19 June 2009
A post script on the previous synagogue articles
Given all the empty stores in the cities, malls, and the suburbs, maybe this is the time to experiment with a decentralized and more accessible synagogue model. Just a thought!
12 June 2009
Synagogue Transformation Revisited - 10 years later
10 years ago, the first of the 2 articles below was published in Sh'ma as the lead piece in their issue on synagogue change. This past week, I attended a panel on independent minyanim [service groups] and what the latest trends are. In listening to the presentations by some of the outstanding young innovators and to the responses by a group of congregational rabbis, I was struck by how little change there seems to be a decade later despite many wonderful and moderately successful interventions. While at the session, one of the attendees recalled the articles I wrote back then. While I am not writing about synagogue change much these days, those who may have missed them may find them of interest. I leave it to you readers to decide if they are dated or still relevant.
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Beyond Renewal - A call for Transformation
A few years ago, I became a Shul shopper. For the previous twenty five years I had spoken in many synagogues, but had never before been an anonymous “davener.”
My experience included three major metropolitan areas and a variety of denominationally affiliated synagogues. With all due respect to my colleagues and paying tribute to the few notable exceptions, it was not a pretty sight. I learned what the experience of amchah is and I understood why the general attitude toward synagogue participation and affiliation is so negative.
Like the majority of American Jews, despite my personal commitment to Tradition, I had simply decided to write off synagogue involvement. It was only this year, under the public challenge and private prodding of Edgar Bronfman, for whom I work, that I begin to look more closely at what was really going on—and more importantly, what might be.
I learned that there are some successful synagogues in North America. There are a number of effective and charismatic Rabbis. There are efforts to revitalize and reenergize synagogues, under the auspices of Synagogue 2000, the Koret Initiative, and others. I have come to appreciate the recent attempts to make synagogues more “user friendly,” spiritual, or diverse. There are thoughtful reconsiderations of how the synagogue should be designed and how services should be led. Others are rethinking the role of the clergy and laity, what other staff might be necessary, and what training would make a difference. [Many of these initiatives are reviewed elsewhere in this issue.]
I have learned to respect the passion and commitment which many professionals have brought to this late 20th century challenge, and the perseverance of many thousands of lay people.
But, for all of the good effort, I have come to a conclusion that none of these efforts goes quite far enough. It is time to reconsider the very role of the synagogue. In doing so, we are continuing a long tradition in Jewish history of purposely adapting the synagogue to regain its effectiveness as a primary entry point to Jewish involvement, learning, and connection.
During the 2nd half of the 20th Century, the synagogue has been called upon to be a center for prayer, community development, Jewish education, rites of passage, holiday celebrations, and a shop for Kosher food and Judaica. The sheer weight of expectation has left the synagogue unable to fill our expectations. To effect synagogue transformation, we must change our expectations.
In the past, the synagogue was not expected to replace the community or family. As organic communities dissipated and connectedness within families became more tenuous, synagogues were called upon to fill those roles. As a primary entry point for many, synagogues should continue to facilitate and strengthen communities, but they cannot be substitute families or communities. In attempting to be all things to all people, synagogues are lacking.
In suburban America, where the vast majority of American Jews live, one must go out of one’s way to go to the synagogue. Most synagogues are “destination monoliths.” They are free standing, not connected to a neighborhood or other destination in the community. To participate calls for leaving one’s “normal” and going to the “holy” place.
In Judaism the goal is to make the Holy part of the normal, and not to keep it locked away for unique moments. A synagogue which is physically removed from the “normal” is easy to ignore - except on special occasions. Historically, synagogues were found on the same streets as the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker. Even for non-observant Jews, the synagogue was a part of daily life.
In a few older, large cities, synagogues remain an integral part of the physical fabric of the community. But elsewhere, why aren’t synagogues located within the malls - the equivalent of the Main Street? Why aren’t storefront synagogues in strip malls? To demystify and make the synagogue accessible, it should be as natural to walk or drive by the synagogue as it is to do errands. A centrally located synagogue sends the message that kedushah [holiness] is a part of our lives, wherever we are, and not simply reserved for special occasions.
The synagogue has always served as a bet-midrash [center for learning]. But, in the contemporary world, each synagogue acts as if it is the only place for study. [In small communities, it may be. But most North American Jews live in metropolitan areas with a variety of Jewish institutions.]
The existing system of the pre Bar/Bat Mitzvah supplementary school is flawed. I concur with educators who posit that pre-adolescents are best influenced through family involvement. The current system should be replaced by a family education approach. Families would participate in a variety of educational and celebratory events. Inevitably this would lead to a long overdue rethinking of the bar/bat mitzvah. It would also reinforce the family and home as a key transmitter of Jewish experience, knowledge, and values.
It does not make sense for every synagogue to sustain a full fledged educational program. Some communities [e.g., Boston] have begun experimenting with communal educational approaches for adults, children, and adolescents. A rethought and collaborative educational initiative will benefit all synagogues and more importantly, the entire Jewish community will be better served.
Adolescents are the least involved cohort in American Jewish life. It is time for the entire community to rethink both the priority of and approach to adolescents. There are important, although limited, successes in camping, youth groups and Israel trips, but rarely can an individual synagogue have an impact on teens. Unless there is a comprehensive and varied approach to this population, involving all facets of the community, it is unlikely that this will change. Synagogues should either divest or collaborate in order to effect new, emerging strategies for this key population.
Collaboration makes sense even regarding services. The North American Jew today is post-denominational. Rarely do North American Jews choose a synagogue on the basis of ideology. Behavior patterns among congregants are largely interchangeable except for certain Orthodox communities. Most congregations need to respond to a wide variety of preferences regarding the synagogue service.
Even the same individuals may prefer variety - opting for a variety of types of services: Formal, informal, educational, experiential, with families, or only with adults, emphasizing deeper spirituality or emphasizing for social interaction. It is not surprising that synagogues that try to satisfy everyone with one service will frustrate most of the people most of the time. Therefore, synagogues should offer a variety of different services. Congregants should feel comfortable opting for different styles on different occasions.
Most synagogues are not able to sustain such variety. This would be a wonderful opportunity for inter-synagogue collaboration and is by no means unheard of in Jewish history.
The way in which synagogues are currently funded makes it difficult to imagine these kinds of changes. Each congregation is a self contained membership organization dependent on the commitment and generosity of its own membership. If there were no school, adult educational program, or banquet facility, how could the synagogue afford staff and pay for its facility?
The time has come to revisit the kehillah [community] concept. A community affiliation fee would allow participation in every synagogue in the community [e.g., the Northside Kehillah in Chicago already has implemented such a plan.] This concept re-positions the relationship of individuals to the synagogue.
Most synagogues are built for three-time-a-year attendance and are empty the rest of the year. Why not build smaller synagogues and rent external space when necessary. The late Merrill Hassenfeld proposed that Jewish communities rent civic centers for High Holidays and not waste millions of dollars on empty space. Most North American Jews have transient connections to particular synagogues and might prefer to join the throngs at a community sponsored service. This builds on the counter-intuitive fact that Americans often feel most comfortable when they can maintain their anonymity.
This vision of the synagogue calls for a profound restructuring of the Jewish community and a rethinking of the role of the synagogue. It calls for collaboration and a willingness to trade institutional prerogatives for greater effectiveness. It implies significantly different facilities, affiliation patterns, and calls for new collaborations and educational approaches. It imagines a network of truly relevant, responsive, and diverse synagogues - able to shape, inform, and inspire the much needed and heralded renaissance of Jewish life.
As for me, I am still shopping.
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ARTICLE 2
Synagogue Transformation Revisited
and some thoughts on “k’dushah”
December 2002
Three years ago, I penned an article for Sh’ma calling for the transformation of the synagogue as we have known it in post-War [WWII, that is] America. The article posited the impossibility of any one synagogue effectively delivering service in all of the areas it arrogates to itself. By attempting to do so, I argued, mediocrity is virtually guaranteed.
I also challenged the idea of the “destination” synagogue edifice to which people went on special occasions, but which is physically, and thus psychologically and spiritually, removed from the daily life of most members.
At the time the article was published, the proposal which inspired the greatest animus and confusion was the suggestion that synagogues should be located in malls. This and other “out of the box” proposals received a brief flurry of public attention from synagogues and federations – some affirmed the ideas, others challenged them. But my 15 minutes of fame passed as others added their own proposals on synagogue transformation and renewal.
However, at the recent General Assembly of the United Jewish Communities in Philadelphia, several people told me how that article had influenced their own thinking. I discovered that the ideas in the article “have legs.” So, I have decided to articulate how my thinking about the synagogue and rabbis has further evolved.
This is an opportune moment to clarify my bona fides. While my own rabbinic career has never included a pulpit [except for High Holiday and scholar-in-residence assignments], I have been extensively involved with synagogues. I served for a decade as the [lay] vice president of one, have visited and spoken at synagogues throughout the USA and in many countries throughout the world, and today regularly daven at several. And, while I have my theological and stylistic preferences, I am eclectic enough to attend those representing all of the streams.
It is also an opportune moment to acknowledge that over the last few years a growing number of synagogues have begun to address some of their own shortcomings – particularly in the area of liturgy. The hard work of groups such as Synagogue 2000, the selective prodding of the STAR consortium, the productive work of ECE and several local initiatives has begun to take hold. Experiments in family education have begun to be more widespread, changing the nature of how families experience the synagogue. Openness to more “spiritually sensitive” music and prayer experience is visible across the denominational spectrum. More synagogues have “welcome brochures” or “greeters.” It is more common to find multiple prayer options. More synagogues are asking how their own can be better.
Three years after the previous article appeared, a yasher koach and kol hakavod is due for for the many innovations and greater openness which have happened since.
However, the basic premises of my article still apply. The ideas I presented address an underlying set of questions that these initiatives have only skirted.
Moreover, resistance to change remains very real. My experience in speaking about this topic has been instructive. Not uncommonly, the response of synagogue audiences has been: “you are so correct, but not here!” I learned that every place, those which are objectively thriving and those which are not, has devotees for whom the status quo is satisfying. It is only fair to find ways to legitimate those who are satisfied even as one pushes for radical changes. And there are many rabbis who look at their own full schedules as ask “what more can I do?” So if one is an advocate for a restructured synagogue, it is only fair to address these underlying issues.
