Marker's Musings

An Equinox Dilemma: What would you do? What should I do?

2011-12-23T13:04:00.002-05:00

Here is my dilemma. When I am in town, I go to the Equinox in my neighborhood every morning. I am always there before it opens, along with a group of fellow insomniacs. The numbers vary but there is always a group waiting for the opening. This Equinox is certainly the nicer of the neighborhood health clubs and only one block from our home. I have been a “member” since it opened 3 years ago.

The fellow responsible for opening on weekdays sets a very welcoming tone and allows everyone to wait inside until time to go to the gyms. Everyone waits in an orderly line, patiently, fully aware of the procedure and the timing. All of this happens before 5:30 am. By the time we go to our respective workout locations, everything is on and ready to use.

The folks responsible for opening on weekends are invariably snarly and never open the doors until the minute the gyms are allowed to be used. Those who are waiting get cranky, impatient, and annoyed at the seemingly meaningfulness stringency. And all of this happens around 8:00 am. Even at that later hour, most of the time much of the gym is not quite ready.

I learned that a number of those who wait for the opening on weekends have written to the management to complain. The consistent response has been that the management of this Equinox location is not sympathetic at all. A number of regulars have quit because of their experiences. [I have since learned of more.]

Finally a couple of weeks ago, I too had reached the point where I was simply too annoyed with the rude manner, to say nothing of the silly procedural rigidity, so I wrote to the Equinox headquarters. In my note, I highly praised the week-day greeter and suggested that the weekend staff should take lessons from him. My feelings about this fellow are widely shared, especially contrasted with most of the other greeters. The headquarters folks did not respond at all but I did get an email from the manager of this Equinox. The manager told me that she appreciated the kind words about the staff and would make sure that he knew of them, but then went on to justify why the weekend procedure was the correct one. [That there were inconsistencies in her response only reinforced to me that she and thus the weekend group had simply decided to adopt a very stringent interpretation of how to open.]

A few days later, I asked the weekday greeter if the manager had passed along my good words. He assured me that she hadn’t. Two days later he told me that she never said a word to him but another supervisor criticized him for his lenient practice and was advised that the procedure should be to keep everyone locked out until the time to let people exercise.

So here is my dilemma: Instead of praising and giving a bonus or raise to a prized employee, they turned a positive into a negative. It led to one of the other morning greeters who was very warm and welcoming, to quit. And even other staff, waiting for the door to open, have also voiced their annoyance at the silly rigidity.

The question: What should I do now? I certainly do NOT want to endanger this employee.

1. I can write to the headquarters again.
2. I can go talk to the local manager, but anyone who has done so says that she is neither pleasant nor responsive.
3. I can quit and give the money I don’t give to Equinox as a bonus to this employee.
4. Other?

I am now going to be away for a bit so I won’t act in haste, but I do want to do something. Let me know your thoughts.

How philanthropy taught me to embrace failure – a precondition to success

2011-11-27T09:53:00.002-05:00

[This posting bridges my two blog sites: it is both about effective grantmaking and about personal learning. Thus I am posting it on both.]

Typically, I find that I, as with many of my colleagues who write about philanthropy, extrapolate from personal experience to develop insights into good grantmaking strategies, ethics, and impact. This time, however, the reverse is true: after years of grantmaking, and teaching about grantmaking, I have learned very important things about myself.

The issue: the value of failure.

For at least the last decade, anyone who has heard me speak about philanthropy or who has taken a course with me knows that I view private philanthropy to be society’s risk capital. By definition, risk means some possibility of failure. Good grantmakers needs to develop a tolerance that some percentage of their grants will not accomplish everything that they wished or that their grantees strived to do. Grantmakers who support start-ups, early stage organizations, new approaches to almost anything, need to accept that, if they are doing it right, some failure is not only inevitable but indeed desirable.

Even grants to established organizations and projects run the risk of failure. After all, every grant is a bet on the future. And nothing is guaranteed in the future. The market may crash and erode financial stability. A key staff person may leave. A public benefit organization [aka non-profit] may have new and vigorous competition. A highly competent staff may misread early indications of interest as real demand. Unanticipated variables serve to yield unanticipated results. It happens all the time.

Those of us who are funders need to be careful not to penalize these kinds of failures for two reasons: The non-profit was true to its proposal; it just didn’t work. And we as funders endorsed their proposal by funding them; we agreed that it was worth the risk. [I want to make a very real distinction between this kind of failure and that of a grantee that doesn’t do what they say they will do, or doesn’t engage the funder in significant changes in an approved project. Funders have every right to be annoyed and, in some cases, hold the organization financially accountable.]

Let us also make clear that funders themselves have been known to make failure more likely. When funders look at a budget, see that a project needs a certain amount of money and support to have a good chance to succeed; we should not then try to see how little funding we can get away with. Organizations are so hungry for support that they will often swallow hard and accept less than they know they really need. Funders should not be surprised if this project doesn’t succeed. This is not the kind of failure I applaud. But back to our topic:

Why is acceptance of failure so important: when properly examined, one learns what went wrong and what might be done better. It helps distinguish between a great idea poorly implemented and an idea which simply wasn’t ready for prime time. It helps avoid simplistic replication and encourages constructive application.

A case in point [of many]: Some years ago, when I became ceo of the foundation I used to head, one of the first challenges on my plate was to review a very innovative project which we were funding in collaboration with two other foundations. The creator of the project only reported wonderful things about his cutting edge methodology, the wide and prestigious acceptance of the project and the great emerging demand for the program. Before I arrived, a colleague at one of the partner funders didn’t buy it. Since our foundation was the lead funder, we initiated an independent evaluation of the program – and lo and behold – we discovered that almost everything the founder of the program told us was more or less true except that virtually none of the methodology, acceptance and demand had anything to do with the reason the program existed – in other words, to use the vocabulary of some evaluators: the reports were full of “outputs” but failed miserably with “outcomes.” The challenge for us as funders was to determine whether this was a failure of an idea or of implementation, a case of ego driven leadership, or something else. We decided that the idea was a solid one – but the founder was too fond of his own Kool-Aid to see that he had not delivered. A change in professional leadership, some more hands on supervision/direction by me, and a more specific set of expectations led to the program achieving much of what it was intended to do.

It would have been easy to cut the program but we funders chose to learn from our early mistakes. I am quite convinced that the program which emerged after the failure was much better and stronger than it would have been had it not failed in the first place.

This is but one example of many, and it is gratifying that there are a growing number of those in our field who are finally openly discussing the value of learning from what has either failed or significantly underperformed. In fact, I now believe that we can only do excellent funding if we are willing to acknowledge and learn from our mistakes, errors, failures, and shortfalls.

And crucially, since there are no external standards, accreditations, or public independent reviewers of the quality of grantmakers and foundations, any commitment to this kind of quality improvement in our grantmaking must come from within. By no means a simple goal. After all:

Since not everyone takes our courses, contracts with us, or even reads these posts [shocking, I know!], I want to add a word of empathy for those who staff or lead foundations. I fully appreciate that failure is rarely rewarded. Families may see themselves as stewards of very precious resources and legacy and want to be as careful as possible. Corporate foundations may be unwilling to take risks with shareholders’ money and are cautious with possible public fallout. Community foundations want to be identified as supporting the interests of the community and may not want to risk angering or disappointing potential supporters. I am not naïve nor unsympathetic with those who choose to follow a safer – if less adventurous – path with their grantmaking strategy.

But for those who are committed to truly “making a difference”, who recognize that risk can be healthy and rewarding, and who want to push their own grantmaking to excellence, understanding and tolerance of failure are indispensible. It is important that the early efforts to report on and learn from our failures be expanded. When others ask for more transparency in grantmaking, this should be window #1. The entire sector will be the better for it.

Readers whose interest is “philanthropy” and not about me might well stop here.

What does this say to me about me? The more I have learned about the real benefits of risk taking and learning from failure in grantmaking, the more it has helped me understand certain crucial decisions made or avoided in my own professional life.

What I learned was that, for most of my career, I was too risk averse. It wasn’t that I wasn’t ambitious but that my fear of failure overruled my drive for excellence. Certainly, much success has come my way, for which I am thankful and proud, but when I look back, I realize that there were too many occasions when I settled for the good or safe when I could have achieved excellence or made a real difference. My long personal list would be of little interest to readers and perhaps a little too self revealing, but a very few examples may be helpful to others:

• In the mid 1970’s when I was still in academia, I delivered a series of lectures on post-modernism and its impact on late 20th century identity. They were popular and well received. A publisher actually offered to publish them in a book. I froze [writers block?] – and some years later others began saying and publishing those same ideas. I frankly felt a sense of failure that others were saying what I had said earlier. Sadly it was another 30 years before I finally published my first and, to date, only book. What did I learn? That I was more afraid of possible criticisms than I was motivated to get those ideas out there. Big mistake. It might have enhanced the public discourse at an opportune time. Lost opportunities to make a difference.
• I always enjoyed public speaking, and had lots of opportunities since doing so was integral to my careers I always thought I had plenty to say, but couldn’t understand why I wasn’t getting the big invites. I felt like I was a failure in a part of my career that mattered to me a lot. It was not until Mirele helped me understand that indeed I was too inconsistent in my presentation style to be in demand. No one had ever told me that before – in fact I had file folders full of complimentary letters that led me to think I was doing just fine. It was quite late – but not too late - in my career that I participated in a mentoring program offered by the National Speakers Association and learned how to be a more disciplined and much more engaging speaker. Now much of my income comes from my public speaking; return invitations are the norm and not the exception. What did I learn? That no one except you and your spouse are really committed to getting you from “good” to “excellence.” I wish I had learned that much earlier. Big mistake. It might have enhanced my role as a thought leader. Lost opportunities to make a difference.
• Before becoming self employed a decade ago, I had been an employee [even if at a fairly high level] for 35 years. That decision was a bit of a risk I would not have taken earlier, but not relevant to these personal insights. What did surprise me was the response to things I said or wrote after I became my own boss. People, many of whom had known me for many years, told me that they never realized that I had such passion for certain political positions or such a commitment to social change and innovation. My ideas, passions, and commitments had not changed and I always thought they had been evident. Apparently I was too cautious. Of course, when one is an executive and working in organizational leadership, one needs to be self aware of what one says, and when. But in retrospect I overly self-censored and, remarkably, was unaware that I did so. I feel now that I failed those ideas and organizations which would have benefited from my more public articulation of support. What did I learn? That I probably was more afraid of incurring the anger of those who might disagree than providing leadership and insights to expand the public discourse. Big mistake. I was in a leadership role and did exercise true exemplary leadership. Lost opportunities to make a difference.

The list could go on, but the underlying message is consistent. Risk aversion and caution have their place. But if one is committed to making a difference, of changing at least some part of the world, of having an impact to the extent of ones ability, then one must take risks, incur failure, and most important, learn from them. If philanthropy is much better for that approach, so can one’s own life and career. In both there may have been lost opportunities but in both it is never too late to learn.

9/11 Recollections - 10 years later

2011-09-09T18:30:00.000-04:00

Most of the moving and impassioned recollections of this 10th anniversary have, appropriately, been by those directly involved as victims, survivors, first responders, or their families and friends. As well they should. This anniversary should still be defined by direct experience and memory, and should not yet be relegated to icon, myth, and symbol. Indeed, one might ask if there hasn’t been too much of a rush to install icon, myth, and symbol; surely, as one looks at long-term responses to historic events which have become part of the public consciousness, it appears to me that it has.

However, this recollection should be understood as but a footnote to history and not as central to that public consciousness. Nevertheless, for most of us, our memory is vivid, even if we were not direct participants, and the full story of how our lives were changed then and now helps bring vitality to that fateful day.

On 11 September 2001, I was with a small delegation accompanying Edgar Bronfman to Mexico City.

To understand such a visit requires a recollection of the central role that Edgar Bronfman and Vicente Fox, Mexico’s president, each played at that time.

Vicente Fox, it should be remembered, was the tall, American trained, business background president of Mexico at the time. He was a symbol of a new Mexico, and more importantly, of a new priority with the United States. George W Bush, remember him, had very little international experience or curiosity, Mexico being the exception, since as a Texan he lived on its border. Texan Bush and Mexican Fox seemed destined for a unique and mutually productive relationship. Bush exhibited only isolationist tendencies but articulated an apparent exception for his articulate and imposing colleague to the south.

Thus it would hardly be surprising that Edgar Bronfman, then widely regarded as the symbolic “king of the Jews”, long-time President of the World Jewish Congress, Chair of the Board of Governors of Hillel International, Chair of the then existing Seagram Company, and Chair of the Samuel Bronfman Foundation [the name of the corporate foundation of the Seagram company which closed when the company did; I was its EVP], would have a person to person meeting with President Fox. It was a role he played with heads of state throughout the world for a long time.

We were accompanied on that trip by Israel Singer, the long time chief executive of the World Jewish Congress, Richard Joel, President of Hillel, Elon Steinberg, also a long-term executive with the WJC, and Robert Kasdon, the chief of security for Seagram. What a difference a decade makes. None of us is connected to the institutions which then significantly defined us.

Sitting in Edgar Bronfman’s suite watching events in NY unfold before us, one could hardly be surprised when the phone rang. It was President Fox himself asking if our meeting could be delayed for a day. [Given the lockdown of air travel and borders, it wasn’t as if we had much choice.]

That meeting did take place the very next day, but it was with a leader who had just watched his own international role diminished overnight. George Bush may not have cared about the rest of the world on 10 September, but on 12 September, as he emerged from his bunker, he could hardly avoid it. And that world did not exactly put Mexico at its center. The tone in the Mexican President’s conference room could hardly have been more somber.

But our real story was the rest of the week. Here we were, guests of a head of state, in a 5 star hotel, with access to private planes and influence at the top levels, with whatever resources one could ever need, yet we were prisoners. As with everyone who happened to find him or herself away from home that week, we had no way of going home, no way to know when we might, no way to know what our own future held. I vividly recall a brief conversation with Richard Joel who, looking at me, expressed his concern that he had never seen me look like that. My response, as prescient as any I suspect, was “the world that we know has changed forever.”

Our days were filled with exploratory phone calls, television, eating, and for a couple of us, “davening” [an oft-used expression for Jewish prayer.] Both Israel Singer and I were in the midst of the year of mourning for a parent and were therefore attending the local synagogue 3 times each day. Mostly waiting expectantly. [We should remember that this was before smart phones, or universally available wireless service. Only one of us had a cell phone which was able to call NY. None of us had a laptop. Only 10 years ago…]

Sometime each day brought a suggestion that we might leave. And each day that possibility dissipated.

Until… finally on Friday, we were told that private planes could fly but commercial ones couldn’t. Then that commercial planes could fly but private ones couldn’t. And it was not at all clear that either could fly over international borders. Nevertheless, we packed quickly and went to the airport where the Seagram jet was parked. After sitting there for a couple of hours, we learned the truth. We could fly to the Mexican boarder, but no further. To go home would require a taxi ride across the border and then be met by another private jet.

The border taxi caravan was not the typical mode of travel for this group. However, the most unforgettable moment was the startled and disconcerted expression of the US border officer who, after asking about our business in Mexico, was told by Edgar Bronfman. “I was here to meet with President Fox and now I have to get home for my grandson’s bar mitzvah.” It wasn’t clear which part of that sentence was more out of place in that setting. Our caravan was waved through.

Thus, late in the evening we arrived in Brownsville Texas, at the airport. The roads were newly blockaded, there was no commercial air traffic and the VIP lounge would have been easily confused with a collection of hand me downs in someone’s basement den. And then we learned that the chartered plane on its way to get us had to return to Miami because of bad weather in between.

We waited – until at about 2 am there was activity. No it was not yet a plane but rather a catering truck. Ah ha! Even in Brownsville, in the middle of the night, just a few days after 9/11, there were caterers able to supply private planes with an overabundance of food. It was our signal that a plane was on its way

The rest of the journey was uneventful. We slept our way to New York, leaving most of the trays of food untouched.

But there is an amusing denouement especially given the preoccupation with security which is now our everyday reality.

On the next Monday, I went to work at the Seagram building as I always did, and at the time I always did. I arrived at about 5:45 am only to discover that there were now airport type luggage screeners in the lobby. As a good citizen, I put my briefcase on the belt. But the security guard waved me through. “No reason to do that” he said. “We don’t start that up until 6 o’clock”.

Do you think he didn’t get the message?

Ten years later, all of us who had been on that trip are in very different places in our lives than we were that week But one thing is sure; we all got the message, loud and clear, that the world as we knew it was no more. And we, like everyone else, still aren’t completely sure what is.

Customer Service not! …Or how not to run a bank

2011-08-23T07:50:00.000-04:00

It really shouldn’t have been this hard. The back-story: My brother and I had been maintaining two joint accounts to cover expenses related to our mother’s estate. A couple of weeks ago, it was evident that the last bills related to the estate were about to be paid and it was time to close the two accounts.

One of the accounts was a savings account. Since there was more than enough money in the checking account to cover all of the remaining expenses, there was no reason to maintain the savings account. Before closing it, though, I asked, in very explicit terms, how much I needed to keep in the checking account to avoid any fees. The banking person [whatever title he may have] assured me that there was more than enough in the checking account to avoid any fees. Thus informed, I closed the savings account and distributed the money in that account appropriately.

Imagine my surprise, merely two weeks later, to open up the monthly statement and discover a new $30 monthly maintenance fee for the remaining checking account. I quickly returned to the bank in question – only to find a different banking person sitting at the same desk.

She assured me that we did not have enough in that account to avert the monthly fee and could not figure out why the previous occupant of that chair told me otherwise.

With these new facts, there was little incentive to keep that account open even 1 minute longer than necessary. Indeed all of the checks which had been written had cleared so I asked that we close that account as well. But now the plot thickens. For reasons unrelated to this tale, the distribution of the remaining money was to be uneven. My brother was to receive $500 more than me.

I guess this kind of higher mathematics is not covered in banker training school. The person with whom I was speaking spent a substantial amount of time with pieces of paper and pressing keys on her keyboard trying to figure out how to determine the proper amounts for each of the two checks. After some time, she excused herself to go to a teller to get the checks. That took an additional 20 minutes! And when she returned it turned out that my brother’s check was not $500 more than mine, but exactly $1000 more than mine.

When I showed that to the aforementioned bank person, she took out her trusty paper and pencil and wrote the numbers down, subtracted, and lo and behold she too saw that there was a $1,000 differential.

This was clearly too much for her to solve on her own so we both went back to the teller who explained that her computer seemed to be not working properly and that is why the checks were written incorrectly. [you, dear reader, are given permission to smile in a patronizing manner at that excuse.] As it happens, I still remembered my 5th grade math and within a moment calculated the correct amounts. Both of the bankers wrote those numbers down, checked them twice, tried to find out if I was naughty or nice – and, amazingly came to the same arithmetic conclusions that I had.

All that remained was the process of reversing whatever they had to do with the mistaken checks, write new ones, and send me on my way.

One might think, after close to an hour handling this very minor procedure, that an apology for the combination of errors would have been forthcoming – but none was. There was no offer to reverse the $30 monthly fee, nor even an apology for that error, no apology that two people working together could not figure out how to divide an amount of money so that one was exactly $500 more than the other, and certainly no apology for the extended amount of time I spent there.

I should point out that no other customers came into that bank on Manhattan’s affluent Upper East Side during the entire time I was there. Are you surprised?

I don’t know if I should mention the name of the bank, but its signs are red, the first letter is “S” and the last is “n” and there are 3 syllables. Don’t expect to see me there.

Insider – Outsider: some afterthougthts on The Conversation

2011-06-19T11:58:00.000-04:00

About 10 years ago, I wrote an article entitled “The Loneliness of the Short-Distance Davener.” [For those who don’t get the cultural reference, that is a take-off on a short story and subsequent popular film called “The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner.]

In that essay [posted elsewhere on this blog site], I shard some of the sense of feeling out of place everywhere in the New York synagogue scene – or more accurately, not feeling quite at home anywhere. I sensed that my feeling of alienation, or at least “outsider”, was not so unique.

I recalled this essay and feelings last week as I participated in the most recent iteration of The Conversation, an annual gathering of a diverse collection of American Jews, brought together by Gary Rosenblatt of The New York Jewish Week. The “open space” methodology is structured to foster talk – with that being the only ostensible agenda. The ground rules prohibit stating who attended or what any individual may have opined; in these afterthoughts, I shall honor that restriction.

When I was invited to this one, I did a double take. Not that I was so surprised to be invited: so many folks whom I knew, including Mirele, had already participated that at first blush it didn’t seem so out of line. What did surprise me was that this particular gathering was restricted to the New York community.

