Tomorrow marks 2 crucial dates in 20th Century history. Both took place on German soil but impacted the entire world. Both have an impact on my identity but in very different ways. And it is those different ways which tell a huge story.
Kristallnacht pogrom, as it is widely known, was the symbolic beginning of the shoah, the Holocaust, the systematic murder by the Nazis and their fellow travelers, of 6 million Jews and 5 million others. And that says nothing about the countless millions of others who died because of a war begun by their wanton expansionism.
In many ways, November 9th 1938 was a test of the world’s tolerance of intolerance. In a coordinated effort, synagogues, shops, residences and other Jewish identified places were destroyed, people arrested, intimidated, and made into pariahs. It mattered not that many of those Jews’ families had uninterrupted presence in Germany since the 10th Century, that they had served in the German military, that they had been indispensable to Germany’s recognition has the exemplary modern state, the Nazi regime vilified and dehumanized all Jews – and soon thereafter others as well – in a sick, perverse, destructive, and inhuman affirmation of a superior race called to rule the world.
There are still those for whom Kristallnacht is a memory. They are fewer and fewer, but still enough that their stories are told and recounted and, in many cases, recorded. And there are those who were their offspring who knew that their family’s lives were forever shaped by the miracle of survival and the trauma of witnessing tragedy.
But for me, and for most, this powerful anniversary is not a direct memory but part of the mythic structure which all Westerners must internalize, and all Jews, in some fashion, never forget. But it is in the category of history and myth which shapes our understanding, its message and its mandate. We already have rituals to commemorate this day and those like it, not dependent on hearing the failing voices of those who were there but remembered as other defining historic moments are remembered.
Not so the Fall of the Wall. As readers of this blog are aware, not only do I remember it as an event that took place during my adulthood, but one which defined much of my career. I was in Berlin that day. My memory of that day and the days just prior is of military on full alert, warnings not to consider entering the Eastern Sector, and a sense of foreboding. My memory is infused with the sense of how lucky the world was that no confused sergeant panicked in the face of the triumphal testing of a weakened but still armed East German military presence. My memory looks back at that day as one which was characterized by a miracle, that a dying giant didn’t exercise one last statement of its raw power.
I don’t believe that the transition of memory to myth will recall the fragility of that day. History will mark it as the inevitable transition into the post Cold War era, the symbolic fall of a division of Europe that had ceased to work or even confine. It is remembered by television viewers as a day of peace, celebration, liberation and joy. Little pieces of the wall, painted with graffiti of the moment, are still for sale or on exhibit [even I have some of those shards somewhere.]
Both of those dates mark the destruction of something. In one case, the breaking of glass marking the end of civil society and the beginning of years of the nadir of civilization. In the other case, the destruction of a wall in order to let sunshine, freedom and liberty in – the reestablishment of civil society to millions deprived for a generation.
Because I was there, I know how fragile the moment in 1989. When the myth of that moment is written, it will show the victory of democracy and liberty over subjugation. It will be remembered as a peaceful revolution. The fragility will have been forgotten.
But it also makes me think: there was a fragile moment in 1938 as well. What would have happened if the world had exercised its indignation in 1938? What would have happened if the world had insisted on humanity and not hidden in isolation and denial? How many lives would have been saved? And how many dictators and ruthless regimes which have arisen since might have thought twice before their own genocidal behavior, their own feeling of unfettered power, their own denial of humanity. Glass can be repaired; walls can be rebuilt, but the lessons of history, of these two events, are that lives and societies rent asunder by lawlessness and tyranny are lost forever.
From memory to myth… let us hope that the legacies of both become a mandate for all to build a world which has learned its lessons.
