sitting high up in a balcony overlooking 800 people. Young college students all of us. Noisy, flirting, unsure of ourselves. The unkempt and the uncomfortably tidy. We were all a mess after being kicked out of the nest. This discombobulation was frightening for some, a relief for others, and more than a few thinking they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It didn’t matter.

The front of the room exploded, all college angst immediately vanished, and out stepped a fireball of a man. Jay Holstein.

Not a big physical presence. Not a deep commanding voice. No threat of violence. But . . . more than all that.

Holstein was raw, unfiltered, with zero intellectual boundaries. We were spellbound in our little wooden seats as he challenged every thought we’d ever had about life, death, how to live, morality, good and bad, courage, honesty.

“YOU HAVE TO THINK FOR YOURSELVES!”

Smack — he’d shoot down this notion. Pop — he’d knock down that idea. Boom — out with the bath water and the proverbial baby. Especially the proverbial baby. 

Our mouths hung open. We sweated through our shirts. Time stopped. We were transformed.

It was like watching a cage fight in the front of the room. Holstein vs. Holstein. Who would walk away alive?

My oh my.

I loved it.

And Rabbi Jay Holstein has done this for 50 years. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of students at the University of Iowa. All under the auspices of the School of Religion. But, frankly, the title of all his classes could be “Living Life 101.”

My time with Holstein was all the above. I took every course he ever taught and then some independent studies he made up. It was a riot. And it affected all my thoughts afterwards.

For example, when I was in Court thirty years later, the judge said, “Mr. Weeg, do you have any response to defense counsel’s highly persuasive argument?”

Of course I didn’t.

But I stood and said: “May it please the Court, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you ever heard of the Epic of Gilgamesh?”

Pure Holstein.

But my real School of Holstein was on the blacktop road on the backside of the Coralville Reservoir. 

We ran together. Multiple times a week. We started with 10 mile runs and soon were pushing 15. Of course, road races and marathons followed. You want to run 26.2 miles? Why not?

But all this running had nothing to do with running, just like his classes had nothing to do with the title of the class.

How should I live? How does one have courage? What does honesty really mean? How do I deal with dying? And, in my own case, what is there left to believe when cancer is killing your dying father?

Oh, yes, and women. Jay was worried that my lack of knowledge would disadvantage me in this area. So he spoke of love and responsibility and respect. And there was that lecture he earnestly began with, “Joe, do you know the most important part of female anatomy?” 

Education doesn’t get any better. 

All this as we slugged out mile after mile. Physical exhaustion opening mental and emotional possibilities. 

A gift from heaven.

And then we’d go back to the old Rec Building and take a sauna and drink Mountain Dew, which was like crack cocaine after all that dehydration. And usually Holstein would utter his favorite phrase I’d previously heard only on the carnival: “Joe, you pay your money and take your chance.” Meaning, life is risky, but you gotta choose. 

Well, Holstein paid his money, he taught students for 50 years how to live life honorably. But what did he win at the end of the day? What is the big payout? Where is Vanna White and the new car? 

And, by the way, who did win the cage fight at the front of the room?

That’s easy . . . we won.  

Joe