Finding kehilla in Las Vegas

The last month took me from hurricane-damaged New Jersey and New York to Las Vegas, where a first-ever gathering of United Synagogue's General Assembly of Kehillot was held. About 130 of United Synagogue's affiliated congregations were represented, serving as a shareholders' group. United Synagogue's board of directors met at the same time, privileged to be addressed by Michael Leven, President and COO of the Las Vegas Sands Corporation, who shared very touching stories about the formation of his Jewish identity and that of his children.

Next door, more than 400 members of the Women's League for Conservative Judaism held its 2012 convention, learning from Rabbi Elliot Dorff, Chancellor Arnold Eisen, and Dr. Ron Wolfson, who unveiled Women's League's new strategic plan.

Remarkable women were honored by Women's League, like Blanche Meisel, who began her life in New Jersey as a passionate worker in the movement for Soviet Jewry and, after retirement, continued to make an impact on the Las Vegas community and in Israel, helping to establish the TALI educational program at the HaDror School.

And, in the custom I have written about before, we all gathered for a Shabbaton prior to our meetings on Sunday, spending time in the two Conservative synagogues in the area.  Shabbat, Las Vegas-style, meant music-filled services at Temple Beth Sholom, and a welcoming motzei Shabbat dinner at Midbar Kodesh that featured one of their members, Dr. David Schwartz, speaking about gambling in the Jewish tradition - a perfect topic as we prepared to spin our dreidels later in the week.

Although we didn't stay on the Las Vegas strip, it is impossible to escape casinos - they're in the airport, for Pete's sake. Our hotel  had a casino area strategically placed in the center of the complex of buildings; you had to walk through it to get to the conference center and hotel rooms.

Besides conducting business in the meeting rooms, the Women's League volunteers, Conservative movement organizational representatives, Jewish communal professionals, vendors and visitors renewed friendships, held planning conversations and made introductions in the hallways, in the restaurants, between the rows of gamblers in the casino, and in the outdoor walkways.

Even with the background noise of slot machines, we found kehilla - community.

Hurricanes and Hunger

I have not written a post since Hurricane Sandy hit because I have been busy. I was one of the east coast residents who lost power and had a home damaged.

Don't feel sorry for me. I have two homes, and was able to live in one with only the discomfort of power out for four days while the vacation home was flooded. We're finding out now the extent of the structural damage to the foundation of our home in addition to the appliances we lost. But all will be repaired and replaced. We feel lucky.

I use the word, lucky, intentionally, because it's usually luck we think of first when we try to explain who and why disasters, accidents, or illnesses strike. The idea of luck is complicated, though:

• Hurricane Katrina didn't affect me. Was I lucky then and unlucky during Hurricane Sandy? 
• Was I luckier that my two bouts of breast cancer in my 40's were treatable, compared to my friend's terminal pancreatic cancer when he reached his late 60's?
• My parents raised me in a three-bedroom, one bath, house, feeding six people on a total of about $20 a week in the 1960's. Today, I have two houses and plenty of food. Am I luckier than my parents? 

Our rabbis and sages knew there is no way to measure or compare luck based on what happens to us.

From the Babylonian Talmud, Moed Katan, 28A:

תלמוד בבלי מסכת מועד קטן דף כח עמוד א

אמר רבא: חיי, בני ומזוני, לא בזכותא תליא מילתא, אלא במזלא תליא מילתא. דהא רבה ורב חסדא תרוייהו רבנן צדיקי הוו, מר מצלי ואתי מיטרא, ומר מצלי ואתי מיטרא. רב חסדא חיה תשעין ותרתין שנין - רבה חיה ארבעין, בי רב חסדא - שיתין הלולי, בי רבה - שיתין תיכלי. בי רב חסדא - סמידא לכלבי ולא מתבעי, בי רבה - נהמא דשערי לאינשי, ולא משתכח

Rava said: Life, children, and food do not depend on merit; rather, they depend on luck. For Rabbah and Rav Hisda were two righteous rabbis - one would pray and rain would come, and the other would pray and rain would come. [Yet] Rav Hisda lived 92 years and Rabbah lived [only] 40 years. In the house of Rav Hisda there were 60 marriages; in the house of Rabbah, 60 deaths. In the house of Rav Hisda, there was pure wheat bread for dogs, and they did not want. In the house of Rabbah, there was even a lack of [poor quality] barley bread for people. [Translation by Uri L’Tzedek]

(Thanks to On1Foot for the Hebrew and translation above.)

While we can't predict or control luck, we can control how we approach the suffering we see around us. Our communal response to the people affected by Hurricane Sandy has been inspiring, from New York's combined efforts to national support, and, also, United Synagogue's response in cooperation with the Rabbinical Assembly.

There is another initiative beginning today that is less in the headlines, but is equally intended to respond to suffering: the Jewish Community Food Stamp Challenge.

One in six households in America struggle with hunger issues. Hunger isn't like a hurricane; it doesn't have people shouting out warnings and predictions of it. It doesn't fill our news reports or even our Facebook pages. It is up to us to call on each other to be aware of it, and our clergy and Jewish organizations are doing that this month. 

The Food Stamp Challenge has support from across the Jewish communal spectrum, and is sponsored by the Jewish Council for Public Affairs, MAZON: A Jewish Response to Hunger, United Synagogue, the Rabbinical Assembly, Cantors Assembly, Reconstructionist Rabbinical Association, Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, and the American Conference of Cantors.  Read about the rabbis, cantors and other leaders who are taking the Food Stamp Challenge. And for an inspirational framing of the challenge, read the Kol Nidre sermon from Rabbi Robyn Fryer Bodzin, of Israel Center of Conservative Judaism in Flushing, NY.

The "challenge" is to live for a week on the food that can be purchased with the same amount of money as a person on food stamps: up to $31.50 per person, or about $1.50 per meal. You can participate in several ways by taking the Challenge yourself and setting up a donations page, or donating the amount of money that you would have spent on food for the week to an organization dealing with hunger issues, or donating to someone who is taking the Challenge. Go to the Conservative Movement's Food Stamp Challenge Facebook page to also find out about how synagogues are supporting these leaders.

Because of the interruption of many of our lives from Hurricane Sandy, the organizers of the Food Stamp Challenge are moving the window of time to take the Challenge by Thanksgiving. There is still time to do it. There is always time to donate.

A hurricane reminds us about luck. The rabbis reminded us that luck affects food as well. We can't stop a hurricane, but we can work together to diminish hunger.

All Are Welcome in a Hurricane

Like most of the residents of the east coast, except for the hardiest warning-ignorers, I am watching the Weather Channel and preparing for life without electricity. It's fascinating what becomes important - charging up my electronic devices, stocking up on water and non-perishable food, and getting my laundry done. (Special thanks to one of my Facebook friends who suggested freezing batches of coffee.)

