Tuesday, February 24, 2015

What About Membership, Funding and the Meaning of Community?

This is a guest post by Barry Mael, United Synagogue's Director of Kehilla Operations and Finance. Thank you, Barry!

Synagogue dues and membership models have, for several years, been the focus of spirited discussion in the Jewish world. The question about dues speaks to the heart of the Post World War II American Jewish model, since the system has become so ingrained in our collective psyche. Jewish leaders have been discussing the pros and cons of alternative models at conferences, on blogs and in the Jewish press. Some congregations have reported astounding success after switching to alternative members models, while others have continued to struggle with finances and membership numbers. The spotlight on the issue grew much brighter when, on Feb. 2, the New York Times published the lengthy feature, The "Pay What You Want" Experiment in Synagogues. The piece offered considerable history, context and anecdotes, describing an internal Jewish debate to the widest possible audience.

We will be looking at the topics of financial sustainability, dues models and revenue sources at the upcoming USCJ Convention 2015, November 13-17 in Schaumburg, Illinois. We will not only be continuing this conversation, will be adding to it, deepening it and moving the agenda forward. We will also focus on what, up until this point, has been a neglected aspect of the discussion: Just what does Torah – taken in its widest and most expansive meaning – have to teach us about membership, funding and the meaning of community?
Here is a related d’var Torah to get our juices flowing for November. Here is a spoiler: These issues are not new. In fact, they are timeless.
The Torah portion of Terumah contains the first call for the ‘congregation’ to hold a capital campaign. In Exodus 25:2, Moses approaches the people for help to build the Mishkan, or Tabernacle:
Tell the Israelite people to bring me gifts; you shall accept gifts for me from every person whose heart so moves him.
The verses go on to describe all the different kinds of materials that are needed and wanted as gifts, allowing the people to give according to their interests, abilities and strengths. Notably, there was no requirement for everyone to give. One’s affiliation to the community was not based on financial or other material contributions.
This “campaign” took place during the journey through the desert, in order to build the portable Mishkan. The people had left Egypt, experienced the crisis of the golden calf and received the Ten Commandments. The Israelites were becoming connected to the Torah and the concept of being a unified people who served God. The people also had plenty of money and materials which they had removed from Egypt. The population was inspired and primed for this voluntary giving opportunity and they certainly gave freely.
They gave and gave - in fact, to the point where the builders and craftsmen finally came to Moses and asked him to have the people stop because there was too much material (Exodus 36:3-7)! In addition to giving materials for the bricks and mortar, the Torah also tells us that people who had skills to build or sew or create certain crafts were recruited to make all the utensils, pieces and elements of the Mishkan.
And every wise hearted person among you shall come and make everything that the Lord has commanded (Exodus 35:10).
A wonderful concept is stated here regarding Terumah and the building of the Mishkan. Specifically, whether a person gives his or her discretionary money or their discretionary time as a skilled volunteer, each and every gift is needed and appreciated. We also see that in the case of this ‘capital campaign’ with respect to building the Mishkan: Those who chose not to give at all were in no way excluded from the community. The entire, one-time capital campaign project was voluntary. (Though, perhaps, encountering God’s awesome power at Mount Sinai convinced many to yes when Moses came asking.)
The Torah makes reference to two other models for community support: the half-shekel and tithing. These were not voluntary models. In the one case, everyone gave a half-shekel as a participant in the census; to literally be counted amongst the people. In the other, the people were required to tithe, which meant the more you had, the more you gave. In this case, in order to be part of the community, one was required to give their mandated share. Supporting the community was expressly stated and understood to be everyone’s responsibility and therefore not voluntary. These funding streams were necessary for maintaining the “operational budget” of the mobile Jewish people.
In the context of our current debate, what does it mean that the Torah gives us alternative models to fund community? Is it as simple as special campaigns should be voluntary, but community members must support the community on an annual basis? Is it more complicated than that? Here are some thoughts:
  1. Giving of one’s discretionary money or time are both needed and appreciated.
  2. The Torah did not rely on nor mandate that voluntary giving is the way to support the community in an ongoing, consistent manner.
  3. It was much more frowned upon and difficult to exclude oneself from the community than it is today.
  4. When people feel inspired and care about a project they will support it with a full hand and a full heart.
  5. Having a mapped-out process and goal in mind will allow you to know when you have truly met your goal. The builders and their head “contractor”, Bezalel, knew when to say to Moshe that they had everything they needed and the campaign was done.
  6. Voluntary pledging was used for specific events or projects, but not as the main revenue stream for the support of the community.
  7. Voluntary pledging was not connected in any way to affiliation in the community.
  8. Voluntary pledging seemed to relate to volunteer time and not only financial support.
  9. Consistent annual revenue streams such as the half–shekel and/or tithing still have important roles in helping the community remain sustainable.
  10. There is a significant element of a successful campaign that relies on the communal/relational element of belonging. At the time of building the Mishkan, it was the only game in town.