It is true that I live in New York, and feel very much at home in New York. But I am not affiliated with Jewish communal institutions in New York, other than one board I sit on – and that is a foundation board not based on any affiliation. Even the program I developed at NYU, admittedly a New York institution, teaches philanthropists and foundation professionals from around the world, and is not restricted to or even primarily targeted to New Yorkers. So it seemed to me that I was not really an apt candidate for a three-day meeting conversing about New York Jewry and its communal institutions. The organizers demurred, and essentially dismissed my reticence.

The collection of participants was true to that advertised. It included professionals and volunteers, younger and not so young [although not so many older – see my previous post], those who came from various ethnic and denominational and religious observance backgrounds, those early in their career, and those well established, those who see themselves as leaders and those who don’t.

The conversations covered the broad spectrum of predictable topics in this moment in history. Some topics were clearly very personal and related to how an individual experiences Jewish communal life; some topics were very much extensions of the ethnic diversity of the Jewish communal landscape, and how those ethnic groups experience being a part of or outside of the perceived mainstream; others topics were continuations of the communal agenda of generational involvement, continuity, affordability, innovation, etc. And a few were excursions into particular intellectual or artistic journeys.
“Israel” was not a major or pervasive topic. It wasn’t ignored, but given its centrality in the larger public Jewish discourse, and the intensity of how those discussions typically play out, I, and several others, were surprised by the minor part that it played over these three days. Most of us were glad, and I suspect it was because no one was particularly interested in revisiting the well worn, and too often hostile scripts of that discourse. But it is also true, I imagine, that for most, daily life is more about negotiating the portals and promenades of where one fits or doesn’t fit in the complex life of the world’s largest Jewish urban center.

Which, I came to see, was the consistent theme running through the 3 days. Almost everyone there saw him or herself in some sort of dialectic with being an insider or an outsider, enfranchised or not enfranchised, feeling counted or feeling dismissed. Some in the group had never fully met those who were were so “other” and were surprised to learn that their stereotypes were off base. Some in the group were overt advocates for the uniqueness of their particular group or experience and hoped others would experience it too. Some came with, and probably left with an imaginary “in group” and aspired to be a part of that, but most came away with a sense that there were many “in groups” and at least as many “outsiders” and more important, that those definitions were elusive and evolving.

I myself came to the conclusion that my own sense of feeling like an “outsider” was what put me smack dab in the center and not at the periphery at all. It was exactly in that space that most people felt defined, at least at some time and in some ways.

At the end, though, there was one dynamic which probably defined this group in a very different way than other “Conversations” which were more explicitly national. Lots of participants extended invitations for Sabbath meals, or to visit their organization or to experience their ethnic distinctiveness in person. And I can attest, only a very few days later, some of this has already happened – I am now facebook “friends” with many who were there; we have already had new Sabbath guests, hosted another in another context, and plans to do more, and even received invitations.

Perhaps, then, this is what it means to be a Jewish New Yorker at this moment in history – one can be connected or disconnected all over the place with more choices than one can imagine, experience, or even fully understand, knowing that even more await in the next neighborhood and the next email. If that is so, it isn’t a bad place to be at all.

Older or Elder

2011-06-17T09:17:00.000-04:00

I went to the eye doctor yesterday. I was concerned that there was something wrong with my vision. Let me tell you why.

Earlier this week, I attended a gathering entitled “The Conversation”, a series of off the record discussions about the current and future state of Jewish life. The ground-rules do not allow identifying who attended, but don’t forbid posting reactions to the content. In a separate posting, I will be sharing some of those. Here I will simply say that it was an attempt to convene a group representing a very broad spectrum of the American Jewish world.

Over the course of the 3 days of the meetings, one of the things I came to realize was that I was one of the two oldest in the room. It wasn’t that I was checking i.d.’s, but since the discussion of generations, especially gen x, y, and boomers was one of the recurring themes, it was hard to ignore the fact that I am, in fact, one year too old to count as a “baby boomer.” And as I looked around, I realized that there was only one other person for whom that could be said. Was that why I was invited? Hmm….

A week earlier, NSA-NYC of which I serve as an officer, presented its slate for next year. I was more than pleased to find that someone will succeed me as treasurer after three consecutive terms– that isn’t a role in which one should aspire to lifetime tenure. I was asked to remain on the board in a “without portfolio” role. I will join 3 others in that role being told, “you know – we need the wisdom of the elders” on the board. Hmmm…

A week before that, my successor as chair of IJCIC was elected. I now join the ranks of “past chairs” on the board. All of the other living past chairs, as I think about it, are retired. Hmmmm…

That same week, I received an invitation to write a retrospective about the years I spent at Brown as its chaplain and rabbi for the RI Jewish Historical Society Journal. Those years were early in my career, 1971-1982, long enough ago that the HISTORICAL society is interested. Hmmmm….

Which brings me to the eye doctor. I seem to have a problem when I look in the mirror. I don’t see someone so old. I certainly don’t feel old [though I must admit that I enjoy the many discounts which accompany eligibility for Medicare]. Maybe the problem is with my eyeglasses – maybe they are distorting my vision so that I don’t see what others see.

When I look in the mirror, I see a person with a lot to do, lots of continuing ambitions, lots of attention to the future. I may have a long litany of anecdotes but I am still at the stage where I am adding new anecdotes, welcoming new knowledge, new clients, new challenges, new opportunities.

But if I am honest about it, there is also a lot of evidence that I am increasingly being treated like an “elder.” I am often asked for my perspectives on issues and challenges, sometimes by the press, often by others in the field of philanthropy who have been referred to me. There is not a week that goes by when I don’t meet with one or more people who want my advice on career choices, or my judgment on professional challenges. Many of the organizations with which I am involved regularly solicit my “wisdom” when faced with dilemmas.

It gets me to wonder: Can one be an “elder” without being “old?” Wouldn’t that be nice? Or am I simply indulging what I wish could be true?

By the way: when I went to the eye doctor, I discovered that, indeed, I do need new glasses! After all this, I am curious to see what I will see in my mirror now. Hmmmm…..

Wikispeaks says I have no “cred”? Do they know something I don’t?

2011-03-24T09:27:00.000-04:00

Nothing one can do about the weather – so after 2 days away, a storm-caused delay forced a very late homecoming last night. However, despite the long airport and tarmac time, I wasn’t that exhausted since I was feeling pretty gratified by the receptions to the latest talks I gave. In fact, it has been a good few weeks since professional presentations I gave in various settings and cities have all been enthusiastically well received.

But this morning, I discovered that Wikispeaks was checking me out. They told me that as someone new to the speaking business, I should fill out my profile. When I read about how it works, I discovered that I can go from being someone new in the world of professional speakers to a pro if enough people recommend me. Up until now, they told me in no uncertain terms, I have no “cred” in the business.

Hmm… yes it may be true that I have spoken professionally in 33 countries on 5 continents over several decades, but wikispeaks hadn’t heard of me, so all of that doesn’t seem to count. [Now to be fair, I haven’t yet spoken in Australia. That might suggest that the real influence in recognizing quality speakers all comes from the Aussies. Who knew?]

In any case, I filled out the bio info, updated the dated picture they had posted [I wish I were still that young], and activated my profile. Now I am a somebody. But the site then told me I have a long way to go to gain “cred” – in a field in which I thought I was already accomplished.

But wait, maybe….

This got me thinking. In fact, I suddenly remembered something that I have heard from people in different places over the years, including in the last week. “How come we had never heard of you? If we had known how good you are, we would have had a much bigger crowd.” Until wikispeaks spoke, I had just filed those comments away as flattery. But now I realize, they must all be in cahoots. After all, they were both saying, if we hadn’t heard of you, as far as we are concerned you must be brand new and unproven. In the case of the actual [enthusiastic] listeners, they were saying that now – belatedly -I had “cred”. As far as wikispeaks is concerned, until people actually recommend me ON THEIR SITE, I am still without cred. Ah, the difference between the actual and virtual.

Thus, if anyone were to be looking for a speaker in my field, and went to wikispeaks [actually, not really so likely], they would be told that I am not yet a “pro” because I have no “cred”. And most likely, another professional speaker would get the call.

For those readers in the marketing field, you must be salivating at this post. You would tell me that without a marketing strategy, no matter how good you are and for how long you have been, if people don’t know your name, it is as if you never existed.

Don’t think that, even after all this time, I am not willing to learn. So, the lesson seems to be:
Dear friends: by all means, if you liked what you heard when you have heard me speak over the years, tell your friends, speakers bureaus, conference planners, and other influentials, and, of course, tell the wiki-folk. And who knows? Maybe next time someone does look at wikispeaks, I will not just be a wannabe, a newbie, a fresh if wizened face on a page, but I will be something more, much more: I will actually be someone with “cred”.

The State of Interfaith Relations - a public address

2011-03-15T08:31:00.000-04:00

As a follow up to the previous blog posting, our New York friends and readers may be interested to know that I will be delivering an address on The State of Interfaith Relations this Friday evening at Congregation Habonim on Manhattan's Upper West Side. Please contact them directly for more information and reservations.

Opening comments at 40th Anniversary ILC meeting in Paris, 27 February 2011

2011-03-09T04:15:00.000-05:00

(Since some of the lines in these comments yielded press and headlines - and quite a bit of strongly held opinions shared since last week's historic ILC meetings, I am publishing the substantive parts of my remarks)

…. It is a great pleasure and privilege to be with you this evening to inaugurate the 21st Biennial meeting of the International Catholic Jewish Liaison Committee, between the Vatican delegation and the world Jewish community. We are meeting here in Paris, in the very city which hosted our historic inaugural gathering in 1971.

1971 was also a personal milestone, the year of my ordination as a rabbi.

Now, in fairness, to quote a great American President, “the world will little note nor long remember" that occasion in my personal life. But it will never forget the important role of my teacher at the Jewish Theological Seminary, the revered Abraham Joshua Heschel. As his student during a time of great change and upheaval, one could hardly be unaware of his vital role in the formulation of Nostra Aetate, the very document which marked the transformation of the relationship between our two religions – Roman Catholicism and Judaism – after 1900 years.

40 years – in the history of a people, in the histories of two great world religions – is but the blink of an eye. This anniversary allows us to celebrate and be proud of our achievements during these years, but ever humble in believing that we can fully know all of the challenges which still lie before us.

But if 40 years of history is but a moment, 40 years of a relationship is a sign of its maturity. We know well – perhaps too well – our mutual cares and concerns, our respective fears and foibles, that which is symbol and that which is essential, that which disappoints and that which reassures.

Our meetings this week will deal with much if not all of the unfinished business of our 40-year relationship, as well it must. Two different religions never can and never should see eye to eye on all matters, and continuing to fine tune our mutual understandings is what we must always be about. Our discourse this week will give ample evidence to the authenticity of this effort. We invite all, participants and observers alike, to pay close attention not only to our agenda, but also to how we model how to talk with one another.

Yet, after 40 years, that is not enough. The world which fostered our rapprochement is not the world of today, of this century. The agenda which must define our next 40 years must transcend, though never ignore, the parameters of our first 40 years. The focus of the world is no longer Jewish Christian amity. We must, for so many reasons involve the third of our Islamic siblings. We pray that our rapprochement will be a model for a transformed relationship with Islam.

In this Century, our engagement must also include the Eastern Traditions whose very assumptions of the deity and the cosmos differ radically from ours.

We must model forms of Globalism which affirm humanity and sacred values and

We must speak to an interconnected world which does not yet have a reliable ethic nor a common ethos.

It is my hope, then, that this noble and worthy anniversary marks the celebration of mutual trust and engagement, and also marks the expansion our mutual commitment to speak, ever cogently and with careful wisdom, to a world so very much in need.

It is with deep humility that I stand before you as chair of the International Jewish Committee for Interreligious Consultations, the loving partner of our counterparts in the Roman Catholic world, with the hope that our 40 year anniversary will prove to be but a single stride in a journey of many decades and centuries. Thank you all for being with us as we take the next small steps, arm in arm, as we continue our sacred walk through history.

The Perversion of Dialogue… or how one person can almost derail a well-meaning initiative

2010-10-23T14:35:00.002-04:00

The key word in this title is “almost”. But back to that in a moment.

Today is the concluding day of the 8th Doha Conference of Interfaith Dialogue. Sometime a bit later I will give my “keynote” address. Of course, I learned upon arrival that “keynote” means something different in Qatar than it does elsewhere. All speakers, to groups large and small, were invited to deliver a “keynote”. And all were asked upon arrival that the 20-minute time frame really was supposed to mean 10 minutes. These revisions are just a minor annoyance. Any of us who have spoken in as many places and contexts as I have learned to adapt and adjust to these kinds of changes and surprises. Most, though not all, of the speakers so far have honored these revisions with no great damage to their substance [those who have had the most difficulty were those who had prepared fully written texts. Since this was an international conference with 2 official languages, I have true sympathy for those who worked hard to craft a paper in one of these 2 languages even if not their own.]

To return to our topic: The Emir of Qatar, in what appears to be a well intentioned and authentic commitment to reinforcing the image of Qatar as a truly open nation in a part of the world not known for such, has sponsored this conference for 8 consecutive years. This was the first time I was invited. Veterans tell me that the expansion of the invitees to include more Jews and others was noteworthy and welcome. I am not at all sure how they selected us, but most of us who did attend had professional or personal legitimacy to participate in such a Dialogue. Our badges did not list any organizational affiliations, but in my case, as the current chair of the International Jewish Committee for Interreligious Consultations and as co-chair of the Board of World Religious Leaders, it is hardly a stretch to understand my inclusion.

That legitimacy also meant that most of us have had very extensive experience in interfaith dialogue, in many settings. Those of us with that experience understand the appropriate ethos of such dialogue. To correct a common misperception, such dialogue is not simply defined by mutual self-description; healthy dialogue allows an airing of and exploration of areas where we disagree or even feel threatened by the other. Disagreement is not off limits but experienced dialogists [dialoguers?] have learned how and when to convey those thoughts. Clearly, those committed to dialogue know that building confidence, trust, and understanding are the absolute preconditions. Without those careful steps, there is no context for dealing with the emotions of disagreement.

And, in fact, it is knowing what there will be emotions is what makes it work. In true dialogue, it is the acceptance of the existential angst of the other which enables breakthroughs, and enables a new commonality – and, occasionally even resolution. But when there is a sense of competition of angst and the deligitimizaton of the concerns of the other, it guarantees that trust will never be reached.

Which now leads me to the one person here who has tried in every session to derail. No reader will be surprised that there are numerous elephants in the room when the 3 Abrahamic faiths gather. The one which one participant has chosen to make his cause for this conference [and I suspect others] is his anti-Israel hatred. [Listening to his words in several sessions, hatred is the only fair word]. His words never acknowledge complexity, that correctly or not, Jews have their own existential challenges, and that Christians feel that they are challenged by both Muslim and Jewish sovereignty in the Middle East.

Now, let me say that I do understand this Sheik’s anger. As one whose politics is consistently left of center, I align my own thinking with segments of the Israeli polity which would endorse the validity of some of the complaints. But what makes this Sheik’s participation a non starter for dialogue is that he chooses to give variation of the same speech in every session regardless of the topic on the table, his rant never gives the slightest nod to the sensitivities of others in the room, and that he does not feel bound by the courtesies of such settings. His words only incur annoyance among the majority of participants, even those who may agree with his slant. None here is empowered to solve the problems of which he rants, he allows no room for understanding the sensitivities or even the political positions of the rest of us, and, were it not for the maturity and experience of the majority, it would serve to derail our deliberations.

Fortunately, and now I return to the word “almost” in the title, this is not a group new to such settings, and, while several have publicly and privately rebutted, the conference has not been hijacked. Nor have the even more important bi-lateral relations been hindered. We Jews are not being derailed in our more intimate discussions with our Muslim or Christian partners, and productive and meaningful conversations are taking place.

Some of these conversations, public and private, even rise to the level of authentic dialogue, despite our single antagonist’s efforts to the contrary. In this Muslim and visibly Arab Emirate, a hopeful sign.

A Traveler's Lament or...Why do I eat so much when am away from home?

2010-10-01T17:58:00.001-04:00

For a long time, I thought it was only me. And I thought it was truly a sign of my lack of discipline or fortitude. Why was it that, as soon as I was on the road somewhere, I ate huge amounts at every meal?

Now one might think that, given the amount of international traveling I do, it might simply be explained away as cultural curiosity. Oh, let’s see how they make eggs in this country. An appetizer at both lunch and dinner would afford another tasting opportunity. And the breads – so fresh, worth another slice.

Needless to say, if I were at home, I wouldn’t be having that bread at all. And how many courses is one really hungry for during the course of the day. But that all seems to fade away if I am sitting at some place some miles from home.

The cultural curiosity argument also fades away as soon as I contemplate my eating habits even in the Untied States when one hardly need resolve a cultural quandary. [Perhaps excepting LA which I find largely inscrutable no many how many times I visit.]

In any case, my appetite doesn’t seem to have a preference. If I am away, I eat. And I eat full meals every time. Which brings me back to the question, why.

My next approach was to ask fellow travelers. The literal kind. Others who find themselves in other time zones on a somewhat regular basis. And sure enough, most of them confirmed that their eating habits when traveling veered far from their norm. Many found themselves similarly gorging themselves at meal after meal, when at home a salad would have sufficed. Clearly something going on here.

I finally have come up with a theory. I haven’t seen any research on this phenomenon but I trust someone among our readers will find a paper which either proves, or disproves the theory. Here it is:

What we do when we travel is revert to some primal instinct. At home, our highly evolved selves can regularize our diet because we are confident that we know where our next meal will be. And if necessary, where and how we can cheat between meals. But when we travel, we revert to primal behavior. We eat as much as we can, not because of hunger but because of fear that we don’ t know where our next meal will come from. Unfamiliarity breeds insecurity – and feeding ourselves is how we stave off the fear of the unknown [albeit an unknown restaurant] It is hardly rational. We know full well that our hosts are accommodating, that the conference has provided for 3 full meals, that virtually every city and small town has a pizza place with a universal margarita. Rarely is there really a question of the availability of the next meal, even if its location is not yet certain.

But something in our psyche, our selves, doesn’t trust what we know, so we eat, and eat, and eat. And then we return home, and, we, or at least I, de-tox and go back to my exercise routine, and before you know it all is more or less normal. And I swear to myself that I won’t be so self indulgent the next time.

Until the next time I am at the airport business lounge, or on the plane or at that hotel buffet breakfast, or ….

The Curiosity of the Normal

2010-06-27T16:18:00.001-04:00

Last week, through no intention or effort on my part, I was quite visible in a CBC report covering an event I attended in Winnipeg. The event, somewhat grandiloquently titled “World Religions Summit: Interfaith Leaders in the G8 Nations” was an annual gathering associated with the G8-G20 meetings.

These meetings are held annually, always in the country where the G8-G20 meetings are held. This was the first time I was invited. Invitations, I learned, are somewhat happenstance – all of those invited and in attendance are active within a religious organization, but with very few exceptions, all were invited as individuals and were invited to be delegates of the cohort from the nation or continent in which he/she lives. Thus, while I may have been identified because of my leadership in both IJCIC and the Board of World Religious Leaders – 2 international bodies, it was made clear that I was invited as a part of the United States delegation and not as a representative of either of those two groups.

The attendees were, to a person, a thoughtful group and were committed to expressing the role of the world’s religions in helping to formulate values which should inform economic policy in the world at this time. It isn’t a stretch to see why such a discourse has meaning in these times of international economic uncertainty, how serious and thoughtful religious leaders can express concern with the implications of any policy on their far flung constituencies, and why there is potential impact with world religious leaders coming together to add care and compassion to meetings which wavere between protest and photo opportunities.

One might be a stickler on a few details. The meetings I attended were thoughtfully organized, the preparatory work done with considerable care, and the program suggestive of the depth of the challenges before us. But one might ask why this “summit” was held in a different city and some days before the actual meetings of the G8-G20. As an annual event, I was surprised to learn that there was very limited connection of these discussions with those of the predecessor conferences or any assessment of the impact of those meetings. I was particularly struck to learn that there is symbolic but no formal connection with the G8-G20 meetings, nor was there to be a meeting of delegates of this summit with the targets of the meeting. Of course, all of these issues are resolvable, and a first time attendee should be restrained in expressing judgment.

Which brings me to the few minutes of “visibility” throughout Canada. I would say “fame” but the story I am about to relate is one of a visual image and not of personal fame.