The breathless meteorologists predict that Hurricane Sandy will be an unprecedented event, affecting millions of people. This is where kehilla - community - becomes real.

Last year, after Hurricane Irene, Temple Sholom in Greenwich, CT, put the concept of kehilla and the stability of their synagogue building together to help the entire community. In his Torah teaching from September 2, 2011, Rabbi Mitch Hurvitz describes what they did:

As a professional staff, as soon as we saw that our community would be in the path of the hurricane, we took action and mobilized.  We came up with a careful process; did a Costco run; brought large quantities of kosher food and drink to the shul; set up the lounge with tables, chairs, and snacks; made sure our WiFi was in working order; took an inventory of our board games and kids activities; and prepared our spiritual home to be an effective physical refuge for all those in need. Like everyone else, we had no idea whether or not we would have power; we didn’t know if we would even be able to open our doors. But we did know this much: in taking part in this process, we weren’t accepting powerlessness. We knew we would be ready to serve our community in the best way we could, whenever the time came.

And the time, fortunately, arrived. After the storm, when we received the “all-clear” from the Town of Greenwich, we put the word out:  "Our doors are open – all are welcome.” These three simple words made the key difference between the perception of insularity, and the spirit of community.

What are kehillot doing about this storm? I see that Rabbi Aaron Gaber of Congregation Beth Judah in Ventnor is posting evacuation sites on Facebook. Temple Rodef Shalom in Falls Church, VA, not only has helpful emergency information on its website, but they also have an online form to notify them if someone needs help with evacuation. In Baltimore, the local news reported what churches and synagogues are doing to help people with early voting.

Preparations for emergencies and disasters need to be done well before the Weather Channel tracks a storm bearing down on us. I hope that all of our kehillot have used the resources from United Synagogue and other organizations long before this weekend to ensure safety and security. Emergencies like the hurricane coming towards us are a chance to live out the full concept of kehilla as sacred community when we actively find ways to reach out and be responsible for one another.

Share with me what your kehilla is doing. I'll post it here and on the United Synagogue Facebook and Twitter feeds. Your ideas might help someone else take action.

Stay safe, chevre.

Turning 100

If you were 100 years old, and could throw yourself a party, what would you do?

I imagine that if I were lucky enough to reach 100, one of the most important things to me would be to gather my family and friends around me. I'd want as many of the people who started life with me as possible - my siblings and husband, cousins, nieces and nephews, childhood friends, in-laws and those I met along the way. By the time I'm 100, my sons will be on that list, too, since we would have spent more than 60 years together. I'd want to reminisce, and bring back the feelings from our shared history and the memories of the people who are no longer with us.

I would definitely want children at my party - my grandchildren and their children. I could puzzle about how they're acting and talking: Is that a boy or a girl? Why don't they use phones anymore? How can she write in the air in front of her - where's her iPad? I hope I smile at how different their world is from the one I knew. I want to search for the familiarity in their faces and voices, recognize glimmers of myself or my relatives in them, and know that even though I might not understand their lives, our familial DNA is in them and will be there in future generations.

The room would be covered with photos from my 100 years, and the young people will be surprised about how I looked and what I accomplished. Grandma drove that? Look at her hair - it was brown! She had a job? They'll understand that the outward appearance of someone they know at 100 years old is not her whole story. I hope they'll feel closer to me, and, rather than seeing me as the old lady in the chair over there, take away a different image of me after they leave.

I'd want the party to be more than cake and ice cream and a couple of words about how I had the good fortune to survive 100 years. I'd want great food and lots of laughter to make every person glad that they took the time to be with me that day. I'd give them things to take home to remind them of their connection not just to me but to each other. Living 100 years is not the accomplishment. Creating my family will be my accomplishment, and I want my 100th birthday to be about us and our future.

Why am I thinking about this?

100th birthday parties are front and center for me these days as I work with the team that is planning the Centennial Celebration of United Synagogue in Baltimore from October 11-15, 2013.

United Synagogue was founded by Rabbi Solomon Schechter, president of the Jewish Theological Seminary, in 1913. The idea behind United Synagogue as a congregational organization came from Schechter as he placed his seminary graduates into primarily orthodox synagogues around the country. Their mission, chronicled by Michael R. Cohen in The Birth of Conservative Judaism: Solomon Schechter's Disciples and the Creation of an American Religious Movement, was to change the nature of religious services and education, with a vision of a new American Judaism.

Cohen gives us details about what the first Conservative rabbis encountered in congregations in the beginning of the 20th Century. In some ways, they're as unrecognizable as a photo of 100-year old grandma when she was 20. Cohen gives us a snapshot, for example, of Rabbi Herman Rubenovitz's experience in 1910 at Mishkan Tefila in Boston:

Though the cantor did have "a fairly good voice," he also had "very little musical education." During High Holiday service, "the choirboys invariably became restless," and often did not "observe their cues and had punishment administered by the cantor in view of the entire congregation. It became clear to me that this sort of thing had no place in the Conservative Synagogue."

Indeed!

Yet other accounts from that time are like looking at the picture of grandma in her youth and seeing the distinctive family features that recur generation after generation. All of us who work with congregations can see this dynamic alive and well today:

While Schechter's students often bounced from job to job and from city to city, they listed a variety of reasons as to why their positions did not work out...one of the most common reasons that these rabbis cited was their inability to navigate two very different factions within their congregations. Generally these factions were based on generational differences, with a younger generation clamoring for change and older generation urging the congregation to keep its traditions intact.

Cohen traces the birth of United Synagogue as Schechter's strategy to help new Conservative rabbis navigate the complexities and resistance to change from congregational leaders. What United Synagogue looked like then and how it has changed during its lifetime is as rich a story as any person who builds a network of family and friends over a century.

United Synagogue's story can't be told without telling the story of the Conservative movement, with its origins at the Jewish Theological Seminary, its sister organizations like Women's League of Conservative Judaism and Federation of Jewish Men's Clubs, nearly 20 Conservative affiliate cousins, and the programs, like USY and Sulam, that it created.

The best 100th birthday party we can imagine for United Synagogue is one that celebrates Conservative Judaism. We want to gather all of our family and friends from all parts of the Conservative movement and the Jewish community. We'll honor the impact of Conservative Judaism, and the people who continue to make an impact today. We'll launch new ideas and initiatives from United Synagogue as we reach the milestone of completing the two-year implementation of our strategic plan. There will be great food, lots of laughter, and time for connecting spiritually and communally.