1. The overworked and lonely rabbi.
In a series of focus groups throughout the country conducted by STAR in its formative year, several concerns were repeated by rabbis of every stripe and affiliation. They decried that they were overworked, underappreciated, and were expected to do too many things. Some of these rabbis are extraordinarily talented and creative; some are charismatic and founders of wonderful synagogues; some work in large multi-staffed institutions, others in smaller communities or synagogues; no matter - the plaint was consistent. It is not to be dismissed lightly.
The complaint of many rabbis, that they are overworked, does not play well with lay people. This is not because rabbis don’t work hard but because so do the lay people. Most people work 10-20 hours more each week than they did 15 years ago, and they also volunteer at their synagogue and elsewhere during the shrinking disposable time that they have left.
It is a terrible indictment of American society that we celebrate “24/7” and that we brag about our not taking our due vacations Most Rabbis do work hard and long but they are respectably well paid professionals facing similar pressures to those facing their congregants. And, in fact, many rabbis have far more discretion over their own time than do those who are employees in the business world. It is more than appropriate for synagogues, through rabbinic leadership, to address lifestyle issues – for rabbis and for their congregants - and to explore ways to ameliorate the pressures which emerge from them. But it is not convincing to focus on the amount of work.
A more real and important challenge is the absence of priorities and clarity of vision for the congregational rabbinate. It is simply unreasonable to assume that any professional can do everything well. Some rabbis may be great teachers; others are inspiring preachers; still others are caring counselors; and still others excel at community building. What rabbis and synagogues must accept is their own limitations. If no one rabbi can do everything well, what other ways or resources exist to make sure that the rest is done well? For example, bikur cholim [visiting the ill] is not a commandment only for rabbis; it is for all. Teaching and leading teens is a rare and precious skill, not necessarily one learned or taught at Seminaries. Many congregations are blessed with highly educated congregants whose Jewish knowledge and speaking skills may exceed that of a particular rabbi who, in turn, may be unmatched in his/her community-building and community relations acumen.
When we begin to unpack the expectation that one person can be all and do all, we can move to clarity of mutual expectation. It is a sobering but ultimately liberating exercise for both sides; both rabbis and congregations will be the stronger for addressing this dilemma.
Which leads to a more structural issue, the issue of rabbinic loneliness. I have often wondered why rabbis should be expected to have their offices within the synagogue. An office within a synagogue surely emphasizes the rabbinic centrality to that place but it underscores their aloneness. Why don’t we have rabbinic suites for rabbis from several synagogues, perhaps with other professionals? These suites could be in centrally located business or shopping areas, making them more easily accessible to most congregants. For the congregant, it would probably make consulting with the rabbi a more convenient and less symbolically loaded experience.
As most other professionals know, working in an office with peers has many benefits. It can help remove the sense of isolation. Not incidentally, this new collegial relationship can help keep rabbis informed about innovations, the strengths and insights of colleagues, and might well lead to new kinds of collaborations. Rabbis and their synagogues would be the better. And while some might worry that this would have a negative impact on the unique and special relationship between rabbis and congregants, I believe that this greater accessibility would enhance that bond.
My suggestion stems from observations of other professionals and from my own experience. Early in my career, I worked on campuses for 14 years. I made it a point to maintain an office with the other chaplains as well as one at Hillel. Even though it was a mere two short blocks between the two, it was miles in terms of approachability. Over the years, literally hundreds of students and faculty found their way to the chaplains’ offices, in the center of campus. Right or wrong, many were reluctant or too intimidated to seek me out in the confines of what was even then a very active and thriving Hillel House. And I benefited from the daily contact with other professionals who had comparable responsibilities but different skills and personalities from my own.
2. The overstretched synagogue
If it is true that rabbis cannot do everything well, why might we think that synagogues can? While I addressed this issue in the previous article, it has proven to be remarkably difficult to redress. Synagogues, in an attempt to be full service institutions, too often settle for mediocrity in much of what they do.
I can illustrate with one example [of many]: When I spoke at a synagogue one Sunday morning, the rabbi took me on a tour. The most crowded room was dedicated to a family education experiment. The synagogue had been able to locate a superb educator and quickly that program had become far more impactful and popular than the rest of the supplementary education program. The rabbi told me, though, that the educator was leaving after that year and the program would probably end, despite its success, because of the difficulty of finding a well trained successor.
He was correct, of course. The right educator makes all the difference. But he was wrong. Why should his synagogue compete with all the many others in his area to find such an educator? Just imagine if the resources of that synagogue were combined with those of the others within striking distance to find the right educators and to develop an educational program of excellence which would serve all of them. Unfortunately, many believe that every synagogue should be both full service and self contained. This rarely works. It is rare indeed that a synagogue has the requisite financial resources and access to the human resources to be able to achieve excellence in every area.
3. Toward a decentralized synagogue
The most controversial comment in the earlier piece was the proposal that synagogues should be located in malls [or like places] which are a part of the everyday life of Jewish people. The objections suggested that the synagogue should indeed be seen as “other” than the place of commerce and business, and should be an oasis of spirituality and values. It therefore benefits from being removed from all daily temptations and experiences.
It is my view that this is argument is at odds with the historic role and locus of the synagogue. Until the advent of the automobile and the resulting suburban culture, synagogues were not destinations away from the hustle bustle of life but were typically at its center. Implicitly, the location of a synagogue communicates a message about where it fits in people’s lives. When a synagogue is at a remove from the places where we live, it suggests that it is a place for refuge and meaning away from the shallowness of daily life. Or probably more typically, a place to visit only on special occasions.
When a synagogue is not at the periphery but rather at the center, convenient and proximate to where one goes to the bank or dry cleaner or bakery or work, it suggests that the synagogue, and by extension, Judaism, is a part of normal daily existence.
The obvious reality is that synagogues are committed to their current real estate. No one can reasonably suggest that these millions and millions of dollars worth of facilities close and relocate. But just imagine how many more people might stop in to study or pray or who knows what if there were store front branches of synagogues in malls or in town centers. The phenomenon of downtown luncheon study groups in law or business offices is now quite pervasive throughout the country. All of us recognize that this “outreach” technique works. Bringing Judaism to where people are does not mean that one is compromising Judaism. I simply propose to carry this proven method one step further.
And, I believe it will help the synagogue regain its more historically authentic role and function.
4. Synagogue Funding
The STAR focus groups also revealed that synagogue leaders feel financially trapped and strapped. Many rabbis and lay leaders argue that they are committed to new visions of their own synagogue, acknowledge that the majority of their membership [to say nothing of the majority of American Jews who are unaffiliated at any one time] are not being served, and would welcome innovations which would inspire, engage, and educate. The limitation is money.
There is much to be said and written about this question, but the underlying issue is that synagogues are now like private clubs. Their membership determines what they do, how much they will pay, and what services they will provide. Far too many exist on the backs of their supplementary schools, culminating in bar/bat mitzvah. I address this question below, but this financial dependence overwhelms any objective planning.
It is time to deconstruct the funding question as well. We must revisit the question of the synagogue as a membership organization. Perhaps synagogues should be viewed as one of the panoply of Jewish institutions which are under the auspices of a central funding and planning body. This would allow numerous new possibilities which are quite difficult in the current funding structure.
a. Community wide membership, applicable to any of the synagogues.
b. Community wide educational offerings [with tracks to accommodate denominational demands]
c. Facility planning in coordination with other institutions in the community – to ensure that there is some relationship of space to real need
d. Various service and prayer offerings which transcend the approach or style of any one synagogue
e. Efficiencies of “back-office” services such as data base management, purchasing, etc.
It is my belief that the gross national synagogue budget is probably adequate to serve the needs, but that the tradition of the fully independent synagogue [based on the Protestant Free Church tradition] means dollars are not as effectively used as they might be. Obviously this approach might have tradeoffs of autonomy but could pay for itself in increased quality and innovation. And more coordinated planning might well engage more of those for whom the current synagogue is simply too intimidating or alienating.
In proposing this neo-kehillah model, I do so with caution. Centralized planning can squelch creativity and innovation. One would not want to lose the entrepreneurial spirit which leads to experimentation of size, structure, or style. Most innovation emerges outside the mainstream, becomes successful or fails, and then is co-opted or adapted. A centralized membership and planning model must account for and even encourage these ventures.
But such a model would go a long way to address an endemic problem – that every synagogue now feels that it must now turn beyond its membership to raise funds to do its work. There is something wrong if the basic organizational model of this crucial institution cannot pay for itself. Having headed a foundation committed to the renaissance of Jewish life, I can attest to the number of synagogues which have tried to obtain funding for their “unique” funding problem. But foundations view synagogues as local, so all such proposals are rejected. The more proposals I read, the more convinced I became that the model itself needs to change.
Perhaps there is another funding model besides the neo-kehillah model which I propose. But one thing is certain – the current model is not up to the task at hand and requires a radical re-think, not simply tampering.
5. Bar/Bat Mitzvah
For many years, there have been those who have raised the issue of the role of the bar/bat mitzvah in the American synagogue; yet it continues to be an abiding question of what the synagogue should be. It is so central that it must be addressed. For too many synagogues, it is the tail wagging the dog. It is time to find ways to put the bar/bat mitzvah back in a healthy and appropriate context – for the benefit of synagogues, the families, and the Jewish people.
Even after all these years, if one visits many synagogues, one comes away feeling that the real reason for a Shabbat service is the bar/bat mitzvah. Others [non-guest daveners] who may be there seem incidental. The dominance of the bar/bat mitzvah surely must limit a synagogue’s flexibility in thinking through the Shabbat experience to say nothing of the disenfranchisement of the regular members. And while these rites of passage can be beautifully done, it does not seem the ideal way to build community.
The bar/bat mitzvah is still perceived as graduation from Jewish education for too many. There must be a way to transform that graduation into a commencement – the beginning of adult learning, not the end of marginal Jewish education. There are some intriguing initiatives to address this: One impressive example is the B’nai Tzedek program, conceived by Harold Grinspoon, which provides a small philanthropic endowment for B’nai mitzvah – to learn that with maturity comes responsibility and the honor of giving. This program now exists in 20-30 communities throughout the USA, with very positive results. Another program, about which I have just learned, is in connection with MAZON. I am quite sure that there are other initiatives with equal promise.