During the first day of the conference, I happened to be sitting and talking with the Saudi Assistant Secretary for Islamic Affairs. As you would expect, he was attired in his recognizable Saudi robes; as you might expect, I was in a suit, yarmulke atop my head, and looking quite rabbinic. Just at that time, the press came by and we represented too good an image to pass up – an imam and rabbi together at an international interfaith meeting. So the cameras rolled, the flashes flashed, and the two of us continued our conversation – which, I assure you, was far from politically motivated. By the next morning I learned that we were the lead image in the CBC coverage of the event – so much so that we appeared twice in the report.

It was only when the Imam and I reflected on the coverage that the real irony became clear. It is poignant and not a little sad that what the press found interesting and newsworthy was that a rabbi and an imam were talking about each others families, careers, education and professional roles – exactly the topics one discusses at conferences and meetings all over the world with colleagues new and old, near and far. How sad and ironic: our simply talking, that most normal of everyday activities, was newsworthy because the press assumes that an imam and rabbi cannot or will not do that. I assure you- we can, we do…. And we must.

"I weep for my country"

2010-06-10T07:16:00.000-04:00

He was a big, macho student leader but tears were in his eyes. We were standing at a central location in the historic city of Bratislava. It was only days before the brief life of the post modern Czechoslovakia was to end and the country to be divided into 2 separate nations – the Czech Republic and Slovakia.

What saddened this young man was the character of what he saw before him. The Xenophobia, the hostility, the distrust, the loss of hope, the erosion of the opportunity of a rare moment in history to create something which celebrated a grand history with a promising future.

History and political commentators will judge better than I whether that division was for the better or not. But an analysis of its merits is not the point of this posting. Rather it is the indelible recollection of the words and visible pain of this young leader. He literally was weeping for his country.

I find these words reverberating within me as I try to make sense of the events of the last couple of weeks: the unsettling vitriol cast at Muslim Americans who wished to relocate a cultural center to a more central location in New York; the evident bankruptcy of our long term energy policies and the resultant helplessness as primordial waste we call oil pollutes our shores and seas, the profound sadness of self defeating approaches in the middle east conflicts [pick one], the collapse of national economies built on undisciplined and unrestrained spending threatening the weal of the Western world…. Need one go on? It would be hard to find a country which would not inspire weeping.

What is worse than the sense of sadness is watching the reactions of those whose disillusionment leads to extremism, anarchy, and anger. And what is even worse is our fear and passivity as we watch those who take advantage of those feelings for self serving political aims – whose solutions are simply to reject order and the validity of governments, whose implicit platforms are rejection of the “other” – or at least any social responsibility for others. Those “others” might be neighbors of another color or creed or national origin; those “others” might be neighboring countries; those “others” might simply be those whose views differ. But make no mistake, there is a growing suspicion, even hatred of the “other” in our own backyards, wherever in the world that backyard may be.

Silence and inaction in the face of intolerance, history teaches, only emboldens those voices. It is easy to be accepting, tolerant, and beneficent when the circumstances seem positive and there is only gain for all. It is harder, but matters more, for us to raise our voices and insistence on those values when the circumstances challenge.

Now is such a time. Let those of us who affirm civil discourse, an interrelated and interdependent world, a belief that there is room for diversity of vision, belief and skin color, that there is still time for courageous leadership which affirm human values and caring societies, that there is still heart within each of us large enough to care and minds with space to dream – let us raise our voices for just such a world.

For if not, if not, if not, we will surely weep for more than our country; we shall weep for our world.

A Tribute to the Power of Social Networking - some post-"shiva" thoughts

2009-12-29T11:34:00.000-05:00

The story I am about to tell is about the power of social networking. While the context is a specific Jewish experience, the message applies to all.

Yesterday I concluded my initial formal mourning period for my mother. My mother was quite elderly, with an illness without a cure and severe dementia; her passing was anticipated and, while sad, not tragic. We had been prepared for months since she began hospice care, and our very small nuclear family had long known what kind of service we would have and where. Since there was no extended family and our mother had no remaining social connections, we chose not to publish an obit in any newspaper.

Then we began our formal period of mourning. Known as “shiva”, it refers to the custom of refraining from numerous everyday activities for seven days after a funeral of an immediate relative. During this week of mourning, family and friends visit the home of the mourner to express condolences, for prayer services, and to afford the mourner the opportunity to share memories of the deceased.

For many who are a part of defined communities or synagogues, much of this is institutionalized. Synagogues or other communities organize the minyanim, the requisite number of people for the prayer services; others may arrange to send platters of food so that the mourners need not have to interrupt their mourning to shop or prepare meals, and they publicly announce the times and locations of the “shiva.”

But some of us are not a part of any synagogue or defined communities. We may be well connected and know lots of people, but none of these connections is organized in the way a “community” is. We learned this reality 8 years ago, the last time I “sat shiva”, at that time for my father. There were many wonderful people who visited, but there were none who assumed those traditional communal “responsibilities”. It illustrated for us why so many choose to affiliate.

Eight years later, our affiliation status is unchanged, but there has been a major difference in how we connect with people. Eight years ago there was no facebook, no twitter. Virtual communities were still the indulgence of the young and cutting edge. By this time, all of that has changed, so Mirele [my better 3/4 for those of you who may not have the pleasure of knowing her] did what now seems obvious: she announced our mourning plans by posting an update on my facebook page.

What happened then was a true 21st century story and tells a lot about the world in which we now live. Not so surprisingly, I started receiving lovely condolence messages from facebook “friends” all over the world. More unanticipated was what else happened: the posting got “legs” and was picked up by a couple of listserves. Before we knew it, with little more than that simple facebook update, a large number of people from the wide range of our informal associations began to visit, to write, to call. Much of the time we didn’t have to worry about the “requisite numbers” for a minyan. We certainly didn’t lack attention.

The guests were a very diverse group. They didn’t necessarily share the same assumptions about how mourning should be observed; they surely didn’t all know each other; they didn’t coordinate their response or times, but together they comprised a virtual, transient community which came together for a single reason – to pay their respects and to express their support. As they walked out the door, the community dissipated with no assumptions or expectations that they would again be in this place or share other experiences together.

In 2001, I was still in a fairly prominent quasi-public professional position; in 2009, I am self-employed with no professional public persona to speak of. Yet the number who chose to visit in 2001 didn’t compare with the numbers who did this time. I attribute that change to one thing: the power of online social networks. For those who still look askance or with skepticism about the power of these networks: Trust me; they are for real.

The Abortion Debate Redux - A report from the bad old days

2009-12-07T15:54:00.000-05:00

Let me begin by saying that I am not neutral in this matter. I am unequivocally pro-choice and think that those who try to deny that choice are abetting murder.

There I have said it. But now the back-story:

It was the 60’s – my very first campus position. I was still a rabbinical student and working part time as a chaplain at a university campus. Truth be told, for all of the political activism which defined us in those days, the incident I am about to relate caught me unprepared and unaware.

A small group of undergraduate women approached me to discuss something causing them great distress. It appears that in those pre Roe v Wade days, an unwanted pregnancy presented very few options. One could go out of the country or one might persuade a doctor to refer a young woman to another state under reasons of mental stress to terminate the pregnancy. In either case, it almost always required parental consent, money, and shame. Or, all too often there was another more private but more risky choice. Today we call them back alley abortions but for many many women, it was the only discreet and affordable choice.

The women who came to see me were distraught because a fellow undergraduate had gone for just such an abortion – and died. Died. What could I, as a chaplain, say to them? What did the Jewish Tradition say to them? What comfort or understanding might I provide? Was this death really necessary? In hindsight, I doubt I had much to say. But it did awaken me to an underbelly that crossed ethnic, religious, racial, and even economic lines. There were simply too few legal and safe options, and unwanted pregnancies didn’t respect boundaries.

Soon thereafter, I became connected with what was then called the Clergy Consultation Service and for the next 3 years spent a lot of my chaplaincy time advising young women on the campuses where I was working on their options. [The other major claim on my time was draft counseling – remember?] Over that time, New York liberalized its laws and then Roe v Wade change the law of the land. Soon, the phenomenon of back alley deaths was becoming a thing of the past. Or so we thought.

Before proceeding, a few clarifications: While my own views toward a woman’s right to choose are unequivocal, it would be disingenuous to suggest that the Jewish tradition agrees. However, the Jewish tradition is unequivocal in underscoring the primacy of the life and health of the woman over the claim of the fetus. The Jewish tradition is quite clear that for these purposes, life begins at birth and not at conception. The Jewish tradition affirms that blanket prohibitions [or approvals for that matter] cannot work because the circumstances faced by each woman may be different. Therefore, even those whose view might be more stringent than mine would acknowledge that a blanket secular law prohibiting abortion would limit the Jewish tradition’s situational flexibility.

Another clarification: the issue at hand is the discussion of unwanted pregnancy. Of all of the many women whom I counseled in those days, none were using this as a mindless alternative to prophylaxis; all approached the question with the seriousness such a decision should demand. When safe options were not available, women only wanted to discuss how to get a safe termination to their pregnancy; when safety was no longer an issue, the discussions focused on the values and meaning of their choices – and choice mattered, some chose to continue to term and some didn’t.

Which brings us to the health care reform debate. I am concerned about the cavalier attitude of lawmakers who view support for a woman’s choice to affirm her own life as a dispensable right. I am concerned that whole generations of women and men have become so lackadaisical about this fragile right and the even more fragile access to reliable and safe options. Finally, I am concerned that too few remember that time, not that many years ago, when hangers and back alley murderers were not abstract metaphors. I fear that if we aren’t adamant that these choices continue to be real, available, and funded, these memories of 40 years ago will become all too real again.

Those who would block abortion rights are the real accessories to murder. Let us insist on the right to life for every woman – her own.

Memory and Myth - Kristallnacht and the Fall of the Wall

2009-11-08T12:19:00.001-05:00

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.

A National Jewish "conversation"; A response to Stephen Windmueller's call

2009-10-12T09:35:00.001-04:00

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.

My Post Rabbinic Stress Syndrome

2009-09-17T06:52:00.001-04:00

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.

Facebook Exodus? Why I stay, at least for now

2009-08-30T13:24:00.001-04:00

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.

And the wall came tumbling down

2009-08-26T12:58:00.000-04:00

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…

A post script on the previous synagogue articles

2009-06-19T06:12:00.002-04:00

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!

Synagogue Transformation Revisited - 10 years later

2009-06-12T16:43:00.003-04:00

10 years ago, the first of the 2 articles below was published in Sh'ma as the lead piece in their issue on synagogue change. This past week, I attended a panel on independent minyanim [service groups] and what the latest trends are. In listening to the presentations by some of the outstanding young innovators and to the responses by a group of congregational rabbis, I was struck by how little change there seems to be a decade later despite many wonderful and moderately successful interventions. While at the session, one of the attendees recalled the articles I wrote back then. While I am not writing about synagogue change much these days, those who may have missed them may find them of interest. I leave it to you readers to decide if they are dated or still relevant.

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Beyond Renewal - A call for Transformation

A few years ago, I became a Shul shopper. For the previous twenty five years I had spoken in many synagogues, but had never before been an anonymous “davener.”

My experience included three major metropolitan areas and a variety of denominationally affiliated synagogues. With all due respect to my colleagues and paying tribute to the few notable exceptions, it was not a pretty sight. I learned what the experience of amchah is and I understood why the general attitude toward synagogue participation and affiliation is so negative.

Like the majority of American Jews, despite my personal commitment to Tradition, I had simply decided to write off synagogue involvement. It was only this year, under the public challenge and private prodding of Edgar Bronfman, for whom I work, that I begin to look more closely at what was really going on—and more importantly, what might be.

I learned that there are some successful synagogues in North America. There are a number of effective and charismatic Rabbis. There are efforts to revitalize and reenergize synagogues, under the auspices of Synagogue 2000, the Koret Initiative, and others. I have come to appreciate the recent attempts to make synagogues more “user friendly,” spiritual, or diverse. There are thoughtful reconsiderations of how the synagogue should be designed and how services should be led. Others are rethinking the role of the clergy and laity, what other staff might be necessary, and what training would make a difference. [Many of these initiatives are reviewed elsewhere in this issue.]

I have learned to respect the passion and commitment which many professionals have brought to this late 20th century challenge, and the perseverance of many thousands of lay people.

But, for all of the good effort, I have come to a conclusion that none of these efforts goes quite far enough. It is time to reconsider the very role of the synagogue. In doing so, we are continuing a long tradition in Jewish history of purposely adapting the synagogue to regain its effectiveness as a primary entry point to Jewish involvement, learning, and connection.

During the 2nd half of the 20th Century, the synagogue has been called upon to be a center for prayer, community development, Jewish education, rites of passage, holiday celebrations, and a shop for Kosher food and Judaica. The sheer weight of expectation has left the synagogue unable to fill our expectations. To effect synagogue transformation, we must change our expectations.

In the past, the synagogue was not expected to replace the community or family. As organic communities dissipated and connectedness within families became more tenuous, synagogues were called upon to fill those roles. As a primary entry point for many, synagogues should continue to facilitate and strengthen communities, but they cannot be substitute families or communities. In attempting to be all things to all people, synagogues are lacking.

In suburban America, where the vast majority of American Jews live, one must go out of one’s way to go to the synagogue. Most synagogues are “destination monoliths.” They are free standing, not connected to a neighborhood or other destination in the community. To participate calls for leaving one’s “normal” and going to the “holy” place.

In Judaism the goal is to make the Holy part of the normal, and not to keep it locked away for unique moments. A synagogue which is physically removed from the “normal” is easy to ignore - except on special occasions. Historically, synagogues were found on the same streets as the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker. Even for non-observant Jews, the synagogue was a part of daily life.

In a few older, large cities, synagogues remain an integral part of the physical fabric of the community. But elsewhere, why aren’t synagogues located within the malls - the equivalent of the Main Street? Why aren’t storefront synagogues in strip malls? To demystify and make the synagogue accessible, it should be as natural to walk or drive by the synagogue as it is to do errands. A centrally located synagogue sends the message that kedushah [holiness] is a part of our lives, wherever we are, and not simply reserved for special occasions.

The synagogue has always served as a bet-midrash [center for learning]. But, in the contemporary world, each synagogue acts as if it is the only place for study. [In small communities, it may be. But most North American Jews live in metropolitan areas with a variety of Jewish institutions.]

The existing system of the pre Bar/Bat Mitzvah supplementary school is flawed. I concur with educators who posit that pre-adolescents are best influenced through family involvement. The current system should be replaced by a family education approach. Families would participate in a variety of educational and celebratory events. Inevitably this would lead to a long overdue rethinking of the bar/bat mitzvah. It would also reinforce the family and home as a key transmitter of Jewish experience, knowledge, and values.

It does not make sense for every synagogue to sustain a full fledged educational program. Some communities [e.g., Boston] have begun experimenting with communal educational approaches for adults, children, and adolescents. A rethought and collaborative educational initiative will benefit all synagogues and more importantly, the entire Jewish community will be better served.

Adolescents are the least involved cohort in American Jewish life. It is time for the entire community to rethink both the priority of and approach to adolescents. There are important, although limited, successes in camping, youth groups and Israel trips, but rarely can an individual synagogue have an impact on teens. Unless there is a comprehensive and varied approach to this population, involving all facets of the community, it is unlikely that this will change. Synagogues should either divest or collaborate in order to effect new, emerging strategies for this key population.

Collaboration makes sense even regarding services. The North American Jew today is post-denominational. Rarely do North American Jews choose a synagogue on the basis of ideology. Behavior patterns among congregants are largely interchangeable except for certain Orthodox communities. Most congregations need to respond to a wide variety of preferences regarding the synagogue service.

Even the same individuals may prefer variety - opting for a variety of types of services: Formal, informal, educational, experiential, with families, or only with adults, emphasizing deeper spirituality or emphasizing for social interaction. It is not surprising that synagogues that try to satisfy everyone with one service will frustrate most of the people most of the time. Therefore, synagogues should offer a variety of different services. Congregants should feel comfortable opting for different styles on different occasions.

Most synagogues are not able to sustain such variety. This would be a wonderful opportunity for inter-synagogue collaboration and is by no means unheard of in Jewish history.

The way in which synagogues are currently funded makes it difficult to imagine these kinds of changes. Each congregation is a self contained membership organization dependent on the commitment and generosity of its own membership. If there were no school, adult educational program, or banquet facility, how could the synagogue afford staff and pay for its facility?

The time has come to revisit the kehillah [community] concept. A community affiliation fee would allow participation in every synagogue in the community [e.g., the Northside Kehillah in Chicago already has implemented such a plan.] This concept re-positions the relationship of individuals to the synagogue.

Most synagogues are built for three-time-a-year attendance and are empty the rest of the year. Why not build smaller synagogues and rent external space when necessary. The late Merrill Hassenfeld proposed that Jewish communities rent civic centers for High Holidays and not waste millions of dollars on empty space. Most North American Jews have transient connections to particular synagogues and might prefer to join the throngs at a community sponsored service. This builds on the counter-intuitive fact that Americans often feel most comfortable when they can maintain their anonymity.

This vision of the synagogue calls for a profound restructuring of the Jewish community and a rethinking of the role of the synagogue. It calls for collaboration and a willingness to trade institutional prerogatives for greater effectiveness. It implies significantly different facilities, affiliation patterns, and calls for new collaborations and educational approaches. It imagines a network of truly relevant, responsive, and diverse synagogues - able to shape, inform, and inspire the much needed and heralded renaissance of Jewish life.

As for me, I am still shopping.
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ARTICLE 2

Synagogue Transformation Revisited
and some thoughts on “k’dushah”

December 2002

Three years ago, I penned an article for Sh’ma calling for the transformation of the synagogue as we have known it in post-War [WWII, that is] America. The article posited the impossibility of any one synagogue effectively delivering service in all of the areas it arrogates to itself. By attempting to do so, I argued, mediocrity is virtually guaranteed.

I also challenged the idea of the “destination” synagogue edifice to which people went on special occasions, but which is physically, and thus psychologically and spiritually, removed from the daily life of most members.

At the time the article was published, the proposal which inspired the greatest animus and confusion was the suggestion that synagogues should be located in malls. This and other “out of the box” proposals received a brief flurry of public attention from synagogues and federations – some affirmed the ideas, others challenged them. But my 15 minutes of fame passed as others added their own proposals on synagogue transformation and renewal.

However, at the recent General Assembly of the United Jewish Communities in Philadelphia, several people told me how that article had influenced their own thinking. I discovered that the ideas in the article “have legs.” So, I have decided to articulate how my thinking about the synagogue and rabbis has further evolved.

This is an opportune moment to clarify my bona fides. While my own rabbinic career has never included a pulpit [except for High Holiday and scholar-in-residence assignments], I have been extensively involved with synagogues. I served for a decade as the [lay] vice president of one, have visited and spoken at synagogues throughout the USA and in many countries throughout the world, and today regularly daven at several. And, while I have my theological and stylistic preferences, I am eclectic enough to attend those representing all of the streams.

It is also an opportune moment to acknowledge that over the last few years a growing number of synagogues have begun to address some of their own shortcomings – particularly in the area of liturgy. The hard work of groups such as Synagogue 2000, the selective prodding of the STAR consortium, the productive work of ECE and several local initiatives has begun to take hold. Experiments in family education have begun to be more widespread, changing the nature of how families experience the synagogue. Openness to more “spiritually sensitive” music and prayer experience is visible across the denominational spectrum. More synagogues have “welcome brochures” or “greeters.” It is more common to find multiple prayer options. More synagogues are asking how their own can be better.

Three years after the previous article appeared, a yasher koach and kol hakavod is due for for the many innovations and greater openness which have happened since.

However, the basic premises of my article still apply. The ideas I presented address an underlying set of questions that these initiatives have only skirted.

Moreover, resistance to change remains very real. My experience in speaking about this topic has been instructive. Not uncommonly, the response of synagogue audiences has been: “you are so correct, but not here!” I learned that every place, those which are objectively thriving and those which are not, has devotees for whom the status quo is satisfying. It is only fair to find ways to legitimate those who are satisfied even as one pushes for radical changes. And there are many rabbis who look at their own full schedules as ask “what more can I do?” So if one is an advocate for a restructured synagogue, it is only fair to address these underlying issues.

1. The overworked and lonely rabbi.

In a series of focus groups throughout the country conducted by STAR in its formative year, several concerns were repeated by rabbis of every stripe and affiliation. They decried that they were overworked, underappreciated, and were expected to do too many things. Some of these rabbis are extraordinarily talented and creative; some are charismatic and founders of wonderful synagogues; some work in large multi-staffed institutions, others in smaller communities or synagogues; no matter - the plaint was consistent. It is not to be dismissed lightly.