08 November 2009
12 October 2009
A National Jewish "conversation"; A response to Stephen Windmueller's call
A response to Stephen Windmueller’s call for a national Jewish “conversation”
In this morning’s “eJewishPhilanthropy", a widely respected and much read collection of opinion pieces, there was a thought piece by Stephen Windmueller. He correctly identifies the profound and long-term changes underway in Jewish life today. And he correctly identifies that without some serious visioning and looking in the mirror, the community, as he defines it, may be coming to a crisis.
However, I believe that he is asking some of the right questions, but his solution is tautologically self-limiting. In it, he calls for the institutions of Jewish life to meet to converse. But in so doing, he overlooks a few key components of the era in which we now live:
• There have been conversations along the lines he mentioned occurring for several years. It is intriguing to look at which one’s have been fruitful and productive, and which ones haven’t. For but one example, Gary Rosenblatt has convened “conversations” for several years, purposely and proactively trying to bridge as many formal and informal boundaries as possible. These low-keyed, closed door sessions have led to many productive networks independent of organizational limitations. However, when some of the local and national Jewish organizations themselves have tried to convene such conferences, they have often bumped against organizational defensiveness or blindness. [E.g., I was recently contacted by the web developer of a very prominent Jewish organization asking my advice on how they should make their website more likely to attract younger donors. My response was that this was not a matter of technology; it was a matter of credibility; until that organization is perceived to actually incorporate the aspirations and styles of younger people, it could hardly expect that their website would attract younger donors.]
• Moreover, if the analysis of 21st Century life is correct, traditional organizational structures, based on their models of financial support and long term loyalty, are a very successful 20th Century model – in other words, yesterday’s news. When the question is how do we preserve ourselves, as opposed to how do we reinvent ourselves, the conversation is a non-starter.
• We already have the outlines of what the new models of institutional life will look like. I say outlines since we are only at the earliest stages of confronting the challenges of scale, funding, and impact, but the abundance of viable alternative models of Jewish life in the US and elsewhere are clear indicators. [Full disclosure: my service on the board of Bikkurim and as an informal advisor to many of the innovative groups has informed my perspective.]
• I believe that the most profound changes are those that take place outside the mainstream. Let them be the “risk capital” and the “test labs”. But also let them help formulate what a coherent response to 21st Century identity should look like. I have occasion to sometimes speak to the best of the organizational thinkers, and on other occasions with the best of the new. They are profoundly different conversations, with differing assumptions, vocabulary, and visions of the future. Are we better off encouraging a parallel universe or trying too hard to make square boxes and round holes align themselves?
• Is it so terrible if some institutions fail? Jewish history is marked by changes. The post WWII Jewish community would be unrecognizable to those who lived only 100 years earlier; that in turn would have been incomprehensible to those who lived only 100 years before that. We are constantly reinventing, reimagining, and relegating to footnote or lesser status institutions that were dominant in the past. It is not the death knell of American Jewry if the same thing happens now. [I am not trivializing the consequences on many levels.]
Does all of this obviate Steve’s heartfelt plea? No, of course not. But if what takes place is a collection of organizations wondering how to co-opt the best and brightest of the innovators, it will not achieve the re-visioning he envisions. Rather, what needs to take place is for the organizations to educate themselves first: to understand that the world has changed and it isn’t going back. Only then will a productive reinvention take place, modeled not on how to bring the outliers back but how to bring the "in-liers" out.
A few years ago, I suggested that those of us above a certain age are guests in this century. [It is a phrase that has been quoted quite a lot.] I profoundly believe that and have done everything I know to learn how to be an educated and sensitive guest and participant in a world radically different than the one which defined us in the last. When the history of this century is written, I suspect that what we will see is that it will not prove to be the demise of history’s largest and most successful Diaspora community, but a time when that community has simply redefined its categories, vocabulary, what identity is, and how that identity becomes manifest. It excites me to be here.
In this morning’s “eJewishPhilanthropy", a widely respected and much read collection of opinion pieces, there was a thought piece by Stephen Windmueller. He correctly identifies the profound and long-term changes underway in Jewish life today. And he correctly identifies that without some serious visioning and looking in the mirror, the community, as he defines it, may be coming to a crisis.
