(Originally published in the Jewish Week in 1999)
It is easy to jab at Birthright Israel, the plan to promote Jewish continuity by providing a brief Israel experience to Jewish youth who haven’t been to the Jewish state. Charles R. Bronfman and Michael H. Steinhardt are marketing an idea in search of a program. What we have so far is a catchy slogan, good public relations and the old and odd notion favored by philanthropists that throwing lots of money after a problem is the best way to resolve it. We have, in short, the key ingredients for success in the contemporary period, success being determined by the ability to attract attention. The announcement of the program and its promotion are the program.
Just the same, Birthright needs to be given a chance, even though what we know about its particulars inspires little confidence in its efficacy. Every continuity initiative confronts daunting odds because of the powerful assimilatory forces that have directly resulted in so much Jewish loss. These elements are active in the lives of nearly all Diaspora Jews and they are not going to disappear because world Jewry now feels endangered and is taking steps, mainly feeble and belated, to promote Jewish identity. All that is being done in the name of continuity is today inherently tenuous and tentative, even experimental. This holds true even for many day schools and while I have been one of their most enthusiastic advocates, I know that their reach is limited because the families that are being attracted to them are Jews at risk.
Israel experiences are a legitimate means of advancing continuity. If Birthright is not oversold, if the religious factor is not deliberately downplayed and if its key people are willing to make adjustments, some good will come from the venture. Under the present plan, eligible youth will be offered a round-trip ticket and funds for a brief stay, typically ten days, that hopefully will be a learning or cultural experience which whets the appetite for greater involvement in Israel and/or Jewish communal life. Those who choose to stay longer will be responsible for any additional costs.
It is expected – and almost certainly this will be the case – that the typical trip will fit into school schedules, primarily the flow of campus life. Even the most ardent votaries of Israel experiences recognize that ten days can hardly counteract the corrosive impact of thousands of prior days of assimilatory relationships that have impelled so many away from Jewish commitment.
The assumption, probably correct, is that thousands of teen-age and college-age Jews will not look a gift horse in the mouth. Birthright’s offer will be accepted, which raises the critical question of what these youngsters are likely to do when they arrive in Israel. There is also the collateral question of whether Israeli institutional and organizational life has the additional capacity to serve the expected influx. While Michael Papo, the project’s president, told me in a useful telephone conversation that there already is unused capacity to accommodate additional young foreigners, I think it unlikely that there are or will be facilities and programs for the thousands who may accept the opportunity.
The problem is illustrated by Livnot Ul’hibanot, a Jerusalem and Safed-based program that has a good track record with American college students of a secular orientation. Presently, Livnot enrolls perhaps as many as two hundred participants a year in its three-week program that combine work and study. I doubt that it can expand its reach quickly or that it would be desirable to do so, lest it weaken its effectiveness.
Birthright apparently accepts the notion that money is the primary inducement. In the words of its promotional material, “money is not the only issue but it is a central one.” The flip side is that the lack of funds is the main deterrent. In fact, surveys including the 1990 NJPS, provide strong evidence that funding is scarcely the issue. In the main, Jews do not visit Israel because they are not particularly interested in Israel. In nearly all of their contemporary places of settlement, Jews are quite affluent and Jewish youth by the many tens of thousands each year are able to find the means to traipse to exotic and mundane places, from the Himalayas to Fort Lauderdale. They do not, in the aggregate, put Israel on their itinerary because the Jewish state does not resonate in their lives. It is also of note that the Orthodox, by far the least affluent of Jews, come to Israel in droves.
There will be Jews who make the visit because of the Birthright opportunity and this may well be salutary. But by targeting the first-timers, emphasizing the quick-fix aspect of the experience and reaching out to Jews who are scarcely, if at all, involved in Jewish life, Birthright may be foregoing the opportunity to make a more lasting contribution.
Jewish youth everywhere outside of Israel are Jews at risk, a status that is shared, perhaps not equally, by young Jews who already are engaged in communal life through synagogues, day schools, community centers, youth groups or in any of a number of other ways. These Jews have opportunities aplenty to go to Israel, whether with their parents or alone or with school groups or as participants in the March for the Living and other projects. In the U.S., most Federations provide subsidies for Israel experiences and the expanding world of private Jewish philanthropy is especially keen about including Israel programming in their repertoire of activities. Community-sponsored and subsidized Israel experiences have become a big business, so that Birthright Israel can hardly claim to be operating on virgin territory.