The complaint of many rabbis, that they are overworked, does not play well with lay people. This is not because rabbis don’t work hard but because so do the lay people. Most people work 10-20 hours more each week than they did 15 years ago, and they also volunteer at their synagogue and elsewhere during the shrinking disposable time that they have left.

It is a terrible indictment of American society that we celebrate “24/7” and that we brag about our not taking our due vacations Most Rabbis do work hard and long but they are respectably well paid professionals facing similar pressures to those facing their congregants. And, in fact, many rabbis have far more discretion over their own time than do those who are employees in the business world. It is more than appropriate for synagogues, through rabbinic leadership, to address lifestyle issues – for rabbis and for their congregants - and to explore ways to ameliorate the pressures which emerge from them. But it is not convincing to focus on the amount of work.

A more real and important challenge is the absence of priorities and clarity of vision for the congregational rabbinate. It is simply unreasonable to assume that any professional can do everything well. Some rabbis may be great teachers; others are inspiring preachers; still others are caring counselors; and still others excel at community building. What rabbis and synagogues must accept is their own limitations. If no one rabbi can do everything well, what other ways or resources exist to make sure that the rest is done well? For example, bikur cholim [visiting the ill] is not a commandment only for rabbis; it is for all. Teaching and leading teens is a rare and precious skill, not necessarily one learned or taught at Seminaries. Many congregations are blessed with highly educated congregants whose Jewish knowledge and speaking skills may exceed that of a particular rabbi who, in turn, may be unmatched in his/her community-building and community relations acumen.

When we begin to unpack the expectation that one person can be all and do all, we can move to clarity of mutual expectation. It is a sobering but ultimately liberating exercise for both sides; both rabbis and congregations will be the stronger for addressing this dilemma.

Which leads to a more structural issue, the issue of rabbinic loneliness. I have often wondered why rabbis should be expected to have their offices within the synagogue. An office within a synagogue surely emphasizes the rabbinic centrality to that place but it underscores their aloneness. Why don’t we have rabbinic suites for rabbis from several synagogues, perhaps with other professionals? These suites could be in centrally located business or shopping areas, making them more easily accessible to most congregants. For the congregant, it would probably make consulting with the rabbi a more convenient and less symbolically loaded experience.

As most other professionals know, working in an office with peers has many benefits. It can help remove the sense of isolation. Not incidentally, this new collegial relationship can help keep rabbis informed about innovations, the strengths and insights of colleagues, and might well lead to new kinds of collaborations. Rabbis and their synagogues would be the better. And while some might worry that this would have a negative impact on the unique and special relationship between rabbis and congregants, I believe that this greater accessibility would enhance that bond.

My suggestion stems from observations of other professionals and from my own experience. Early in my career, I worked on campuses for 14 years. I made it a point to maintain an office with the other chaplains as well as one at Hillel. Even though it was a mere two short blocks between the two, it was miles in terms of approachability. Over the years, literally hundreds of students and faculty found their way to the chaplains’ offices, in the center of campus. Right or wrong, many were reluctant or too intimidated to seek me out in the confines of what was even then a very active and thriving Hillel House. And I benefited from the daily contact with other professionals who had comparable responsibilities but different skills and personalities from my own.

2. The overstretched synagogue

If it is true that rabbis cannot do everything well, why might we think that synagogues can? While I addressed this issue in the previous article, it has proven to be remarkably difficult to redress. Synagogues, in an attempt to be full service institutions, too often settle for mediocrity in much of what they do.

I can illustrate with one example [of many]: When I spoke at a synagogue one Sunday morning, the rabbi took me on a tour. The most crowded room was dedicated to a family education experiment. The synagogue had been able to locate a superb educator and quickly that program had become far more impactful and popular than the rest of the supplementary education program. The rabbi told me, though, that the educator was leaving after that year and the program would probably end, despite its success, because of the difficulty of finding a well trained successor.

He was correct, of course. The right educator makes all the difference. But he was wrong. Why should his synagogue compete with all the many others in his area to find such an educator? Just imagine if the resources of that synagogue were combined with those of the others within striking distance to find the right educators and to develop an educational program of excellence which would serve all of them. Unfortunately, many believe that every synagogue should be both full service and self contained. This rarely works. It is rare indeed that a synagogue has the requisite financial resources and access to the human resources to be able to achieve excellence in every area.

3. Toward a decentralized synagogue

The most controversial comment in the earlier piece was the proposal that synagogues should be located in malls [or like places] which are a part of the everyday life of Jewish people. The objections suggested that the synagogue should indeed be seen as “other” than the place of commerce and business, and should be an oasis of spirituality and values. It therefore benefits from being removed from all daily temptations and experiences.

It is my view that this is argument is at odds with the historic role and locus of the synagogue. Until the advent of the automobile and the resulting suburban culture, synagogues were not destinations away from the hustle bustle of life but were typically at its center. Implicitly, the location of a synagogue communicates a message about where it fits in people’s lives. When a synagogue is at a remove from the places where we live, it suggests that it is a place for refuge and meaning away from the shallowness of daily life. Or probably more typically, a place to visit only on special occasions.

When a synagogue is not at the periphery but rather at the center, convenient and proximate to where one goes to the bank or dry cleaner or bakery or work, it suggests that the synagogue, and by extension, Judaism, is a part of normal daily existence.

The obvious reality is that synagogues are committed to their current real estate. No one can reasonably suggest that these millions and millions of dollars worth of facilities close and relocate. But just imagine how many more people might stop in to study or pray or who knows what if there were store front branches of synagogues in malls or in town centers. The phenomenon of downtown luncheon study groups in law or business offices is now quite pervasive throughout the country. All of us recognize that this “outreach” technique works. Bringing Judaism to where people are does not mean that one is compromising Judaism. I simply propose to carry this proven method one step further.

And, I believe it will help the synagogue regain its more historically authentic role and function.

4. Synagogue Funding

The STAR focus groups also revealed that synagogue leaders feel financially trapped and strapped. Many rabbis and lay leaders argue that they are committed to new visions of their own synagogue, acknowledge that the majority of their membership [to say nothing of the majority of American Jews who are unaffiliated at any one time] are not being served, and would welcome innovations which would inspire, engage, and educate. The limitation is money.

There is much to be said and written about this question, but the underlying issue is that synagogues are now like private clubs. Their membership determines what they do, how much they will pay, and what services they will provide. Far too many exist on the backs of their supplementary schools, culminating in bar/bat mitzvah. I address this question below, but this financial dependence overwhelms any objective planning.

It is time to deconstruct the funding question as well. We must revisit the question of the synagogue as a membership organization. Perhaps synagogues should be viewed as one of the panoply of Jewish institutions which are under the auspices of a central funding and planning body. This would allow numerous new possibilities which are quite difficult in the current funding structure.

a. Community wide membership, applicable to any of the synagogues.
b. Community wide educational offerings [with tracks to accommodate denominational demands]
c. Facility planning in coordination with other institutions in the community – to ensure that there is some relationship of space to real need
d. Various service and prayer offerings which transcend the approach or style of any one synagogue
e. Efficiencies of “back-office” services such as data base management, purchasing, etc.

It is my belief that the gross national synagogue budget is probably adequate to serve the needs, but that the tradition of the fully independent synagogue [based on the Protestant Free Church tradition] means dollars are not as effectively used as they might be. Obviously this approach might have tradeoffs of autonomy but could pay for itself in increased quality and innovation. And more coordinated planning might well engage more of those for whom the current synagogue is simply too intimidating or alienating.

In proposing this neo-kehillah model, I do so with caution. Centralized planning can squelch creativity and innovation. One would not want to lose the entrepreneurial spirit which leads to experimentation of size, structure, or style. Most innovation emerges outside the mainstream, becomes successful or fails, and then is co-opted or adapted. A centralized membership and planning model must account for and even encourage these ventures.

But such a model would go a long way to address an endemic problem – that every synagogue now feels that it must now turn beyond its membership to raise funds to do its work. There is something wrong if the basic organizational model of this crucial institution cannot pay for itself. Having headed a foundation committed to the renaissance of Jewish life, I can attest to the number of synagogues which have tried to obtain funding for their “unique” funding problem. But foundations view synagogues as local, so all such proposals are rejected. The more proposals I read, the more convinced I became that the model itself needs to change.

Perhaps there is another funding model besides the neo-kehillah model which I propose. But one thing is certain – the current model is not up to the task at hand and requires a radical re-think, not simply tampering.

5. Bar/Bat Mitzvah

For many years, there have been those who have raised the issue of the role of the bar/bat mitzvah in the American synagogue; yet it continues to be an abiding question of what the synagogue should be. It is so central that it must be addressed. For too many synagogues, it is the tail wagging the dog. It is time to find ways to put the bar/bat mitzvah back in a healthy and appropriate context – for the benefit of synagogues, the families, and the Jewish people.

Even after all these years, if one visits many synagogues, one comes away feeling that the real reason for a Shabbat service is the bar/bat mitzvah. Others [non-guest daveners] who may be there seem incidental. The dominance of the bar/bat mitzvah surely must limit a synagogue’s flexibility in thinking through the Shabbat experience to say nothing of the disenfranchisement of the regular members. And while these rites of passage can be beautifully done, it does not seem the ideal way to build community.

The bar/bat mitzvah is still perceived as graduation from Jewish education for too many. There must be a way to transform that graduation into a commencement – the beginning of adult learning, not the end of marginal Jewish education. There are some intriguing initiatives to address this: One impressive example is the B’nai Tzedek program, conceived by Harold Grinspoon, which provides a small philanthropic endowment for B’nai mitzvah – to learn that with maturity comes responsibility and the honor of giving. This program now exists in 20-30 communities throughout the USA, with very positive results. Another program, about which I have just learned, is in connection with MAZON. I am quite sure that there are other initiatives with equal promise.

There must be concomitant community wide reshuffling of priorities for Jewish education subsidies. If adolescence is the time when young people are most influenced by peers and are learning to make social choices which may last into adulthood, why are we not providing major incentives to engage that population? It is clear that we have it backwards – at the time when the major influence is the home, we send them to supplementary or day school; at the time when they are influenced by peers, we let them opt out.

The bar/bat mitzvah must, therefore, be reconfigured to play a different role in the life of the family, the life of the synagogue, and the life of the individual. Any real change will require a major national commitment so that many synagogues opt in. Therefore, while I am not typically a proponent of national conferences to solve problems, in this case I feel that a trans-denominational conference committed to the question of rethinking the bar/bat mitzvah experience may be the only way that individual synagogues can be empowered in their commitment to explore changes in their own practices.

6. Some concluding thoughts on k’dushah

K’dushah – holiness or sanctity – is the goal of the Jewish tradition. The Jewish people are a “holy nation;” “you shall be holy;” much of Torah and rabbinic literature is an extended mandate to imbue one’s life and the life of the Jewish people with sanctity. What might this mean in the context of our topic?

The word itself suggests a legitimate tension: The root meaning is “to separate.” Therefore one might argue that the way to achieve k’dushah is to separate oneself from the secular. The ideal is to live at a remove from the everyday, the secular, the unholy and impure. Synagogues and rabbis must make sure that the experience of the synagogue elevates us and reminds us that there is a higher meaning and more holy life than that which occupies the everyday. The very physical experience of the synagogue, to say nothing of the spiritual one, should help elevate one’s sense of purpose.

For this reason, the professionals who work in the synagogue are affectionately referred to as klai kodesh, vessels of holiness. The rabbi and shaliach tzibbur/cantor play an indispensable role in achieving this desired higher state. They are indeed vessels, carrying the communal spirit, conveying communal longing, bearing the communal leadership – through their voices, their words, their actions, and their teachings. The congregants, indeed the Jewish people, need their religious leaders to symbolize the holiness to which we all aspire.

There is, though, another way to understand the mandate to be a holy people and to pursue sanctity. It is to bring sanctity, meaning, and holiness into the everyday. In this view, the challenge is not to reject olam hazeh, this world, but to make it a more holy place. There is nothing inherently tainted about the everyday – it is normal, neutral, awaiting value. The Talmud and Jewish Law tell us that the rules of how one does shopping are to imbue that most necessary societal behavior with a sense of ethics and meaning. Human beings are in the image of their Creator; their actions should reflect that. Money is collected in the synagogue, twice daily [during the services!] and then immediately given to people who will return to the street to live on that money. There is no separation between the immanence of the holy and the immediacy of human need.

I ascribe to this second view – that the Jewish world-view is that sanctity is “not in heaven,” but it is in fact in the hands of all of us. And thus it is incumbent upon the Jewish institution that represents the chain of the Jewish tradition, the synagogue, to demonstrate that. Sanctity must not be reserved to the synagogue any more than it is restricted to moments of prayer. The message of the synagogue must be in homes, and streets, and offices, and shops. There must be an integration of values and a transcendence of space so that all of human endeavors reflect the pursuit of sanctity. When lives are so compartmentalized that holiness is seen as limited to the moments when one is in the “holy place” in the presence of “holy vessels” then Judaism and the Jewish people are the lesser.

That is why I am such an advocate for the conceptual deconstruction and decentralization of what happens in the modern synagogue. The synagogue is a primary transmitter of values and teaching; the synagogue is a primary locus of spiritual pursuits; the synagogue is a primary institution for community building; the synagogue is a primary institution for conveying Torah and the Jewish Tradition. But it is not the only place for any of these, and when the synagogue becomes the destination and not the source, it limits its own effectiveness and deprives the Jewish people of the true meaning for which it stands. Let k’dushah flow forth from the pews and the pulpits – and let it flow to the streets and the dining rooms and the board rooms and the chat rooms and the fitting rooms of our lives. Only when the synagogue is a part of our lives, physically and metaphorically, will it achieve its true purpose.

More Signs of the Times

2009-06-10T07:22:00.001-04:00

Yesterday brought the juxtaposition of two separate but suggestive moments.

The first was that I finally received payment from an invoice sent in February. This was one of three such long overdue accounts receivable. Not an earth shattering moment or budget busting amount, but enough to pay attention.

Over the last few months, I have often been asked how the economy has affected our business. I have often responded with the examples of having to wait to get paid, something I only occasionally experienced before.

There are others who volunteer, “You must be busier than ever!” or “your clients must really need you now.” After all, they reason, it is when there are hard decisions to be made, when there is less to give, when the philanthropic environment is more challenging than ever, that experienced philanthropic advising must be in high demand. I acknowledge that there are some clients and some others [such as the press] who agree with that. But a more honest assessment is that the phone is a bit quieter than one would like.

Which brings me to the second: a consulting firm, which to the best of my knowledge does not do the same kind of work that I do and therefore is not a competitor, sent out a e-mail broadside explicitly advertising why, in these times, one should hire them. What struck me about this email was not the argument, a not unreasonable one, that advisory and consultancy services can be a very useful expenditure during the hardest economic times. Rather that this firm was THE one to be used during these times.

In fairness, I have no reason to doubt the quality of the work of this group. But I know lots of other groups that do similar work and I am not sure I would rank them better than their peers. It left me wondering: Were they overreaching? Overstating? What is the difference between legitimate hyperbole and inappropriate exaggeration? When does such self-promotion veer into the negative?

What brings these two seemingly unrelated moments together is that they both are signs of the times. Money is tighter on almost every front. Large companies are smaller; smaller businesses are struggling; even among those who have seen some stability, it is surrounded by uncertainty. In such times, everyone makes choices about where to spend limited resources and there is greater competition for those resources. It may be that I wasn’t paid because a grantee or staff person came first; I may have resented having to wait so long and re-invoice so often but the erstwhile client may have made a rational choice in keeping me wait. It may be that the unnamed firm is faced with one last desperate push for clients or else they may have to disband. I may wish that they were a little more restrained in their marketing approach but I don’t have their overhead. I may have been discomfited; for them it may be survival.

To date, thank goodness, we are in neither place. Business comes in, even if less; bills get paid –in our case, promptly. But we too are faced with marketing choices and reviewing our business model.

Here’s the kicker: I actually do believe that funders and foundations need my services more than ever, and that there really is a value added to what I bring to their tables. All of my instincts make me want to trust that people know that; everything I read about marketing tells me that they won’t know that unless I tell them. Maybe the aforementioned firm and some of my competitors are having the last laugh. While I wonder about the propriety of self-promotion, they may be the ones getting the contracts.

A public thanks to ZEEK

2009-06-03T15:41:00.001-04:00

You may be aware of ZEEK magazine [“a Jewish Journal of Thought and Culture”]. Its editors typically push current thinking without being pushy. The current issue, which I read this morning, is entitled “Sex, Gender, and God.”

What I found refreshing about some of the central articles is that they brought me back into an important intellectual dialogue in a way that makes me understand the progress of this thinking over the years. For me, who was early involved in the issue of Jewish feminism as an advocate for change and alternatives, and, even as an educator, I had the sense that the real conceptual thinking had ended a generation ago. It seemed that there were 2 conceptual approaches from which everything else followed: women were essentially the same as men and therefore the challenge was to remove barriers, however defined, to achieving that equality [which I prefer to name “womenization” rather than “feminization”– OR women are essentially different than men and the nature of too much of human history has been to ignore or downplay that difference. A new world would not be defined as more equal but rather re-balanced, as I see it, what feminism really is about.

These were important distinctions but once they were made, then what? Functionally, very few of those who believed in conceptual differentiation wouldn’t argue for equal opportunity. And there was enough abstraction to the feminist differentiation concept that, it wasn’t so easy to know what to do with it. [other than the small group of separatists.] Since the late 70’s I often felt that so much of the discussion that followed had not really pushed the conceptual thinking much beyond that era.

It was instructive and indeed gratifying to see how out of date my own understanding of and the progress made in climbing beyond those conceptual boxes. Whether it is in recognizing the power of metaphor in prayer which recognizes that gender-neutral often robs liturgy of power, or in identifying that personalities are more complex than simplistic male-female categories. [I am less intrigued by the issue of transgender than I am of acknowledging the absurdity of classifying behaviors and aesthetics as either male or female.] I was gratified to hear that current thinking does not posit superiority for feminist theology or identity but rather sees what might be called historical [read: male] interpretive tradition as complementary to a feminist one.

I am privileged to be of the generation of Judith Plaskow and Rachel Adler [2 of those featured in this issue], and to have been a party or witness to those early struggles. In the days before there were other options, many of these were played in the one institution which, in those days, hosted such innovation. I recall vividly, going back to the late 60’s early 70’s, the early women’s only services. [From 73-78, Brown had a regular women’s only Shabbat minchah service; women of all ages came – invariably their first time at the Torah left them in tears] I had my consciousness raised by undergraduates who made sure I understood the conceptual thinking of the newly emerging field of women’s studies, and I was flattered that a meaningful number of those who studied “women and Judaism” chose to become among the earliest generations of women rabbis.

I also saw the tensions between the generations as students and spouses distanced themselves from their teachers and mentors, and women of a certain age were deeply and profoundly hurt and confused by those who were choosing different paths. There were couples which simply couldn’t adjust to a reshuffling of priorities and decision-making. There were those who, consciousness raised, rejected everything and those who for the first time felt empowered by that same consciousness to engage their Judaism for the first time. There was poignancy to the change, experimentation, uncertainty, discovery, de-mythologizing, and re-mythologizing.

Reading the articles in ZEEK raised an interesting question for me. Many institutions have made the changes to integrate a women’s role and a feminist sensitivity. Most families I know have long since abandoned obvious gender defined roles. Unquestionably the glass ceiling is only cracked and there are still disparities in income. As one who remembers back alley abortions, it bothers me how younger people don’t understand how vulnerable the right to choice is. And I have to adjust to a generation of younger women who have returned to the practice of changing their name when they get married.

But I was truly engaged that the basic questions are being pushed to the next level and not simply to the next generation. And for that I want to publicly commend the editors of ZEEK.

Rule of 3

2009-05-12T04:09:00.003-04:00

Next week, I will be speaking at the largest conference of American Shia Muslims. Given my leadership roles in IJCIC and the Board of World Religious Leaders, and my attendance at the bi-ennial meetings of Rabbis and Imams for Peace, this invitation was not such a surprise. I am told that 5000 people will attend the conference.

And the topic, The People of the Book, will also be addressed that afternoon by a major Christian leader and the Imam associated with this organization. It is hardly a political topic, the invitation was extended to affirm the organization's commitment to mutual understandings, and the overall tone of the conversations and setting suggest that this is an important opportunity. I was flattered to be invited.