However, I believe that he is asking some of the right questions, but his solution is tautologically self-limiting. In it, he calls for the institutions of Jewish life to meet to converse. But in so doing, he overlooks a few key components of the era in which we now live:
• There have been conversations along the lines he mentioned occurring for several years. It is intriguing to look at which one’s have been fruitful and productive, and which ones haven’t. For but one example, Gary Rosenblatt has convened “conversations” for several years, purposely and proactively trying to bridge as many formal and informal boundaries as possible. These low-keyed, closed door sessions have led to many productive networks independent of organizational limitations. However, when some of the local and national Jewish organizations themselves have tried to convene such conferences, they have often bumped against organizational defensiveness or blindness. [E.g., I was recently contacted by the web developer of a very prominent Jewish organization asking my advice on how they should make their website more likely to attract younger donors. My response was that this was not a matter of technology; it was a matter of credibility; until that organization is perceived to actually incorporate the aspirations and styles of younger people, it could hardly expect that their website would attract younger donors.]
• Moreover, if the analysis of 21st Century life is correct, traditional organizational structures, based on their models of financial support and long term loyalty, are a very successful 20th Century model – in other words, yesterday’s news. When the question is how do we preserve ourselves, as opposed to how do we reinvent ourselves, the conversation is a non-starter.
• We already have the outlines of what the new models of institutional life will look like. I say outlines since we are only at the earliest stages of confronting the challenges of scale, funding, and impact, but the abundance of viable alternative models of Jewish life in the US and elsewhere are clear indicators. [Full disclosure: my service on the board of Bikkurim and as an informal advisor to many of the innovative groups has informed my perspective.]
• I believe that the most profound changes are those that take place outside the mainstream. Let them be the “risk capital” and the “test labs”. But also let them help formulate what a coherent response to 21st Century identity should look like. I have occasion to sometimes speak to the best of the organizational thinkers, and on other occasions with the best of the new. They are profoundly different conversations, with differing assumptions, vocabulary, and visions of the future. Are we better off encouraging a parallel universe or trying too hard to make square boxes and round holes align themselves?
• Is it so terrible if some institutions fail? Jewish history is marked by changes. The post WWII Jewish community would be unrecognizable to those who lived only 100 years earlier; that in turn would have been incomprehensible to those who lived only 100 years before that. We are constantly reinventing, reimagining, and relegating to footnote or lesser status institutions that were dominant in the past. It is not the death knell of American Jewry if the same thing happens now. [I am not trivializing the consequences on many levels.]
Does all of this obviate Steve’s heartfelt plea? No, of course not. But if what takes place is a collection of organizations wondering how to co-opt the best and brightest of the innovators, it will not achieve the re-visioning he envisions. Rather, what needs to take place is for the organizations to educate themselves first: to understand that the world has changed and it isn’t going back. Only then will a productive reinvention take place, modeled not on how to bring the outliers back but how to bring the "in-liers" out.
A few years ago, I suggested that those of us above a certain age are guests in this century. [It is a phrase that has been quoted quite a lot.] I profoundly believe that and have done everything I know to learn how to be an educated and sensitive guest and participant in a world radically different than the one which defined us in the last. When the history of this century is written, I suspect that what we will see is that it will not prove to be the demise of history’s largest and most successful Diaspora community, but a time when that community has simply redefined its categories, vocabulary, what identity is, and how that identity becomes manifest. It excites me to be here.
17 September 2009
My Post Rabbinic Stress Syndrome
This is always a time of angst for those in the Jewish community who take the forthcoming Days of Awe as they are intended. The metaphor of having one’s life in balance, being judged for sins of omission or commission, and having one’s destiny determined by some combination of that judgment and the sincerity of intention to improve is about as heavy a burden as any holiday can impose. [For those for whom these holidays are the only experience with the Jewish liturgy, it certainly must be unsettling – and in fact distorts the more complex and less guilt-inducing themes of the rest of the Jewish liturgical year.]