Now, I don’t believe it is a coincidence that as a centerpiece case statement of the Mishkan capital campaign stands the famous line: Make for me a Mishkan and I will dwell in them (Exodus 25:8).
The famous question is this: Why does it say B’tocham (in them) instead of B’tocho (in it), which would be logical? If we build a house for God to dwell in our midst then the emphasis would be on the actual building, the bricks & mortar. The message being sent here, quite clearly, is that the emphasis needs to be on the people, the community and what is happening in the building, not on the building itself. If the success of this campaign was based on gifts made from only whoever’s heart is moved, then how do we create a community or environment in our kehillot that will inspire our members to give and volunteer? What will inspire all of their hearts and spirit?
I can’t wait for the discussion in Chicagoland in November. Consult our sources, the media, or wherever you look for ideas and inspirations. Come prepared to learn, to share and to teach.

Written by Barry S. Mael , Director: Kehilla Operations & finance, USCJ, Rosh Chodesh Adar 5775

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Why Does Synagogue Change Miss the Mark? Think Structuralists vs Experientialists

Anne, Adam and Ariel belong to the same congregation. If you ask them what they want from their synagogue, they use exactly the same words:

To feel embraced and supported...Grounded, a place that feels like “home”...Stabilty - to know the synagogue community will be there.

If you ask them how to make all of that happen, they use exactly the same word: change.If you ask them what to change, well, that’s where we get into problems. You’d have to know more about them to understand what they’re imagining.

Anne​ has been on the board of directors for eight years, and a member of the congregation for more than 20. It makes her sad to see how much the Shabbat morning crowd in the sanctuary has decreased. In her Conservative synagogue, it seems like they’re reading every word of the prayer book. They move back and forth from the Hebrew to English, in an attempt to keep people engaged. She’s pretty sure that shortening the service will make a difference and bring people back into the seats. To shave off 10 or 15 minutes, she’d like the clergy and ritual committee to start with a change in their policy that requires reading the full Torah portion of the week.

Adam drops off his toddler twins to the early childhood program at the shul every morning. He grew up in the community, (his grandparents were founding members), and, in his youth, he was the USY chapter president. He and his wife like the Tot Shabbat program on Saturday mornings for the sake of the kids, but they’re not interested in what’s going on in the sanctuary. They’d like babysitting and an alternative, laylead service with more Hebrew, music and participation. The change he’d like to see is more options on Shabbat.

Ariel is a single mom with two kids. She was one of the most active volunteers in the early childhood program, creating a “friendship circle” that rotates Shabbat dinner every week among four families who are now the key leaders of the Tot Shabbat service on Saturday mornings. They are talking about banding together to start their own family learning chavurahinstead of sending their kids to the congregational school. She’d like the bar/bat mitzvah policy to change so that this is accepted as preparation, and wants the Education Director to give them the learning goals that they’d be expected to reach. 

Put on your change management kippah and look closely at whatwill change if each person could get what they want. Which change tinkers with what exists already? Which calls for creating something new? What is dismantled with every change?

