USC’s Rabbinic Intern Miriam Hoffman: a Queer, Jewish Inspiration

Sitting around two wobbly, pushed-together tables in the only cozy corner of a boisterous Los Angeles bar, Miriam Hoffman passes out two hefty packets—“Please note that they are color-coded, thank you”—to each eager listener surrounding her. She promised everyone their first drink was free and purchased them at the bar by shouting over the basketball games blaring from the plentiful television screens. After passing out the beverages to each of the four University of Southern California (USC) Hillel members before her—a Sprite; two Shirley Temples, one with double cherries, one without; a plate of fries instead of a drink because she skipped lunch— She settles in with her own plate of vibrantly green spinach artichoke dip and pita chips to give an overview of the Torah lesson for the night, asking how the girls want to tailor the next hour to their own Judaic needs. 

Less than half a mile from USC, off the streets of Jefferson and Figueroa, Miriam Hoffman meets once a month with students from USC’s Hillel at the Lab Gastropub for an event she titled “Torah on Tap.” From 7 p.m. until 8 p.m., she guides young Jewish USC students through the dense words of the Torah and gives them room to interpret, ask questions, and understand in a space where she reassures them, “It’s also OK to say that God is being a dickhead.” 

She speaks excitedly with her hands—Her nails are sage green and shaped like almonds—and her ear and nose piercings glint against the harsh lights of the bar. Beneath her arm is a tattoo that reads, “You are enough.” 

With a warm smile and waist-length, curly locks pulled into a bun to reveal an undercut, Hoffman talks about her faith with such passion, it’s hard to imagine her in any other setting. Always a woman of faith, Hoffman has only recently come to know what her calling is: to serve as a Reform rabbi for Hillel, a hub for Jewish life across college campuses that provides secular and non-secular programming for students. Her affiliation with Reform Judaism places her among the most progressive and modern practitioners of the age-old faith. 

An Orange County native, Hoffman attended Jewish day school—an educational institution in which students receive Jewish and secular learning in the same place—from kindergarten until 6th grade. From ages 7 to 12, she attended a public school. 

Hoffman’s family went to services on Monday and Thursday mornings as well as Jewish holidays like Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Hanukkah. They kept a Kosher-style home with no pork or shellfish, without mixing meat and milk. She also went to sleep-away camp every summer for 15 years, which was vital in shaping her formative years as a Jewish woman. 

“Camp was a huge deal because we could just be Jewish together, and nothing else mattered in those moments, which was really sweet,” Hoffman recalls. 

Growing up, Hoffman’s mother was her Judaic Studies teacher. From when Hoffman was 13 until she was 18, her mother went to rabbinical school, and they started discussing faith more intensely. College was a turning point in considering Judaism for Hoffman herself. 

“Before it was a lot of culture, (and) I didn’t think too much about God or anything like that,” Hoffman says. “But I always loved Judaism. It was always an important piece of my identity and one that my parents always supported and encouraged.”

Hoffman took a lot of inspiration from her mother and identifies her as a role model, pivotal in the pursuit of her own career and religion. 

“It’s so cheesy, and I hate it,” she admits, laughing. “My mom and I—listen—We’re a mother and a daughter, right? So we have our challenges and whatever, but she became a rabbi when I was in high school, so I was old enough to watch her go through that experience and support her in it.” 

In 2017, Hoffman graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in Family Studies and Human Development from the University of Arizona (UA). Although her original intention was to become a therapist, Hoffman became heavily interested in both Hillel and Chabad during her time in Tucson. Lacking a rabbi on campus, Hoffman grew close to the people in her Chabad, a movement that specializes in Jewish outreach, to stay deeply connected with her religion. 

“We didn’t have a rabbi at my school, so I didn’t know what to do when I had crises of faith,” she admits. “I got really close to my Chabad family and sort of almost became Orthodox because of it.” 

In her junior year of college, Hoffman studied abroad in Spain, where she was ultimately driven to make the decision to become a rabbi, tacking a Judaic Studies minor onto her degree. 