It’s a good bet that the presumed success of these ventures has contributed to the belief that this is the primary way to reach out to the young and unaffiliated. The Bronfman Foundation has been in the forefront of the Israel experience movement. Evaluations of these activities present a rosy picture of what can be achieved through a relatively brief stay in the Jewish state. I have read several of these and they tend toward an excess of self-praise which is off-putting and can scarcely pass as serious scholarship.
Their major deficiency goes to the heart of what is errant in the conceptualization of Birthright Israel. The evaluations, perhaps out of necessity, are conducted shortly after the experience has been concluded, which means that they at best measure short-term impact when the respondents are still enveloped in the aura of the experience. This is notably true of the claims made by March for the Living, a rather new initiative whose life-span does not yet allow an assessment of long-term impact.
March for the Living is aimed at high school students, a great number of whom happen to be in a Jewish school, an environment that presumably strengthens their Jewish commitment. When they return from Israel and Poland where they visit Auschwitz and other death camps, their understandable response is to say that they have been profoundly affected by the experience. This response is truthful, yet it begs the question, for when the high school years are concluded, the next phase in the formative process for these students is the college campus, an environment that is universally regarded as a disaster area for Jewish life.
Because Jewish youth who have been to Israel and those who have not are nearly all Jews at risk, their lives will inevitably be affected, perhaps permanently shaped, by powerful and inescapable assimilatory forces. If the goal of Birthright is to enhance the prospect for meaningful Jewish continuity, it makes sense to use Israel as the instrumentality for Jewish reinforcement among those who might make the best use of the opportunity. In economic and programmatic terms, the greatest benefit may be derived from concentrating Birthright’s resources on young marginal Jews who have been to Israel, thereby strengthening a commitment that while already evident is certain to be severely challenged.
This point was acknowledged, in a way by Michael Papo who indicated that studies show that a follow-up or second trip cements the relationship with Israel and forces a deep sense of Jewish peoplehood. It may be that because Birthright’s resources are limited, preference is being given to those who have not been to Israel. But it also may be the case that the emphasis on the first-timers arises from a desire to reach out to unaffiliated Jews rather than to those who are affiliated. This would be a serious mistake.
Because of the severely weakened state of Diaspora Jewry, the success of initiatives to encourage Jewish commitment depends on whether they are linked to other activities that promote the same goal. Birthright can reinforce the progress achieved through meaningful Jewish education and youth groups; in turn, it needs to be reinforced by collateral activities in other zones of communal life. It cannot be regarded as a stand-alone venture.
Nor should its sponsors be intoxicated by its immodest claim, “This journey lasts a life-time.” There are tens of thousands of Jews who have been to Israel whose Jewish commitment, even in secular form, is gone with the wind and for whom Israel is scarcely more meaningful than Timbuktu.
A trip to Israel is not the birthright of a Jew, although identity with Israel is, a point that is powerfully demonstrated by nearly 2,000 years of our history. The birthright or heritage or legacy bequeathed to us by previous generations was religious at its core. It was this religious sensibility that kept Israel alive in the imagination and prayers and therefore also in the lives of Jews who never stepped foot on the Holy Land, nor had even the slightest prospect of going there. Only as a consequence of our religious identity can we claim Israel as a birthright and only if it is able to foster a religious commitment can Birthright Israel claim to be promoting Jewish continuity.
Tuesday, June 01, 1999
Chabad
(This article was originally published in the New York Jewish Week in 1998)
Long before the last Lubavitcher Rebbe passed away – and perhaps even before he succeeded his father-in-law as Rebbe – the Chabad movement which he headed had developed an arrangement that over the years has propelled it into what is now by far world Jewry’s largest organization. Nothing else in Jewish life approaches it in scope of activity or in the number of Jews who are being served.
What is also impressive is the quality of much of what Chabad does. It publishes each year a large number of books, magazines and other material and it manages to do all of this while maintaining a high intellectual standard, which is also true of what Chabad presents on the internet. It is evident that a great number of talented people are involved in creative ways in presenting the Chabad message.
Likely, much of this is news to most of us. When reading about Lubavitch, the Moshiach issue attracts the greatest share of attention, which is understandable since in the last decade of his life the Rebbe constantly trumpeted the theme, at times obsessively, and some of his more ardent followers took the message to be personal rather than a bit of abstract theology. This question has now been somewhat muted, but certainly not settled, by the ruling of a Chabad beth din. The focus can now turn to the more mundane, yet quite significant, matter of understanding the phenomenal growth of the movement.