We will get to know the people who are the next generation of Conservative Jews. If their definition of kehilla - sacred community - is new to us, I hope we can recognize that it comes from the same familial DNA that we call Conservative Judaism. When they leave, we'll want them to remember their roots, whether their Judaism is practiced in a synagogue building, at camp, on campus, online or anywhere else they find themselves.

This party will not be just about congratulating ourselves for surviving 100 years. It will be about how we create the Conservative kehillot for the next century. 100 years ago, United Synagogue started a congregational network that allowed Conservative Judaism to evolve as a movement. Next October, we'll form the foundation for our next hundred years. You won't want to miss it.

Waiting for the Tenth

On Monday morning I walked into services for Sukkot and was greeted warmly by the rabbi. "Kathy, we're so glad you're here," he said. "You're the tenth person...now we can start!"

At the end of services, he said to the 30 or so people assembled, "I know we all have our own groove and timetable for when we get here, but tomorrow we can't start until we have a minyan. So I'll ask you to please try to get here by 9:00. We depend on each other."

I didn't forget what he said, and had every intention of leaving early enough to get to the synagogue promptly. But the next morning I chatted with my house guests, drank that second cup of coffee in the sukkah before the impending rain would ruin my chances for the day, and I don't recall what else. I walked into the synagogue building at exactly 9:25 with another person. I could see Rabbi chatting with the seven other people in the sanctuary, and motion to the Cantor to start when he saw that numbers nine and ten had just walked in.

At that point, I remembered a time fourteen years earlier when another group was eagerly waiting for the tenth person.

I walked into morning services for Simchat Torah at a small synagogue in upstate New York. I was on vacation in the area, and wanted to say kaddish for my brother, who had passed away the year before. The rabbi and eight men, mostly elderly retirees, looked shocked and then joyous, as my entry interrupted their discussion about whether or not to wait or count a Torah as the tenth presence. When they learned that my last name is Elias, they called me, "Elijah," for the rest of the morning. I never felt more valued and necessary to a community than I did on that day.

I ran into the upstate New York rabbi two years ago at a conference. We remembered each other almost instantly, and he called me Elijah before he remembered my name is Kathy. He told me about how important my presence was on that day. What he didn't know was that it was a milestone day for me as well.

My Jewish journey began as an adult, when I converted to Judaism more than 30 years ago. Fourteen years ago, when I entered that sanctuary in upstate New York, I had learned to read Hebrew, and although I went to services regularly, every week felt like a test of my Hebrew skills and Jewish identity. I refrained from accepting an aliyah or any honor that would put me in front of the congregation. I approached every service as if I were the worst student in a class, hiding in the back and hoping not to be called upon.

My motivation to walk into the upstate New York shul that morning was to say kaddish for my brother. I'm not sure I knew what else would be possible. But those eight elderly men and their rabbi, and their expectation that I would take my place in sharing the joy of the Torah, swept away my reticence. I became the tenth person in their community and, for the first time, fully participated in a religious service.

The first time I said the Torah blessings was on that morning. The first time I held and danced with a Torah was that morning. The first time I felt the full inclusion into Jewish ritual life was that morning.

Being the tenth or the 110th person doesn't matter. Showing up matters. It is our presence in kehilla - sacred community - that creates the potential for something in someone's life to change, even if we never know about it.

We depend on each other.

Jewish Identity in the Back of the Room

For the first time in nearly 20 years, I sat with the rest of the congregation for Rosh Hashanah services instead of my usual perch up front where the action is, with the Cantor and choir. With a switch this year to the engaging new machzor from the Conservative movement, Machzor Lev Shalem, our hazzan, Cantor Eugene Rosner, also introduced new music. I had a heavy travel schedule, missed the rehearsals, and felt unprepared to fully participate. So I sat this year out, and spent my time in the back of the sanctuary, (waaaayyyyy back), where my husband and sons always plant themselves.

How we experience prayer is as much what is happening in the service as where it happens. There is an old joke about a new person taking a seat in the nearly empty synagogue and, expecting a warm welcome, is surprised when a man comes up to him and says, "You're in my seat." It makes us laugh at how unwelcoming we can be precisely because our physical places are so important to our prayer experience. Maimonides (Law of Prayer 5:6) said that one should have a fixed place for prayer, and when we look around a sanctuary and can predict where people will be because that's where they have always been, we see that wisdom in action.

My shul, Temple Beth Hillel/Beth El, has always had an egalitarian High Holiday policy: the seats up front are taken by the people who get there first. (That's one reason why my family, often the last to straggle in, happily sat on the air conditioning units on the back wall for a number of years.)  The families that are not sending their kids to the children's services sit back there.

My prayer experience in the back of the room was certainly different this year. Ruined, maybe. There was too much to watch: People coming in, going out, re-connecting with old friends. One family brought bags of Cheerios and books to keep three children occupied, and the victorious look on the oldest son's face as he triumphantly settled on Dad's lap after his two sisters were banished, (presumably to the children's services) was unforgettable.

I found myself asking my 24-year old son, sitting next to me, "Did you guys do that to Dad?" He smiled and nodded.  "Is it usually this hard to hear Rabbi Cooper?" "Does the choir really sound like that every year?" He shrugged and whispered, "Sometimes. Maybe. I don't know. We never paid that much attention."

On our walk back home after services, my husband and son talked about Rosh Hashanah in the back of the room. Their memories were not about prayer or sermons, singing or spirituality. They were about being with each other. I realized that their fixed seats were purposefully out of the sphere of what they perceived as the "real" service up front. Getting there late was as important to them as getting there at all. Their experience with each other laid down memories and feelings that were more powerful than what the rabbi and cantor could accomplish.

My son said, "I can't tell you what it is about Beth Hillel. I know that I hated going to services as a kid. We had to be dragged there. I don't remember much about what happened; I just have this general warm feeling that I can't explain. Every time I go back now, even though it's only at High Holidays, I feel like I'm home."

I didn't go too far down the road with my son about how much more went in to building his Jewish memories - the regular Shabbat dinners, seders, sukkah-building, Hanuka celebrations. These were part of my memories, and the conscious effort I made to create a Jewish home for my children. In that moment, his memories were of sitting on an air conditioning unit in the back of the sanctuary next to his dad, stealing his brother's Cheerios.

I have to thank my husband for all those years he sat with our kids while I sang with the choir. I will apologize for the times I made fun of him for getting there "late." Jewish identity can be forged in the back of the room as well as in the front.

The Six Days of Creation on Twitter

Eleven small teams wandered the grounds of Capital Camps in Maryland last week looking for ways to show the six days of creation in photos. At least one person on each team was designated as the photographer who would load each composition with a caption up to Twitter, coded with a hashtag for their team: #Bereshit1, #Bereshit2, #Bereshit3, etc.

