Shul Kavvanah Cards, for Purim

I know a few people who carry pre-printed cards in shul, to hand to those who try to converse with them during davening. The notes are meant to explain their owner's silence in a polite way.

In the spirit of Purim, here are a few that I've thought of; they may have too much snark to be handed out, but I had fun thinking of them, anyway [click to enlarge]:

What can you come up with?

Why synagogues run a deficit

The other day, someone asked me regarding a large local synagogue, "They must never have money problems, right?" He pointed to their busy catering operation, and their long membership list, as the basis for this assumption.

Without discussing any particular shul, though, I can say with some confidence that every shul which attempts to serve its members with more than a simple space for davening runs a deficit, whether small or great. I have three reasons for this statement:

1: The staff's goal is to provide services

As with any non-profit, the goal is not profit, but rather services. Any money which comes in, whether budgeted revenue or surprise contribution, is plowed back into the operation in order to provide more services - which cost money.

[As I noted above, the exception is the synagogue that is just a room in which to daven.]

2: The budget-setters harbour religious optimism

Many shuls function with the belief, spoken or unspoken, that "things will work out", and they will survive, regardless of any immediate crisis. We have a hard time imagining that the shul could collapse. This leads to a degree of fiscal laxity.

3: The customers set the price

Manufacturers determine their prices based upon their own costs, and what they believe the market will bear. The same is true for service providers. In synagogues, though, the paying customers – members of the board – are the ones who decide how much they need to pay in dues. [The same is true for schools with parent-based finance committees.] The result is that dues are calculated based on a negotiation between the customers' needs and those of the institution, and the synagogue will not be able to rely on dues to fund their budgets.

My point is that a synagogue's financial stability is not dependent on the salaries of the staff, or the size of the building, or income from a catering operation. Rather, it depends on the attitude of the people who decide what services to provide, the people who set the budget, and the people who set the price.

Of meetings and moods

I commented to someone the other day that I enjoy meetings, and it's actually true. If the cause is good, if the people are committed, if the agenda is planned carefully, then a meeting can be wonderful.

One of the challenges in holding a good meeting, though, is in the external elements, factors which have no business influencing the meeting but will do so anyway. Examples:

The music someone had playing in the car on the way to the meeting. Songs with drums and electric guitar may create an aggressive mood, while some types of classical music may encourage patience and thought.

Did participants come to the meeting straight from work, or from the gym? Depression can be heavily influenced by a shortage of neurotransmitters like serotonin and norepinephrine. Exercise increases concentrations of these neurotransmitters by stimulating the sympathetic nervous system. There’s more to it, too; see here for some fascinating information.

The more people sleep, the calmer they tend to be. [I did not sleep at all last night, not a wink; let's just say today was not a calm day for me. But thank Gd, I made it through leining the megillah and delivering mishloach manos without crashing.]

The type of food one was eating before coming to the meeting, as well as the speed and tenor of the meal.

Time with family – I know I'm much better at a meeting if I come from reading with my kids. Regrettably, that isn't frequent enough…

Reading the news, naturally, will influence a mood.

For someone who was in the beis medrash, the mood is influenced by the type of learning [s]he was doing before the meeting – Was it humbling mussar? Strict halachah? Complex gemara? (See Berachos 31a, instructing us to learn something simple and straightforward before davening.)

I'm not sure I have a real point here – like I said, it's been a very long two days - other than to say that when someone sitting opposite you at a meeting displays  an idiosyncratic reaction, it might be a good idea to consider the external factors involved.

[After writing this post, I found another post of mine on meetings, from back in 2009.]

The Challenge of Religious Conspicuous Consumption

Surely you have heard about the February 8th Wall Street Journal article, "After These Jewish Prayer Services, Things Come 'To Life' at Open Bar". Its depiction of synagogues desperately seeking to attract attendees by advertising expensive liquor and high-end food is perfect for the Jewish chain e-mail circuit, inviting people to tsk tsk self-righteously, add a note about a person they know at one of the mentioned synagogues or about the kiddush at their own house of worship, and pass it along to hundreds of their closest friends.

Herewith an excerpt:
As early as January, Rabbi Marc Schneier was already well into planning his synagogue's summer worship in New York's posh Hamptons community. He is lining up guest speakers, interviewing assistant rabbis—and considering ways to improve on the martini bar.
The "L'chaim" table of high-price spirits is the most popular feature of The Hampton Synagogue's Saturday summer service. "There is always vodka, an assortment of single malts, tequila," says Robert Fisher, a friend of the rabbi who serves as adviser on food and drink.
Rabbi Schneier notes that the fetes don't get overly boisterous. It is all about the "M-word," he insists—not martinis, but "moderation." The same might not be said about the food. One weekend the entrees included pan-seared sesame salmon and sliced steak with horseradish cream. There is always seafood salad—the rabbi's favorite dish—albeit made with pollock and whiting since the congregation adheres to kosher laws banning shellfish. The "herring bar" features 12 different variations named after each of the Twelve Tribes of Israel.