There must be concomitant community wide reshuffling of priorities for Jewish education subsidies. If adolescence is the time when young people are most influenced by peers and are learning to make social choices which may last into adulthood, why are we not providing major incentives to engage that population? It is clear that we have it backwards – at the time when the major influence is the home, we send them to supplementary or day school; at the time when they are influenced by peers, we let them opt out.
The bar/bat mitzvah must, therefore, be reconfigured to play a different role in the life of the family, the life of the synagogue, and the life of the individual. Any real change will require a major national commitment so that many synagogues opt in. Therefore, while I am not typically a proponent of national conferences to solve problems, in this case I feel that a trans-denominational conference committed to the question of rethinking the bar/bat mitzvah experience may be the only way that individual synagogues can be empowered in their commitment to explore changes in their own practices.
6. Some concluding thoughts on k’dushah
K’dushah – holiness or sanctity – is the goal of the Jewish tradition. The Jewish people are a “holy nation;” “you shall be holy;” much of Torah and rabbinic literature is an extended mandate to imbue one’s life and the life of the Jewish people with sanctity. What might this mean in the context of our topic?
The word itself suggests a legitimate tension: The root meaning is “to separate.” Therefore one might argue that the way to achieve k’dushah is to separate oneself from the secular. The ideal is to live at a remove from the everyday, the secular, the unholy and impure. Synagogues and rabbis must make sure that the experience of the synagogue elevates us and reminds us that there is a higher meaning and more holy life than that which occupies the everyday. The very physical experience of the synagogue, to say nothing of the spiritual one, should help elevate one’s sense of purpose.
For this reason, the professionals who work in the synagogue are affectionately referred to as klai kodesh, vessels of holiness. The rabbi and shaliach tzibbur/cantor play an indispensable role in achieving this desired higher state. They are indeed vessels, carrying the communal spirit, conveying communal longing, bearing the communal leadership – through their voices, their words, their actions, and their teachings. The congregants, indeed the Jewish people, need their religious leaders to symbolize the holiness to which we all aspire.
There is, though, another way to understand the mandate to be a holy people and to pursue sanctity. It is to bring sanctity, meaning, and holiness into the everyday. In this view, the challenge is not to reject olam hazeh, this world, but to make it a more holy place. There is nothing inherently tainted about the everyday – it is normal, neutral, awaiting value. The Talmud and Jewish Law tell us that the rules of how one does shopping are to imbue that most necessary societal behavior with a sense of ethics and meaning. Human beings are in the image of their Creator; their actions should reflect that. Money is collected in the synagogue, twice daily [during the services!] and then immediately given to people who will return to the street to live on that money. There is no separation between the immanence of the holy and the immediacy of human need.
I ascribe to this second view – that the Jewish world-view is that sanctity is “not in heaven,” but it is in fact in the hands of all of us. And thus it is incumbent upon the Jewish institution that represents the chain of the Jewish tradition, the synagogue, to demonstrate that. Sanctity must not be reserved to the synagogue any more than it is restricted to moments of prayer. The message of the synagogue must be in homes, and streets, and offices, and shops. There must be an integration of values and a transcendence of space so that all of human endeavors reflect the pursuit of sanctity. When lives are so compartmentalized that holiness is seen as limited to the moments when one is in the “holy place” in the presence of “holy vessels” then Judaism and the Jewish people are the lesser.
That is why I am such an advocate for the conceptual deconstruction and decentralization of what happens in the modern synagogue. The synagogue is a primary transmitter of values and teaching; the synagogue is a primary locus of spiritual pursuits; the synagogue is a primary institution for community building; the synagogue is a primary institution for conveying Torah and the Jewish Tradition. But it is not the only place for any of these, and when the synagogue becomes the destination and not the source, it limits its own effectiveness and deprives the Jewish people of the true meaning for which it stands. Let k’dushah flow forth from the pews and the pulpits – and let it flow to the streets and the dining rooms and the board rooms and the chat rooms and the fitting rooms of our lives. Only when the synagogue is a part of our lives, physically and metaphorically, will it achieve its true purpose.
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Beyond Renewal - A call for Transformation
A few years ago, I became a Shul shopper. For the previous twenty five years I had spoken in many synagogues, but had never before been an anonymous “davener.”
My experience included three major metropolitan areas and a variety of denominationally affiliated synagogues. With all due respect to my colleagues and paying tribute to the few notable exceptions, it was not a pretty sight. I learned what the experience of amchah is and I understood why the general attitude toward synagogue participation and affiliation is so negative.
Like the majority of American Jews, despite my personal commitment to Tradition, I had simply decided to write off synagogue involvement. It was only this year, under the public challenge and private prodding of Edgar Bronfman, for whom I work, that I begin to look more closely at what was really going on—and more importantly, what might be.
I learned that there are some successful synagogues in North America. There are a number of effective and charismatic Rabbis. There are efforts to revitalize and reenergize synagogues, under the auspices of Synagogue 2000, the Koret Initiative, and others. I have come to appreciate the recent attempts to make synagogues more “user friendly,” spiritual, or diverse. There are thoughtful reconsiderations of how the synagogue should be designed and how services should be led. Others are rethinking the role of the clergy and laity, what other staff might be necessary, and what training would make a difference. [Many of these initiatives are reviewed elsewhere in this issue.]
I have learned to respect the passion and commitment which many professionals have brought to this late 20th century challenge, and the perseverance of many thousands of lay people.
But, for all of the good effort, I have come to a conclusion that none of these efforts goes quite far enough. It is time to reconsider the very role of the synagogue. In doing so, we are continuing a long tradition in Jewish history of purposely adapting the synagogue to regain its effectiveness as a primary entry point to Jewish involvement, learning, and connection.
During the 2nd half of the 20th Century, the synagogue has been called upon to be a center for prayer, community development, Jewish education, rites of passage, holiday celebrations, and a shop for Kosher food and Judaica. The sheer weight of expectation has left the synagogue unable to fill our expectations. To effect synagogue transformation, we must change our expectations.
In the past, the synagogue was not expected to replace the community or family. As organic communities dissipated and connectedness within families became more tenuous, synagogues were called upon to fill those roles. As a primary entry point for many, synagogues should continue to facilitate and strengthen communities, but they cannot be substitute families or communities. In attempting to be all things to all people, synagogues are lacking.
In suburban America, where the vast majority of American Jews live, one must go out of one’s way to go to the synagogue. Most synagogues are “destination monoliths.” They are free standing, not connected to a neighborhood or other destination in the community. To participate calls for leaving one’s “normal” and going to the “holy” place.
In Judaism the goal is to make the Holy part of the normal, and not to keep it locked away for unique moments. A synagogue which is physically removed from the “normal” is easy to ignore - except on special occasions. Historically, synagogues were found on the same streets as the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker. Even for non-observant Jews, the synagogue was a part of daily life.
In a few older, large cities, synagogues remain an integral part of the physical fabric of the community. But elsewhere, why aren’t synagogues located within the malls - the equivalent of the Main Street? Why aren’t storefront synagogues in strip malls? To demystify and make the synagogue accessible, it should be as natural to walk or drive by the synagogue as it is to do errands. A centrally located synagogue sends the message that kedushah [holiness] is a part of our lives, wherever we are, and not simply reserved for special occasions.
The synagogue has always served as a bet-midrash [center for learning]. But, in the contemporary world, each synagogue acts as if it is the only place for study. [In small communities, it may be. But most North American Jews live in metropolitan areas with a variety of Jewish institutions.]
The existing system of the pre Bar/Bat Mitzvah supplementary school is flawed. I concur with educators who posit that pre-adolescents are best influenced through family involvement. The current system should be replaced by a family education approach. Families would participate in a variety of educational and celebratory events. Inevitably this would lead to a long overdue rethinking of the bar/bat mitzvah. It would also reinforce the family and home as a key transmitter of Jewish experience, knowledge, and values.
It does not make sense for every synagogue to sustain a full fledged educational program. Some communities [e.g., Boston] have begun experimenting with communal educational approaches for adults, children, and adolescents. A rethought and collaborative educational initiative will benefit all synagogues and more importantly, the entire Jewish community will be better served.
Adolescents are the least involved cohort in American Jewish life. It is time for the entire community to rethink both the priority of and approach to adolescents. There are important, although limited, successes in camping, youth groups and Israel trips, but rarely can an individual synagogue have an impact on teens. Unless there is a comprehensive and varied approach to this population, involving all facets of the community, it is unlikely that this will change. Synagogues should either divest or collaborate in order to effect new, emerging strategies for this key population.
Collaboration makes sense even regarding services. The North American Jew today is post-denominational. Rarely do North American Jews choose a synagogue on the basis of ideology. Behavior patterns among congregants are largely interchangeable except for certain Orthodox communities. Most congregations need to respond to a wide variety of preferences regarding the synagogue service.
Even the same individuals may prefer variety - opting for a variety of types of services: Formal, informal, educational, experiential, with families, or only with adults, emphasizing deeper spirituality or emphasizing for social interaction. It is not surprising that synagogues that try to satisfy everyone with one service will frustrate most of the people most of the time. Therefore, synagogues should offer a variety of different services. Congregants should feel comfortable opting for different styles on different occasions.
Most synagogues are not able to sustain such variety. This would be a wonderful opportunity for inter-synagogue collaboration and is by no means unheard of in Jewish history.
The way in which synagogues are currently funded makes it difficult to imagine these kinds of changes. Each congregation is a self contained membership organization dependent on the commitment and generosity of its own membership. If there were no school, adult educational program, or banquet facility, how could the synagogue afford staff and pay for its facility?
The time has come to revisit the kehillah [community] concept. A community affiliation fee would allow participation in every synagogue in the community [e.g., the Northside Kehillah in Chicago already has implemented such a plan.] This concept re-positions the relationship of individuals to the synagogue.
Most synagogues are built for three-time-a-year attendance and are empty the rest of the year. Why not build smaller synagogues and rent external space when necessary. The late Merrill Hassenfeld proposed that Jewish communities rent civic centers for High Holidays and not waste millions of dollars on empty space. Most North American Jews have transient connections to particular synagogues and might prefer to join the throngs at a community sponsored service. This builds on the counter-intuitive fact that Americans often feel most comfortable when they can maintain their anonymity.