The people who didn't understand Twitter were uncomfortable at first. The people who regularly tweet, post on Facebook, upload photos, shoot videos and publish to YouTube were thrilled to show them what they've been missing. Working together, they creatively interpreted biblical text.

It was a team-building activity, with a bit of Torah, that was brand new for a United Synagogue staff retreat. Reflecting the variety of sensibilities of our staff, our submissions ranged from literal to puns, to some that might take a minute to understand. In total, they are a reflection of our diversity as a staff, our skills, and the different ways we view what goes on around us. Our collective Twitter profile for that day highlights us as a community.

Although it was a fun exercise, and probably something that has been or will be repeated in camp and school settings, it's also not just for kids. More and more, community activities are recorded in the cyber world. We upload photos and videos, comment and share articles, ideas, jokes, and, yes, sometimes some pretty mundane details about baking challah, as my Facebook friends saw on Friday afternoon.

But if you know how to navigate the online world, you can tune in to conversations that span minutes, hours or years. Today, on Twitter, I'm able to view the proceedings of a sold-out conference for non-profits from Board Source by searching for #blf2012.  Jewish educators talk regularly together with the hashtag #jedchat.

You can even watch communal preparations in real time. Here is the Twitter feed for #ShanaTova. In the two seconds it took for me to make a screen shot, eight new tweets came in. In the minute it took for me to upload this screen shot to this blog, 69 new wishes of Shana Tova came in to Twitter.

It's not that the people getting ready for the High Holidays have nothing else to do but post on Twitter. It's that Twitter has become an avenue for expression and connection. I find it glorious that I can see the excitement, reverence, irreverence and passion for Judaism this morning as thousands of people wish one another Shana Tova. (284 new tweets came up in the time it took me to write that sentence.)

To the people who worry about what our online activities will do to our ability to make real friendships, or that the cyber world also has its bullying and attacks, I'll ask that we save that discussion for another day.  Jews have a long history of recording our conversations - the Talmud is full of them. A Twitter feed does not rise to the level of Talmud, but I would argue that it can reflect our talmud Torah, study of Torah. 

And in this world at this point in history, finding kehilla - sacred community - online can be a gift if we know how to look for it.

May this year be one of peace and growth. 

#ShanaTova

Who will turn out the lights?

Imagine being a member of a kehilla (sacred community) where:

• Half of the congregation comes every week to services.
• The synagogue budget is simple enough to be balanced by renting out space to a church.
• Religious services get continual injections of enthusiasm and optimism from a steady flow of student rabbis.
• Congregants are skilled service leaders, a couple even serving as cantorial soloists at the High Holidays.
• The rabbi is a talented carpenter who can construct a special space in the cemetery to hold yahrzeit plaques.
• Members have lifelong memories of supporting each other.

These were some of the enviable qualities of what it's like in very small congregations described by 32 people I met at the conference, "Congregations in a Changing Environment." Hosted by the Jewish Federation of Greater Pittsburgh, in partnership with the Jewish Community Legacy Project, United Synagogue, Union for Reform Judaism and Jewish Federations of North America, this was one of the first communal conversations about the quality of Jewish life in areas where there are just very few Jews left.

More than two dozen small synagogues of all denominations are in the geographic area surrounding Pittsburgh, scattered throughout Pennsylvania, Ohio, West Virginia, and New York. They share common features: each has fewer than 75 households, their members' average age is over 65 years old, they have steadily declining affiliation, and no significant growth in Jewish communal numbers can be seen for the future.

The dedication of the leaders of the 12 congregations in the room was inspirational, coming across over and over in their personal stories of service to their communities.  In one congregation, three people have rotated as president - two years on and one year off - to give each other a break from the heavy time commitment. Marsha Storch, from Temple B'nai Israel in Olean, NY, had a story of wearing multiple hats for as long as she can remember:  "I've been president for I don't know how many years," she said. "I'm membership chair, too, and I know where all the toilet paper is."

But the real topic for the gathering was how to address the challenges of keeping such small kehillot alive in areas where the demographics are not in their favor.

As Richard Litman, president of Beth Israel in Washington, PA, said during the animated conversations at the tables, "The challenges come down to money, membership and minyan."

In very small congregations, money is an issue in a different way than in larger congregations. Most of the synagogues represented at the conference either have tiny religious schools or have closed them down. Five out of the 12 have full-time rabbis, but no other professionals. With steady reductions in revenue from membership, maintenance of the building and clergy salaries are major expenses. Fundraisers only go so far when there are limited numbers of volunteers to organize them. In at least one of the congregations, the deficit spending is almost exactly the amount they are paying for the services of a full time rabbi.

The importance of maintaining religious life was the focus of much of the conversation. Irene Rothschild, the president of a Reform congregation in Greensburg, WV, talked about how their rabbi helps them stay the only "full service congregation in Westmoreland County," and "offer a lot religiously, socially and culturally." But "distance is an issue in coming to things. Getting a minyan is hard."

The president of Tree of Life Synagogue described the growth and then decline of their community in Uniontown, PA, since the synagogue's founding in 1902. "We had 300 families, and now are down to 19. Only seven are husband and wife. But we get a minyan every Saturday." They hired a knowledgable teacher who came from New York to lead their weekly services because they can no longer sustain a salary for a rabbi. "Once we can't have a minyan, that's the death knell."

The death knell was discussed head on by the presidents of Temple Hadar Israel in Newcastle, PA, and Temple B'nai Israel in Olean, NY.  Their boards are working closely with the staff of the Jewish Community Legacy Project, David Sarnat and Noah Levine. (I wrote about JCLP in a previous post.)

David told the story of his first interview with the last few board members of a small community in the south who were spending down their synagogue's budget because they couldn't agree on whether or not to sell the building. "Who will be the last person to turn out the lights?" he asked. They said they were willing to let it be the last one who survived. "And how do you feel about it being the person you disagree with?" he replied.

David commented that often in small communities, it gets down to choosing between the building or the religious service. "Jewish Community Legacy Project is about finding those supports that can help you maximize your revenue to operate so you can maintain the quality of life in your community. It takes having the conversations now, not putting them off until it's too late."

With coaching from JCLP, a long range planning committee of nine people meet every five weeks in Newcastle, PA, to think strategically about how they will continue to serve the members they have. Their president, Sam, said, "I see our congregation as being early in the fourth quarter of a ballgame. We think there's a way to get into double and triple overtime and extend the game."

TBI in Olean is taking one step at a time, first making a legacy plan for caring for their cemetery. "As I told David," Marsha Storch said with a wink, "we move slowly and procrastinate a lot."