It's easy to mock this rather pathetic conduct – but contrarian that I am, I do need to note that we have a long history of righteous leaders who provide extravagant feasts for their company, and particularly on religious occasions.
* Consider Avraham, who is described in Bereishit 18 as slaughtering a bull and preparing bread and cases in order to feed just three guests. Per Bava Metzia 86b, he actually slaughtered three bulls, just to give each guest his own complete tongue in mustard.
* And let us not forget Shemuel II 6:13; during the parade when the aron is returned by the Philistines, King David slaughters two animals with every six steps taken by the bearers of the ark.
* Or consider King Solomon; per Melachim I 5:1-8, his daily toll included thirty oxen and one hundred sheep, with unnumbered other animals thrown in as well.

Of course, there is ample room to differentiate between the 'kiddush' celebrations described in the article and these biblical examples:
* Avraham was taking care of guests. King David brought these as offerings to Gd. How many people King Solomon fed each day is unclear, and it is also not certain that the biblical text approves of his consumption.
* Further, the synagogues, as described in the article, use this to attract worshippers, an image which is wholly unwholesome.
* In addition, the article does not make clear that the underwriters of these bacchanalias also give extravagantly to tzedakah, as we expect Avraham, King David and King Solomon did.
* The article hints at a level of competitiveness, and the possibility that those who cannot afford such expenditures might be embarrassed.
* And, the image of drunkenness and the scourge of addiction is a subtext throughout the article.

Despite those caveats, questions remain with me regarding conspicuous consumption in association with religion:
1. How do we feel about splurging on food for a wedding, bar mitzvah, or kiddush, when one has the means?
2. If we react with disdain, are we disgusted by the actual extravagant feasts, or by external issues like the ones I mention above?
3. Is our reaction a function of traditional Jewish values, or of contemporary values? [And does that matter?]

The Shul Youth Program

Five years ago, I put together a list of ideas for an amplified synagogue Youth Program. The goal was to create a program that would be more than babysitting, stories and social activities; I wanted a program that would make our kids comfortable and competent in a shul environment.

Looking back at the list - as my oldest child is now 13 instead of 8 - I'm not sure how I feel about parts of this. Some of it strikes me as naive. But I'd be interested in hearing from you.

For younger children (age 2-6, perhaps):Storytime sessions with the rabbi, as well as with other leading players from the shul and community.

A tour of the shul, including the bimah, the aron and the rabbi’s office, giving the kids something specific to do at each site, and some measure of control of their environment, as they hear about what happens at each place.


For older children (age 7-12, perhaps):
Beyond Junior Congregation, training children in different parts of davening, including those which are somewhat esoteric. The schools will take care of daily davening, hopefully, but there’s a lot more they can learn, whether about Geshem and Tal or about the proper methods of Hagbah and Gelilah. (I’d leave it to the individual shul to decide whether that last is for girls as well, but my inclination is to teach them.)

Have Junior Congregation start when the Torah reading begins, and encourage parents to have their children with them beforehand, for psukei d'zimra. Having children see their parents daven can be very positive - and it can also help the parents focus on davening.






For early teens:Youth programs that bring kids into partnership with adults – Volunteering at a kosher food pantry, working on maintenance projects at shul, helping coordinate a shul-wide social event. All of these introduce children to the mechanics of the Jewish community, as well as to some of the players. Specific adults should also be invited to participate in youth programs, toward the same end.

Giving the oldest kids a position on the shul Youth Committee, both for program planning and budget analysis.


So I ask you: What would you change or add?

Shaking the Rabbi's Hand

I received the following inquiry the other day, from a reader; it is mildly edited:

Just saw the Igros Moshe's teshuvah stating that if the minhag is to get a yasher koach from the rabbi after your aliyah, then that's a proper minhag and it shows respect to the rabbi, so it can't be voided without the rabbi's permission -- "whether those who aren't doing it have done so to spite the rabbi, or simply out of laziness."

1. I assume this minhag is far, far more prevalent in shuls with bima-in-front? Otherwise you're walking all over the shul.
 
2. Do you think this is a good minhag? When I was a teenager in the good-old-days, I was taught it's the way it was done (with the rabbi's seat way up on the bima, facing the crowd), so I did it. In subsequent years I've been to bima-in-the-middle shuls where it wasn't as prevalent -- and honestly I'd like to get back to the parsha, please; and a quick yasher koach often can turn into a conversation, for which this isn't the time.
 
(It seems not unlike the rabbi following around behind the sefer torah and shaking everyone's hand -- it can feel like "okay now it's shmoozing time everyone.")
 
Two to three hours whereby it's just us talking to the Ribono shel Olam, then you open a chumash and listen for Him talking back -- that's my ideal experience.

I see his point, certainly; any trip through the shul will involve extra greetings, and the face-to-face with the Rabbi may add to that. On the other hand, while acknowledging the distraction I must still note that the fundamental challenges to shul decorum are not a product of "Good shabbos" greetings and "Yeyasher Kochacha" congratulations. Further, it would be terrible to cause insult in the name of spirituality.

So I replied:

This is one of those cases (and there are many) in which we have competing interests. We want to emphasize respect for the Rabbi. And we want to maintain decorum - indeed, we are told that the person who receives an aliyah remains at the Torah through the next aliyah specifically so that he will have more time to return to his seat without causing disruption.

But since the prevalent minhag (even where the bimah is in the middle) is to shake the Rabbi's hand, I do believe it is profoundly disrespectful to decline to do so, regardless of the reason.

What do you think? 