In fact, I have been sufficiently flattered that I have told many people that this is on my speaking and travel schedule. It is the response which has left me agape. Back to that response in a moment. First:

The rule of 3. In the consulting work that I sometimes do, we have the "rule of 3." If one is gathering opinions about an organization, one learns how to hear feedback. Even the most popular or successful program or professional may have a detractor. Even the least successful or ineffective program or professional may have advocates. One learns the difference between an idiosyncratic and non representative response and one which adds to the normal range of opinions. One of the indicators is if one finds a similar response from at least 3 people. Unanimity is rarely achieved, so patterns, even diverse ones, are suggestive.

Similarly, in the Jewish tradition, there is the concept of "chazakah" - loosely translated as precedent. Without going into detail, in certain circumstances, an action, accepted and repeated thrice, is considered precedential and therefore binding. Here, in a fully unrelated context, three seems to be sufficient to take something beyond the idiosyncratic to the pattern.

Which brings me back to the forthcoming talk. In three, fully unrelated and disparate contexts, the immediate and spontaneous response to my comment about it, was "will you wear a flack jacket?" What was consistent about the 3 respondents was that all are identified with liberal causes, have leadership roles in left oriented Jewish political and religous movements, and would readily associate themselves with projects which would build understanding between peoples - certainly between Jews and Moslems. Each of the three immediately added something like: "just kidding."

Three times, though, raised the level beyond the idiosyncratic to a pattern. No, not a unaimous or predictive pattern, but enough to give us pause. If this is the response of presumably sympathetic members of the Jewish community, just imagine the response of the many in our community who make no claim of liberalism or of their distrust of Moslems. [in my interreligous work, I have encountered those in the Jewish world whose hypothetic preconditions for trusting Moslem groups are so strict that it is hard to imagnine any potential dialogue partners anywhere at any time.]

And I am not so naive to not know that on the other side there are those, too many, who ascribe only the most pernicious motivations to Jewish actions or believe the most horrendous lies about us or who are willing to endorse actions which are functionally anti-Semitic and existential threats to Jews wherever we may live. I imagine that there are Imams who are warned not to accept a speaking engagement with Jews because of perceived risks.

But my own expereince with Imams and other Moslem leaders is otherwise. Not 100% otherwise, but sufficiently otherwise to know that we do have partners for peace, we do have partners in dialogue, we do have colleagues who seek balance, knowledge, understanding, we do have friends who dare to dream and dare to act to change these assumptions. My own experience is that the invitation I received was not only benign, but a sign of a genuine commitment to understand our commonalities which can transcend politics, and a commitmetn to build when others destroy. I am sobered by the response of my co-religionists, but even more persuaded that not accepting this invitation - under any guise at all - would have been a terrible mistake. Or put differently, I would rather go unprotected before 5000 shia Muslims than endorse a world-view which believes that I only dare do so with a flack jacket.

CAJE's demise - A footnote to history

2009-01-10T06:11:00.001-05:00

Today’s JTA included the announcement that CAJE was cancelling its annual conference. I suspect that for most in the Jewish educational world, this wasn’t news, but as one who is now on the periphery of that world, it was new information.

Since I had some minor, largely behind the scenes, role in the very first CAJE conference, the announcement that it is ceasing operations after 33 years is an occasion for some consideration. And given the many discussions of which I have lately been a part on the future of non-profits, it is a striking case study.

A few words of background: 33 years ago, I was still the Jewish Chaplain at Brown where I also served as director of the Hillel. 1976 was the tail end of the political 60’s but still a time when cultural innovation was happening. In the Jewish world, there were lots of experiments which had begun to have an impact beyond the 2 or 3 centers of demographic concentration, and there was the emergence of a critical mass of professionals and volunteers who were committed to a revised vision of what Jewish life might be. There were new viable models of pluralism, feminist expressions, rabbinic training, community, etc. And these were being seen not simply in private residences in Boston and New York, but on universities and communities all over North America.

Whether it was an accurate perception or not, and it probably was, at that time there was a consensus that what passed as Jewish education was mediocre at best and that the educational establishment was not committed to either change or excellence. It was hardly surprising that a group of young Turks wanted to convene to reinforce each other and to learn from one another.

It also wasn’t so surprising that they decided to explore having the meeting at Brown that summer: Jewish life at Brown had acquired a reputation as a place where exciting new things were happening, it was an attractive and accessible campus which didn’t have an active summer school [thus having space available], and, while I suspect this wasn’t articulated, it had a derivative prestige which raised the profile of the first meeting beyond a camp-based retreat setting. The target numbers were about 200, quite a manageable size.

It turned out, however, that when it came time to sign the contract, there was a workers strike at Brown. While it had absolutely nothing to do with the new CAJE program, symbolically it put a group of liberal activists in a quandary. How can they even symbolically cross a picket line or independently hire people to work to replace the strikers.

This is where my role as a footnote came to play: I helped mediate a resolution that didn’t violate the sensitivities of the CAJE participants and didn’t violate the principles of the Union:

If CAJE kept to one discreet section of the campuses, ran as a self-administered cooperative, and didn’t use any of the classroom buildings, they would view that section as independent of the strike. Thus CAJE self-catered and cleaned, held its larger meetings at Hillel [which was on campus but not owned by the university], and publicly expressed its solidarity with the union – and went ahead with the first CAJE conference.

Of course over the 33 years since then, CAJE changed its name from the Conference on ALTERNATIVES in Jewish Education to the Conference for the ADVANCEMENT of Jewish Education. Its conference grew from the original 200 to 2-3000. It became part of the establishment, and was a part of the large alphabet soup of organizations in Jewish life which everyone more or less knew about.

Which may in fact be why it is now vulnerable. We don’t live in a world which celebrates independence just because an organization desires to remain that way. In the past couple of decades, CAJE may have been a place where innovators were invited to speak, but it wasn’t a place from which innovation emerged. It may have been a national gathering of educators but it wasn’t owned by or a project of the local or national educational institutions. This may prove to be an interesting case study and morality tale. When CAJE was new, it needed to be fully independent and unencumbered as a counter culture organization. As it acquired maturity, its independence made it seem out of touch and made it marginal.

A couple of years ago, I attended some of the activities commemorating the retirement of CAJE’s long-term director. I came away from that with a sense that it was a celebration of yesterday’s news, not tomorrow’s. There was poignancy and respect, but not a celebration of a new vision for Jewish life or Jewish education. I assume that many funders looked at it the same way and thus today’s news.

In retrospect, it seems that the tone of that retirement day made today’s announcement inevitable. Organizations need to reinvent themselves, not as marketing or rebranding exercises but as responses to a world which changes quickly and in unforgiving ways. And there certainly isn’t any shame in acknowledging that what made an organization successful in the past no longer applies. As one who is now very much an outsider, I suspect that what is called for now is a dignified end to an organization that helped reshape Diaspora education, spawned its 21st century offspring, Limmud, and showed that quality education needs to be at the center of the community’s agenda, and not simply the alternative indulgence of a few dreamers. Leaders of an organization that can take credit for such a role in history need not feel embarrassed knowing that it is time for others to take the agenda forward, to look back with pride on their accomplishment, and to turn the lights out as they leave.

Why interreligious conversation matters

2008-10-12T20:11:00.000-04:00

One of the great pleasures of being involved in international interreligious matters is the privilege of getting to know wonderful leaders of other religions. These are leaders of multitudes who convey with their very being a love of humanity, of their own religion, and acceptance of the other. So it gave us great joy when Bishop Lennart Koskinen, the religious leader charged with tending the worldwide Swedish Evangelical Lutheran flock, called to say he was in New York – and even more so when he accepted our last minute invitation to join our Sabbath eve table. Lennart is one of those people who is immediately likable, warm, and even though we see one another only every couple of years, resumes the intimacy of our professional friendship as if it were but a moment. Besides, he is a great fan of Mirele – so he is clearly a person of impeccable judgement.

At our Sabbath table, the conversation took a predictable turn. Both of us were asked: what comes of these interreligious dialogues? Do they really make a difference? Why do we do it?

I should clarify that I am not the typical attendee. Most of the others are truly religious leaders of large national or international communities; most have recognized authority and titles to go with it; most are leaders of followers and flocks. Whether Bishops or Archbishops, Imams or sheiks, Dharma Masters or Dalai Lama, Swamis, Baba Ji or Chief Rabbis – my “colleagues” are there as leaders of followers as well as representatives of their religion. For reasons both amusing and coincidental [and off subject here], I am there as an elected leader of leaders, but a leader without followers. My credentials may warrant my participation, but my everyday professional role would not make my participation obvious.

Nevertheless, I do sit with all of these leaders in meetings around the world. We do “dialogue” – and that would be a sufficient goal in itself. After all, if world religious leaders can find ways of communicating their deepest values, beliefs and commitments in rooms where others are as passionate about their own values, beliefs and commitments, isn’t that alone a powerful statement at a time in history when religion is used as a way to deny the legitimacy of the other. If these leaders then take these understandings and share their experiences with their followers, it has the ability to challenge fundamentalism, extremism, fanaticism, and isolationism – by their very behavior.

Do they make a difference? Space doesn’t allow for even a smattering of my own experiences but suffice it to say that I have met men and women whose participation put their own lives at risk; I have met men and women whose attendance jeopardized their career; I have met men and women who have courageously stood against the teachings of their of own tradition to affirm others; I have seen religious leaders who have led their churches, synagogues, mosques, temples, followers to re-interpret long-standing understandings in order to make safe space for those of other traditions; and I have seen as many of these leaders own selves have grown through these interactions. The real stories are sometimes political, often powerful, always poignant.

The real question, though, is why do it? Is it simply because, as the Jewish Tradition mandates, that we do it to increase peace in the world? Or is there something more to it?

I cannot speak for others, but I can articulate why, for me, it isn’t an option, it is a mandate. Let me explain:

For me, Judaism fills my life with meaning. It corresponds to my understanding of the nature of human being’s role in the physical and metaphysical world; it informs my perceptions of our relationship and responsibility to fellow human beings; it provides an aesthetic and an epistemology to help mediate the ever present sets of choices which define the human condition; it enables a transcendence which positions our experience in the continuum of time and the variance of space; it mediates between the ephemeral and ethereal, and elevates the vagaries of daily life with the possibility of spirituality. In other words, Judaism gives my life meaning.

But If Judaism fills my life with meaning, I have learned that I need the “other” to give it understanding. The interface and interaction with those of other authentic religious traditions not only expands my own knowledge, gives appreciation to the wondrous and wonderful diversity of human experience, and enriches the tapestry which enrobe the fabric of life’s ritual moments. But it goes further: and this is a lesson I learned only in the last few years: I am not a Jew without the other; I have only limited understanding of my own experience and Tradition without the other, and can only grow and be truly fulfilled in relationship with the other.

Therefore, to be fulfilled as a Jew, to fully understand myself as a Jew, interreligious communication, sharing, dialogue, and education are not a choice but a mandate. And I am not alone in this conviction. When we were in Amritsar, India last December, at our bi-ennial meeting of the Board of World Religious Leaders, our colleague Rabbi Abraham Soetendorp said, with passion and pathos, in his parting words as he prepared to depart back to the Netherlands: “I need you; we need you.” None disagreed; none was unmoved.

The Shame of it all!

2008-10-05T06:18:00.001-04:00

It appears that the right wing voices in this country are beyond shame. How else to explain the willful misrepresentation of Obama’s positions, backgrounds, beliefs, and connections? That the Republican Party allows these voices to be raised in their name should be an embarrassment to all who aspire to a society based on the principles of fairness, equity, and civil liberties. That McCain, who probably once upon a time was a decent, if limited, politician has allowed these voices to be raised in his name or by his surrogates is reason enough for people to vote against him.

We should, of course, not be surprised: these voices have built a well-funded and indisputable record of dirty and outright dishonest campaigning for some time. This is not the place to rehearse the well researched and provide the careful rebuttal to virtually every innuendo going back at least to the anti-Kerry campaign, and reaching even more preposterous proportions in recent hours. “Obama is a secret Moslem”; “Obama not so secretly consorts with known terrorists”, “Obama is/was/believes… “ What is so frightening is that even SNL doesn’t have to exaggerate the preposterous nature of these many accusations. [Lest you think this is my view alone – I just heard a radio news show clarify that the voice listeners would hear was not a comedy skit from SNL but the real voice of the VP candidate!]

The prospect of a McCain-Palin administration has moved beyond simply upsetting to the realm of scary. Under the administration coming to an end [not soon enough] we have moved from being the world economic power to a debtor nation with 3rd world division between rich and poor, from a political force in the world worthy of allies [and which respected them] to one mocked for its policy of unilateralism and exceptionalism from international law, a place where the balance of government behavior moved from support of civil rights and liberties, due process, and human rights toward a consistent and unapologetic policy of restricting them, where those departments on which we had reason to rely – and even be proud[e.g., fema, SEC, etc.] were systematically and ideologically dismantled so that they have become a mockery of their purpose. Shall I go on? Not only has it been the least effective administration in American history, it has been the most destructive. America will need years of effective and responsible governing to earn the respect of its own citizens and of the nations of the world.

The campaign of the McCain-Palin administration seems to have absorbed the absolute worst of what we can only pray will come to an end. Soon. I respect that one can have a legitimate conservative view of the role of government and not be mean, malicious, dishonest, and vile. These aspirants to the highest administrative offices in the land have neither the sophistication nor the empathy to espouse a credible conservative political view - only one that is extremist, negative, and nihilist. I wonder how they can sleep at night.

Let me be clear – I believe that the election of Obama has its unknowns. He is an inspiring candidate, one whose election will have great and profoundly important symbolic benefits for all of us. But we don’t know how the political pressures of the presidency will play. The future is always filled with some risk and unpredictability. Not everything he has said has been as convincing as I would have liked, and there are legitimate questions of the breadth of his experience. Yet, if his positions during the campaign, and the nature of his engagement with issues and his opponents are indicative, I am more willing to trust him with those risks than his opponents, who hide behind shallow flag waving to hide a malicious worldview.

There appears, as of this writing, to be some evidence that the negative campaign is not having its desired effect, that Americans are capable of seeing the truth. The destruction of our society brought about by the Bush administration seems to be understood on Main Street; people in their hearts know that things simply aren’t right. Obama-Biden have begun to take the lead in the polls, thank goodness. We aren’t there yet. I implore all us to not be passive in this next month until the election and to help make sure that there is a strong and convincing statement made on 4 November that change is not only a slogan but a real mandate. Rarely in American history has it mattered more.

Those were THOSE days, my friend...

2008-09-23T06:52:00.001-04:00

Did I ever show you a picture I carry in my wallet? It is of me in the late 60’s. In it you would see that not only do I have hair – but it is long! Those were heady days – times of change, challenge, the nexus of political upheaval and cultural explosions. There were opportunities to be involved in creating institutions, changing mores, reinventing oneself and, aspirationally at least, the world at large.

Those of us who came of age during that time who were in positions where we could make a difference were involved in creating lots of new institutions that have become parts of the permanent landscape. Educational alternatives, feminist sensitivities, pluralistic expressions and behaviors, views of the world were all loci where opportunity, conviction, and leadership converged to make differences.

The changes of that era were filled with unbridled optimism that could never be sustained. Real life demands eventually imposed limits on personal choices that Woodstock didn’t. The end of the Vietnam debacle provided more short-term political lessons than one might have hoped. Glass ceilings reflected down on those who seemed to be at the point of entry. Cultural pluralism, instead of being truly liberating to all, often pitted ethnic, religious, and racial groups against one another. So as exciting as those times were, as we get older we realize that the permanent changes went only so far.

But there were long-term changes. We may make fun of or celebrate “political correctness,” but few can any longer be insensitive in at least some of their language. Many of the alternative religious and cultural and education institutions created during that time continue to exist – in a strange twist of fate becoming the mainstream. The “outsiders” who led change remarkably became the ceo’s and evp’s and ed’s of the central institutions of the end of the 20th and beginning of the 21st Century. In many ways, we were very successful – but more so in achieving personal influence than in making the world as changed as we once dreamed.

Some of my generation bemoan all the attention given to the current social entrepreneurs. They say “we did that in our time; there is nothing new.” In some cases, I hear a sense of resentment that what they learned is being ignored; in other cases, it is unsettling to have a self-image of being a change agent when others see them in need of change.

But, even if correct, their responses are beside the point. If I learned anything during my years of working on campus, it was that for younger people, if they didn’t see it, it didn’t happen. So what if you did it before? They need to learn themselves, make their own mistakes, create their own experiences. Why should they be limited by the “wisdom” of those who did it before? Maybe the earlier way wasn’t so great anyway.

Beyond that, let us not underestimate that now is another time of even more profound change and challenge. The world we impacted is flawed and the institutions often staid and static. We may look in our mirrors and see a fleeting reminder of ourselves as the agents of change, but for most who see us, we have become the embodiments of the status quo. And the world has changed around us in ways in which we could not have imagined a generation or two ago. We may have been committed to changing institutions or creating new ones; a current generation questions whether the very concept has meaning. We may have created more meaningful communities; a current generation redefines the very word. We may have tried to evolve a more value-based society; a current generation raises questions about the very concept of objective and transcendent values. And more.

No, the 21st Century is not simply the last Century but younger. It is different. We haven’t been here and we haven’t done that. And if we don’t learn that, we will watch the world we created and led crumble around us – with sadness and resentment.

I would rather embrace that new world. I want to continue to learn new ways, do new things, think new thoughts, and celebrate in new forms for as long as I can. Why do I carry that picture around? Because I want to remember that it was a time of a fulsome and unchartered future, of opportunities not yet imagined, and a world in which I could play a leadership role. Much older now, and hopefully a little wiser, I never want to surrender that sense of optimism and opportunity not yet fulfilled. I want that picture to help me resist the tendency I sometimes find in myself to say, as I look at the changes around me – I don’t want to say to myself “been there, done that.” No, I would rather cultivate the part of me that says, as I did then “I have never been here before – There is so much to do!”

Days of sweetness? - and Judgement!

2008-09-19T04:37:00.003-04:00

In the Jewish world, it is that time again - the days when individuals commit themselves to a personal accounting of their behavior of the concluding year and a re-dedication for the year to come. [Of course, if this were to speak to our nation. its values, its economy, and its behaviors, one would shudder and shake at the Judgment due us. Our president and his destructive and cynical policies over these past 7 1/2 years have brought us to the brink of political and economic disaster - but more about that another time.]

This year will represent a new dilemma for me. For only the second time since 1967, I am not going to be wearing the rabbinic role on these forthcoming high holidays. Readers of a previous entry, "the loneliness of the short distance davener", are aware of my general sense of anomie and rootlessness in Jewish communal life. But the formal ascribed role on the High Holidays in the past always forced me back into both the rhythm of the calendar and the appropriate sense of connectedness with the Tradition, if not with a community. With the apparent end of my career in the active [read: paid] rabbinate, i am confronted with having to make all of the decisions which every other diaspora Jew must make at this time: where to go and why - and how much to pay for doing so.

Our solution has turned out to be both creative and evasive. We will take advantage of this year to attend numerous services in Manhattan - those with a reputation for newer interpretive forms and styles. Some of these places will follow a very Traditional service, but will provide stylistic creativity; others will take more liberties with the liturgy itself. We hope that the experience stretches us, revitalizes us, and helps us engage in ways not possible when one is in one place, with one expected approach, with a well developed understanding of the role of Tradition and style.

It is evasive since it allows us to defer or avoid choosing a community, making a commitment, resolving our ambivalences toward much of institutional Jewish life. We have bought tickets to several places; joined none. In some ways, we are living 21st century Jews, participating in the excitement and openness which this new era has allowed and encourages. I speak about and believe in a new construct of the relationship of the individual to institutions old and new. We are no different than a growing majority of American diaspora Jewry and our choices and behaviors are quite consistent with them. In other ways, though, we are old enough to be aware of what we are surrendering by this choice: reliable connectedness, a support system; a place which is our own; a group in which we are included. Rarely is this more poignant than on these days of Judgment when the very themes of the days emphasize ones vulnerability and fragility. We are old enough to see what the vagaries of fate can do to individuals, families, and peoples - and also to cherish the implicit support that can come from the connectedness which communities, however transient and transitory, can provide. Standing alone as the shofar penetrates our resistant soul or when we are reminded of who shall live and who shall die [something which becomes more real than metaphor] is lonely in the absence of those with whom we share more than the moment. It has been our choice, but not one which sits comfortably all the time.

In other postings, i will return to topics of how easy it is to become an outsider in this world; how parochial the Jewish community begins to seem now that i am mostly outside of it; how impenetrable our institutions seem to those on the periphery. But on these days of judgement, we must assume responsibility for ourselves and not blame others. Not every choice is inevitable; not every action is irrevocable; not every commitment, or absence thereof, is destiny. If one is honest, it is the internal confrontations which occupy us on these days of awe and judgment.