As one gets older, the refrain of “who shall live and who shall die” becomes less metaphoric and more descriptive. We become aware of the inevitability of mortality. More people we know as peers fall victim to illness or accident; the generations above us become fewer; there are tragedies which take the lives of those younger than we. I may aspire to the proverbial 120 years and am doing everything in my power to be as fit and healthy as I can to get there, but in my more sober and honest moments I have come to know how vulnerable and fragile all of our lives are.
For me these holidays have held a particular angst. For 40 years, I entered these High Holidays with “responsibilities” – I conducted services. Long after my career had gone beyond the active rabbinate, I continued to rabbinate at synagogues which needed someone for a supplementary High Holiday service. I was always a bundle of nerves on this day, the day before Rosh Hashannah evening, hardly speaking and trying to focus my thoughts and fine tuning my remarks. I was fortunate that early in my career I learned that the real job of rabbinating is enabling others in the congregation to have the fullness of their own experience rather than to be the center. If my occasional eloquence and even more rare erudition mattered at all, it was only when it helped those in attendance to achieve some sort of transcendence.
They tell me I was pretty good at this. But more to the point, I enjoyed it. It provided a context to actualize that part of me which must have been why I became a rabbi in the first place. One could be orator, teacher, spiritual guide, and community builder all in three intensive days. And remarkably, people remembered what I said or taught: even years later, I meet people who remind me of a sermon or teaching which made a difference to them – remembering specifics which I had long since forgotten.
But as of two years ago, all that came to an end. The place I conducted High Holiday services for the previous 9 years had a new rabbi who, quite legitimately, no longer saw the need for a supplementary service. And for many reasons irrelevant to these thoughts, the market for High Holiday rabbinic positions is quite diminished. So, barring some surprise, and let’s face it, life never ceases to hold surprises, I suspect I have concluded my active rabbinic career.
Approaching these Days of Awe, I see that I am still suffering from post rabbinic stress disorder. I am still not clear where I want to go to services: I am not yet comfortable attending any place which is similar to where I might have conducted services. We are not a part of any synagogue community so there isn’t a default locus. So for the second year, I consciously choose places quite different from where I would consider natural landing spots: we will attend services whose style and even content diverge quite a bit from our own inclinations. Doing so allows me to not sit there and think about whether I might do it differently or, dare I admit, better, but rather to be engaged by the difference and by the holiday itself. It is as if I need the contrast to allow me to not focus on my changed roles.
It is quite interesting. It is rare that I miss the active rabbinate in any other part of my professional life – a professional direction that has given me great gratification. But on these days, at this time of year, it is still an unresolved personal matter. We’ll see if I recover in the years to come.
In the meantime, I wish all of my Jewish friends, colleagues, and fellow travelers all the best for a good, healthy, and gratifying year to come.
As one gets older, the refrain of “who shall live and who shall die” becomes less metaphoric and more descriptive. We become aware of the inevitability of mortality. More people we know as peers fall victim to illness or accident; the generations above us become fewer; there are tragedies which take the lives of those younger than we. I may aspire to the proverbial 120 years and am doing everything in my power to be as fit and healthy as I can to get there, but in my more sober and honest moments I have come to know how vulnerable and fragile all of our lives are.
For me these holidays have held a particular angst. For 40 years, I entered these High Holidays with “responsibilities” – I conducted services. Long after my career had gone beyond the active rabbinate, I continued to rabbinate at synagogues which needed someone for a supplementary High Holiday service. I was always a bundle of nerves on this day, the day before Rosh Hashannah evening, hardly speaking and trying to focus my thoughts and fine tuning my remarks. I was fortunate that early in my career I learned that the real job of rabbinating is enabling others in the congregation to have the fullness of their own experience rather than to be the center. If my occasional eloquence and even more rare erudition mattered at all, it was only when it helped those in attendance to achieve some sort of transcendence.