Your money or your aliyah

I received this question recently:

Dear The Rebbetzin's Husband,

In the shul I attend, a man who receives an aliyah (is called up to the Torah) is handed a card listing various sums of money. Via a paper clip attached to the card, he is expected to inform the gabbai of the sum he is donating to the shul, in response to his aliyah. Lest one think this is on the honour system, the shul's bookkeeping office will send a note that week, reminding him of his pledge.

Here is my question: What do you do when the gabbai calls you for an aliyah unbidden? Try to decline, and the gabbai insists – and now you are required to make a donation, for an honour you never sought.

What do you do?

Signed,
Held Up in Shul

Dear Held Up,

I recognize the problem, certainly.

I believe strongly in shuls raising funds beyond dues; it's a necessity. In line with this, I understand and accept the practice of soliciting donations for aliyos; shuls need money to pay salaries, keep the lights on, and support programs. The reality of Jewish communal life is that people donate to chesed organizations and schools far more readily than they do to a shul, and so shuls need to fundraise in awkward ways.

On the other hand, it seems to me that gabbaim should recognize the problem here, and hand out cards only when the oleh (person ascending to the Torah) actually requests the aliyah, such as for a yahrtzeit.

I would recommend an off-line conversation with the gabbai, and if necessary the Rabbi and president, at a time other than the aliyah itself, to discuss the policy. I do find shul officials to be open to this sort of discussion, in general.

Best wishes for a כתיבה וחתימה טובה,
The Rebbetzin's Husband

PS You are not the only one – In one shul I visited I was once asked, last-minute, to fill in for a haftorah, and then handed a donation card for the honour of receiving maftir!

Synagogue Yahrtzeit Boards

[Preface: Historically, Jews memorialized their loved ones by funding lamps for the synagogue or study hall on their relatives' yahrtzeits (the anniversaries of their passing). They also dedicated items in their memory. Over time, this morphed into a practice of making a donation to the synagogue, and placing a nameplate plaque on a special "Memorial Board" or "Yahrtzeit Board" in the synagogue. Light bulbs are lit beside these plaques on the day of the person's yahrtzeit and on days when the memorial Yizkor prayer is recited.]

I grew up in a shul which had the standard, twentieth century, heavy metal yahrtzeit board, with heavy plaques attached. The plaques were flanked by sockets for small incandescent light bulbs, which flickered constantly. You can see models here.

At some point, though, my shul (Young Israel of Oceanside) made the leap to a new form of board: Custom-made wood boards, finished to match the shul's décor, on which the plaques were attached. Instead of sockets for individual incandescent bulbs, one vertical flourescent bulb lined each column, behind the board, and each plate was flanked by holes which could be sealed (ie off) or left open (ie on).

The leap from the first model to the second makes a lot of sense, solving many problems:
1. The old metal boards are incredibly heavy, requiring strong walls and serious anchoring;
2. The bulbs on the old boards flickered because their contacts were supposed to hit a metal plate which conducted electricity behind the boards. Over the years of having the bulbs screwed in or unscrewed for yahrtzeits or yizkor or just by children who played with them, the contacts eroded, so that they didn't reach the metal plate well;
3. The old boards are incredibly expensive;
4. The old boards are very dated, in their appearance.

Why don't all shuls switch to similar newer, cheaper, more effective memorial boards? Largely because they already have multiple old boards. Members don't want the new boards to look different. Members don't want the new ones to look less expensive. Members don't want to have change, in general.

In truth, my shul in Allentown went even further. When it came time to add a board, we revamped the system altogether. At the impetus of a particular member who took this on as a personal project for the shul, we set up a digital picture frame showing a digital nameplate plaque. On a given day, the picture frame scrolls through all of the plaques for the day's yahrtzeits. On a yizkor day, the frame scrolls through all of the plaques.

Aside from solving the problem of running out of space, anchoring new boards, affording new boards and so on, this also made my job easier. Standard boards require that someone go through them every few days, turning bulbs on or uncovering spots for upcoming yahrtzeits and turning the bulbs off or covering up spots for yahrtzeits which have passed. Now, it's all automated, using databases to regulate what will be displayed, and when. The only regular adjustment is the display's on/off time, to make sure it is operational when people come for minyan in the evenings.

I admit that I was disturbed, at first, by the possibility that people who had memorialized their loved ones in the old system might not see this new method of display as adequate; after all, we had contracted to light bulbs next to their plaques, not to use this newfangled system. But people were very comfortable with it, and so we went with it.

This is what a digital plaque looks like:



Of course, the new system did raise a different question – If we can have a digital screen in operation on Shabbos and Yom Tov, what about having a running ticker with the sports scores…

Rabbi Signs

I believe that shuls which want a davening-focused experience should make sure their 'management' – the rabbi, president, gabbaim – exemplify it. Of course, managing davening may require talking from time to time, such as when the expected baal musaf doesn't show up and the gabbai needs to recruit. Nonetheless, much can be done in advance, and much can be handled by brief signaling or by leaving the room for a quick conversation.

When I was in the pulpit, I kept signs by my seat for particular occasions, to be handed to people as needed. One said "Please slow down," and was meant for chazanim who were leaving the minyan in the dust. Another said "Don't wait for me," for occasions when I wanted to take my time with shemoneh esreih. A third said "No Tachanun" as a heads-up for the chazan. I had more, but these are the ones I remember.