This vision of the synagogue calls for a profound restructuring of the Jewish community and a rethinking of the role of the synagogue. It calls for collaboration and a willingness to trade institutional prerogatives for greater effectiveness. It implies significantly different facilities, affiliation patterns, and calls for new collaborations and educational approaches. It imagines a network of truly relevant, responsive, and diverse synagogues - able to shape, inform, and inspire the much needed and heralded renaissance of Jewish life.
As for me, I am still shopping.
……
ARTICLE 2
Synagogue Transformation Revisited
and some thoughts on “k’dushah”
December 2002
Three years ago, I penned an article for Sh’ma calling for the transformation of the synagogue as we have known it in post-War [WWII, that is] America. The article posited the impossibility of any one synagogue effectively delivering service in all of the areas it arrogates to itself. By attempting to do so, I argued, mediocrity is virtually guaranteed.
I also challenged the idea of the “destination” synagogue edifice to which people went on special occasions, but which is physically, and thus psychologically and spiritually, removed from the daily life of most members.
At the time the article was published, the proposal which inspired the greatest animus and confusion was the suggestion that synagogues should be located in malls. This and other “out of the box” proposals received a brief flurry of public attention from synagogues and federations – some affirmed the ideas, others challenged them. But my 15 minutes of fame passed as others added their own proposals on synagogue transformation and renewal.
However, at the recent General Assembly of the United Jewish Communities in Philadelphia, several people told me how that article had influenced their own thinking. I discovered that the ideas in the article “have legs.” So, I have decided to articulate how my thinking about the synagogue and rabbis has further evolved.
This is an opportune moment to clarify my bona fides. While my own rabbinic career has never included a pulpit [except for High Holiday and scholar-in-residence assignments], I have been extensively involved with synagogues. I served for a decade as the [lay] vice president of one, have visited and spoken at synagogues throughout the USA and in many countries throughout the world, and today regularly daven at several. And, while I have my theological and stylistic preferences, I am eclectic enough to attend those representing all of the streams.
It is also an opportune moment to acknowledge that over the last few years a growing number of synagogues have begun to address some of their own shortcomings – particularly in the area of liturgy. The hard work of groups such as Synagogue 2000, the selective prodding of the STAR consortium, the productive work of ECE and several local initiatives has begun to take hold. Experiments in family education have begun to be more widespread, changing the nature of how families experience the synagogue. Openness to more “spiritually sensitive” music and prayer experience is visible across the denominational spectrum. More synagogues have “welcome brochures” or “greeters.” It is more common to find multiple prayer options. More synagogues are asking how their own can be better.
Three years after the previous article appeared, a yasher koach and kol hakavod is due for for the many innovations and greater openness which have happened since.
However, the basic premises of my article still apply. The ideas I presented address an underlying set of questions that these initiatives have only skirted.
Moreover, resistance to change remains very real. My experience in speaking about this topic has been instructive. Not uncommonly, the response of synagogue audiences has been: “you are so correct, but not here!” I learned that every place, those which are objectively thriving and those which are not, has devotees for whom the status quo is satisfying. It is only fair to find ways to legitimate those who are satisfied even as one pushes for radical changes. And there are many rabbis who look at their own full schedules as ask “what more can I do?” So if one is an advocate for a restructured synagogue, it is only fair to address these underlying issues.
1. The overworked and lonely rabbi.
In a series of focus groups throughout the country conducted by STAR in its formative year, several concerns were repeated by rabbis of every stripe and affiliation. They decried that they were overworked, underappreciated, and were expected to do too many things. Some of these rabbis are extraordinarily talented and creative; some are charismatic and founders of wonderful synagogues; some work in large multi-staffed institutions, others in smaller communities or synagogues; no matter - the plaint was consistent. It is not to be dismissed lightly.
The complaint of many rabbis, that they are overworked, does not play well with lay people. This is not because rabbis don’t work hard but because so do the lay people. Most people work 10-20 hours more each week than they did 15 years ago, and they also volunteer at their synagogue and elsewhere during the shrinking disposable time that they have left.
It is a terrible indictment of American society that we celebrate “24/7” and that we brag about our not taking our due vacations Most Rabbis do work hard and long but they are respectably well paid professionals facing similar pressures to those facing their congregants. And, in fact, many rabbis have far more discretion over their own time than do those who are employees in the business world. It is more than appropriate for synagogues, through rabbinic leadership, to address lifestyle issues – for rabbis and for their congregants - and to explore ways to ameliorate the pressures which emerge from them. But it is not convincing to focus on the amount of work.
A more real and important challenge is the absence of priorities and clarity of vision for the congregational rabbinate. It is simply unreasonable to assume that any professional can do everything well. Some rabbis may be great teachers; others are inspiring preachers; still others are caring counselors; and still others excel at community building. What rabbis and synagogues must accept is their own limitations. If no one rabbi can do everything well, what other ways or resources exist to make sure that the rest is done well? For example, bikur cholim [visiting the ill] is not a commandment only for rabbis; it is for all. Teaching and leading teens is a rare and precious skill, not necessarily one learned or taught at Seminaries. Many congregations are blessed with highly educated congregants whose Jewish knowledge and speaking skills may exceed that of a particular rabbi who, in turn, may be unmatched in his/her community-building and community relations acumen.
When we begin to unpack the expectation that one person can be all and do all, we can move to clarity of mutual expectation. It is a sobering but ultimately liberating exercise for both sides; both rabbis and congregations will be the stronger for addressing this dilemma.
Which leads to a more structural issue, the issue of rabbinic loneliness. I have often wondered why rabbis should be expected to have their offices within the synagogue. An office within a synagogue surely emphasizes the rabbinic centrality to that place but it underscores their aloneness. Why don’t we have rabbinic suites for rabbis from several synagogues, perhaps with other professionals? These suites could be in centrally located business or shopping areas, making them more easily accessible to most congregants. For the congregant, it would probably make consulting with the rabbi a more convenient and less symbolically loaded experience.
As most other professionals know, working in an office with peers has many benefits. It can help remove the sense of isolation. Not incidentally, this new collegial relationship can help keep rabbis informed about innovations, the strengths and insights of colleagues, and might well lead to new kinds of collaborations. Rabbis and their synagogues would be the better. And while some might worry that this would have a negative impact on the unique and special relationship between rabbis and congregants, I believe that this greater accessibility would enhance that bond.
My suggestion stems from observations of other professionals and from my own experience. Early in my career, I worked on campuses for 14 years. I made it a point to maintain an office with the other chaplains as well as one at Hillel. Even though it was a mere two short blocks between the two, it was miles in terms of approachability. Over the years, literally hundreds of students and faculty found their way to the chaplains’ offices, in the center of campus. Right or wrong, many were reluctant or too intimidated to seek me out in the confines of what was even then a very active and thriving Hillel House. And I benefited from the daily contact with other professionals who had comparable responsibilities but different skills and personalities from my own.
2. The overstretched synagogue
If it is true that rabbis cannot do everything well, why might we think that synagogues can? While I addressed this issue in the previous article, it has proven to be remarkably difficult to redress. Synagogues, in an attempt to be full service institutions, too often settle for mediocrity in much of what they do.
I can illustrate with one example [of many]: When I spoke at a synagogue one Sunday morning, the rabbi took me on a tour. The most crowded room was dedicated to a family education experiment. The synagogue had been able to locate a superb educator and quickly that program had become far more impactful and popular than the rest of the supplementary education program. The rabbi told me, though, that the educator was leaving after that year and the program would probably end, despite its success, because of the difficulty of finding a well trained successor.
He was correct, of course. The right educator makes all the difference. But he was wrong. Why should his synagogue compete with all the many others in his area to find such an educator? Just imagine if the resources of that synagogue were combined with those of the others within striking distance to find the right educators and to develop an educational program of excellence which would serve all of them. Unfortunately, many believe that every synagogue should be both full service and self contained. This rarely works. It is rare indeed that a synagogue has the requisite financial resources and access to the human resources to be able to achieve excellence in every area.
3. Toward a decentralized synagogue
The most controversial comment in the earlier piece was the proposal that synagogues should be located in malls [or like places] which are a part of the everyday life of Jewish people. The objections suggested that the synagogue should indeed be seen as “other” than the place of commerce and business, and should be an oasis of spirituality and values. It therefore benefits from being removed from all daily temptations and experiences.
It is my view that this is argument is at odds with the historic role and locus of the synagogue. Until the advent of the automobile and the resulting suburban culture, synagogues were not destinations away from the hustle bustle of life but were typically at its center. Implicitly, the location of a synagogue communicates a message about where it fits in people’s lives. When a synagogue is at a remove from the places where we live, it suggests that it is a place for refuge and meaning away from the shallowness of daily life. Or probably more typically, a place to visit only on special occasions.
When a synagogue is not at the periphery but rather at the center, convenient and proximate to where one goes to the bank or dry cleaner or bakery or work, it suggests that the synagogue, and by extension, Judaism, is a part of normal daily existence.
The obvious reality is that synagogues are committed to their current real estate. No one can reasonably suggest that these millions and millions of dollars worth of facilities close and relocate. But just imagine how many more people might stop in to study or pray or who knows what if there were store front branches of synagogues in malls or in town centers. The phenomenon of downtown luncheon study groups in law or business offices is now quite pervasive throughout the country. All of us recognize that this “outreach” technique works. Bringing Judaism to where people are does not mean that one is compromising Judaism. I simply propose to carry this proven method one step further.
And, I believe it will help the synagogue regain its more historically authentic role and function.
4. Synagogue Funding
The STAR focus groups also revealed that synagogue leaders feel financially trapped and strapped. Many rabbis and lay leaders argue that they are committed to new visions of their own synagogue, acknowledge that the majority of their membership [to say nothing of the majority of American Jews who are unaffiliated at any one time] are not being served, and would welcome innovations which would inspire, engage, and educate. The limitation is money.
There is much to be said and written about this question, but the underlying issue is that synagogues are now like private clubs. Their membership determines what they do, how much they will pay, and what services they will provide. Far too many exist on the backs of their supplementary schools, culminating in bar/bat mitzvah. I address this question below, but this financial dependence overwhelms any objective planning.
It is time to deconstruct the funding question as well. We must revisit the question of the synagogue as a membership organization. Perhaps synagogues should be viewed as one of the panoply of Jewish institutions which are under the auspices of a central funding and planning body. This would allow numerous new possibilities which are quite difficult in the current funding structure.
a. Community wide membership, applicable to any of the synagogues.
b. Community wide educational offerings [with tracks to accommodate denominational demands]
c. Facility planning in coordination with other institutions in the community – to ensure that there is some relationship of space to real need
d. Various service and prayer offerings which transcend the approach or style of any one synagogue
e. Efficiencies of “back-office” services such as data base management, purchasing, etc.