And if done honestly, openly, courageously, how sweetly comforting that taste of honey will seem a mere two weeks hence. At least that is our hope.

Used to be

2008-08-11T08:00:00.001-04:00

There is no predictability to it, but it happens more often than I would ever imagine. This past weekend, it happened three times.

It has been over 26 years since I left my position as chaplain at Brown. The 11 years there were early in my career. My career and life have taken many twists and turns since those days. And when I look in the mirror, I barely recognize the person whom these folks remember from as many as 37 years ago.

To be a university chaplain means that lots more people know you than you know. And my own career at Brown began and ended with unique visibility – when appointed in 1971, I was the first university employed Jewish chaplain in the Ivy League, and when I left, I delivered the baccalaureate address – an honor, I was told, since the speakers the previous 81 years of the 20^th century were from outside the university. Between newspaper pictures and podium, there may have been many reasons for many to recognize me.

But, it appears, those 11 years were more prolific and memorable to more people than I would have had reason to know. Sometimes the greeting is “aren’t you…?” or “you don’t remember me but…” During this past year alone, two who have had noteworthy careers reminded me of the influence I had on those careers – recalled with great specificity. Others simply note the connection, however passing, that they as students had with me, or recall a talk I gave, a class I taught, a chat we had.

I confess that I am flattered, humbled, and not a little discomfited by these moments. Retrospection does reinforce that much of what I helped foster during those years was indeed innovative and ahead of its time, much more so than I knew at the time. Many of the projects or approaches we developed were models of those which even today would be considered cutting edge. I have become aware of the very large number who chose rabbinic careers or who have taken other community leadership roles, numbers which far exceed the proportional expectations of a community of Brown’s size. [And in numbers which seemed not to have continued after I left.] A surprising number of folks met their spouses at the Hillel.

Retrospection also allows a perspective on what made those years so memorable to so many. It is true, I suspect that I had a direct influence over some few, but a very few. Most of those who remember me, even when they do so fondly, don’t give me personal credit for their choices or accomplishments. [I have to assume that some even have negative recollections – over 11 years one cannot have good without some bad.]

It is clear, though, that something else was happening during those years beyond my personal relationships. It was, I believe, my unwavering commitment to foster a community of acceptance, creativity, pluralism, empowerment, and excellence. I was lucky:

I learned very early that for students, it doesn’t matter what happened 4 years earlier. If they didn’t see it, it didn’t happen. So what if they make some mistakes along the way? It was the constant willingness to reinvent, while affirming the values mentioned above, which gave it vitality.

Brown students and faculty are bright, thoughtful, motivated. I learned that students and faculty didn’t need a community built around a charismatic leader; they did need someone whom they respected but also recognized that their communities had to be their own.

At the same time, although this took me longer to understand, there was a need for leadership. Not a leadership built around personality but a leadership built around vision. By the time I left, I figured that out. I now wish I had realized that earlier on since I suspect that many missed out by my unwillingness to take a more public leadership role in matters that might have mattered to them.

I learned that there were many communities. Any assumption that all students and faculty wanted, needed, or imagined the same things was a flawed approach. It was quite sobering to talk to seniors who were at Hillel every day of their 4 years who considered themselves outsiders and other seniors who only attended annual High Holiday services who told me how connected and central they felt. My personal perspectives had only coincidental relationship to what students and faculty experienced. It was a lesson which has served me well in my professional life in the ensuing years.

I learned that there needed to be credible within the university. Students and faculty at a place like Brown were first and foremost Brown students and faculty. There was an implicit competition for ideas and ideals; there was an ethos which defined the everyday; there was a sense of what was central and what was transient or peripheral. If I chose to see myself as simply a “programmer” for those who happened to come, I would have not been able to put those programs in the context of the complete lives students and faculty were living.

I learned that my job was not to get students to major in Jewish life. Our charge was to model a community which could inform a lifetime which would follow those very privileged years. I believed, and now know that it was often true, that we created something special during those years. But if what was remembered was a romanticized ideal and not a vibrant and portable model, then it would have been the wrong message.

At the end, I learned that it was time to leave. At age 37, I could already see that I would be burned out and the last thing a university community needs [indeed any community needs] is a leader who might simply be going through the motions. I knew it was time to move on when what excited me every day were different challenges than the students and faculty had a right to expect. I realized that another needed to help reinvent, create, respond, empower, enrich, and lead such a vibrant collection and collective.

What I didn’t fully understand was how leaving also meant that I was bringing to an end my influence on individual lives. I no longer was to be the chaplain/religious leader. I would rarely again be active in important rites of passage for students, faculty, families, times joyous and thrilling, times sad and tragic. While I would go on from there to build and sustain numerous institutions, never again would I be building and sustaining a community. Rarely would I ever again be in a position to be present when so many individuals made choices which determined the directions of their lives. There were assets and attributes which defined those years which have surfaced only occasionally in the ensuing ones.

I have no regrets that I left that role and that place. It was the right thing to do and the right time to do it. But as the years have gone on, I have come to value and cherish how unique and special that time was – for me. And as I have come to understand, it seems that it was for others as well.

Life is an art form

2008-08-01T08:29:00.000-04:00

I suspect that if you are a sometime reader of this site, you are one of the many hundreds of people who have visited our home. You know how much both Mirele and I love having guests – whether for receptions, dinners, or simply to stop by.

Most guests can tell, upon entering, that our home has a style all its own. Much of that, of course, is because so much of what we have has been designed by us. And it is a constantly unfolding canvas as we add new pieces to the set. As any home [or in our case, apartment] owner knows, it is never a finished work – there is always something to improve, correct, repair, replace, modify, update. And as much as that can be a challenge, it is also part of the dynamic of how we live.

Our home is ours but we are the beneficiaries of the craft and artistry of others whom we admire: Nakashima, Buechley, Swarte, Roche Bobois, Apsrik, Rosenthal, Gropius, Whitlow, and many others whose names appear in signatures on their art or others whose names we may have forgotten. Surely though, put together it reflects a very real and evident aesthetic.

There are those who want a “guided tour” – and we love showing some of the not so obvious design elements which are in conversation with each other. A designer, architect, craftsperson may see them immediately, others may just sense them, knowing that there is a perceptible joy and warmth just in sitting in our living or dining rooms.

Often we are asked “are you artists?” My answer is always the same: I view life as an art form and once one understands that, then all of one’s behaviors and surroundings are manifestations of that aesthetic. The very awareness of one’s own sense of place makes it impossible not to give attention to that place.

For many years, I have been a cook. Sometimes I am really good, others only fair. As an autodidact [thanks largely to Julia Child], I have mastered techniques, but rarely follow recipes; the results therefore are as varied as my inclination. But the reason I like to cook is not because I want to be a chef who competes on the food channel. The reason is because it is the only art form which uses every one of the senses. When it comes together, the creative process becomes artistry. Here too, the very act of eating, a most necessary act of being alive, becomes infused with the possibility of an aesthetic joy – which brings pleasure to those who partake.

If design elevates the experience of space, and cooking elevates the experience of sustenance, what about the human interactions which occur around and within? This is the greatest challenge of all. For it is those interactions which define one’s experience over time. Those interactions depend on others, on moods, on circumstances, on others who may not share your values or priorities or aesthetics.

One of the many things which Mirele has influenced in our lives is that within our home, we can foster a tone of warmth, where all are welcome, where everyone is valued and none is excluded. People know of, and often tease us about, our “house policy” – that one must sign our guest book – with its pages upon pages of those who have been in our home. We value that book because it is the narrative of our interactions with so many – each of whom shared some time with us and in so doing both honored us and gratified us. The list of guests includes some whose names would be well known and those not likely to be. Some are extraordinarily wealthy, others of at best modest means. Some with great international or professional achievement, others early in their careers or more limited in their attainments.

Once upon a time, we would try to contemplate which guests should be invited with which others. We learned, over time, that it was a fool’s mission. We learned that everyone is interesting if given a chance to tell his or her own story, and it has been a rare occasion indeed when we haven’t been gratified by interesting narratives heard and told. The artistry, we learned, was not our matchmaking but in our valuing the uniqueness all who join us. Our guest book symbolizes our attempt to bring that art form into our experience of time with others.

I wish it were that simple outside. I wish I knew how to reliably, consistently, persuasively, honorably take that sense and apply it to every interaction. I like to think that I try in my professional work, my teaching, my lecturing, my board involvements, and my other social interactions to do just that, but I know how often I fail to achieve artistry in those interactions, how often the easy warmth which defines us at home is not quite achieved in those settings.

Which brings me back to the beginning: if life is an art form, then as long as one is alive it is unfolding, developing, emerging, not yet completed. There is no perfect design, there is no perfect meal, and there is no guarantee that all human interactions will succeed. The artistry of life, it seems, is not in showing the beauty in what one has achieved in life to date, but in what artistry is still to be created in all of our endeavors yet to be.

Social networking...the lessons for us pre-millenialists

2008-07-25T09:02:00.001-04:00

As readers of this site know, a couple of months ago I was persuaded that the time had come to participate in the 21^st century style of community and communication. It was no longer creepy for folks like me to be there. So I joined facebook and linked-in. Periodically I am asked to join or participate in others, but for now, these 2 are enough, although I do wonder who some of these people are who tell me they are now tracking me through Twitter.

Admittedly it took a tutorial from an age-appropriate tech guru, but it didn’t take long for me to get the difference between “friends” and “fans”, between “pages” and “groups” and to see how interesting it is to see the regular “status updates”. And I have to admit that I am more familiar with the comings and goings, the mood swings and upswings in the lives of a lot of people I sort of know but with whom I would not previously have been so connected. I now know about vacation experiences, concert and party attendance, who has be-”friended” whom, and so much more about a whole lot of people. In a way, I do feel more connected to them than I ever would have imagined.

And even though I find linked-in a somewhat less user friendly experience, I have already become an “expert” in philanthropy because some of my answers have been considered “best.” I have no idea who makes that determination, but it is nice nonetheless. But, realistically, does anyone else care?

So after a couple of months of being in the game, what have I learned?

It is a means of communicating which is somewhat more than acquaintance but less then any previous meaning of friendship. And while I believe that there is more sharing of experience across boundaries, time zones, and even neighborhoods, I don’t yet know if it adds up to “community.” But clearly something significant is happening. I do find myself caring about people with whom I would have only periodic connection. There is a strange new kind of intimacy.

I find myself fascinated by the almost competitive nature of the beast. I update my status on facebook regularly since it is sort of interesting to let people know things which are happening in my life. It is a kind of benign self generated pr to say “I am here.” And I confess that I have yielded to an impulse to directly encourage folks to become fans of our business page even though it is hard to imagine very much business actually accruing. But, as they say, hey, you never know.

It is easy to see how, with the ease of putting so much info out there so quickly, one can say things or show things about oneself or others that a few more contemplative moments might self censor. Since all info is self generated, any opinion or gossip or photo can find itself viewed by hundreds or thousands of people in an instant. I wonder whether long term human interaction is best served by such immediacy. And I certainly am convinced that younger people need to be sensitized to the ethics and impact of this medium.
I have also learned something about the “networking” part of this. I sometimes do peruse the friend or “connected to” list of others to see who is on their lists. Occasionally I find someone whom I know to invite to be my friend as well. More often, I am intrigued by the scope of acquaintances and social networks others have which in turn tells me a lot about the lives they lead.
Sometimes one has a dilemma. There are folks who ask to connect whom I don’t consider friends but I really have nothing against. What message am I sending with my response or non response? Would I be more open to a longer list if friend weren’t such a loaded word [not that there is a felicitous answer – inviting someone to be your “acquaintance” just doesn’t sound right.]
The long term – I am fully persuaded that I have learned a lot about the ways of the world, of current thinking, of means of communicating, and of how people connect over these last couple of months. There is no turning back. Cyberspace social networking now defines us, even if facebook and linked-in someday get usurped by a new generation of sites. But I do hope that we continue to engage in the social compacts of real friendships and recognize that communities are not only virtual.

As time goes on, I suspect that these means will become as much a part of my life as email. However, in the short run, my horizons have been expanded and my world view broadened. Whatever the challenges, I am now a part of this century, for good.

The Cause is Greater than my ego, but...

2008-07-20T06:31:00.002-04:00

The acknowledgement arrived yesterday, and sure enough, only Mirele’s name was listed. Why does it bother me? It is an organization I think does good and important work; why should it matter that I have tried for several years to tell them that it is a joint gift? Are they simply administratively insensitive or does it reflect a deeper issue?

I’ll name names later but first the rest of the story. It goes back to my first year working as university chaplain. In 1968-69, I was still a seminary student, working half time on campus. In retrospect, I was naïve about the real issues of unwanted pregnancy. I doubt I had given it very much thought at all. Until I was approached by 3 young women whose friend had just died in a back alley abortion. It focused my mind, informed my convictions, and became a commitment for 40 years. Simply put, this was a death caused by immoral and unethical laws regarding the rights of women to choose. Soon thereafter I studied about what the Jewish tradition had to say, what American laws had to say, learned about the surprising [and then hidden] facts of unwanted pregnancies and the challenging options then open to women, and then learned of a group of clergy committed to redressing this issue. So even before the NY State law changed and then Roe v Wade, I found myself counseling college students on their choices, and speaking out about the injustice of our laws as they then existed and their incompatibility with the Tradition I was being trained to represent.

Over the next years, the needs shifted away from the need for clergy counseling to a challenge to demonstrate how one can elevate a national debate with dignity. For several of those years I was joined by a gutsy and intellectually gifted Roman Catholic priest who decried the hijacking of genuine human and religious concerns by a politically motivated minority. We modeled how one can engage, differ, and be informed by one another and how to protect the choices women should have as theirs. Over the years, I gave papers and spoke in a wide variety of settings.

I have to confess that over time, I, like so many others began to relegate abortion and rights to choose to the back burner. There were skirmishes all over, but, it seemed that the basis issue was resolved. My commitment never wavered; my passionate advocacy did.

Until the last few years. What the current state of the Supreme Court and the regrettable right wing tilt of government have brought us to is not simply the erosion of the parameters of the rights to choose but the elimination of it. And this is happening with all too few voices being raised in outrage. Why?

Several reasons: first, younger women have never known that back alley history. They don’t know the fear that closed and limited options impose on women and everyone else in their lives.

Second, the acceptance of voluntary single parenthood as a viable life choice among all social and economic groups has eliminated the erstwhile stigma which accrued to those of a previous era. It has also blinded us. There continues to be real socio-economic injustice. It is one thing for an upper middle class professional to opt for single motherhood and quite another for a lower income, uninsured, teenager to have no viable choices.

Thirdly, the problematic erosion of church-state distinctions means that there is more acceptance to enacting laws reflecting a particular religious perspective. It seems that our articulated pluralism would guarantee the rights of all, but the intimidation by those with particular perspectives has allowed the erosion of the rights of some.

Fourth, and this brings me to where the story begins, the groups most articulate about this challenge are allowing themselves to be viewed exclusively as “women’s groups.” In other words, a limited issue matter only of interest to women. This, I fear, is self limiting and self defeating.

Back to the beginning.

For the last several years, Mirele has received phone solicitations from NARAL. If I would answer the phone, I would ask who was calling and the response [each year] was “one of the women’s groups she supports.” When I would push for more specifics, it would emerge that it was NARAL. I would respond that I had been committed to this issue since 1968, and would appreciate if their records would at least show that our annual gift was from both of us and should have both of our names. This year, I even asked to speak to someone authorized to change the records who assured me that the record has been changed and henceforth, both of us would appear in the record of contributors. Admittedly our gift is a small one and this detail is a token one compared to the larger issue it addresses but it had symbolic meaning to me.

Yesterday, the acknowledgement of our gift came and sure enough, my name was nowhere to be found. It was addressed solely to “Ms. Goldsmith.” Now it is true that Mirele does believe that this is a cause worth supporting but why does NARAL dismiss my commitment. After several years, one wonders: is it blindness on their part to those of us who care but who happen not to be women? If so, it is a very troubling political blind spot? Is it an administrative lacuna which seems irremediable? If so, it makes one wonder what else isn’t well managed? Could there be another reason I am missing? In any case, it certainly makes me doubt that this group is adequately equipped to lead the regrettable and inevitable struggle ahead of us – an issue that reflects the values of us all and the rights of us all, that of guaranteeing a women’s right to choose whether or not to continue an unwanted pregnancy.

The Fork in the Road

2008-07-13T17:16:00.001-04:00

It was inevitable, of course, but it was the convergence that made it so stark.

As many readers of this site know, one of my credentials is that of rabbi. It was what defined my early career. But as time has gone on, that has receded from my professional self definition, and certainly receded from being a source or my livelihood. The past few months have brought that part of my career to what I suspect is an end.

The end is, in the words of TS Eliot, not a bang but a whimper. Until this year, my sole remaining ongoing professional rabbinic role was to conduct an overflow high holiday service. This year, the position I held since moving to New York was discontinued as a new rabbi set about creating that synagogue in a different image and eliminated the supplementary service. I had been anticipating this change so it was hardly a surprise, but I have since learned that such positions are few and far between, so it may well be that it is unlikely that I shall again conduct a High Holiday service.

Then, a couple of months after that, I received a call which caught me by surprise. A young couple, one of whom I had known peripherally over the years, wanted to meet with me. They were, they told me, interviewing rabbis to decide who should officiate at their wedding. Even after 40 years, that was a first for me. I had always had a relationship with the couples whose weddings I had conducted before. That meant that I never viewed these as business relationships, didn’t charge a fee, and felt a sense of personal connection with the event. I never was like the caterer, the florist or the musician before. But I did meet with them, discussed their check list and preferences, and for the first time, I quoted a fee.

I didn’t like that role. If I wanted to be in the professional rabbinate, I would be. If I were to do a wedding, it would be because the couple feels some connection with me. Not surprisingly, I guess, I wasn’t selected.

I asked around and learned that this couple acted in a manner quite common today. In the absence of long term institutional connections, how else to decide whom to invite to participate in such an important moment in their lives. They did the logical thing. The discomfort was not theirs; it was mine in being in this new role.

So, after 40 years, I find myself in the likely [one can never be certain] situation of putting the professional [that is to say, paid] rabbinate behind me. It is one of those age-appropriate experiences one has, fully inevitable, though in my case not very related to how I now earn my livelihood or define myself professionally – but stark and striking nonetheless. In future postings, I will address some of the important moments of those years, much of which was quite fulfilling, and what I have learned from them. And I will continue to share the tremendous gratification in so much of what I have chosen to do today, the most recent stage in a still unfolding career.

But for now, it is enough to ponder the fork in the road, and the road not taken.

Walking the talk...

2008-07-06T15:48:00.001-04:00

It’s the other part of my life – that of a volunteer. Without planning it that way, I now devote over ¼ of my time or more to organizations on whose boards I sit or for which I hold a leadership role. As most of you who volunteer know, it is an expensive indulgence – it costs time and money, to be sure. But it also is not without its politics and pressures. There is nothing that says that human behavior becomes more altruistic when the enterprise is without compensation.

For me, though, it is one of the real benefits of being self employed. To be able to choose how and where I spend my time is the true luxury – and to be able to do so to advocate for and to help implement social change is the real benefit. It would be wonderful to be independently wealthy so that I could do this full time and fund these activities to the level I feel they deserve, but simply to be in the position to play these leadership roles provides true gratification.

One area to which I now devote myself is Interreligous understanding and amity. The geopolitical reasons justifying these commitments needn’t be reiterated here. They certainly play a part in why I do this.

The deeper reason is less political and more reflective of why I do this. For me, to be succinct about a fairly complex matter, I find “meaning” in my own Jewish Tradition but I only have “understanding” in relation to the other. Thus, this role in Interreligous activity on the international level becomes a mandate and not an option. My own understandings, my growth as a human being and as a religious person are deeply tied to the juxtaposition with and the connection to other Traditions. And this has proven true with both of the other Abrahamic religions [Christianity and Islam], and more recently and with more amazement, Eastern ones [Hinduism, Buddhism, and Sikhism.]

When I attend meetings in various places around the world, most of my colleagues in the various religious communities are “professional”. That is to say, they may be Dharma Masters, Swamis, Imams, Patriarchs, Cardinals, and even a Dalai Lama – all of whom work for organizations, churches, or other entities which pay their salaries. Just because they are “professional” though in no way diminishes their profound commitments and, alas, in too many cases, their risks in doing this Interreligous enterprise. In fact, I sit astounded at the depth of knowledge, relationships, and commitments which so many bring to the tables of our discussions. I participate strictly as a volunteer coming from the United States – my only risk is that most international meetings cost me money – or keep me from earning some.