I also gave the gabbaim cards to use on Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur when offering various honours, to minimize the talking that would be needed. For example:

1st day of Rosh haShanah
Pesichah – Opening and Closing the Ark

The Congregation wishes to honor you with the
Opening and Closing of the Ark
Open: page 314 – middle of the page
Close: page 314 – bottom of the page
To maintain the dignity of the synagogue, please do not speak during services

What other signs should a rabbi have at his seat, or a gabbai at his post?

Is Artscroll's Assistance Anti-Semitic?

A frequent visitor to my shul in Allentown was wont to label ArtScroll "Anti-Semitic". His claim was straightforward: Siddurim and Chumashim offering copious instructions, simplified translations and Reader’s Digest commentary result in a dumbing-down of the Jewish community.

His comments remind me of my first experience leading a Rosh HaShanah minyan. I was guest-rabbi for an auxiliary minyan in a flagship Centrist Orthodox synagogue, and I was told that my job included announcing page numbers throughout the long chazarat hashatz (repetition of the amidah).

I asked my rebbe whether announcing pages might constitute an interruption in the davening, and he replied that it probably would constitute such an interruption; he felt that most people don’t really need the page number announcements.

Over the years since, though, I've learned that many people like those at that minyan, even with yeshiva education, really have needed page number announcements for parts of Rosh haShanah and Yom Kippur, and even for parts of the Shabbos davening.

And so I would myself over the years: Should I force them to figure out the page numbers themselves? Am I contributing to the collective dumbing-down by announcing pages for them?

As on so many issues, I think the answer is both Black and White.

It's Black: Some Jews need the page numbers, and won't follow the davening without them. For many under-educated Jews, the alternative to these boosts is to do nothing at all. If they were unable to follow, they would tune out. To take the “shul as a business” analogy I find useful on occasion: The demand for our product is not so great that we can afford to place hurdles before the consumer.

And it's White: For other Jews, this is a dumbing-down that keeps them from learning for themselves. The result of this calculation is that the least common denominator group gets its accessible davening, but the rest, who don’t really need that assistance, are not challenged to exceed themselves. This is not a good thing.

Still, I would suggest that there are other ways to challenge this group of Jews who do not need page numbers announced, who do not need simple translations, etc:
We can encourage them to work on their chesed and their understanding of כל ישראל ערבין זה בזה (the responsibility we have for each other) by finding ways to help their under-educated neighbors.
We can offer them advanced shiurim, dvar torah sheets, etc.
We can challenge them to set up chavrusas, with whom they will learn more than they could ever learn from a shiur (yes, even one of my vaunted shiurim).

I think the page numbers, translations and abridged commentaries must remain. To borrow from Vayyikra 25:25 - “If your brother should become impoverished and sell his inheritance, then his close relative shall come and redeem his brother’s sale.” Our brethren, by unavoidable circumstance or by sale or by incompetence, have lost their inheritance. It is our responsibility to redeem it and return it to them.

The greatness of Rav Tzvi Yehudah Kook

[Originally posted in 2009 here. I repost it now because the original received too few comments, and because I love it]

Yeshivat Hesder Ramat Gan published “Go’el Yisrael גואל ישראל,” several years ago. The book collects considerable quality material on Yom ha’Atzmaut and Yom Yerushalayim, from Rav Avraham Yitzchak Kook, his son Rav Tzvi Yehudah Kook, their students, and other giants of Religious Zionism. It also offers a complete order of prayer for Yom haAtzmaut and Yom Yerushalayim.

On page 300-301, Rav Tzvi Yehuda Kook is quoted regarding the Chief Rabbinate’s recommendation of saying Hallel without a berachah on Yom ha’Atzmaut, Israel’s Independence Day:

On the Erev Shabbat preceding Yom ha’Atzmaut, a certain important man came to me and asked why our rabbis do not permit us to recite a berachah upon Hallel for Yom ha’Atzmaut. I replied to him that the ruling of the Chief Rabbinate is balanced and correct.

The enactments of the Chief Rabbinate apply to the entire community. Since, to our pain and shame, a great portion of our community does not believe in the great act of Gd which is revealed to us in the establishment of the government of Israel, and since, due to its lack of faith, it lacks joy, it is not possible to obligate them to recite Hallel with a berachah. It is like someone who sees a friend and is glad to see him, who is obligated to recite a berachah; if he is joyous, he recites a beracah. If he is not joyous, he does not recite a berachah.

Rav Maimon, whose entire being was dedicated to building Gd’s nation and portion, was filled with the joy of faith, and so he established in his synagogue to recite Hallel with a berachah. The same is true in other, similar places – the IDF and religious kibbutzim. However, the Chief, all-inclusive Rabbinate cannot enact a berachah as an all-inclusive ruling for the entire community, when the community is not ready for it.

In our central Yeshiva we had followed the ruling of the Rabbinate, for we are not a kloiz of a specific sect. We are associated with the general Jewish population centered in Yerushalayim, and since that population includes, for now, to our pain and our embarrassment, obstacles to complete faith and joy, and therefore to the obligation to recite a berachah, it is appropriate that we also act according to the ruling of the Rabbinate for the general population.

I find this explanation fascinating for many reasons, including the following:

• I’m not sure which group he means, when he speaks of those who don’t believe in the great act of Gd – does he mean those who do not believe in Divine intervention? Or those who do not believe that the State is an act of Gd?

• I wonder how many people who do not believe in Divine intervention, or who do not believe that the State is an act of Gd, daven in Mercaz haRav – and on Yom ha’Atzmaut in particular?