There were good ideas and good news to come out of this conference. There is interest in collaboration among the synagogues, especially in the area of religious services. One idea was to identify groups of people capable of leading services and rotate among buildings. Another is to share rabbinic support - the idea of a "circuit rabbi" who would be under contract to more than one community.

United Synagogue is dedicated to the partnership with JCLP, URJ and JFNA. Our new director of kehilla finance and operations, Barry Mael, will be working closely in the coming year with JCLP to serve these congregations. We have received a supportive message from the Rabbinical Assembly, as well, to work together to find innovative ways for Conservative rabbis to serve these communities.

Jeff Finkelstein, CEO of the Jewish Federation of Greater Pittsburgh, made the final remarks of the day. He admitted that he planned to welcome people in the morning but head out to another meeting right after that. Instead, he stayed all day because of the compelling stories and ground-breaking conversations among the participants. He said, "I walk away totally inspired by what you, as volunteers, do for your Jewish communities."

The Nice People in Tulsa

Congregation B'nai Emunah in Tulsa, OK, welcomed Pastor Corey Brooks on his Walk Across America to End Gun Violence. 

Pastor Brooks taught and shared a meal with the enthusiastic students in third through sixth grades. 

Congregation B'nai Emunah - a kehilla with the email address "thenicepeople@tulsagogue.com" - opened their doors as part of Operation Tent of Abraham and Sarah, United Synagogue's initiative to encourage Conservative Jews to support and join Pastor Brooks on his walk across the country. 

Kehilla at the Beach

About 400 people gathered on the beach in Ventnor, NJ, on Friday night, pairing the sounds of crashing waves and screeching sea gulls with the music of Rick Recht and local cantors. Devotion by the Ocean, sponsored  by Congregation Beth Judah in cooperation with many other area synagogues, is a monthly summertime gift. Here's how it works: put on your sunglasses and flip flops, bring a folding chair or a beach towel to the Newport Avenue beach, and welcome Shabbat in a place where, as Hazzan Jeffrey Myers says, "It's easy to find east. Turn towards the ocean."

The Philadelphia area Jewish community fills the shore towns in South Jersey, particularly on Absecon Island, below Atlantic City, in the summer. It's possible to walk on the boardwalk in the morning and run into two or three Philly neighbors, shul friends or coworkers in a mile stretch. We joined the ranks of Ventnor vacation home owners in June 2010.

I found my way to Beth Judah when my mother died two months after buying our house. My happiest memories of my mom were from family vacations at the beach, so my siblings and I preferred to go there to remember her following her funeral. Rabbi Neil Cooper of my home congregation, Temple Beth Hillel/Beth El, contacted Rabbi Aaron Gaber at Beth Judah and let him know that I would be sitting shiva at the shore rather than in my community in Pennsylvania. I walked into the morning minyan at Beth Judah and was warmly welcomed, acknowledged, invited to lead a prayer, asked about my mother. People remembered my name whenever I went back. My husband and I became associate members the following summer.

Maybe there's something special about shore shuls. The ebb and flow of Jewish community, with new faces appearing in the summer months and disappearing in the fall, might make their members keenly aware of newcomers. Maybe the year-round residents get accustomed to communally sharing physical and psychic space with strangers. That translates to a different sense of who is inside the circle and who is outside.

What I found this weekend at Beth Judah was a pleasantly mysterious dose of being brought inside.

This week will mark the anniversary of the death of my brother, Richard, who passed away suddenly in 1998 at the age of 52. As I stood up to say kaddish at Devotion by the Ocean, I was grateful for the chance to remember him, bring him into my happy present moment, imagining him here with our brother and sister, the four of us enjoying the shore with our spouses, children and grandchildren together.

The next morning at services, Bruce, Beth Judah's vice president who was arranging for honors, came up to me and asked, "Since you're observing a yahrzeit today, would you like to take the fourth aliya?"

How did he know? I'm going to assume he had a list of the members who would be saying kaddish, and, as an associate member, I would be on that list. If so, he had to keep an eye out for us, even if we are not there every week or even every month.

It's one way to answer the question I posed in a previous post about how communities might show that they save a place for someone who isn't there. Like Shirley in my story, who moved away from her Iowa community and was given her old phone number when she moved back, this was an important moment for me. Bruce was prepared to bring me into the circle of the community, even if he couldn't be sure I would be there. Shirley thought the phone company saved her phone number, but maybe it was coincidence that it was still available. Maybe my experience was coincidence, too, and Bruce saw me stand up the night before to say kaddish at Devotion by the Ocean. Really, though, I don't have to know how it happened that Bruce approached me. I felt it as welcoming, embracing and an acknowledgment of my loss. Even though I'm a summer resident, they save my place even when I'm not there.

Does it matter if it was a formal policy or an attentive vice president? I don't think so. Bruce's action shows me that Beth Judah's leaders understand the importance of looking for opportunities to create connections. I think it's the intentionality of it that makes kehilla (sacred community) come alive.

Critical Friends Listen

I was on retreat again this week, this time with United Synagogue's CEO, Rabbi Steven Wernick, and six other senior staff members. We made time for the "balcony space" that Bob Leventhal writes about in the Sulam for Current Leaders module, The Leadership Plan:

Ronald Heifetz describes the requirement for leaders to occupy the “balcony space” and thus to gain perspective by viewing events from a more removed vantage point. High above the organizational stage, a group of people can get out of “reactive space,” (the constraining mindset of responding to immediate issues), and move onto the balcony to see the pattern.

For 28 hours, we moved to two balconies  - a front porch and a second floor deck of a house in New Jersey - to get away from our routine progress reports and next-step planning. We brought our goals for the year, and by the end of the two days together, we found the pattern that links all of our work.

Being able to see patterns, though, requires more than getting physically away from routine. It means learning a different way of interacting with each other. Regular meetings, (and our team meets twice a week), are no guarantee that all of the members deeply understand what other people are working on or how it intersects with what they're doing. If anything, regular meetings can reinforce behaviors of selective attention. (Think of a synagogue board meeting when the rabbi gives the d'var Torah, and how many people immediately pull out their cell phones to check their email.)

Listening requires putting aside a few irresistible things. First is outside distraction. Most of us have become addicted multi-taskers; our cell phones call us even when no one is calling. A retreat experience allows us to impose rules, like putting away our devices, that aren't present at other times. How did we ever have dinner with a friend before we could also check on how our other friends are doing? Maybe that's an objective behind a restaurant in Beverly Hills that's giving 5% discounts to patrons who give up their cell phones at the door before their dinner experience.