They tell me I was pretty good at this. But more to the point, I enjoyed it. It provided a context to actualize that part of me which must have been why I became a rabbi in the first place. One could be orator, teacher, spiritual guide, and community builder all in three intensive days. And remarkably, people remembered what I said or taught: even years later, I meet people who remind me of a sermon or teaching which made a difference to them – remembering specifics which I had long since forgotten.
But as of two years ago, all that came to an end. The place I conducted High Holiday services for the previous 9 years had a new rabbi who, quite legitimately, no longer saw the need for a supplementary service. And for many reasons irrelevant to these thoughts, the market for High Holiday rabbinic positions is quite diminished. So, barring some surprise, and let’s face it, life never ceases to hold surprises, I suspect I have concluded my active rabbinic career.
Approaching these Days of Awe, I see that I am still suffering from post rabbinic stress disorder. I am still not clear where I want to go to services: I am not yet comfortable attending any place which is similar to where I might have conducted services. We are not a part of any synagogue community so there isn’t a default locus. So for the second year, I consciously choose places quite different from where I would consider natural landing spots: we will attend services whose style and even content diverge quite a bit from our own inclinations. Doing so allows me to not sit there and think about whether I might do it differently or, dare I admit, better, but rather to be engaged by the difference and by the holiday itself. It is as if I need the contrast to allow me to not focus on my changed roles.
It is quite interesting. It is rare that I miss the active rabbinate in any other part of my professional life – a professional direction that has given me great gratification. But on these days, at this time of year, it is still an unresolved personal matter. We’ll see if I recover in the years to come.
In the meantime, I wish all of my Jewish friends, colleagues, and fellow travelers all the best for a good, healthy, and gratifying year to come.
30 August 2009
Facebook Exodus? Why I stay, at least for now
Facebook Exodus? Why I stay – at least for now
In today’s NY Times Magazine, Virginia Heffernan asked “why some members are moving on” from Facebook. She noted all the growing annoyances that so many of us have with the site: its increased commercialization – both by “members” and by those buying intrusive space on the site; its suspiciously presumptuous and dubious assumptions about ownership of content, sharing of data, and control of private material; its “updates” which are more typically annoying than helpful. I couldn’t agree more with those who find these complaints challenging to the very assumption of the ethics of “social” networking.
And yet, I stay.
Needless to say, those of my generation were not the first users of social networking. For a long time, sites such as this were for a markedly younger demographic and those older folks who ventured too early into this medium were considered – let’s be honest – creepy. It was only a couple of years ago that the picture changed, when we were invited in. And it was only within the last year that every business and non-profit has followed us.
When inside, I learned a lot about the way the world now works. While the cooptation of words like “friend” and “fan” are certainly disorienting, something more profound was going on. There really are virtual communities; there really are connections that would never happen were it not for such networks; there really is information about programs, movements, people, and groups about which I would not know; there really is an immediacy to knowing personal and professional information that would be hard to replicate in in-person modes.
What I really learned is that our - or at least my - atomized and disparate lives do need this. As one who is self employed at home, I am not regularly in a work-place environment; I am on the periphery of several communities but not central to any; the traditional networking ways of learning about people’s careers or personal developments, good and bad, don’t exist; incidental information about people, that which gives their lives a dynamic vibrancy, and which gives personal connection an immediacy is what makes these virtual friendships come alive and meaningful. I have come to cherish social networking – the occasional silly is surely overridden by the frequently useful and interesting.
I surely know that facebook may become so yesterday and another network may replace it until it too is passé. But whatever the platform, I am persuaded that online social networking is not only here to stay, but we would be much more alone without it.