• I believe that his insistence on keeping the yeshiva – the bastion of his father’s Torah! – as an institution open to all, and serving all, and avoiding divisive practices even on matters we hold most dear, should be a model for all of us. This is true leadership.

The Ritual Committee: Rabbinic Extender

The Ritual Committee, acting with the Rabbi and Gabai, if any, shall assist in the conduct of religious services and distribute honors.

(Standard synagogue by-laws)

A mentor of mine once told me that a Rabbi’s authority must extend beyond Halachic guidance, to Policy guidance. This seems most logical to me – many communal, synagogue and personal issues are not directly halachic, but would benefit from rabbinic insight.

Examples:
Communal - Allocation of community tzedakah funds.
Synagogue – Planning of Yom haShoah commemorations.
Personal - Co-ed slumber parties for teens.

There are two problems, though:
1. The Rabbi's influence, if brought to bear too often or without being invited, ceases to be influence at all. It becomes a nuisance, and is eventually ignored entirely.

2. On many of these Policy issues, people are personally invested. Therefore, every rabbinic stance is likely to offend someone. Multiply the issues, multiply the offenses.

So how is a rabbi to influence community, synagogue and individuals, without over-using his influence and without making enemies?

One answer: The Rabbinic Extender.
I've heard that a doctor’s support staff is called a “physician extender.” You know – the technicians who take your blood, the nurses who interview you when you come into the office, the physician’s assistant, etc.
The rabbi needs a “rabbinic extender” – someone who will do the job for him, to save his influence for the case in which it is truly needed.

For communal influence, the Rabbinic Extender may be in the person of insitutional board members he trusts.
For personal influence, there really may be no Rabbinic Extender.
For shul influence, enter the Ritual Committee – Rabbinic Extender extraordinaire.

When I first heard of a Ritual Committee, I thought the person was joking.
First, the term ritual is one I hate to use for davening; it connotes an academic coldness inappropriate for davening.
Second, why should anyone other than the rabbi decide what happens during davening?!

But over the years I have come to know better. As far as the first problem, get over it; people use the term “Ritual” and they like it. As far as the second problem, the good Ritual Committee is guided by the rabbi, but makes its own decisions, under its own name. And so, gone is the problem of the rabbi over-using his authority. And, gone is the problem of offending people with decisions; congregants who protest will be reminded that the congregants, themselves, made this decision, via a Board-appointed committee.

The Ritual Committee can decide whether to create a special minyan for a Sunday morning Bar Mitzvah.

The Ritual Committee can decide to encourage chazanim to sing more, or less, or to try new tunes or stick to the traditional ones.

The Ritual Committee can decide who holds the Sifrei Torah at Kol Nidrei.

Unless the issue is clearly and directly halachic, the rabbi can afford the ‘slight’ of having educated laypeople make the decision, in exchange for the benefits he receives.

And one more crucial benefit to having a good Ritual Committee: More people become invested in the davening and its coordination, so that they, and their circle of friends, feel closer to the shul and its operation.

Mind you, despite all of the benefits I generally remained uncomfortable with handing off this authority to a Ritual Committee, and I could do it only because I trusted my Ritual Chairs completely. But that’s the way of many responsibilities in life: If you want to survive with your health and happiness intact, find someone you can trust and then share the responsibility.

Synagogue members: Supporters and Directors

Regarding my "Owning the Rabbi" post, an anonymous commenter wrote:
One also finds the opposite situation: Rabbis "owning" the shul. That is, Board members voting against their true wishes for the shul policy position the Rabbi publicy supports.

I agree that this happens, but I'm not sure it's about rabbinic ownership of the shul. I suspect it's about two different kinds of membership: Supporters and Directors.

As a general rule, both Supporters and Directors want to have:
- a shul with a certain kind of davening and learning, and an approach to halachah that resonates with them;
- a shul community with programs they like and members whose company they enjoy;
- a Rabbi whose Torah and personality and leadership will guide/inspire/support them.

But Supporters and Directors seek to achieve their goals in different ways.

Supporters believe in hiring or appointing good personnel – Rabbi, office manager, president, etc – and empowering them to do their job as they see fit. Supporters help them carry out their initiatives. They take a Platonic, "The Republic" view of government; we elected these people because we believe they know what they are doing. And barring something egregious, the next time the Supporter will weigh in with an imperative is at contract time for paid employees, or election time for shul officers.

Directors, on the other hand, believe in guiding the shul's good personnel in their tasks, to ensure that their day-to-day performance is in-line with Director expectations. Directors weigh initiatives in terms of their own preferences and vision, and assist only if they approve; employees and officers are meant to carry out the Director's will, and imperatives can come at any time.

I'm not contending that either model is 'better' for an organization, just observing that both exist. I believe each has merits.

This dichotomy among members is not just about shuls, of course; this happens in families and schools and businesses, too. It happens in philanthropy; Supporter donors write a check because they believe the organization knows what to do with it, and Director donors write a check and tell the organization what to do with it.

Coming back to that anonymous comment, then: Supporter board members do exactly what the commenter noted, trusting the Rabbi to know what he is doing. Director board members, on the other hand, are more likely to write the letter that triggered my "Owning the Rabbi" post in the first place.

Do you run your synagogue "like a business"?