Yet this past week, at a meeting in Seville, two of my counterpart colleagues, one representing the Greek Orthodox Church, and anther representing the Vatican, independently made the same observation. When they found out that my non-volunteer/professional time is devoted to philanthropy [teaching, advising, lecturing] and that my participation in our many meetings together is as a volunteer, they said almost the identical phrase. “Obviously, you practice what you preach.”

I never thought about it that way. I have viewed these recent leadership roles as a rare privilege, one which rewards me much more than I can ever give back. I sit among these spiritual and adjudicatory colleagues, I as an elected leader surrounded by true leaders of people and communities often numbering in the millions. It is they who are practicing what I consider the true meaning of philanthropy. I may be a volunteer, but they are such lovers of humanity, the literal meaning of the word philanthropist, that they choose to extend that love beyond their own daily demands to make the world a better place for all. To my mind, it is they who truly walk the talk.

And then I lost the watch

2008-05-31T18:59:00.004-04:00

And then I lost the watch. [originally written 2004; published by WCJCS]

I loved that watch – an engagement gift from my then soon to be and now beloved wife. It was my kind of watch – sterling, pocket, and contemporary. A loose clasp, a hole in a pocket, and a rainy evening conspired. Alas, Georg Jensen no longer makes it so it must reside in memory; its replacement is utilitarian but hardly as elegant – or meaningful.

It was that kind of year, 2 years ago. For 35 years, I had numerous employers and a career of some distinction. Until the last, in each case I had left for new opportunities of my own choosing. 2 years ago, I joined the millions of Americans who became statistics as corporate hubris, greed, or foolishness led to the elimination of otherwise fine and secure careers. The circumstances which impacted my change have been well documented in the business, and gossip, pages ad nauseam. There were thousands of jobs and billions of dollars lost. My position was but a footnote.

Thus, at age 57, I was, for the first time, involuntarily unemployed. It was an interesting time. I learned a lot about colleagues, coworkers, and fellow travelers.

There were those whose magnanimity and generosity of spirit were beyond compare. Some who have reputations as hard and harsh proved to be exemplary. Their kindness and thoughtfulness will forever be cherished.

Then there were those whose natural instinct was to treat me as someone in mourning – to express sympathy in tone and affect. They meant well but their focus was more on how sorry they were than on recognizing that I had begun the next stage of my life. I was never in mourning; I was already moving ahead even as they were responding to the past.

And, truth be told, there were those few, colleagues and fellow travelers of long standing, who somehow never could return a phone call even though I wanted nothing except continued collegiality from them. Perhaps my own apparent misfortune made them feel vulnerable, but they were the biggest surprises of all. For these few, I was a leper to be avoided at all costs. Even if those costs were mine. Happily this is the shortest list.

The 2 years have been kinder than I imagined they would be. I am among the fortunate who had choices relatively soon. It was my choice to strike out on my own to develop an independent direction. I have been gratified how many are interested in contracting for my advice and accumulated experience, and perhaps wisdom; many organizations have sought me as a speaker; new opportunities continue to emerge when I least expect them.

There are surely trade offs. As an independent self employed professional, income is less consistent than a salary guarantees. Some of the fringes I have lost were over the top – the 1^st class travel, the private gym, etc. I did fine before I had them and am fine now. Others are harder – health benefits, office support, pension, paid vacations require much more work and challenge. On balance, I am delighted with where I am today. I am not “between” anything, but where I wish to be. Life teaches one never to say “never”, but I would be quite comfortable if this were to be my last career – one which lasts a long time.

In looking back over what is now more than 36 years, I have had a wonderful run. If there are regrets, it is the opportunities I didn’t pursue, not the ones I did. These last 2 years have taught me much about myself, my resilience, my marriage, and my skills. I wouldn’t have planned it to be this way, but it has turned out to be quite fine.

But, sometimes, I do miss that watch.

World Economic Forum - NYC in Lockdown

2008-05-31T18:56:00.001-04:00

Some thoughts on New York City in Lockdown… [Jan 2002]

Coming to work these last 2 days suggests living in occupied territory. 4000 uniformed police are protecting the city and the delegates to the World Economic Forum from yet to be seen protesters. By later today, that could change, but the mood is a strange one.

The police are mostly in good humor; even most of those of us who have to show i.d.’s simply to walk across certain streets are handling the anticipation with restraint and forbearance. Nevertheless, as a sometime activist, the entire experience leaves me torn. I recall, as do so many others, a less good humored time in America when the police [and the political leaders who assigned them] in NY, Chicago, Kent State, etc., were less disciplined and less understanding. As we know and painfully understand, the potential for destruction is much greater now than the disruptions which characterized most rallies then, and the issues about which the protesters will express their views more subtle.

There is much to be said for their concerns. The gaps in our own American system revealed themselves in the Enron debacle. The primary societal concern is not the evident self-dealing and manipulation of information. It is the exposure of how vulnerable most of us are. We do not have true economic protections for our health and old age. The public weal is too easily left in the hands of private self-interested players – individual, corporate, and political. The artificial corporate communities which provide much of our insurance and welfare needs are not evil, but do not exist to protest those needs.

If that is the reality in America, for Americans, is it any wonder that those elsewhere raise questions about our underlying values as we participate in expanding a global economy? Are those who challenge an integrated economic world so off base when they query what will happen to the millions of economically disenfranchised who can no longer live on local resources and assets? And are they wrong that they look at America as all too willing to export economic expectations without a concomitant commitment to civil values and liberties?

Why then am I not among the protesters?

Because I think that, for all of the above legitimate questions, I disagree that we can or should return to an isolationist world. Ideas as well as goods transcend borders. Few of us are truly willing to return to a self-contained village, either economically or ideologically. And I don’t believe that globalization necessarily must distort local societies and dehumanize.

But more important is my fear of isolationism. We were wrong to be so slow to interfere in Bosnia or Somalia. We were culpable in viewing the threat of Hitler to be a regional conflict without international moral consequences. We would be naïve to believe that borders can be closed – to keep “undesirables” out, just as we would be naïve to believe that the easy transfer of ideas does not lead to societal change. It is not simply that we cannot return to self-contained, localized, or isolated communities, but it would be wrong to do so.

A world with porous borders allows us to save refugees; it allows us to respond to tragedies, of human or natural causes; it allows the healthy flow of ideas; it allows us to respond to the destruction of our environment – which respects no national boarders; it allows the expansion of the quality of human life throughout the globe. But just because it allows those things doesn’t guarantee them. And that is where values come in. The challenge to those on the inside of the WEC is how to guarantee life-affirming values while building on the extraordinary opportunities of a shrinking world. All of the industrialized countries have a role in guaranteeing that basic human conditions and rights spread in lock step with the world economy. To do less jeopardizes all of us.

There are many things to challenge among those at the WEC; it is crucial that those who are deliberating on the inside not lose sight of the legitimate charge of those on the outside to affirm the values which can make the world a better place – for all.

Been there; done that.

2008-05-31T18:52:00.001-04:00

“Why?” A long time colleague and friend asked when I told him I was going to attend a presentation he was making. “You know and teach this; why do you need to be there?”

My colleague was being kind, but it is true that I have achieved a certain degree of recognition in my field. In addition to being a practitioner, I teach my expertise at a major university and am invited to speak extensively around the country and elsewhere in the world. His surprise and question were not totally off base. Indeed, one might legitimately ask why would I come to hear a colleague speak about matters on which I myself am considered an expert.

That, to my mind, is exactly the point. It is so easy to see oneself as beyond that level. Why hear someone else reiterate what you know, perhaps better? Why give up an afternoon to listen to people exploring topics and questions which are old hat to you?

But it is precisely when one thinks that one knows it all when one begins to lose one’s edge. When one thinks there is no more to learn, the world begins to pass you by. I make it a point to attend as many events in my field as possible to make sure that that doesn’t happen.

What do I learn? I learn that there are often new ways of asking old questions? I learn that the environment for those questions is constantly changing so that the questions and answers may mean different things at different times. I learn that there are sometimes new answers that even experienced commentators, so called experts, hadn’t thought of. I am reminded that for those for whom the questions are new, it doesn’t matter that others have answered them before – the questions and concerns are as fresh as the first time they were asked. And, if one is being fully honest, one learns that, as much as one knows, one really doesn’t know it all. And most sobering of all, one learns that there are those who might even know it or say it better

My field is one which one typically enters by serendipity. When circumstances presented themselves, I decided to teach what I wish someone had taught me; rarely have any of my colleagues had formal training. Yet I frequently hear my colleagues tell me that they don’t see any reason to attend educational seminars or take courses. [unless of course they are the speaker]. It is too bad because I see too many of them repeating mistakes which they needn’t make.

By not being committed to continuing learning, one can be much less effective than one could be. By seeing oneself as beyond, or worse, above it all, one quickly can become stale, dated, yesterday’s news. I, for one, would rather be tomorrow’s news and more effective today than I was yesterday.

That is why I attended my colleague’s seminar...and was glad that I did.

We have it backwards- Suggestions on outreach policy

2008-05-31T18:45:00.002-04:00

We have it backwards – some suggestions on public policy regarding outreach

[originally written for JOI - 2002]

Early in my career, over 30 years ago, none of us had yet coined the terms outreach, inreach, engagement, empowerment for the work we were doing. I was working on campuses at the time and because of the nature of my appointment, had the choice between having my primary office at the Hillel House [2 blocks from the main quad] or in the center of campus with the other chaplains. I chose the latter. Intuitively, I knew that if I wanted to appear to be approachable, I needed to demonstrate that one didn’t have to cross a symbolic threshold which for many was a barrier. In other words, the door of the Hillel House was, for many more of a gate than a portal.

I was aware that the vast majority of Jewish students believed myths [and most were inaccurate!] about what happened at Hillel and who went there. To take but one example, if one were to ask the average non-participating student who was at Hillel, they would say that it was “too Orthodox.” In fact, the overwhelming majority of activities and participants were quite far from Orthodox and would have laughed at the description. And the few Orthodox who were involved with Hillel would have been shocked as well.

But perception creates its own reality, and here was a case where facts didn’t matter. If I wanted to be seen as approachable by the overwhelming majority, I needed to demonstrate it symbolically. And so I chose to office elsewhere.

I don’t know when I first learned the term “outreach” but, in retrospect, I was choosing to do exactly that. In the late 60’s/early 70’s there were some easy ways to demonstrate one’s involvement in the majority culture. Fully ½ of my time was spent doing draft counseling and abortion counseling. Religious leaders had a key role in those movements, and it made it easy to be credible among the non-Jewishly-active students and faculty. But even later, as those issues receded and Jewish life began to thrive in very real ways, I always felt that we needed to be measured by our success in touching the large majority of people who did not choose to be activists.

This is not the place to rehearse some of the outreach methods I used. Many were quite successful; others less so. Nevertheless, these recollections surfaced recently as I read that the one movement which had committed itself to “outreach” has chosen to eliminate its outreach staff. That announcement brought about a cry of disappointment from many quarters. As of this writing, it appears that some progress has been made to sustain some of those positions.

However, even if all of those positions were to be maintained, I still believe that we as a community have it backwards. Even those institutions such as UAHC or Hillel which have made major commitments to reach beyond the core activists still do so in a peripheral way. For example, in almost every case, who works with the underaffiliated or marginally connected? Typically it is the most junior and often the most transient of professional staff. Yet, if one thinks about it, which population is most in need of carefully trained and sensitive staff? One cannot overemphasize the symbolic value of the senior leadership of a synagogue or Hillel affirming that the majority population matters through their direct involvement in outreach type activities.

Moreover, in contrast to the uninvolved, the most activist populations are typically most able to fend for themselves. Of course, they need serious professional educators, leaders, role models, and facilitators. But they are also best able to assume a shared partnership role in achieving what they want. They are most able to be empowered to fulfill their own visions of what Jewish life should be like.

The least involved, those most in need of engagement, are also the least likely to take a leadership role or to trust that the institution is and can be responsive to them. Often they have no articulated vision. Their knowledge of available resources and Jewish sources may be weak. They may be highly accomplished in other endeavors, but, all too often their experience with Jewish life has been alienating. And they look at the activists not as their leaders but rather as “super Jews” a different breed of Jew altogether.

And, most important of all, by any statistical measure of affiliation, involvement, or participation, this population represents the majority of North American Jewry.

Much has been written about the definition of and the value of outreach. Fro our purposes let us list 3 different approaches:

1. For some, outreach is a method to chase/find those who have opted for a different path. Those in favor of this understanding believe that the resources spent will re-engage those who do not feel comfortable within the established institutions. Often the hope is that they will indeed choose to “come in” in response to an effective outreach.

In response, some have criticized this approach as unlikely at best. It conveys a judgment that being outside is less acceptable than being inside and assumes that most people are simply waiting to be invited into institutions and organizations from which they might have felt alienated, an arguable assumption at best.

2. A second approach advocates a different model: If one wishes to engage the disengaged population, one must start outside and respond to their needs where people are. Hopefully the newly engaged will embrace their Jewishness seriously, but in their own ways and places and with their own social circle. In essence, this approach posits a parallel track for Jewish connection.

The starting assumption of both of the first 2 approaches is that a large number of Diaspora Jews do not affiliate, associate, or feel committed to the organized community. They are the target population of outreach efforts.

3. A third approach concentrates primarily or exclusively on those who are intermarried, their children, their spouses, or their parents. Seeing a demographic reality of a sizeable and growing number of families which have intermarried members, they argue that, unless one creates a community which accepts or engages them, the community is abandoning a great potential pool. There are two variations: there are those who believe in the ideal of in-marriage or conversion, and there are those who believe that only a non-judgmental full acceptance of the intermarried is viable. In either case, there is a rejection of the idea that this large subgroup is permanently removed from Jewish life and should be written off.

There are those who argue emphatically against any community resources being spent on outreach. This group believe that, faced with limited resources and an already watered down Jewish identity, the only valid and justifiable approach for the long term is “in-reach” – providing more and better service to those who choose to remain fully committed to Judaism and the Jewish community. They point to statistics which show a sobering attrition among the 2^nd generation children of intermarried as proof of the foolishness of pretending that outreach makes sense. Moreover, they argue that a non-judgmental engagement approach constitutes a surrender to a self authenticating Judaism. If everyone can define his or her own Judaism, it has no transcendent common meaning.

Jewish public policy is what is at stake in this debate. We live at a time when individuals in American society can choose to do whatever they wish. And communities, whatever that word may mean, are strictly voluntary and therefore porous and as open or closed as any social group. So if there is to be any meaningful implication to the discussion it is in the realm of public policy and priority. And it is to these issues that I would like to address these remaining thoughts.

1. In-reach alone is an impossible approach. The current demographics in Diaspora Jewry show that almost any given family will have members who are intermarried, chozrai-b’tshuvah [religious returnees], marginally affiliated, and all variations in between. Even for those who follow the third approach suggested above, those who believe that the only valid approach is to support those who demonstrate a Jewish commitment, how does one functionally apply a policy of in-reach given this demographic reality?

2. Identities are fluid. As several studies have shown, individuals seem to flow from alienated to involved; to be secular one moment and spiritual the next; to be comfortable in non-Jewish settings at one hour and ethnically affirming at another. Contemporary identity studies suggest that individuals don’t fit neatly into traditional categories. Any attempt to set policy which does not account for this fluidity is doomed.

3. Except for certain moments of rites of passage, there is no social difference in the daily life experience of those who are in-married and those who are inter-married. Social and business connections them together all the time. It is artificial to assume that one can reach out only to in-married or only to inter-married. In fact, most Diaspora Jews feel alienated or at least at a distance from most Jewish institutions. The commonality of experience is that most feel that they are outsiders. The major institutions of Jewish life must find ways to make the majority of people feel like insiders, or at least comfortable and welcome occasional visitors.

4. The most senior [professional and lay] leaders are not committed to the majority. While it seems strange to articulate the issue this way, it is the experience of many that “leaders” seem to be speaking only to each other. I don’t believe that there is a purposeful and willful antagonism to those who feel like outsiders. In fact, most institutional leadership would readily concur that there is a problem, but naively act as if the answer is to invite more people to be like them.

5. It is time to re-examine our attitude toward proselytization. Over the centuries, the Jewish tradition has been inconsistent in its attitude toward conversion. Perhaps we are now at a time when our public policy should veer toward affirmative action. This is not an argument for street corner evangelization, but why should we not be more encouraging to those who may be exploring that we are open to them? On a demographic level, this is an obvious recommendation. Surely there are few enough of us that there is room for more fellow travelers. On an ideological level, it affirms that there is indeed uniqueness to the Jewish tradition which may speak to the larger world. This is not the place to elucidate that tradition, but such a perspective does not need to rise and fall with an argument around the chosen people question. I should also clarify that I write this as a Traditional Jew who believes that a conversion should follow Halachic procedure; but I also believe that history and even halachah allow a much more inclusive attitude, approach, response to inquiries, and public posture regarding conversions.

6. I have written elsewhere about the value of placing our Jewish institutions where people spend their time. What greater statement of inclusivity can there be than to have the synagogues, JCC’s, Federations, and Hillels, the primary portals into Jewish life, in the same places where people do their daily chores?

7. To reach the un- or marginally-connected must we need to operate on two levels: big visibility programs such as birthright Israel to capture the imagination and attention of the intended population, and to create a culture of increased sensitivity to individuals who make choices based on their own private experiences.

If we as a Jewish community are serious about our demographic challenges, there are many changes which we must confront. These changes must include support for revitalized day schools, expanded camps, expanded Hillel programs, and many others. There must be more opportunities to participate, and high quality experiences for those who do. But unless we remember that the majority of Jews live comfortably outside our community’s gates, we will continue to win small battles while losing the war of war for our future. It is no longer acceptable to have it backwards.

The Personnel Crisis in Jewish Life- A Contrarian Perspective

2008-05-31T15:17:00.002-04:00

Originally disseminated in February 2003. At the time, it gored the oxen of numerous national initiatives. Even 5 years later, most of the points in this still challenge the orthodoxies of communal thinking.

Several years ago, shortly after moving to New York, I was invited to serve on the young leadership boards of 2 different national Jewish organizations. I was both surprised and flattered. After all, by that time I had been active in the Jewish community for over 30 years, having held numerous significant lay and professional leadership roles. So it was surprising to be asked -to represent “new” leadership – although it was confirming to be seen as a part of the future more than the past.

More striking was the fact that, at the time, I was approaching my mid-50’s! Even in the superannuated world of Jewish communal leadership it was hard to imagine someone of my age being considered a “young leader.” While I might flatter myself to think that it was my youthful demeanor, I suspect that it was less a statement about me than it was about the current state of leadership.

Why, you may ask, do I begin an article on the personnel crisis in Jewish life with an anecdote about lay leadership? The answer is that, even though much is being written on the crisis on the professional side, it is my view that the issue of paid professionals cannot be separated from the larger question of Jewish communal leadership. There are endemic and epidemic matters which inform all of Jewish life – and a resolution will not emerge from small initiatives. Moreover, most of the currently proposed strategies to solve the “personnel crisis” do not adequately address the systemic and cultural issues and thus will, at best, tweak the system. In other words, this is one of those Big Picture issues, the solutions to which will require that we change the way we do business.

Those of us who attend national and international Jewish meetings are happy to see our friends and colleagues of long standing. But is it only a perception that there seems to be a recycling of the same people into familiar roles?

This is not to say that none of these people, lay and professional, are worthy. Many are very bright, extraordinarily committed, generous with time and money, abundantly caring, Jewishly knowledgeable, and deeply devoted to Jewish life and future. Many surely have earned and continue to deserve their leadership positions. So what’s the problem?

The problem is that over time, organized Jewish life becomes a closed circle. On occasion one can join the circle but the conditions are that one shouldn’t challenge too hard. So even though every organization espouses a commitment to bring in “new blood”, in reality those who are invited in are rarely those who challenge the status quo way of thinking.

And, as my anecdote suggests, new does not necessarily mean young. While it is true that after the dot.com bust, there are fewer 25 year old ceo’s, in the private sector there are still many ceo’s, presidents, and senior executives in their 40’s. But in Jewish life, while ageism most assuredly exists, on the lay side of things, 40 is barely a young leader.

Moreover, while in the private sector, it is considered healthy to reinvent the corporation on a regular basis, all too often in Jewish life, change initiatives seem to end up simply tweaking or cosmetically repackaging old models.