Anne’s solution to shorten Shabbat morning services might take time and might even cause some friction with the ritual committee, but Anne is not proposing to overhaul or do away with the service itself. Ariel, however, is opting out of the congregational school. She and her friends want to create something outside the traditional synagogue structure. Their invitation to the Education Director to provide the parameters is, in itself, a challenge to the synagogue structure. And everyone understands that the stakes are high – if the four families in Ariel’s group choose to go it alone, it would remove ten children from the community.

This tension is one of the core findings of United Synagogue’s research in the last year as we explored how to partner with kehilla leaders for our next convention in 2015. We came out of our Centennial celebration and convention in 2013, The Conversation of the Century,with the goal of moving from conversation to action. We surveyed kehilla leaders, reviewed data from thousands of members of the congregations in our strategic planning program, and looked for patterns in what they said they valued and how they spoke about change.

What we found can be summed up by two divergent perspectives. It’s what makes kehilla leaders feel like they’re chasing a moving target that never gets closer or clearer. We’re calling it the gap between structuralistsand experientialists.​ 

Structuralists​ understand and value synagogue communities. They want to strengthen them. Their approach is to make changes to the existing structure of their community – changing Shabbat service customs, hiring different clergy and staff, tweaking their membership dues models, consolidating their school or merging with another congregation. This is not for the faint of heart. Structuralist leaders are often willing to risk their personal and familial time, peace of mind, and faith in the structures themselves, year after year, trying to find the recipe for a vibrant kehilla.

Experientialists​ want to strengthen their Jewish lives. They understand and value the myriad of options they have in and out of synagogues to accomplish this. Their approach to get what they need is to create it themselves, find solutions that work, and/or move through experiences until they get the right fit. This is not for the faint of heart, but experientialists see the world built this way in real time all around them a connected, crowdsourced, DIY world where technology, the economy and social structures change almost as quickly as an Amazon app on Google Play. 

Structuralist leaders say things like, “Why don’t they want to join us?” and “If we only had better...(pick one)...marketing materials, programs, music, participatory services, clergy, ways to explain Conservative Judaism, relational strategies... it would bring in new people.”

Experientialists say, “I value being Jewish, but I don’t need to pay to feel Jewish,” and “Why should I work on a committee and wait for a group to decide what I can or can’t have? It can be created now, and I can find it myself if I need to.”

If you think that this chasm falls along generational lines, you might be right. The generations of baby boomers and their parents built our synagogue structures, and, in many kehillot, still tend to be the majority in the leadership. Experientialists are probably younger, and may or may not be members of kehillot.

But if you only think only in generational terms, you’ll miss the big picture. Structuralists and experientialists can cut across generational lines. It’s possible for a person to be both, depending on what part of their lives we’re talking about. In the examples I gave, Ariel imagines the most experientialist change in educating her children, but she is still trying to work within the existing structure. Deeply dedicated to her Conservative congregation, Anne might go to High Holiday services at the Reform Temple so she can be with her grandchildren.

And, keep in mind, I have not given a fourth profile - Avery - an experientialist who won’t come near the kehilla that Anne, Adam and Ariel are changing.

These divergent perspectives affect every aspect of our synagogues from our board tables to our kiddush lunch tables. But it’s not hopeless. When we look for where these perspectives converge, that place seems to be around shared values about feeling embraced, supported, connected and grounded in a living Jewish tradition.

 If change is going to happen, structuralists will need to see possibilities beyond their perspective, and experientialists will need to be given the tools to build what they envision. For that reason, at United Synagogue, we’re incorporating this lens into our all of our kehilla strengthening and transformation programs, and, in November, creating the place where structuralists and experientialists can learn to work together.

We’re designing our next convention, from November 1317, 2015, as the largest Jewish workshop in the world. Our call to action is to Shape the Center.We especially want people like Anne, Adam and Ariel to attend as a team from their kehilla, people who will dedicate themselves to shaping their communities with openness and shared intention. We want everyone at the convention to feel empowered to pursue an optimistic vision for the future, and feel connected to the thousands of others who will do the work of transformation in kehillot across the globe.

If I said, "Join us!" I would sound like a structuralist. So, instead, I'll say, "In November, let's get to work... together."