[The Kosher Cooking Carnival for Kislev is now on-line here]

Over the years, I've heard people say, from time to time, "We should run our synagogue like a business." This sentiment generally arises when discussing budget deficits, charging for shul programs, and raising dues.

I understand what they mean to suggest. They mean, "We should not give aliyot / classes / the rabbi's time away for free," "We should charge people based on the cost of our programs / staff time / facility maintenance."

What they don't really mean to suggest is, "We should run our synagogue like a business." Indeed, one board member of mine once commented that this sort of suggestion is rarely heard from people who have actually run businesses.

To me, running a shul like a business means studying the potential consumer base, broadening and deepening the product line, lowering the cost of entry, investing serious time and money in advertising, and building a community of committed consumers who will network with their friends to promote your product.

Businesses certainly do give things away for free. Businesses do not charge for their products/services based on their real costs. Businesses provide loss leaders and other incentives to get people in the door – just as synagogues do, actually.

I know of synagogues which think it "business-like" to charge people to be on the shul mailing list. But what business would do that? Businesses would gladly pay you for permission to send you information – and they do, regularly, in the form of raffles and the like which are created solely in order to harvest names and contact information.

I know of synagogues which think it "business-like" to publicize their programs only to their members. Is that "running the synagogue like a business"? What business would do that? Is this an attempt to squelch growth?

The truth is that synagogues have a hard time developing a good business model, because much of their product is generally available for free. It's hard to come up with a system by which the synagogue can provide a full range of services and survive economically. But if we think the answer is to run the synagogue "like a business", then let's do it for real – studying the market, designing a great product, reaching out, making sure our services are priced right, and welcoming in the masses of people we will doubtless attract.

The Taking Shul: The Challenge of Shul Fundraising

Yom Kippur ended a few hours ago, and I'm giddy. This is no surprise – I'm always giddy after Yom Kippur. Sugar and forgiveness are a potent combination.

But I've been mulling a serious topic for a while now, and I want to put some preliminary thoughts down on 'paper'. The topic is Shuls: Giving and Taking.

Story #1 – At one point early in my rabbinate, I needed to raise funds for a community project. I approached someone for help, and was surprised to be turned down flat. Why? As he explained it, he was saving up for a particularly large expense – but, more, he had never been in my office before. He had learned at dozens of classes, davened at plenty of minyanim, but he had never been in my office, and so he didn't feel our relationship was at a point at which I could ask him for help. [Yes, I learned a lot from this encounter.]

Story #2 – A woman in our shul received a tzedakah box from Chabad, to be used for any tzedakah she chose. She commented to me something along the lines of, "See, they aren't always taking. Why can't our shul also give sometimes?" [Of course, we regularly raised funds for ARMDI and other Israeli causes, as well as our local Federation campaigns, Jewish Family Service, Jewish Day School, and Benevolent Fund... sigh.]

The parties involved were regular recipients of the shul's "giving" through davening and classes and aliyos and shul-sponsored kiddushes, but they saw the shul as a Taker rather than a Giver. This makes life difficult for synagogue fundraisers, since one of the most basic rules of fundraising is to make even the Taking feel like Giving [as in "We're giving you an opportunity to do something great"]. Instead, even the shul's Giving doesn't feel like Giving!

Why?

1. One part of the problem is that the synagogue does spend so much time Taking: Taking the time, effort and stress of volunteers, in addition to the money required to run a shul.

2. Another part of the problem is that people view the shul's Giving as automatic, since anyone can enjoy the benefits without paying for them.

3. Another part of the problem is that even when a shul Gives, it does it in the form of Taking. Shuls recruit would-be recipients, advertising their 'gifts' and campaigning to get people to take advantage of these wonderful opportunities. "Please come to minyan!" "Come to a shiur!" "Participate in our youth programs!" "Hear this speaker!"

Tell me this: If you need to sell me on your gifts, are they really gifts? The result is that people feel the shul is Taking even when it's Giving.

4. Yet another part of the problem is that when the shul rewards a member's Giving, as in a Thank You call/note/meeting by the Rabbi and/or Synagogue President, it's more likely to be seen as an individual doing the the thanking, rather than the shul as an institution. The result is that the institution Takes, while individuals offer reward.

5. And yet another part of the problem is that shuls don't have products to sell for fundraising, so that fundraising often involves selling what should be their gifts. Schools are forever generating projects to endow. Various types of tzedakah-based organizations perpetually acquire and dedicate new equipment in honor of donors. Shuls, on the other hand, can only raise dues, or charge for their 'gifts' – aliyos, classes and programs. [Cookbook fundraisers and the like don't count; they raise a tiny percentage of the funds a shul needs.]

The upshot: The shul is not seen as a giver, because 1) It takes so much, 2) Its gifts are taken for granted, 3) Its gifts are seen as just another way the shul takes, 4) The institution takes, while its individual leaders are the ones who give back, and 5) it ends up selling its gifts, instead of giving them away.

This is the problem. Solutions will need to wait for another post…

A tribute to the synagogue secretary

Do you know which shul employee is the most important?

It’s not the custodial staff.
It’s not the caterer or the Kiddush Krew.
It’s not the executive director.
It might be the rabbi, but not necessarily.

The most important shul employee is often the secretary, or administrative assistant, or office manager.

[Note: I will be using the feminine pronoun to refer to the secretary - not because the secretary must be female, but because our secretary in Allentown was female. If you are offended, stop reading now. I am also going to use "secretary" for simplicity, but please note that the following comments relate to the part of the job of the "administrative assistant" and "office manager" as well.]