It is my belief that the gross national synagogue budget is probably adequate to serve the needs, but that the tradition of the fully independent synagogue [based on the Protestant Free Church tradition] means dollars are not as effectively used as they might be. Obviously this approach might have tradeoffs of autonomy but could pay for itself in increased quality and innovation. And more coordinated planning might well engage more of those for whom the current synagogue is simply too intimidating or alienating.
In proposing this neo-kehillah model, I do so with caution. Centralized planning can squelch creativity and innovation. One would not want to lose the entrepreneurial spirit which leads to experimentation of size, structure, or style. Most innovation emerges outside the mainstream, becomes successful or fails, and then is co-opted or adapted. A centralized membership and planning model must account for and even encourage these ventures.
But such a model would go a long way to address an endemic problem – that every synagogue now feels that it must now turn beyond its membership to raise funds to do its work. There is something wrong if the basic organizational model of this crucial institution cannot pay for itself. Having headed a foundation committed to the renaissance of Jewish life, I can attest to the number of synagogues which have tried to obtain funding for their “unique” funding problem. But foundations view synagogues as local, so all such proposals are rejected. The more proposals I read, the more convinced I became that the model itself needs to change.
Perhaps there is another funding model besides the neo-kehillah model which I propose. But one thing is certain – the current model is not up to the task at hand and requires a radical re-think, not simply tampering.
5. Bar/Bat Mitzvah
For many years, there have been those who have raised the issue of the role of the bar/bat mitzvah in the American synagogue; yet it continues to be an abiding question of what the synagogue should be. It is so central that it must be addressed. For too many synagogues, it is the tail wagging the dog. It is time to find ways to put the bar/bat mitzvah back in a healthy and appropriate context – for the benefit of synagogues, the families, and the Jewish people.
Even after all these years, if one visits many synagogues, one comes away feeling that the real reason for a Shabbat service is the bar/bat mitzvah. Others [non-guest daveners] who may be there seem incidental. The dominance of the bar/bat mitzvah surely must limit a synagogue’s flexibility in thinking through the Shabbat experience to say nothing of the disenfranchisement of the regular members. And while these rites of passage can be beautifully done, it does not seem the ideal way to build community.
The bar/bat mitzvah is still perceived as graduation from Jewish education for too many. There must be a way to transform that graduation into a commencement – the beginning of adult learning, not the end of marginal Jewish education. There are some intriguing initiatives to address this: One impressive example is the B’nai Tzedek program, conceived by Harold Grinspoon, which provides a small philanthropic endowment for B’nai mitzvah – to learn that with maturity comes responsibility and the honor of giving. This program now exists in 20-30 communities throughout the USA, with very positive results. Another program, about which I have just learned, is in connection with MAZON. I am quite sure that there are other initiatives with equal promise.
There must be concomitant community wide reshuffling of priorities for Jewish education subsidies. If adolescence is the time when young people are most influenced by peers and are learning to make social choices which may last into adulthood, why are we not providing major incentives to engage that population? It is clear that we have it backwards – at the time when the major influence is the home, we send them to supplementary or day school; at the time when they are influenced by peers, we let them opt out.
The bar/bat mitzvah must, therefore, be reconfigured to play a different role in the life of the family, the life of the synagogue, and the life of the individual. Any real change will require a major national commitment so that many synagogues opt in. Therefore, while I am not typically a proponent of national conferences to solve problems, in this case I feel that a trans-denominational conference committed to the question of rethinking the bar/bat mitzvah experience may be the only way that individual synagogues can be empowered in their commitment to explore changes in their own practices.
6. Some concluding thoughts on k’dushah
K’dushah – holiness or sanctity – is the goal of the Jewish tradition. The Jewish people are a “holy nation;” “you shall be holy;” much of Torah and rabbinic literature is an extended mandate to imbue one’s life and the life of the Jewish people with sanctity. What might this mean in the context of our topic?
The word itself suggests a legitimate tension: The root meaning is “to separate.” Therefore one might argue that the way to achieve k’dushah is to separate oneself from the secular. The ideal is to live at a remove from the everyday, the secular, the unholy and impure. Synagogues and rabbis must make sure that the experience of the synagogue elevates us and reminds us that there is a higher meaning and more holy life than that which occupies the everyday. The very physical experience of the synagogue, to say nothing of the spiritual one, should help elevate one’s sense of purpose.
For this reason, the professionals who work in the synagogue are affectionately referred to as klai kodesh, vessels of holiness. The rabbi and shaliach tzibbur/cantor play an indispensable role in achieving this desired higher state. They are indeed vessels, carrying the communal spirit, conveying communal longing, bearing the communal leadership – through their voices, their words, their actions, and their teachings. The congregants, indeed the Jewish people, need their religious leaders to symbolize the holiness to which we all aspire.
There is, though, another way to understand the mandate to be a holy people and to pursue sanctity. It is to bring sanctity, meaning, and holiness into the everyday. In this view, the challenge is not to reject olam hazeh, this world, but to make it a more holy place. There is nothing inherently tainted about the everyday – it is normal, neutral, awaiting value. The Talmud and Jewish Law tell us that the rules of how one does shopping are to imbue that most necessary societal behavior with a sense of ethics and meaning. Human beings are in the image of their Creator; their actions should reflect that. Money is collected in the synagogue, twice daily [during the services!] and then immediately given to people who will return to the street to live on that money. There is no separation between the immanence of the holy and the immediacy of human need.
I ascribe to this second view – that the Jewish world-view is that sanctity is “not in heaven,” but it is in fact in the hands of all of us. And thus it is incumbent upon the Jewish institution that represents the chain of the Jewish tradition, the synagogue, to demonstrate that. Sanctity must not be reserved to the synagogue any more than it is restricted to moments of prayer. The message of the synagogue must be in homes, and streets, and offices, and shops. There must be an integration of values and a transcendence of space so that all of human endeavors reflect the pursuit of sanctity. When lives are so compartmentalized that holiness is seen as limited to the moments when one is in the “holy place” in the presence of “holy vessels” then Judaism and the Jewish people are the lesser.
That is why I am such an advocate for the conceptual deconstruction and decentralization of what happens in the modern synagogue. The synagogue is a primary transmitter of values and teaching; the synagogue is a primary locus of spiritual pursuits; the synagogue is a primary institution for community building; the synagogue is a primary institution for conveying Torah and the Jewish Tradition. But it is not the only place for any of these, and when the synagogue becomes the destination and not the source, it limits its own effectiveness and deprives the Jewish people of the true meaning for which it stands. Let k’dushah flow forth from the pews and the pulpits – and let it flow to the streets and the dining rooms and the board rooms and the chat rooms and the fitting rooms of our lives. Only when the synagogue is a part of our lives, physically and metaphorically, will it achieve its true purpose.
10 June 2009
More Signs of the Times
Yesterday brought the juxtaposition of two separate but suggestive moments.
The first was that I finally received payment from an invoice sent in February. This was one of three such long overdue accounts receivable. Not an earth shattering moment or budget busting amount, but enough to pay attention.
Over the last few months, I have often been asked how the economy has affected our business. I have often responded with the examples of having to wait to get paid, something I only occasionally experienced before.
There are others who volunteer, “You must be busier than ever!” or “your clients must really need you now.” After all, they reason, it is when there are hard decisions to be made, when there is less to give, when the philanthropic environment is more challenging than ever, that experienced philanthropic advising must be in high demand. I acknowledge that there are some clients and some others [such as the press] who agree with that. But a more honest assessment is that the phone is a bit quieter than one would like.
Which brings me to the second: a consulting firm, which to the best of my knowledge does not do the same kind of work that I do and therefore is not a competitor, sent out a e-mail broadside explicitly advertising why, in these times, one should hire them. What struck me about this email was not the argument, a not unreasonable one, that advisory and consultancy services can be a very useful expenditure during the hardest economic times. Rather that this firm was THE one to be used during these times.
In fairness, I have no reason to doubt the quality of the work of this group. But I know lots of other groups that do similar work and I am not sure I would rank them better than their peers. It left me wondering: Were they overreaching? Overstating? What is the difference between legitimate hyperbole and inappropriate exaggeration? When does such self-promotion veer into the negative?
What brings these two seemingly unrelated moments together is that they both are signs of the times. Money is tighter on almost every front. Large companies are smaller; smaller businesses are struggling; even among those who have seen some stability, it is surrounded by uncertainty. In such times, everyone makes choices about where to spend limited resources and there is greater competition for those resources. It may be that I wasn’t paid because a grantee or staff person came first; I may have resented having to wait so long and re-invoice so often but the erstwhile client may have made a rational choice in keeping me wait. It may be that the unnamed firm is faced with one last desperate push for clients or else they may have to disband. I may wish that they were a little more restrained in their marketing approach but I don’t have their overhead. I may have been discomfited; for them it may be survival.
To date, thank goodness, we are in neither place. Business comes in, even if less; bills get paid –in our case, promptly. But we too are faced with marketing choices and reviewing our business model.
Here’s the kicker: I actually do believe that funders and foundations need my services more than ever, and that there really is a value added to what I bring to their tables. All of my instincts make me want to trust that people know that; everything I read about marketing tells me that they won’t know that unless I tell them. Maybe the aforementioned firm and some of my competitors are having the last laugh. While I wonder about the propriety of self-promotion, they may be the ones getting the contracts.
The first was that I finally received payment from an invoice sent in February. This was one of three such long overdue accounts receivable. Not an earth shattering moment or budget busting amount, but enough to pay attention.
Over the last few months, I have often been asked how the economy has affected our business. I have often responded with the examples of having to wait to get paid, something I only occasionally experienced before.
There are others who volunteer, “You must be busier than ever!” or “your clients must really need you now.” After all, they reason, it is when there are hard decisions to be made, when there is less to give, when the philanthropic environment is more challenging than ever, that experienced philanthropic advising must be in high demand. I acknowledge that there are some clients and some others [such as the press] who agree with that. But a more honest assessment is that the phone is a bit quieter than one would like.