26 August 2009
And the wall came tumbling down
There are dates that we all remember where we were. Of people of my age, it might be the JFK assassination, the walk on the moon, the end of the Vietnam war, Nixon’s resignation, September 11, the Beetles on Ed Sullivan, the 6 Day War, and if I dig deep, even the Korean War, the McCarthy hearings, the ’56 Suez campaign, our first television. But only one such event actually served to redirect the course of my professional life – and that was the fall of the Berlin Wall – 20 years ago this November.
I was concluding my first visit to Germany, a guest of the then West German government. It was a 3-week invitational tour for young [as I was then] leaders of the American Jewish community. The official trip ended a few days before November 9th but I had a quick trip to England for professional reasons, and then returned for a few days on my own before returning to the States. Thus it was that I was in Berlin on that memorable “where were you” date.
Those of you who have only known me in the years since 1989 may be surprised to learn how American insular my life had been. Yes, I had had 3 multinational professional business tours, but they were by no means a major part of my professional persona. My job, my focus, my expectations rarely crossed our borders – until that trip.
I was never the same. I had been a witness to history; the world as it had been virtually my entire life was changing - radically, precipitously, profoundly. And so was mine. As a result, I developed the Bridge of Understanding program to bring North American Jewish university students to Germany, Austria, Hungary, and Poland; I became committed to advancing services to students in parts of the world where the approach was a full generation behind; I cultivated structured organizational relations between North American and European students and similarly with those in Latin America. I worked with foundations on both sides of the Atlantic. I consulted with communities in many countries, lectured in universities and at conferences, learning from and teaching about the rapidly emerging post Communist world from the advantage of an outsider looking in - frequently.
Ultimately, this passionate sideline became my work and was crucial to my selection to head the foundation I used to head. It led to my current leadership volunteer involvement in international interreligious matters, which itself has taken me to new [for me] corners of the world. It made me aware that the changes begun that autumn day were the precursors of an emergent 21st century geopolitical, multi-cultural, interrelated world. And all of this is just a brief summary.
Who would have imagined? Sometimes the answer to “where were you when…?” is “there!” 20 years ago, I was. Since then, my life has had extraordinary opportunities that only could have happened because of it. Talk about unintended consequences…
I was concluding my first visit to Germany, a guest of the then West German government. It was a 3-week invitational tour for young [as I was then] leaders of the American Jewish community. The official trip ended a few days before November 9th but I had a quick trip to England for professional reasons, and then returned for a few days on my own before returning to the States. Thus it was that I was in Berlin on that memorable “where were you” date.
Those of you who have only known me in the years since 1989 may be surprised to learn how American insular my life had been. Yes, I had had 3 multinational professional business tours, but they were by no means a major part of my professional persona. My job, my focus, my expectations rarely crossed our borders – until that trip.
I was never the same. I had been a witness to history; the world as it had been virtually my entire life was changing - radically, precipitously, profoundly. And so was mine. As a result, I developed the Bridge of Understanding program to bring North American Jewish university students to Germany, Austria, Hungary, and Poland; I became committed to advancing services to students in parts of the world where the approach was a full generation behind; I cultivated structured organizational relations between North American and European students and similarly with those in Latin America. I worked with foundations on both sides of the Atlantic. I consulted with communities in many countries, lectured in universities and at conferences, learning from and teaching about the rapidly emerging post Communist world from the advantage of an outsider looking in - frequently.
Ultimately, this passionate sideline became my work and was crucial to my selection to head the foundation I used to head. It led to my current leadership volunteer involvement in international interreligious matters, which itself has taken me to new [for me] corners of the world. It made me aware that the changes begun that autumn day were the precursors of an emergent 21st century geopolitical, multi-cultural, interrelated world. And all of this is just a brief summary.
Who would have imagined? Sometimes the answer to “where were you when…?” is “there!” 20 years ago, I was. Since then, my life has had extraordinary opportunities that only could have happened because of it. Talk about unintended consequences…
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.
..............................
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.
..............................
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.
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