Of course, importance can mean a lot of different things. The secretary doesn’t run davening, teach classes, raise tzedakah, balance the books, help new families settle or coordinate Chesed - but without the secretary, none of those things could run smoothly. More, the shul can't grow without a good secretary.


The secretary is the external face of the shul
If the secretary answers the phone and her disinterested tone of voice says, “Temple-We-Don’t-Want-Your-Call, how must I begrudgingly help you,” that’s a turn-off for the caller. If a potential new family calls the shul and receives that kind of treatment, this introduction may well be their last contact with the shul.

How common is this turn-off phenomenon? I once experimented by contacting a few different shuls, and reached bored voices and robotic voicemail messages more often than not.

I anonymously emailed several different shuls to ask about joining their email list before I moved to Toronto, mentioning that I might be moving to their area in the next several months. I was stunned - none of the rabbis of these synagogues, and none of their hospitality volunteers, followed up to ask about helping me get settled.

A good secretary feels invested in the shul’s growth, and so she answers the phone enthusiastically, addresses people warmly and conveys information to the rabbi or appropriate others for follow-up. It’s no more than any successful business would do.


The secretary is the internal face of the shul
[Note: This part is less true when the shul has an executive director.]

Have a question about your bill? Call the office - where you will first speak to the secretary. Looking for a dues abatement? Want to sign up for a Shabbos dinner? Would you like to send a donation card in honor of someone’s baby? Speak to the secretary, speak to the secretary, speak to the secretary.

In all of these cases, the secretary needs to be courteous and friendly - and smart. It’s after the sign-up deadline, but the secretary can decide whether to accept the RSVP anyway. This family wants a dues abatement - the secretary can send them to the friendly Finance person or the unfriendly Finance person. Someone sends a Mazal Tov card - a good secretary informs the rabbi of the happy occasion, in case he isn’t aware.

A good secretary knows thinks about the extra step she can take, the better to help all concerned. She cares about the people with whom she interacts.


The secretary is the rabbi’s best friend
But most of all [to me], the secretary is the rabbi’s best friend.

The secretary catches the rabbi when he schedules a class opposite an event. The secretary finds typos in the mailing and corrects them. The secretary copies flyers and source sheets for classes. The secretary reminds the rabbi to start planning for the Simchas Beis haShoevah or Chanukah dinner, or to arrange custodial help for the Shabbos dinner.

The secretary compensates for the rabbi’s mistakes. If the rabbi is late for a meeting, the secretary explains that he’s been very busy, and he’ll certainly be there momentarily - even as she calls his cell phone to make sure he’s not just napping. If the rabbi leaves the office early and someone calls looking for him, she knows where they can find him.

A good secretary forms a partnership with the rabbi, and they each look out for each other.


So, yes, I consider the secretary the most important shul employee. If you have a good one, give her a raise. If you don’t have a good one, get one. Your community, external and internal, as well your rabbi will thank you for it.

Entertain us!

[This week's Haveil Havalim is here]

I've written quite a bit about the phenomenon of talking in shul - two of my favorite posts were in the summer of 2008, here and here - but a few weeks back, a two-second tableau gave me a new thought.

A child, somewhere around 10 years old, had just finished watching a video in a child-oriented, game-filled public facility (situation anonymized to protect child and parents), and he instantly declared to his parents, "I'm bored!"

The kid was surrounded by things to do, and people to do them with.

He hadn't tried to engage himself in anything. He hadn't worked at anything.

He just wanted to be entertained, and when the entertainment stopped, he was bored.

Watching this, I wondered: Is this the shul problem? Is it as simple as the fact that we anticipate, and feel entitled to, entertainment, so that the moment we are not entertained, we turn to others in the hope that they will fill our need?

We keep multiple windows open in our browsers while at work, so that we can take frequent breaks for entertainment.

We have Ipods and Iphones, as well as the old stand-by books and radio and tv, to fill in every moment with chatter and comedy.

We eschew privacy and quiet personal time, in favor of screens populated by those who will make us laugh or cry. How many people are left who just sit and think for any period of time?

Nirvana said it - "Here we are now, entertain us!"

I've blamed the shul decorum problem on a whole host of other factors - long davening exacerbated by a multiplicity of mi shebeirachs, synagogue layouts that place people in close proximity for hours at a time, lack of education on the power of silent tefillah, lack of a nucleus of silent daveners, distaste for intensity, lack of depth in the approach to mechanistic ritual, and so on. And all of these are true and real.

But at its core: Are like that pre-adolescent kid, seeking entertainment? Is it that simple?

Witnessing a proba

[This week's Haveil Havalim is here; enjoy!]

Wow, was that weird.

This past Shabbos was the first time I ever witnessed a proba (Shabbos tryout) for a pulpit rabbi from the shul side as an adult and as a rabbi, and it was more than passing strange.

I’ve blogged the Rabbinic Search before, but from the point of view of the rabbi/candidate. (I’ve since pulled some posts regarding the proba shabbos, lest I offend. I may censor them and re-publish them in the future.) Seeing it from the other side, as a congregant, was very different.