Our communal rhetoric calls for a much needed renaissance – a word which, if it means anything, surely means “change.” Our actions, though, suggest that we seem to believe that Jewish life is not in need of change. We hear of calls bemoaning the personnel problem and the need to create major initiatives to address it. But our actions suggest that we already have the correct leadership and bench strength. So are these calls for change and new personnel simply an empty liturgy of those who, underneath it all, believe that après nous, le deluge? Or do the calls for change truly reflect a deep and profound morass that the current structures cannot solve – despite a genuine desire to do so?

Recently there has been much said, written, and funded to explore the professional personnel side of things. There are very welcome initiatives to redress gaps and glass ceilings for day schools, camps, Hillels, federations, JCC’s, synagogues, etc. [In various capacities, I have been deeply involved in several, and I am quite persuaded that these are monies and energies well spent. Note to funders: don’t stop now!]

Unquestionably, we have too few people in the Jewish communal professional world, especially given the necessary ratios to really do what is necessary to make a difference in people’s lives. And to have more and higher quality people doing this work for enough of their professional lives to make a difference will require all of the well known solutions: higher status, higher salaries, better career ladders, etc. But because the challenges are truly systemic, the solutions will have to go beyond these methods.

THE CHALLENGES

In order to solve a problem, one must ask both what is necessary and what is doable.

A. Staff:volunteer ratio. Is the Jewish community in fact large enough to sustain a profoundly different staff:volunteer ratio? What % of Jews can and should work for the community? And how much can the remainder afford to sustain them at the level necessary to do right by those career choices? If we have a shrinking community to begin with, can the remainder shoulder the burden to increase both the numbers and the salaries of those working on the community’s behalf?

B.Social Status Assuming that one can demonstrate that the financial wherewithal is manageable, there still remains a larger “social” question. Would you want your son/daughter to do that? When I began my professional career in the late 60’s/early 70’s, there seemed to be a respect and admiration for the commitment that led someone with good potential and respected credentials to choose a career in the not-for-profit realm. By the 80’s, many, too many, people would look upon those choices more cynically. Why, they would ask, would one choose to make less money and spend one’s life in that sector if one could choose otherwise. Even today, we continue to hear all sorts of strange and distorted assumptions about those who work in the not-for-profit world. As recently as this winter, at a seminar I conducted at MAKOR on choosing a meaningful career, many young people articulated that they were considering a career change to the not for profit world so they wouldn’t have to work so hard. There is still a myth that one who works in the not-for-profit sector needn’t and doesn’t work as hard as someone in the for profit sector.

Another example: during a several year period, I stuck my toe in the consulting world – working with for-profit companies. Interestingly, if a potential client discovered that I am a rabbi, the outcome became predictable – if the potential client was Jewish, I NEVER got the contract; if the potential client was not Jewish, I ALWAYS did. [Fortunately, there were more non-Jewish clients.] What does that tell us about the perceived status of those who choose careers in the Jewish community?

Of course, one must be cautious about generalizing from one’s own experiences. Yet these anecdotes are reflective of other articles and position papers by those who advocate an improved status for Jewish communally paid professionals. The specifics may be personal; the condition quite general.

C. Parochialism Those who work within the Jewish community often find it to be claustrophobic. Most Diaspora Jews have made a conscious choice to embrace the larger world while celebrating their Jewishness. This is true across the board, from those who are in the Modern Orthodox camp to those who are more liberal to those who are secular but affirming Jews – which comprises the overwhelming majority of Diaspora Jewry. We are beyond the self denying and name changing of a previous era. Yet if one chooses to work for and within the community, one’s associations are exclusively Jewish. It is perceived by many as needless self ghettoization. Even if one solves the financial and status issues mentioned above, the question of where one fits in the larger world remains. [Of course, for some, working in and for the Jewish community solves a problem of the potential conflict of observance and job demands. But one hopes that the desire to work in the Jewish world not become limited to those who are the most religiously observant.]

D. Valuing the outsider There remains a Catch 22 for many who climb the ladder in Jewish life. Ironically, at the middle and senior executive level, there are many organizations which rate work outside the Jewish world higher than experience within. How many search committees have we heard express their preference to reach beyond the known cast of characters to go outside? This not-subtle message is heard enough that it signals to many that it would be better to enter the executive ranks from a successful career in a non Jewish sector than to work one’s way up the ladder internally. Why choose a leadership path in Jewish communal life if it is not valued at the end?

E. Super-Jews One final hurdle remains for those who are active in Jewish communal life, on both the lay and professional side. For many, those who choose active involvement are considered “super-Jews.” And the majority of Diaspora Jews does not wish to be “super-Jews” or even assume that they share the same values with those whom they believe are. Thus, beyond all of the other barriers discussed here, it is perceived by many that the Jewish organizational world is simply impenetrable and functions with different values. Why choose a paid career or volunteer leadership position with people whom you perceive to be different than you and your social group?

Before proposing solutions, there are two other, more generic issues which must be understood as well.

F. The Womanization of the Not for Profit World While there is no question that a persistent glass ceiling continues to exist in many sectors, it is important to recognize that certain professions have become “women’s” careers. “Womenization”, whereby certain careers have a very high percentage of women, is not to be confused with the “feminization” of work. In the former, employers, consciously or not, view their workers as “2^nd income” or short term and thus pay less and have less long term financial commitment. In effect, many careers are thereby viewed, sadly, as less prestigious. In the case of the feminist model, which exists rarely, careers would have a different balance of work and career, would not be gender biased, and would reflect different dynamics and values in the work place.

We most assuredly see this phenomenon in Jewish life. Women are predominant everywhere but in the executive suite. And even there, it is changing. The double edged question, which goes much beyond the Jewish community, is what will happen to the Jewish community if it is staffed primarily by women? I am not the first to ask this question; there is much debate about it. But it is impossible to ignore if we are to plan for and implement radical changes in the communal leadership structure.

G.Commitment to an employer and by an employer Once upon a time, an IBM employee was an employee for life. Similarly, a responsible employee in the not-for-profit realm could reasonably assume the likelihood of lifetime employment. No longer. If there is no semblance of loyalty to an employee, there surely is no incentive for people to feel loyalty to an employer. If transitions and consecutive careers are the expected norm, it is unrealistic to assume that the Jewish community can invent a system which runs counter. Both agencies and employees have now been acculturated to other ways of thinking.

I have written elsewhere on the perversity of a society which devalues employee loyalty but expects 24/7 commitment. [in Jewish parlance, 24/6]. There surely is little justification for a society organized around such a principle even in the for-profit sector, but many workers choose to do it because of the financial incentives. The not-for-profit world has no such incentives, so the same “24/7” weighs more heavily on the shoulders and psyches of those employees who feel those expectations.

So we come full circle: the barriers to entry to lay or professional involvement and continuity are very high. And they are sufficiently stubborn that they don’t lend themselves to facile solutions.

SOME SOLUTIONS

There are, however, some ideas which might help address these dilemmas. Most important, none of the ideas which follow will work in a vacuum; and the problem will not go away without a major cultural and economic commitment. The many wonderful initiatives for camping, day schools, federations, the rabbinate, and Hillels must ultimately be considered simply starting points to something much more transformative. What follows are some proposals which apply across the board and would begin to make a cultural difference if applied on a large scale.

1. Encourage Jewish employment as a part of a lifetime of work and not as an entire career. Develop career training and job options which enable movement in and out at various times during one’s work life so that one does not feel that one must choose. This is particularly important beyond the entry level where recruitment is not such a problem; retention into the mid-career is where the challenge lies.

2. Develop partnerships with the private sector. Recent developments in the business world demonstrate that there may be less of a differential than in the past:

· corporate employees are being asked to affirm societal values as well as bottom line goals;

· staff reductions mean that private sector employees now must multi-task in much the same way that not-for-profit employees do;

· fiscal accountability is not an issue restricted to either sector;

· job security and fringe benefits are iffy, not guaranteed in either sector;

· not for profit employees are acculturated to being “mission driven” – an increasingly desirable attribute for the private sector;

· for profit employees are acculturated to be “outcome driven,” a desirable trait in the not for profit realm.

Such partnerships and cross training might be cutting edge and create an entirely new culture in the workplace.

3. Professionals should be encouraged to assume volunteer roles in other organizations than the one for which they work. Nothing helps a not-for-profit professional appreciate and cultivate volunteer leadership more than being one. After all, if one’s livelihood is dependent on the voluntary sector, one should demonstrate a commitment to it. And it allows other volunteer board members to grow to appreciate the knowledge and wisdom of those who are working professionally.

4. Create part time paid positions in the Jewish community for those who work in the for profit sector. Nothing helps volunteers learn about what really happens more than sitting in the professional’s chair with responsibility and accountability for their performance. This would also help address the inevitable and endemic shortage of professionals in many areas while allowing full time professionals to develop skills in which they excel.

5. Establish realistic expectations for both lay and professional leaders. The for-profit realm has learned that excellence requires focus; in the Jewish world we often expect everyone to be able to do everything. The Jewish world should expect excellence in everything we do, but not assume that anyone can do everything well. Jobs and agencies should build on their strengths, not attempt to be all purpose. All too often the opposite is true – that pro’s and lay leaders are expected to learn how to do everything, inevitably building on weakness.

6. Establish a different salary system. The issue is not simply the salary differential between the private sector and communal work. It is also a question of when the financial crunch is most felt. It is in the middle of one’s career when the financial pressures are greatest – but the not for profit world typically pays incrementally. Thus, at the end of a career, the long term employee may be making a respectable income, but along the way there are real discrepancies with the private sector. There should be significant salary bumps at the times when their financial pressures are the greatest.

7. Create a fringe benefit system which transcends fields of service. A community wide health care program and pension program would allow lateral movement and guarantee that one is not penalized for choosing a gratifying career path. [One must assume that there would be substantial financial savings if such national benefit plans existed, but I leave that to others to determine.]

8. Jewish literacy. We have made great strides in expanding the Jewish literacy of adults. Wexner, Me’ah, and Melton are just 3 of the best known of the programs committed to creating an educated laity. Ironically, there are fewer such programs for Jewish professionals who may not have come with strong Jewish backgrounds. This is surely an area which transcends lay and professional roles and may provide a creative meeting point. And it will be a very practical way to truly bring about the much heralded renaissance.

9. 10 Year Statute of Limitations. Much of the literature on executive leadership suggests that there is a 5-10 year window of maximum effectiveness. Perhaps there needs to be a community wide standard that after 10 years, one must move on. On the lay level, this would help [although not guarantee] that new blood would assume leadership roles.

On the professional level, this also would work toward the continued reinvention of the organization but has a different set of problems. I don’t dismiss the disruption this can cause on professionals and organizations. But if one takes seriously that the community should help people retool and rewards these kinds of changes, the professionals and the organizations for which they work can look forward to a lifetime of new and creative challenges. Burn out will be less and reenergized and creative work should continue for a longer part of one’s career.

I am sure these proposals are but a fraction of those which may make a difference. But unless we develop a major cultural change in lay and professional involvement in Jewish life, all of our genuine but modest initiatives will barely impact the vitality of Jewish life. Our capacity for these radical changes is as great [or as limited] as our commitment.

The Loneliness of the short distance davener

2008-05-31T15:05:00.002-04:00

Originally written as an op-ed piece but never sent.

The wonders of Jewish life in Manhattan… nowhere is there a greater range of opportunities to be as Jewish as one wishes in any of the widest variations and permutations. And so many are within walking distance of our home. You would think it would be perfect for people like us. We are post-denominationalists – formally connected with two of the denominations [or streams, as they are now called] and, chameleon-like, participants in all four. Yet, regrettably, at home in none.

What is our problem? There are synagogues where we like the people but not the service. There are synagogues where we like the service but no one has ever said hello. There are synagogues that we find ideologically compatible, but they are missing the warmth and energy we seek. There are synagogues which we like to visit but have to admit that we wouldn’t want to live there. There are synagogues for which we are too old and others for which we clearly feel too young. Believe it or not, after several years of living in the largest concentration of Jews in the world, we are still looking…and lonely.

We are not among the Jewishly disconnected. We try to have a full table of guests every Shabbat. We both spent a good number of years working for the Jewish community. Both of us have been active in synagogues in the past. Jewishness and Judaism inform our life and many of our associations. We are not unknown in parts of the Jewish world. Yet when we walk into most synagogues, no one knows who we are… and, more importantly, rarely does anyone ask. And this includes synagogues which we attend regularly as well as those in which we are clearly “tourists.” For example, at a local Orthodox synagogue, which for a number of years has been my “default” choice, virtually no one has ever asked my name.

We know that some of this has to do with us. As post-denominationalists, we are not quite at home with any of the movements. We aren’t a simple package: We are egalitarians. I much prefer davening in a Traditional service; my spouse prefers more innovation. We both love enthusiasm, but don’t always respond well when innovation becomes kitsch and syncretism. We have strong academic and Jewish backgrounds, and value text study, but we also are deeply committed to social justice, and desire a community which finds those compatible values.

But as we have shared our thoughts with many others, we have found that it is not only about us, and not only our experience. Some younger, some older, some more traditional than we, some less, some very involved in Jewish life, some not so have all told us that their dilemma mirrors ours. All of us need to become part of the solution, but we are not the problem.

So, what do we do? We contribute financially to a number of synagogues [and of course, lots of other places] but are formally affiliated with none. The cost is the loss of the support system which flows from belonging.

What we are missing has been brought home to us repeatedly. On several occasions, we learned that people we knew had died, and we hadn’t known of the funerals or shiva. When I sat shiva a few years ago, there was no organic group to whom to turn to come for minyanim. If one of us is alone on Shabbat, there are none who know to invite us. If one of us were to be ill, there would be few to visit us.

We have seen the attempts to acknowledge and address this in some institutions. For example, some very prominent synagogues always remind congregants to say hello to their neighbor. Yet at the Kiddush, no one, including the rabbis, approaches the stranger. Ushers have been encouraged to welcome people as they arrive, yet those very ushers become notably cliquish as people depart. There are institutions which pounce on newcomers – inviting commitment before they are in the door – and in so doing frighten off the browser. And there are others which are so crowded and anonymous that one eager to become involved is lost in the crowd. And, although we are well aware that “outreach” initiatives abound, they are primarily for singles and young adults.

There aren’t simple solutions, and this must not be read as a critique only of synagogues; it seems all too true throughout Jewish community institutions. But that is a story for another time.

And if this is what we experience, just imagine how it must be for the overwhelming majority whose Jewish identifications and connections are far more tenuous than ours.

Let’s not forget that if every seat in every Manhattan synagogue were filled every Shabbat, it would account for but a fraction of our Jewish community. What are we doing to understand, respond to, and engage the thousands who haven’t made a commitment, yet for whom Jewishness is still a part of their self understanding, on whom the future of Jewish life depends?

If people such as we feel lonely in this crowd, is it any wonder that so many disappear?

The Day School Experiment: The Unexamined Questions

2008-05-31T14:56:00.002-04:00

[from the archives - orignially published March 2002 for PEJE]

The growth of the Day School movement is an achievement to be celebrated. Much of this growth has been a result of innovative ventures, such as PEJE, DeLeT, inter alia, that have captured the attention of philanthropists and foundations, including ours, and the Jewish community. Their commitment to expand the opportunities, particularly in the non-Orthodox world, for enrollment, teacher recruitment, teacher and principal training, and enhanced commitment to quality have combined to give credibility to Day Schools as an indispensable component in the renaissance of Jewish life. The growing number of schools and enrollees attest to the belief that many hold that this is one of the institutions which will make the difference.

However, as our community puts increasing resources into Day Schools, we must also articulate our assumptions about Day Schools and examine them carefully. It would be most sobering to awaken a generation hence to discover that our interventions were off the mark, or that our energies could have been more effectively directed. These observations are an attempt to begin that process:

Assumption I – Day Schools are the most effective way to convey Jewish knowledge.

Questions:

Undoubtedly, the earlier a child learns Hebrew language and related skills, the more deeply internalized that knowledge and skill becomes. But does pre-adolescent knowledge truly equip one for life-long/adult decisions, especially since most non-Orthodox children attend Day School only through 8^th grade? Or will they need to un-learn or re-learn much of what they have been taught when they reach adolescence and adulthood? Should the Jewish community put more emphasis on High School level Day School attendance rather than elementary, even at the cost of extensive remediation?

In Day Schools, Judaism is often taught as if the rest of the world were as protected and insulated as the Day School. Are Day Schools the optimal way to teach young people how to apply Jewish learning in an open society and in real life? And, indeed which “knowledge” about Judaism is most applicable in adult life? For example, I have seen many graduates of fine Jewish Day Schools who are very knowledgeable of dinim [specific laws] but do not understand halachah [the law as a system]. In a more closed environment, the specific dinim are sufficient; in an open society, where one must learn how to apply Jewish law, understanding the reasoning that underlies halachah is indispensable. An informed examination of what knowledge and when conveyed should have an impact on Day School effectiveness.

Assumption II – Day Schools inculcate a viable and portable Jewish identity which will enable Jewish adults to make SOCIAL decisions.

Questions:

The overwhelming majority of Diaspora Jews reject self-ghettoization and parochialism. Are Day Schools preparing their graduates to live as Jews in a non-Jewish society? Or, have our best educated Jews internalized a vision of a Jewish life which requires aliyah or immersion in self absorbed Jewish communities? The integrated curriculum may be one answer to this challenge. Have the Day Schools which have developed integrated curricula had more success in addressing this question than those which have maintained the traditional parallel track? Are there other approaches which have been successful in addressing this?

It would be constructive to compare the effectiveness of the Day School model with informal educational models, such as teen and camping programs or Hillel. These models emphasize informal socialization rather than classroom education. If social choices are made in the informal realm, have we found the best way to insure that formally structured education provides these same benefits?

Assumption III: Jewish education and identity- building can only be successful if provided by HIGH QUALITY Day Schools.

Questions:

PEJE and others have identified the characteristics of high quality schools. But do we know that educational quality is what makes the difference? As I read some of the earlier data, it appears that the quantity of Jewish education is the most meaningful variable. Intuitively, it seems that the quality of the Day School must matter. But what is intuitive is not always true. If it were to turn out (I hope it does not) that quantity matters more than quality, might it not be better to do everything possible to subvent continued enrollment in lieu of other “luxuries” such as curriculum development and teacher training? While all of my professional experience would suggest that this should not be the case, we owe it to ourselves to explore this question.

Assumption IV- Cost is the limiting factor in enrollment.

Questions:

Are those who raise this question truly speaking of cost or cost/benefit? Admittedly large numbers of North American Jews find tuitions of $10,000 - $20,000 per year per student prohibitive and choose not to send their children to Day School. But there are 50,000 American Jewish students who attend secular (non-Jewish) independent schools at the same or a higher price point. For a not insignificant number, price is not the primary variable in school choice. [We believe this significant population should not be ignored; several foundations, including ours, have joined to support The Curriculum Initiative which addresses the Jewish needs in secular independent schools].

On the other hand, the Israel Birthright experience demonstrates that a gift from the Jewish community can make a difference. A number of local and national initiatives are experimenting with offering a lower price to all families to learn whether this does make a difference in their willingness to choose a Jewish Day School education for their children. It is worth more rigorous examination of the true role of finances in Day School attendance and choice.

Assumption V- Increased salary and prestige will allow us to recruit and retain a sufficient number of high quality Day School teachers and
principals.

Question:

Of course it is true that teachers are underpaid and undervalued. But the same is true of every field of service in Jewish life. We must recognize that the community is not large enough nor rich enough to sustain the number of highly compensated professionals that we feel we need. Such a ratio of communal professionals to volunteers would not be financially sustainable. Therefore, it may be time to think imaginatively about alternative, and perhaps more integrated, models of how we provide excellent staffing for our communal institutions. This is not a Day School problem alone, but with the growth and demand for Day School teachers, wonderful programs such as DeLeT will make a meaningful dent in the need, but will not alone fully solve the problem.

Assumption VI - A new generation of Day School educated adults will revitalize the Jewish Community.

Question:

Will the growing group of well educated, inspired, committed Day School graduates find their place within the community? Are the institutions (synagogues, JCC’s, etc.) prepared for such a population or will we see a further dichotomy of Jewish life, not based on denominationalism but on educationalism? Will Day School graduates demand that the community change or will they create a separate parallel track of Jewish involvement? A study of how the graduates of Ramah, NFTY, and Day Schools have challenged, changed, or rejected their parent institutions might help us to prepare for the future.

All of these questions are raised in the context of a commitment to Day School education and a belief that Day Schools, do, and will, make a significant difference in the fabric and future of North American Jewry. But we must challenge ourselves to think critically about Day Schools as we commit our communal resources to their growth. We must insure that the Day School movement fulfills its potential for the future of Jewish life.