The second is the ego-centric intrusion of thoughts about ourselves as we listen to someone else's stories. Brain science is giving us insight into the complex process that's involved. I wonder, though, if we also learn that the shortcut to understanding someone else's story is to associate it with our own. The impact of that is not hearing or understanding someone else's. Active listening involves short-circuiting our inclination to inject our own story into what we're hearing.

So for 28 hours, the United Synagogue senior staff imposed upon ourselves a listening technique called a "Critical Friends Protocol,"  first developed by the Annenberg Institute for School Reform at Brown University. It requires something that we all find difficult: listening for extended periods of time, without interruption, before being allowed to ask questions or offer suggestions.

The process works something like this: A presenter has 30 minutes to talk about his/her topic. The group listens without interrupting. The group then has 15 minutes to ask clarifying questions, and the presenter answers their questions. Then the group has 15 minutes to give their feedback, suggestions, insights, and recommendations while the presenter listens without interrupting or answering. In our retreat, presenters had a final 5 minutes to give a summary to the group of what they heard or appreciated about the comments.

We teach a condensed version of this to presidents, again in retreat, at Sulam for Presidents. Called the "Art of Asking," it requires people to listen intently to a partner without interruption. We process with the group how it feels to speak uninterrupted, (strange at first), and to listen without interrupting, (strange at first). But throughout the retreat, as we practice the technique, it changes relationships and opens everyone up to learning.

Listening is a crucial skill for presidents, but it should not begin when a person becomes a high level leader. For that reason, the Art of Asking is incorporated into our Sulam for Emerging Leaders program. What would happen if people become experts at listening years before they sit at our board tables? How will board interactions change? How will interactions change in our communities?

At this point, though, I also know that the skill of listening isn't something that you learn in retreat or at a workshop and then consistently do afterwards. We'll see if our team members can even retain it at our next regularly scheduled meeting on Monday. But we have active listening as a shared experience that we can refer back to. We have a language for it now, and can remember how we do it when we need it in the future.

As in the kehillot we work with, we expect that small changes in each individual, and the group's ability to call upon what we learned together, will have impacts in our relationships throughout our system.

Setting the Table for New Leaders

20 board members from Germantown Jewish Centre in Philadelphia took time out on a Thursday evening in the middle of the summer to think about who will take their places in the future. 

It's not new for boards of directors to ask the question, "Who will join us at the board table?" What is refreshing is that boards like GJC's are coming to the realization that there is a question that comes before it: How do we set the table for new leaders? 

Regeneration is core to GJC's story. In the late 1960's and early 1970's, when the number of Jews in Philadelphia's Mt. Airy neighborhood decreased, a hearty group of well educated, Jewishly active and knowledgable young adults - we called them "hippies" then -  created a chavurah. They were welcomed into Germantown Jewish Centre and given meeting space by Rabbi Elias Charry, GJC's rabbi from 1942 until 1973. His board didn't like it. They argued that these young people weren't paying dues, so why should they be given space of their own? And they weren't even davenning with the rest of the congregation!

30 years later, Minyan Masorti continues as GJC's Conservative minyan, and, in addition to a sanctuary service, a Reconstructionist minyan, Dorshe Derech, lives comfortably under the GJC roof. Their independent young chavurah leaders of the 1970's eventually became GJC members, board members and presidents, and shaped the next 40 years of Germantown Jewish Centre.  

Today, with two dynamic rabbis, Rabbi Adam Zeff and Rabbi Annie Lewis, a stable Jewish population in the neighborhood, an excellent preschool program and a large cadre of active new members under 45 years old, GJC is at another turning point.  

They will be one of about 35 kehillot that will launch Sulam for Emerging Leaders (SEL) in the fall. SEL is United Synagogue's leadership development resource to strengthen the relationships and engagement of new members and those who have not stepped into leadership yet. The pillars of the program are Jewish study, reflection and action centered on celebrating Shabbat. "Setting the table" becomes the metaphorical thread through the entire experience, as participants enjoy Shabbat dinner together and then reach out to others in the community.

The dozen rabbis and their training partners who tested the curriculum last year gave it rave reviews. It seems to be doing what we hoped - bringing people closer together, and helping them look at how they prioritize their spare time, especially time for the sacred. (A first year report will be released by our evaluators, Dr. Steven Cohen and Dr. Ezra Kopelowicz, in December 2012.)

We expect that deeper relationships will generate a sense of responsibility towards the community, and that SEL graduates will step forward into leadership as they're ready. But it's clear that no matter how close new members become to each other, they won't move towards leadership unless service to the community is meaningful and relevant. And what we know is that the governance and operational structures, the committee meetings, reports and wheel spinning that baby boomers and the generation before them created is not what the younger folks will tolerate.

Germantown Jewish Centre's president, Mitch Marcus, recognized the opportunity for his board to face this generational dynamic as they recruit emerging leaders for Sulam.  I had the privilege and fun of facilitating the discussion. Board members, ranging in age from 39 to about 75, compared the life experiences of the four generations that are in our synagogue communities and how that would affect what we called the "Four R's" of engagement - relationship, recruitment, relevance and recognition. 

We uncovered potential conflicts among the generations in some of the most innocent places. One under-40 board member pointed out, for example, that our workshop time - a Thursday night at 7:30 - was inconvenient for people who have to put children to bed. I could see the people over 55 remembering when their kids were young, rushing through dinner, bath time and story time so they could get to Thursday night meetings at the shul. The expectation that leaders would prioritize their time in that way doesn't hold up for the generations we wish to bring forward in the future.

GJC's board came up with a number of ideas for how they will support the Sulam for Emerging Leaders program. First is that they will give the participants time and space to create relationships among themselves. Most important, as board members they will continue their own work to re-think how they operate so that the the next generation will join them at the leadership table.

Entering our Tents

  

Three stories came to my attention this week. What do they have in common?

• Pastor Corey Brooks continued on his Walk Across America to end gun violence, and was welcomed last Shabbat at Congregation B'nai Amoona in St. Louis. According to Mueriel Carp, United Synagogue's Central District Chair, "The congregants of B’nai Amoona were proud to offer hospitality to Pastor Brooks and his group during their stay in St. Louis.  After his talk, Pastor Brooks met individually with members of the kehilla, and many of those pledged their financial support for Project HOOD."

• Marsha Davis, President of Beth El Temple in Harrisburg, PA, went on a listening tour of her kehilla as she began her term in June. She has been holding "Community Conversations" in people's homes, and was pleasantly surprised by how many people volunteered to host them. She said, "I'm getting to know congregants, what they need, and they get to be able to write their positive suggestions about what they would wish for from our community. I provide them with questionnaires and I'm compiling the sugggestions because I dont't want to take back my interpretation of what I heard. I want it to be their words."