It was automatically weird because the candidate was a good friend, with whom I have a long relationship, but among the more professional weirdness:

• Hearing another rabbi give a proba derashah – I never really thought about the different styles one could use as a candidate; I tended to give a derashah about some theme which I thought would resonate with people, but it was really driven by the parshah. Only this Shabbos did I start to think about the other options – Should the derashah be an overt part of the sales pitch, “Hire me and I’ll do X?” Should it speak to the major issues on the shul’s agenda?

• Figuring out my priorities – As a candidate, I naturally looked at the proba from the perspective of demonstrating that I was a good match for the shul’s needs. Certainly, much of the proba was about connecting with people personally, but I took it as a given – subconsciously, really – that the question on people’s minds was, “Is this the best candidate for the shul’s needs?” But sitting in the pews, I felt much more like for me, it was a popularity contest. “Do I like him the most?”

Part of that may have been because it takes some hubris to think I know what the shul needs, and whether this candidate would be able to provide it. It’s much easier to answer the question of “Do I like him the most?”

• Uncomfortable flashes of mind-reading the candidate, as I zapped from contemplating what he must be thinking to what I was thinking and what the people around me were thinking.

• Listening to the answers to the Q&A grilling and wanting to modify the answers to what I would have said. This was sort of like watching a game show, actually. “No! It’s The Titanic! The Titanic!”

And, of course, it brought back all sorts of memories from my various probas.

I have more to say on this; maybe I’ll re-visit it later this week.

Lesson from the Super Bowl: Hidden Yardage

[This week’s Haveil Havalim, hosted by the incredible Jack, is here]

On the way to the beis medrash for night seder on Sunday, I caught a few minutes of the Super Bowl on the radio. [After the Jets were knocked out two weeks ago, I wasn't going to spend real time on the game...]

The announcers repeatedly emphasized “hidden yardage” – yards that one team lost, or the other team gained, indirectly. Penalties. Mistakes on plays. Dropped passes. These moments change a team’s field position, or turn the ball over to the other side, in ways that are not necessarily obvious. [Note: This is not the technical usage of "hidden yardage" expressed by Bill Parcells and others. For more on that term, see this page.]

Shuls have their hidden yardage, too, as they try to build their communities:
• The person who calls the shul office to find out about the area before moving in, and is given a cold reception

• The family who comes to the shul for the first time, and can’t find the restroom or the women’s entrance or the library because of poor signage

• The woman who wants to come to classes, but doesn’t receive clear or attractive publicity material

• The man who has been stopping in to say kaddish for years, but has never been greeted with a warm Hello by the people who are there

• The family who stopped paying dues because of economic hardship, and who were simply dropped from the rolls instead of being called by a concerned person who might have arranged for them to stay on, or even to receive a loan (for their needs, not for the dues) from the Rabbi’s Benevolent Fund.

Building a community requires looking for these opportunities, leaving nothing on the table.

One shul president of mine called these “low-hanging fruit,” a different analogy for the same phenomenon. There is so much we can do to build, if only we take advantage of these opportunities. It’s up to us - rabbis, shul presidents, boards, congregations - to do it.

[PS We certainly have hidden yardage in our lives, too – at work, in our families, in raising children, and so on. We miss opportunities to resolve disputes. We respond harshly when a soft tongue would have accomplished more. We squander chances to get together with family and friends. But that's a post for another time.]

Aliyos for Cash?

[The Kosher Cooking Carnival for Adar I is here]

Sam was called to the Torah, and immediately after his aliyah he recited Birchas haGomel (the blessing usually recited upon being saved from harm). When Sam returned to his seat, his neighbor asked, “Were you in an accident? Did you have surgery?”

To which Sam replied: “No – but I was so surprised to get called up, I almost had a heart attack!”

The joke is original, but the story is familiar; Jews around the world frequently complain about the scarcity of their aliyos. However, that’s not really the topic of this post. Right now I want to talk about the question of charging money for aliyos.

I know gabbaim who decline to honor visitors, arguing that a synagogue will rarely see a significant donation from a drop-in. Alternatively, they make sure that visitors who are called to the Torah know that they are expected to make a significant contribution.

Some shuls have policies against honoring people who live locally and fail to join the shul. The argument is that people who refuse to support the community do not deserve to be recognized by the community.

The point is valid. Shuls depend on public support, and it’s hard for them to compete against tzedakah drives for schools and orphanages and the needy. Shuls even compete against the rabbi’s own Benevolent Fund. It’s not as though a shul can survive on membership dues alone; shuls generally offer people membership on whatever financial terms people can manage, even donations of a few dollars each month.

So how is a shul to survive, if people take it for granted? In distributing aliyos based on donations, these institutions are just trying to protect themselves with the only currency they control.

And yet, and yet… it still rankles. I know I am not the only rabbi to be uncomfortable with a “pay to play” policy. Torah is supposed to be for everyone, and the idea that we parcel out access to mitzvos based upon contributions does not sit well with me.

Also, this system encourages the publication and discussion of people’s contributions – “He got shlishi on Yom Kippur, he must be a big donor.”

And for rabbis, in particular, this arrangement can be uncomfortable. A shul rabbi makes himself available for everyone, regardless of bank account - but the practice of calling certain people to the Torah, to the exclusion of others, creates the perception that those who make larger contributions are entitled to special treatment from the shul, and therefore its rabbi.

I've written about this before; see these posts:

I guess membership should have its privileges

The high price of holy days

But I still don't have a resolution for the issue. So what should a shul do?