Which brings me to the second: a consulting firm, which to the best of my knowledge does not do the same kind of work that I do and therefore is not a competitor, sent out a e-mail broadside explicitly advertising why, in these times, one should hire them. What struck me about this email was not the argument, a not unreasonable one, that advisory and consultancy services can be a very useful expenditure during the hardest economic times. Rather that this firm was THE one to be used during these times.
In fairness, I have no reason to doubt the quality of the work of this group. But I know lots of other groups that do similar work and I am not sure I would rank them better than their peers. It left me wondering: Were they overreaching? Overstating? What is the difference between legitimate hyperbole and inappropriate exaggeration? When does such self-promotion veer into the negative?
What brings these two seemingly unrelated moments together is that they both are signs of the times. Money is tighter on almost every front. Large companies are smaller; smaller businesses are struggling; even among those who have seen some stability, it is surrounded by uncertainty. In such times, everyone makes choices about where to spend limited resources and there is greater competition for those resources. It may be that I wasn’t paid because a grantee or staff person came first; I may have resented having to wait so long and re-invoice so often but the erstwhile client may have made a rational choice in keeping me wait. It may be that the unnamed firm is faced with one last desperate push for clients or else they may have to disband. I may wish that they were a little more restrained in their marketing approach but I don’t have their overhead. I may have been discomfited; for them it may be survival.
To date, thank goodness, we are in neither place. Business comes in, even if less; bills get paid –in our case, promptly. But we too are faced with marketing choices and reviewing our business model.
Here’s the kicker: I actually do believe that funders and foundations need my services more than ever, and that there really is a value added to what I bring to their tables. All of my instincts make me want to trust that people know that; everything I read about marketing tells me that they won’t know that unless I tell them. Maybe the aforementioned firm and some of my competitors are having the last laugh. While I wonder about the propriety of self-promotion, they may be the ones getting the contracts.
03 June 2009
A public thanks to ZEEK
You may be aware of ZEEK magazine [“a Jewish Journal of Thought and Culture”]. Its editors typically push current thinking without being pushy. The current issue, which I read this morning, is entitled “Sex, Gender, and God.”
What I found refreshing about some of the central articles is that they brought me back into an important intellectual dialogue in a way that makes me understand the progress of this thinking over the years. For me, who was early involved in the issue of Jewish feminism as an advocate for change and alternatives, and, even as an educator, I had the sense that the real conceptual thinking had ended a generation ago. It seemed that there were 2 conceptual approaches from which everything else followed: women were essentially the same as men and therefore the challenge was to remove barriers, however defined, to achieving that equality [which I prefer to name “womenization” rather than “feminization”– OR women are essentially different than men and the nature of too much of human history has been to ignore or downplay that difference. A new world would not be defined as more equal but rather re-balanced, as I see it, what feminism really is about.
These were important distinctions but once they were made, then what? Functionally, very few of those who believed in conceptual differentiation wouldn’t argue for equal opportunity. And there was enough abstraction to the feminist differentiation concept that, it wasn’t so easy to know what to do with it. [other than the small group of separatists.] Since the late 70’s I often felt that so much of the discussion that followed had not really pushed the conceptual thinking much beyond that era.
It was instructive and indeed gratifying to see how out of date my own understanding of and the progress made in climbing beyond those conceptual boxes. Whether it is in recognizing the power of metaphor in prayer which recognizes that gender-neutral often robs liturgy of power, or in identifying that personalities are more complex than simplistic male-female categories. [I am less intrigued by the issue of transgender than I am of acknowledging the absurdity of classifying behaviors and aesthetics as either male or female.] I was gratified to hear that current thinking does not posit superiority for feminist theology or identity but rather sees what might be called historical [read: male] interpretive tradition as complementary to a feminist one.
I am privileged to be of the generation of Judith Plaskow and Rachel Adler [2 of those featured in this issue], and to have been a party or witness to those early struggles. In the days before there were other options, many of these were played in the one institution which, in those days, hosted such innovation. I recall vividly, going back to the late 60’s early 70’s, the early women’s only services. [From 73-78, Brown had a regular women’s only Shabbat minchah service; women of all ages came – invariably their first time at the Torah left them in tears] I had my consciousness raised by undergraduates who made sure I understood the conceptual thinking of the newly emerging field of women’s studies, and I was flattered that a meaningful number of those who studied “women and Judaism” chose to become among the earliest generations of women rabbis.
I also saw the tensions between the generations as students and spouses distanced themselves from their teachers and mentors, and women of a certain age were deeply and profoundly hurt and confused by those who were choosing different paths. There were couples which simply couldn’t adjust to a reshuffling of priorities and decision-making. There were those who, consciousness raised, rejected everything and those who for the first time felt empowered by that same consciousness to engage their Judaism for the first time. There was poignancy to the change, experimentation, uncertainty, discovery, de-mythologizing, and re-mythologizing.
Reading the articles in ZEEK raised an interesting question for me. Many institutions have made the changes to integrate a women’s role and a feminist sensitivity. Most families I know have long since abandoned obvious gender defined roles. Unquestionably the glass ceiling is only cracked and there are still disparities in income. As one who remembers back alley abortions, it bothers me how younger people don’t understand how vulnerable the right to choice is. And I have to adjust to a generation of younger women who have returned to the practice of changing their name when they get married.
But I was truly engaged that the basic questions are being pushed to the next level and not simply to the next generation. And for that I want to publicly commend the editors of ZEEK.
What I found refreshing about some of the central articles is that they brought me back into an important intellectual dialogue in a way that makes me understand the progress of this thinking over the years. For me, who was early involved in the issue of Jewish feminism as an advocate for change and alternatives, and, even as an educator, I had the sense that the real conceptual thinking had ended a generation ago. It seemed that there were 2 conceptual approaches from which everything else followed: women were essentially the same as men and therefore the challenge was to remove barriers, however defined, to achieving that equality [which I prefer to name “womenization” rather than “feminization”– OR women are essentially different than men and the nature of too much of human history has been to ignore or downplay that difference. A new world would not be defined as more equal but rather re-balanced, as I see it, what feminism really is about.
These were important distinctions but once they were made, then what? Functionally, very few of those who believed in conceptual differentiation wouldn’t argue for equal opportunity. And there was enough abstraction to the feminist differentiation concept that, it wasn’t so easy to know what to do with it. [other than the small group of separatists.] Since the late 70’s I often felt that so much of the discussion that followed had not really pushed the conceptual thinking much beyond that era.
It was instructive and indeed gratifying to see how out of date my own understanding of and the progress made in climbing beyond those conceptual boxes. Whether it is in recognizing the power of metaphor in prayer which recognizes that gender-neutral often robs liturgy of power, or in identifying that personalities are more complex than simplistic male-female categories. [I am less intrigued by the issue of transgender than I am of acknowledging the absurdity of classifying behaviors and aesthetics as either male or female.] I was gratified to hear that current thinking does not posit superiority for feminist theology or identity but rather sees what might be called historical [read: male] interpretive tradition as complementary to a feminist one.
I am privileged to be of the generation of Judith Plaskow and Rachel Adler [2 of those featured in this issue], and to have been a party or witness to those early struggles. In the days before there were other options, many of these were played in the one institution which, in those days, hosted such innovation. I recall vividly, going back to the late 60’s early 70’s, the early women’s only services. [From 73-78, Brown had a regular women’s only Shabbat minchah service; women of all ages came – invariably their first time at the Torah left them in tears] I had my consciousness raised by undergraduates who made sure I understood the conceptual thinking of the newly emerging field of women’s studies, and I was flattered that a meaningful number of those who studied “women and Judaism” chose to become among the earliest generations of women rabbis.
I also saw the tensions between the generations as students and spouses distanced themselves from their teachers and mentors, and women of a certain age were deeply and profoundly hurt and confused by those who were choosing different paths. There were couples which simply couldn’t adjust to a reshuffling of priorities and decision-making. There were those who, consciousness raised, rejected everything and those who for the first time felt empowered by that same consciousness to engage their Judaism for the first time. There was poignancy to the change, experimentation, uncertainty, discovery, de-mythologizing, and re-mythologizing.
Reading the articles in ZEEK raised an interesting question for me. Many institutions have made the changes to integrate a women’s role and a feminist sensitivity. Most families I know have long since abandoned obvious gender defined roles. Unquestionably the glass ceiling is only cracked and there are still disparities in income. As one who remembers back alley abortions, it bothers me how younger people don’t understand how vulnerable the right to choice is. And I have to adjust to a generation of younger women who have returned to the practice of changing their name when they get married.
But I was truly engaged that the basic questions are being pushed to the next level and not simply to the next generation. And for that I want to publicly commend the editors of ZEEK.
12 May 2009
Rule of 3
Next week, I will be speaking at the largest conference of American Shia Muslims. Given my leadership roles in IJCIC and the Board of World Religious Leaders, and my attendance at the bi-ennial meetings of Rabbis and Imams for Peace, this invitation was not such a surprise. I am told that 5000 people will attend the conference.
And the topic, The People of the Book, will also be addressed that afternoon by a major Christian leader and the Imam associated with this organization. It is hardly a political topic, the invitation was extended to affirm the organization's commitment to mutual understandings, and the overall tone of the conversations and setting suggest that this is an important opportunity. I was flattered to be invited.
In fact, I have been sufficiently flattered that I have told many people that this is on my speaking and travel schedule. It is the response which has left me agape. Back to that response in a moment. First:
The rule of 3. In the consulting work that I sometimes do, we have the "rule of 3." If one is gathering opinions about an organization, one learns how to hear feedback. Even the most popular or successful program or professional may have a detractor. Even the least successful or ineffective program or professional may have advocates. One learns the difference between an idiosyncratic and non representative response and one which adds to the normal range of opinions. One of the indicators is if one finds a similar response from at least 3 people. Unanimity is rarely achieved, so patterns, even diverse ones, are suggestive.
Similarly, in the Jewish tradition, there is the concept of "chazakah" - loosely translated as precedent. Without going into detail, in certain circumstances, an action, accepted and repeated thrice, is considered precedential and therefore binding. Here, in a fully unrelated context, three seems to be sufficient to take something beyond the idiosyncratic to the pattern.