• My friend, Shirley, left Jefferson, IA, and moved in with her son's family in California after her husband died. She jumped right in to helping care for his two young children. Five years later, she has developed macular degeneration, leaving her partially blind. She moved back to Iowa to be closer to her daughters as she finds she needs help now. When she called the phone company for a new phone, the customer service representative said, "How about if we give you your old number, Shirley? We saved it for you in case you came back so you wouldn't have to learn a new one."

These are three stories of relationships that range from how we open our communities to strangers, to how we re-connect with the people we think we know, to the unbelievable, yet somewhat true, story of knowing someone so well that organizational obstacles are overcome to help her, even if we lose track of her for awhile.

I watched Pastor Brooks' progress across the country because United Synagogue supports his efforts in what we're calling Operation Tent of Abraham and Sarah, a reference to Abraham's welcoming of strangers in Genesis 18. He started in New York, was greeted in Newark, NJ, but his path from New Jersey to Chicago didn't have much formal engagement with Conservative synagogues. 

As United Synagogue staff and volunteers contacted people along the way, we learned that it takes more than just positive, supportive intentions to bring people to action. It takes a sense of urgency. Advance notice, tv coverage and twitter haven't made it easier for communities to send people out to hear the message of a passing pastor. Encouraging whole communities to respond to an external event asks them to move aside their regular planning cycle and activate a communications and mobilization network that may or may not exist. Most of our kehillot along the way expressed support, but not necessarily with action that was visible. As he heads west, and our kehillot have had more time to prepare, we're seeing more activation. 

Congregational conversations or parlor meetings also get organized when there is an external push or urgency, like strategic planning or a rabbinic search. Marsha's listening tour comes from her motivation to align goals with action, something she and other presidents dug into at United Synagogue's Sulam for Presidents, and to make sure that she is clear about what her community wants. Marsha is building relationships while she accomplishes what she says is, "More joy...less oy."

What are we to make of the phone company in Jefferson, IA, though? Regardless of whether or not I believe Shirley that the phone company kept her phone number for her, that's how Shirley experienced it. Her move from the little Iowa community where she raised her children, to the big city in California, and back created no sense of urgency for anyone. But to Shirley, even the phone company was trying to help her through what is a monumental change in her life, equal to the death of her husband.

I see all three stories in terms of how we continually build relationships so that it doesn't take an external threat or sense of urgency before we can live kehilla as a verb. 

How can we be like the phone company that Shirley imagines, so aware of her life that our entire community plans for and saves her a place even when she's not there?

Operation Tent of Abraham and Sarah - Chicago

Operation Tent of Abraham and Sarah is the name for United Synagogue's support of the Walk Across America by Pastor Corey Brooks to protest gun violence. I wrote about walking with him in New York on June 5, and posted about his stop at Congregation Ahavas Shalom in Newark. As he returned to Chicago, members of our Conservative kehillot were there to greet him. 

I am very pleased to share a report from Debbie Koller, an amazing volunteer from Anshe Emet Synagogue, who first brought Pastor Brooks' message to the attention of her rabbi, Rabbi Michael Siegel. She's in this video saying, "We're praying with our feet as we walk...", and has continually tried to connect the Jewish Community with the Pastor and his message:

Sunday, July 15th, Pastor Brooks led an 11.7 mile  walk from his church in Chicago all the way to Navy Pier. Since this was his home city he had a crowd of thousands.This was a diverse crowd. The walk began with a rally in front of New Beginnings Church on the grounds where Pastor Brooks lived for 94 days in a tent to protest the gun violence in his neighborhood and raise funds to purchase the abandoned motel. Eventually he will build a Community and Economic Development Center.  On this day it was filled with a crowd ready to say they had enough of the violence in this community and across the country. Pastor Brooks said, "This is not a black or white problem but an American problem," when he spoke about the gun violence that is plaguing cities like Chicago.  This weekend in Chicago four young people lost their lives to gun violence, which is becoming a common weekend occurrence on the South Side of Chicago.  Mayor Rahm  Emmanuel and Governor Pat Quinn, were there to say that this is not normal and we need to take a stand against the violence.

Many clergy spoke including Rabbi Heather Altman. Rabbi Altman visited Pastor Brooks in the winter when he was up in the tent on the roof. She brought her style of RavYoga to the roof to help the Pastor when he was weakening in the tent. While doing yoga she brought a kind Torah study with yoga to Pastor Brooks. The common Torah/Bible teachings we share brought the two together in study and in friendship.

 

Rabbi Heather Altman spoke and delivered Rabbi Siegel's speech to a very enthusiastic crowd.  

Rabbi Abe Friedman from Anshe Emet walked with several Anshe Emet Community Members as well as several b'nai mitzvah children. My son, Sam Koller, his cousin, Summer Kawalek, and Asher Rappaport all were walking as part of their mitzvah Projects.  The kids were enthusiastic as they cheered "Whose Streets! Our Streets!"  sang a blues call and response as well as sang "Down by the Riverside." I was brought to tears knowing how inspired the kids were. They also made friends along the way and learned about the challenges in this community and others like it. 

When people from the community ask me how I got involved and I relay how I brought Rabbi Siegel to the roof in the middle of winter, they get a look on their face of such joy. Many church members have seen Rabbi Siegel speak and have been inspired, just as I have been inspired by Pastor Brooks.  One man even told me, because of Rabbi Siegel's talk about "Praying with your feet", he has become an active member of New Beginnings after a long time away. 

My hope with connecting Rabbi Siegel and others in the Jewish Community with Pastor Brooks and his work with ProjectHOOD was to rebuild the bonds we once shared through the Civil Rights Movement with Dr. Martin Luther King and Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel.  Rabbi Heschel has been quoted as saying when he walked in Selma he was " Praying with my legs." The Walk Across America Team wears a version of his quotation on the back of their shirts "Praying with our Feet" with Rabbi Heschel's name.  It is amazing to see our communities once again come together and support this very important message.

Operation Tent of Abraham and Sarah continues as Pastor Brooks will be welcomed in St. Louis at Congregation B'nai Amoona on July 27 at Shabbat morning services. 

Balancing Security and Sanctuary

A man approaches me on the street. "My car broke down," he says, "and my wallet is at home. I have to take a bus to get there, and I just need two more dollars for the fare. Can you help me?"


I am a trusting person; I give him the two dollars. Then I watch him walk on and say the same thing to someone else at the end of the block.


I am also an optimistic person. I leave home without an umbrella. I cheerfully commit to very tight deadlines for projects. I volunteer to talk to unhappy people. Except for thinking that the weather will always be sunny, (which is denial, not optimism),  I believe that people and situations generally tend to work out for the best. 