“There were no Jews around, and I realized that being Jewish was something that I needed to be more active in my life and not just something that I was passively doing,” Hoffman explains. “I wanted to study and learn and teach and really take it on.” 

Hoffman recalls calling her mother from Spain to confirm whether or not she was going to pursue becoming a rabbi. Their relationship has become much stronger, and people even want to hire them together as a mother-daughter rabbi team to officiate weddings and bar/bat mitzvahs and lead services at a synagogue. 

During her time abroad, a Chabad family back at UA lost their son of just three months. Hoffman wistfully explained that the mother of the child was so strong in the face of her unthinkable tragedy, and she took inspiration from the woman’s faith in God due to Hoffman’s own mental health issues.

“It was a really hard theological, emotional moment for all of us,” Hoffman says. “She never wavered in her Judaism and her faith in God and what her son meant to her. To believe in a God who cared for you was really moving. I wanted that.” 

After that moment, Hoffman took it upon herself to live much as that mother had, viewing God in an all-powerful, all-knowing way, which drew her to Orthodox Judaism, a highly restrictive form of the faith. However, she found it hard to jump from believing in that kind of God to Jewish practice. 

Orthodoxy would have meant sitting in the designated women’s section of the synagogue, not becoming a rabbi, dressing conservatively and following kosher dietary laws, among other things. Orthodox Judaism is much more traditionalist than other branches of contemporary Judaism due to its primary focus being the word of the Torah. 

“I’m a feminist; I’m queer, and, you know, all of these other pieces of my life and identity that Orthodoxy doesn’t really support in the same kind of way.” 

Hoffman took a year off from her undergraduate degree to attend rabbinical school in New York, but her decision did not come easy. She was in the midst of studying to become Orthodox, even though women are still not allowed the career choice of becoming rabbis in that sect of Judaism. This meant she was going to have to make the ultimate decision between becoming Orthodox or becoming a rabbi.  

Four years post-graduation from UA, Hoffman came to terms with the fact that the battle she’d been facing, the mold of Orthodoxy she tried to force herself into, was not the right fit. Caught between internal theology versus Jewish practice, a feat which she describes as a “monster,” Hoffman found she could not silence vital parts of herself in dressing modestly and acting as an Orthodox Jew. Inspired as she was by the woman from her Chabad, Orthodoxy ultimately was not the right path for her. 

In the last two and a half years, Hoffman has come into herself and her religion through studying at the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, a reformed seminary, right across the street from USC to officially become a rabbi. 

She applied to USC’s Hillel as an intern, got an interview and now finally feels like she exists in her element. There, Hoffman becomes a jack of all trades. Just a few of her responsibilities include facilitating fellowships that help guide Jewish learning and acting as a student liaison for spiritual guidance. Sometimes, you can even find her in the kitchen, cooking tirelessly for the students of Hillel. 

Hoffman was finally ordained in May, and she already has a job lined up at Brandeis University in Massachusetts to continue her Hillel work. Ten years from now, Hoffman sees herself in a similar position to where she is now, connecting people to Judaism whether it be via food, music, counseling, or otherwise via campus organization. 

“My entire mission in life is to help other Jews find their pathway into Judaism. I want to inspire passion for Judaism in whatever way that means for people,” she says. “If that’s through pastoral counseling for someone who comes to me and is like, ‘I don’t believe in God, and I don’t know what to do with that,’ like okay, let’s talk about it.” 

She cites the relational work of meeting Jewish people and having conversations about the meaning of life in order to integrate religion into the lives of others “holistically and authentically” as her purpose. 

Although Hoffman harbors Reform ideologies and is in the process of becoming a Reform rabbi, she still prefers conservative prayer and attends a conservative synagogue. Her respect for and extensive experience with the different sects of Judaism sets her apart from her peers. In straddling denominations, Hoffman finds that her intersectionality is the most vital aspect of her work.

“I think Hillel is the perfect place for me because it’s a pluralistic environment,” she says. “I can relate to people in different ways. I am very grateful for all of these experiences even though they might’ve been challenging for me. Now, I get to use it in ways that are helpful to others.”

Photos courtesy of Miriam Hoffman