Which brings me back to the forthcoming talk. In three, fully unrelated and disparate contexts, the immediate and spontaneous response to my comment about it, was "will you wear a flack jacket?" What was consistent about the 3 respondents was that all are identified with liberal causes, have leadership roles in left oriented Jewish political and religous movements, and would readily associate themselves with projects which would build understanding between peoples - certainly between Jews and Moslems. Each of the three immediately added something like: "just kidding."
Three times, though, raised the level beyond the idiosyncratic to a pattern. No, not a unaimous or predictive pattern, but enough to give us pause. If this is the response of presumably sympathetic members of the Jewish community, just imagine the response of the many in our community who make no claim of liberalism or of their distrust of Moslems. [in my interreligous work, I have encountered those in the Jewish world whose hypothetic preconditions for trusting Moslem groups are so strict that it is hard to imagnine any potential dialogue partners anywhere at any time.]
And I am not so naive to not know that on the other side there are those, too many, who ascribe only the most pernicious motivations to Jewish actions or believe the most horrendous lies about us or who are willing to endorse actions which are functionally anti-Semitic and existential threats to Jews wherever we may live. I imagine that there are Imams who are warned not to accept a speaking engagement with Jews because of perceived risks.
But my own expereince with Imams and other Moslem leaders is otherwise. Not 100% otherwise, but sufficiently otherwise to know that we do have partners for peace, we do have partners in dialogue, we do have colleagues who seek balance, knowledge, understanding, we do have friends who dare to dream and dare to act to change these assumptions. My own experience is that the invitation I received was not only benign, but a sign of a genuine commitment to understand our commonalities which can transcend politics, and a commitmetn to build when others destroy. I am sobered by the response of my co-religionists, but even more persuaded that not accepting this invitation - under any guise at all - would have been a terrible mistake. Or put differently, I would rather go unprotected before 5000 shia Muslims than endorse a world-view which believes that I only dare do so with a flack jacket.
And the topic, The People of the Book, will also be addressed that afternoon by a major Christian leader and the Imam associated with this organization. It is hardly a political topic, the invitation was extended to affirm the organization's commitment to mutual understandings, and the overall tone of the conversations and setting suggest that this is an important opportunity. I was flattered to be invited.
In fact, I have been sufficiently flattered that I have told many people that this is on my speaking and travel schedule. It is the response which has left me agape. Back to that response in a moment. First:
The rule of 3. In the consulting work that I sometimes do, we have the "rule of 3." If one is gathering opinions about an organization, one learns how to hear feedback. Even the most popular or successful program or professional may have a detractor. Even the least successful or ineffective program or professional may have advocates. One learns the difference between an idiosyncratic and non representative response and one which adds to the normal range of opinions. One of the indicators is if one finds a similar response from at least 3 people. Unanimity is rarely achieved, so patterns, even diverse ones, are suggestive.
Similarly, in the Jewish tradition, there is the concept of "chazakah" - loosely translated as precedent. Without going into detail, in certain circumstances, an action, accepted and repeated thrice, is considered precedential and therefore binding. Here, in a fully unrelated context, three seems to be sufficient to take something beyond the idiosyncratic to the pattern.
Which brings me back to the forthcoming talk. In three, fully unrelated and disparate contexts, the immediate and spontaneous response to my comment about it, was "will you wear a flack jacket?" What was consistent about the 3 respondents was that all are identified with liberal causes, have leadership roles in left oriented Jewish political and religous movements, and would readily associate themselves with projects which would build understanding between peoples - certainly between Jews and Moslems. Each of the three immediately added something like: "just kidding."
Three times, though, raised the level beyond the idiosyncratic to a pattern. No, not a unaimous or predictive pattern, but enough to give us pause. If this is the response of presumably sympathetic members of the Jewish community, just imagine the response of the many in our community who make no claim of liberalism or of their distrust of Moslems. [in my interreligous work, I have encountered those in the Jewish world whose hypothetic preconditions for trusting Moslem groups are so strict that it is hard to imagnine any potential dialogue partners anywhere at any time.]
And I am not so naive to not know that on the other side there are those, too many, who ascribe only the most pernicious motivations to Jewish actions or believe the most horrendous lies about us or who are willing to endorse actions which are functionally anti-Semitic and existential threats to Jews wherever we may live. I imagine that there are Imams who are warned not to accept a speaking engagement with Jews because of perceived risks.
But my own expereince with Imams and other Moslem leaders is otherwise. Not 100% otherwise, but sufficiently otherwise to know that we do have partners for peace, we do have partners in dialogue, we do have colleagues who seek balance, knowledge, understanding, we do have friends who dare to dream and dare to act to change these assumptions. My own experience is that the invitation I received was not only benign, but a sign of a genuine commitment to understand our commonalities which can transcend politics, and a commitmetn to build when others destroy. I am sobered by the response of my co-religionists, but even more persuaded that not accepting this invitation - under any guise at all - would have been a terrible mistake. Or put differently, I would rather go unprotected before 5000 shia Muslims than endorse a world-view which believes that I only dare do so with a flack jacket.
10 January 2009
CAJE's demise - A footnote to history
Today’s JTA included the announcement that CAJE was cancelling its annual conference. I suspect that for most in the Jewish educational world, this wasn’t news, but as one who is now on the periphery of that world, it was new information.
Since I had some minor, largely behind the scenes, role in the very first CAJE conference, the announcement that it is ceasing operations after 33 years is an occasion for some consideration. And given the many discussions of which I have lately been a part on the future of non-profits, it is a striking case study.
A few words of background: 33 years ago, I was still the Jewish Chaplain at Brown where I also served as director of the Hillel. 1976 was the tail end of the political 60’s but still a time when cultural innovation was happening. In the Jewish world, there were lots of experiments which had begun to have an impact beyond the 2 or 3 centers of demographic concentration, and there was the emergence of a critical mass of professionals and volunteers who were committed to a revised vision of what Jewish life might be. There were new viable models of pluralism, feminist expressions, rabbinic training, community, etc. And these were being seen not simply in private residences in Boston and New York, but on universities and communities all over North America.
Whether it was an accurate perception or not, and it probably was, at that time there was a consensus that what passed as Jewish education was mediocre at best and that the educational establishment was not committed to either change or excellence. It was hardly surprising that a group of young Turks wanted to convene to reinforce each other and to learn from one another.
It also wasn’t so surprising that they decided to explore having the meeting at Brown that summer: Jewish life at Brown had acquired a reputation as a place where exciting new things were happening, it was an attractive and accessible campus which didn’t have an active summer school [thus having space available], and, while I suspect this wasn’t articulated, it had a derivative prestige which raised the profile of the first meeting beyond a camp-based retreat setting. The target numbers were about 200, quite a manageable size.
It turned out, however, that when it came time to sign the contract, there was a workers strike at Brown. While it had absolutely nothing to do with the new CAJE program, symbolically it put a group of liberal activists in a quandary. How can they even symbolically cross a picket line or independently hire people to work to replace the strikers.
This is where my role as a footnote came to play: I helped mediate a resolution that didn’t violate the sensitivities of the CAJE participants and didn’t violate the principles of the Union:
If CAJE kept to one discreet section of the campuses, ran as a self-administered cooperative, and didn’t use any of the classroom buildings, they would view that section as independent of the strike. Thus CAJE self-catered and cleaned, held its larger meetings at Hillel [which was on campus but not owned by the university], and publicly expressed its solidarity with the union – and went ahead with the first CAJE conference.
Of course over the 33 years since then, CAJE changed its name from the Conference on ALTERNATIVES in Jewish Education to the Conference for the ADVANCEMENT of Jewish Education. Its conference grew from the original 200 to 2-3000. It became part of the establishment, and was a part of the large alphabet soup of organizations in Jewish life which everyone more or less knew about.
Which may in fact be why it is now vulnerable. We don’t live in a world which celebrates independence just because an organization desires to remain that way. In the past couple of decades, CAJE may have been a place where innovators were invited to speak, but it wasn’t a place from which innovation emerged. It may have been a national gathering of educators but it wasn’t owned by or a project of the local or national educational institutions. This may prove to be an interesting case study and morality tale. When CAJE was new, it needed to be fully independent and unencumbered as a counter culture organization. As it acquired maturity, its independence made it seem out of touch and made it marginal.
A couple of years ago, I attended some of the activities commemorating the retirement of CAJE’s long-term director. I came away from that with a sense that it was a celebration of yesterday’s news, not tomorrow’s. There was poignancy and respect, but not a celebration of a new vision for Jewish life or Jewish education. I assume that many funders looked at it the same way and thus today’s news.
In retrospect, it seems that the tone of that retirement day made today’s announcement inevitable. Organizations need to reinvent themselves, not as marketing or rebranding exercises but as responses to a world which changes quickly and in unforgiving ways. And there certainly isn’t any shame in acknowledging that what made an organization successful in the past no longer applies. As one who is now very much an outsider, I suspect that what is called for now is a dignified end to an organization that helped reshape Diaspora education, spawned its 21st century offspring, Limmud, and showed that quality education needs to be at the center of the community’s agenda, and not simply the alternative indulgence of a few dreamers. Leaders of an organization that can take credit for such a role in history need not feel embarrassed knowing that it is time for others to take the agenda forward, to look back with pride on their accomplishment, and to turn the lights out as they leave.
Since I had some minor, largely behind the scenes, role in the very first CAJE conference, the announcement that it is ceasing operations after 33 years is an occasion for some consideration. And given the many discussions of which I have lately been a part on the future of non-profits, it is a striking case study.
A few words of background: 33 years ago, I was still the Jewish Chaplain at Brown where I also served as director of the Hillel. 1976 was the tail end of the political 60’s but still a time when cultural innovation was happening. In the Jewish world, there were lots of experiments which had begun to have an impact beyond the 2 or 3 centers of demographic concentration, and there was the emergence of a critical mass of professionals and volunteers who were committed to a revised vision of what Jewish life might be. There were new viable models of pluralism, feminist expressions, rabbinic training, community, etc. And these were being seen not simply in private residences in Boston and New York, but on universities and communities all over North America.
Whether it was an accurate perception or not, and it probably was, at that time there was a consensus that what passed as Jewish education was mediocre at best and that the educational establishment was not committed to either change or excellence. It was hardly surprising that a group of young Turks wanted to convene to reinforce each other and to learn from one another.