I trust people until I can't trust them anymore. The things I have lost in my lifetime because I trusted someone have been a few dollars, a car that came back dented, and a couple of underpaid professional years. I have the luxury of trust and optimism because my world is populated with people whose motivations I know and with whom relationships can be built or repaired. 


This is not true for synagogues. In May 2011, two men were arrested for allegedly plotting to attack a Manhattan synagogue. Earlier this year, four synagogues in Northern New Jersey were targets of violent attacks, including a molotov cocktail tossed into the window of the rabbi's home. In the Manhattan case, the suspects discussed dressing as worshippers to enter the building.


As sacred communities, our kehillot are sanctuaries. They are places where our sacred actions create the feeling of refuge and protection. Safety is the prerequisite for creating sanctuary. Unfortunately, in order to build safety, the leaders of our kehillot need to pay attention to the work of security and safety that puts trust and optimism on hold.


Do you have procedures for dealing with suspicious phone calls, packages, visitors or vehicles? What will you do with property in case of fire or flood? How do you create a welcoming atmosphere that also protects the people in your building?


Rabbi Paul Drazen, United Synagogue's special assistant to the CEO, has prepared resources to begin asking the right questions to assess security and safety measures, and has arranged for a security webinar by Secure Community Networks on Thursday, August 23, 2012 at 2:00 EDT. 


As the High Holidays approach, this is the time to review the security of our buildings with clarity so that we can open the doors to our kehillot with trust and optimism.

Should we google our members?

British Airways announced that it will be googling its business class passengers as a way for their staff to recognize and better serve their customers. The "Know Me" program, they say, allows their staff to view photos of passengers and find out about their patterns and preferences. British Airways has given 2,000 iPads to their customer service representatives so they can look up and greet an expected 4,500 people a day. If this sounds specious to you, you're not alone. Businesses like airlines or hotels give their customers options to set up their own profiles through a preferred customer status. Customers can upload their own photos and preferences; why staff would need to google people is raising suspicion and complaints about privacy and potential errors.  


An airline might be stepping out of bounds by using Google as a way to get closer to customers, but the idea of getting to know people is at the core of creating communities. 

So should we google our kehilla members? What would we learn and what would we do with the information? 


A fundraising professional colleague of mine tells me that he googles everyone he meets. In addition to finding out what they do or what they're interested in for fundraising possibilities, he looks for connections that he might help them make. What town did they grow up in? What organizations do they belong to? Who does he know that he might put them in touch with? How can he help them feel more connected to someone else?


In a quick sampling of what I would find if I googled 10 of my close friends, I have to admit that I did learn some surprising things. My friend, Jack, published a book about staff performance review. Sherry is certified by the American Academy of Sports Medicine. As a speech pathologist, Jean has no complaints or sanctions against her, (good news). Andy was executive director of our congregation (alert - that was incorrect information!).  


Googling my friends didn't uncover much about their needs, aspirations or interests. It would not help me know if they want to learn Hebrew or invite someone for Shabbat dinner now that their children are out of the house.  I did, however, learn about some of their accomplishments and professional profiles. That information could be critical if I wanted to approach them to volunteer or move into leadership.


We're going to be talking about volunteer engagement next week as we roll out the final module in United Synagogue's Sulam for Current Leaders series: The Volunteer Development Plan.  Rabbi Charlie Savenor and Bob Leventhal will cover how we approach volunteering as avodah, sacred work, in a kehilla of sacred relationships. Knowing every person's skills, achievements and passions is key.  Register here if you want to join the conversation. 


And, in the meantime, feel free to google me.

Kehilla Legacies

In an eJewish Philanthropy blog post yesterday, Are there too many Congregations? Debunking a "Polite Fiction,"  Rabbi Aaron Bisno, from Rodef Shalom Congregation in Pittsburgh, comments on the question of whether or not there are too many congregations. His thoughtful response is that we need to ask a different question: “Ask rather, how collaborative and creative, our thinking?”

Rabbi Bisno encourages our synagogue leaders to change the mindset of competition with their neighbors.  And, as he argued in an earlier post, we will all have to learn how to have “courageous conversations” where we discuss challenging and difficult realities rather than avoid them until it’s too late.

Rabbi Bisno calls for congregational leaders to enter into dialogue that focuses on community rather than their own congregations:

Clearly, the most important work and biggest tasks we have before us can only be accomplished by our all working as partners across, within and between the traditional lines. The old way of thinking about our work is yesterday’s news.

This not only holds true for synagogue leaders; it will need to be true for Jewish organizations, as well.

Coincidentally, it is the Pittsburgh area where courageous conversations are being convened in August by a new collaboration that brings together the Conservative and Reform movements and Jewish Federations, sparked by the Jewish Community Legacy Project.

The Jewish Community Legacy Project works with small synagogues in communities with declining or changing populations. JCLP’s executive director, David Sarnat, is eloquent in describing congregations he has worked with that look beyond the bricks and mortar of their synagogue buildings and cemeteries. They courageously plan for a quality of Jewish life for their remaining members, and they archive the history of their communities while establishing a legacy that benefits the greater Jewish community through the disposition of their buildings and assets. They set up scholarships for Jewish youth to attend college, donate Torahs to burgeoning communities, or support new Jewish educational programs.

JCLP has identified nearly 100 small synagogue communities across the country of all denominations that fit their criteria for declining or changing communities: fewer than 75 members, member age rising, consistent reduction in membership over a period of at least five years, demographic data that does not predict growth in the Jewish community.

David’s vision is for these communities to be proactive and intentional about their legacies. With guidance and support from the entire Jewish organizational spectrum – and this is where the movements and Federation come in – their legacies can build the foundation for emerging Jewish communities in the 21^st Century.

So on August 26, The United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, Union for Reform Judaism, Jewish Federations of North America and Jewish Community Legacy Project will convene a courageous conversation for very small synagogue communities: the conference, Congregations in a Changing Environment. 

Hosted by the Jewish Federation of Greater Pittsburgh, we will look at how we view growth, stability, and quality of life in very small communities. We’ll explore how to focus energy towards the people remaining in a community, and beyond the preservation of buildings, stained glass windows and plaques.  

We expect that a number of the participants at the conference will be steadfast about the stability of their communities. We hope they will begin to think about ways to share or collaborate with their neighbors to continue the quality of their Jewish lives. We expect that we will also motivate others to take a realistic look at their futures, begin a relationship with Jewish Community Legacy Project, and accept help and support from their movement and Federation.

This conference is the beginning of a partnership that will continue nationwide. As the work expands, we expect to find kehilla - sacred community - across the generations as declining communities create legacies that support new ones, and, as JCLP says, “assure that the past has a place in the future.”