It also wasn’t so surprising that they decided to explore having the meeting at Brown that summer: Jewish life at Brown had acquired a reputation as a place where exciting new things were happening, it was an attractive and accessible campus which didn’t have an active summer school [thus having space available], and, while I suspect this wasn’t articulated, it had a derivative prestige which raised the profile of the first meeting beyond a camp-based retreat setting. The target numbers were about 200, quite a manageable size.
It turned out, however, that when it came time to sign the contract, there was a workers strike at Brown. While it had absolutely nothing to do with the new CAJE program, symbolically it put a group of liberal activists in a quandary. How can they even symbolically cross a picket line or independently hire people to work to replace the strikers.
This is where my role as a footnote came to play: I helped mediate a resolution that didn’t violate the sensitivities of the CAJE participants and didn’t violate the principles of the Union:
If CAJE kept to one discreet section of the campuses, ran as a self-administered cooperative, and didn’t use any of the classroom buildings, they would view that section as independent of the strike. Thus CAJE self-catered and cleaned, held its larger meetings at Hillel [which was on campus but not owned by the university], and publicly expressed its solidarity with the union – and went ahead with the first CAJE conference.
Of course over the 33 years since then, CAJE changed its name from the Conference on ALTERNATIVES in Jewish Education to the Conference for the ADVANCEMENT of Jewish Education. Its conference grew from the original 200 to 2-3000. It became part of the establishment, and was a part of the large alphabet soup of organizations in Jewish life which everyone more or less knew about.
Which may in fact be why it is now vulnerable. We don’t live in a world which celebrates independence just because an organization desires to remain that way. In the past couple of decades, CAJE may have been a place where innovators were invited to speak, but it wasn’t a place from which innovation emerged. It may have been a national gathering of educators but it wasn’t owned by or a project of the local or national educational institutions. This may prove to be an interesting case study and morality tale. When CAJE was new, it needed to be fully independent and unencumbered as a counter culture organization. As it acquired maturity, its independence made it seem out of touch and made it marginal.
A couple of years ago, I attended some of the activities commemorating the retirement of CAJE’s long-term director. I came away from that with a sense that it was a celebration of yesterday’s news, not tomorrow’s. There was poignancy and respect, but not a celebration of a new vision for Jewish life or Jewish education. I assume that many funders looked at it the same way and thus today’s news.
In retrospect, it seems that the tone of that retirement day made today’s announcement inevitable. Organizations need to reinvent themselves, not as marketing or rebranding exercises but as responses to a world which changes quickly and in unforgiving ways. And there certainly isn’t any shame in acknowledging that what made an organization successful in the past no longer applies. As one who is now very much an outsider, I suspect that what is called for now is a dignified end to an organization that helped reshape Diaspora education, spawned its 21st century offspring, Limmud, and showed that quality education needs to be at the center of the community’s agenda, and not simply the alternative indulgence of a few dreamers. Leaders of an organization that can take credit for such a role in history need not feel embarrassed knowing that it is time for others to take the agenda forward, to look back with pride on their accomplishment, and to turn the lights out as they leave.
12 October 2008
Why interreligious conversation matters
One of the great pleasures of being involved in international interreligious matters is the privilege of getting to know wonderful leaders of other religions. These are leaders of multitudes who convey with their very being a love of humanity, of their own religion, and acceptance of the other. So it gave us great joy when Bishop Lennart Koskinen, the religious leader charged with tending the worldwide Swedish Evangelical Lutheran flock, called to say he was in New York – and even more so when he accepted our last minute invitation to join our Sabbath eve table. Lennart is one of those people who is immediately likable, warm, and even though we see one another only every couple of years, resumes the intimacy of our professional friendship as if it were but a moment. Besides, he is a great fan of Mirele – so he is clearly a person of impeccable judgement.
At our Sabbath table, the conversation took a predictable turn. Both of us were asked: what comes of these interreligious dialogues? Do they really make a difference? Why do we do it?
I should clarify that I am not the typical attendee. Most of the others are truly religious leaders of large national or international communities; most have recognized authority and titles to go with it; most are leaders of followers and flocks. Whether Bishops or Archbishops, Imams or sheiks, Dharma Masters or Dalai Lama, Swamis, Baba Ji or Chief Rabbis – my “colleagues” are there as leaders of followers as well as representatives of their religion. For reasons both amusing and coincidental [and off subject here], I am there as an elected leader of leaders, but a leader without followers. My credentials may warrant my participation, but my everyday professional role would not make my participation obvious.
Nevertheless, I do sit with all of these leaders in meetings around the world. We do “dialogue” – and that would be a sufficient goal in itself. After all, if world religious leaders can find ways of communicating their deepest values, beliefs and commitments in rooms where others are as passionate about their own values, beliefs and commitments, isn’t that alone a powerful statement at a time in history when religion is used as a way to deny the legitimacy of the other. If these leaders then take these understandings and share their experiences with their followers, it has the ability to challenge fundamentalism, extremism, fanaticism, and isolationism – by their very behavior.
Do they make a difference? Space doesn’t allow for even a smattering of my own experiences but suffice it to say that I have met men and women whose participation put their own lives at risk; I have met men and women whose attendance jeopardized their career; I have met men and women who have courageously stood against the teachings of their of own tradition to affirm others; I have seen religious leaders who have led their churches, synagogues, mosques, temples, followers to re-interpret long-standing understandings in order to make safe space for those of other traditions; and I have seen as many of these leaders own selves have grown through these interactions. The real stories are sometimes political, often powerful, always poignant.
The real question, though, is why do it? Is it simply because, as the Jewish Tradition mandates, that we do it to increase peace in the world? Or is there something more to it?
I cannot speak for others, but I can articulate why, for me, it isn’t an option, it is a mandate. Let me explain:
For me, Judaism fills my life with meaning. It corresponds to my understanding of the nature of human being’s role in the physical and metaphysical world; it informs my perceptions of our relationship and responsibility to fellow human beings; it provides an aesthetic and an epistemology to help mediate the ever present sets of choices which define the human condition; it enables a transcendence which positions our experience in the continuum of time and the variance of space; it mediates between the ephemeral and ethereal, and elevates the vagaries of daily life with the possibility of spirituality. In other words, Judaism gives my life meaning.
But If Judaism fills my life with meaning, I have learned that I need the “other” to give it understanding. The interface and interaction with those of other authentic religious traditions not only expands my own knowledge, gives appreciation to the wondrous and wonderful diversity of human experience, and enriches the tapestry which enrobe the fabric of life’s ritual moments. But it goes further: and this is a lesson I learned only in the last few years: I am not a Jew without the other; I have only limited understanding of my own experience and Tradition without the other, and can only grow and be truly fulfilled in relationship with the other.
Therefore, to be fulfilled as a Jew, to fully understand myself as a Jew, interreligious communication, sharing, dialogue, and education are not a choice but a mandate. And I am not alone in this conviction. When we were in Amritsar, India last December, at our bi-ennial meeting of the Board of World Religious Leaders, our colleague Rabbi Abraham Soetendorp said, with passion and pathos, in his parting words as he prepared to depart back to the Netherlands: “I need you; we need you.” None disagreed; none was unmoved.
At our Sabbath table, the conversation took a predictable turn. Both of us were asked: what comes of these interreligious dialogues? Do they really make a difference? Why do we do it?
I should clarify that I am not the typical attendee. Most of the others are truly religious leaders of large national or international communities; most have recognized authority and titles to go with it; most are leaders of followers and flocks. Whether Bishops or Archbishops, Imams or sheiks, Dharma Masters or Dalai Lama, Swamis, Baba Ji or Chief Rabbis – my “colleagues” are there as leaders of followers as well as representatives of their religion. For reasons both amusing and coincidental [and off subject here], I am there as an elected leader of leaders, but a leader without followers. My credentials may warrant my participation, but my everyday professional role would not make my participation obvious.
Nevertheless, I do sit with all of these leaders in meetings around the world. We do “dialogue” – and that would be a sufficient goal in itself. After all, if world religious leaders can find ways of communicating their deepest values, beliefs and commitments in rooms where others are as passionate about their own values, beliefs and commitments, isn’t that alone a powerful statement at a time in history when religion is used as a way to deny the legitimacy of the other. If these leaders then take these understandings and share their experiences with their followers, it has the ability to challenge fundamentalism, extremism, fanaticism, and isolationism – by their very behavior.
Do they make a difference? Space doesn’t allow for even a smattering of my own experiences but suffice it to say that I have met men and women whose participation put their own lives at risk; I have met men and women whose attendance jeopardized their career; I have met men and women who have courageously stood against the teachings of their of own tradition to affirm others; I have seen religious leaders who have led their churches, synagogues, mosques, temples, followers to re-interpret long-standing understandings in order to make safe space for those of other traditions; and I have seen as many of these leaders own selves have grown through these interactions. The real stories are sometimes political, often powerful, always poignant.
The real question, though, is why do it? Is it simply because, as the Jewish Tradition mandates, that we do it to increase peace in the world? Or is there something more to it?
I cannot speak for others, but I can articulate why, for me, it isn’t an option, it is a mandate. Let me explain:
For me, Judaism fills my life with meaning. It corresponds to my understanding of the nature of human being’s role in the physical and metaphysical world; it informs my perceptions of our relationship and responsibility to fellow human beings; it provides an aesthetic and an epistemology to help mediate the ever present sets of choices which define the human condition; it enables a transcendence which positions our experience in the continuum of time and the variance of space; it mediates between the ephemeral and ethereal, and elevates the vagaries of daily life with the possibility of spirituality. In other words, Judaism gives my life meaning.
But If Judaism fills my life with meaning, I have learned that I need the “other” to give it understanding. The interface and interaction with those of other authentic religious traditions not only expands my own knowledge, gives appreciation to the wondrous and wonderful diversity of human experience, and enriches the tapestry which enrobe the fabric of life’s ritual moments. But it goes further: and this is a lesson I learned only in the last few years: I am not a Jew without the other; I have only limited understanding of my own experience and Tradition without the other, and can only grow and be truly fulfilled in relationship with the other.
Therefore, to be fulfilled as a Jew, to fully understand myself as a Jew, interreligious communication, sharing, dialogue, and education are not a choice but a mandate. And I am not alone in this conviction. When we were in Amritsar, India last December, at our bi-ennial meeting of the Board of World Religious Leaders, our colleague Rabbi Abraham Soetendorp said, with passion and pathos, in his parting words as he prepared to depart back to the Netherlands: “I need you; we need you.” None disagreed; none was unmoved.
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