There is a tendency to regard Chabad as a centralized operation located in Crown Heights, with all key decisions controlled at the top. This is a simplistic view, which helps to explain its attractiveness. In any case, Chabad is a classic example of decentralization, a reality that was masked during the long years of the Rebbe’s charismatic leadership. Now that he is gone and the movement is directed by administrators who have had a long run at internecine conflict, it is a stretch to maintain the notion of centralized authority.
Decentralization has been the key to Chabad’s growth. For decades, emissaries and their families have been sent to localities or positions where, as a rule, the expectation has been that they will serve until the end of their days. In an earlier period, the emissaries usually settled in large cities and the movement’s authority was vested in them. If another Lubavitcher wanted to come into the area and engage in Chabad activities, the Rebbe’s blessing was always sought but the ultimate decision of whether the person could come was made by the local emissary who was in charge.
This arrangement has produced an excess of nepotism within Lubavitch as relatives of emissaries frequently get the plum assignments. This has also meant that younger Lubavitchers, including some of the most gifted, have had to seek out new places and services, which goes a long way toward explaining why the movement is constantly expanding.
If this appears to be something like a franchise system, it is. Like franchises in the business world, there are common features, including the ubiquitous pictures of the Rebbe, the distinctive look of Lubavitcher men, standard services and events that are often pre-packaged and promotional material. As is also true of other franchise arrangements, the success of each separate enterprise depends to a considerable extent on the talent and drive of the people who are put in charge.
In this regard, Chabad is well served by a talent pool which feeds on the expectation developed at an early age among the best and the brightest of young Lubavitchers, that their mission in life and greatest accomplishment is to become emissaries. Chabad’s post high school educational process is less geared to the creation of scholars as it is to molding people who can go into the field. Through travel and contacts with fellow Lubavitchers in various settings, as well as work experience, young men and women mature quickly. By their mid-twenties, many are self-reliant and seem ready to establish, if not also conquer, new Chabad worlds.
As they seek opportunities that have not been spoken for, the young emissaries need a measure of good fortune to go along with their abilities. Although overall the results have been impressive, inevitably the record has been spotty. I remember coming upon the Chabad House on a major Midwest college campus where 7,000 Jews were students. The emissary, whose family I know, had been there nearly twenty years and he looked like a beaten and lonely person. Campus-based Chabad Houses, which were much in vogue in an earlier period, have not been a Lubavitch success story, I think because campuses have not been fertile ground for Jewish outreach.
The Mitzvah Mobiles or “Tanks,” which used to be familiar Lubavitch apparitions, seem no longer to be in style, a change that few would regard as a loss.
Inevitably, some emissaries do not succeed in the field, at times because they have had to settle for dead-end positions, serving in communities with few Jews who will pay attention to their activities or message and with little prospect for success. Shabbos, one such Lubavitch wife told me, is the worse day of the week because without the car and telephone, she and her family are alone and cut off from the world. The emissaries - especially the women – cherish the trips back home, usually to Crown Heights.
While Chabad has had a handful of rogue operators who use the movement’s imprimatur for self-enrichment, they have been few in number and they are greatly counterbalanced by the men and women who have sacrificed so much and who strive to do good. Because communal service is the highest ambition for Lubavitchers and status is given to those who choose this path, there are not too many Lubavitchers who have become affluent through business activity.
Fundraising is, of course, essential to the Chabad enterprise and, here too, decentralization is an important factor. Emissaries in the field learn immediately that they cannot count on 770 Eastern Parkway to pay their bills, so they hone their fundraising skills. In the process, they acquire greater confidence, as well as greater independence from central authority.
In the aggregate, what is raised to support all that the movement does must come to a staggering figure. My low estimate is a half-billion dollars, although there is no way to know the true figure. The emissaries’ fundraising accomplishments provide evidence of their skill, especially since nearly all of what is raised comes from people who are not Lubavitchers.
What we know about the consequences of advanced assimilation should suggest that the Lubavitch Chassidic outlook and ambiance is not one that Jews in communities across the continent are seeking. The beard and dress and much else should be turn-offs for Jews who are not observant, who live modern lives and certainly are not seeking an old-world look. Yet, a great number are attracted to Lubavitch, a phenomenon that requires an explanation.
What the emissaries offer is a presence, at times the only Jewish presence, in a community. They perform pastoral duties that traditionally have been the responsibility of pulpit rabbis, including visiting the sick, elderly and frail, helping the needy, arranging for life-cycle events and counseling. They provide basic religious services, such as Menorah lightings and Passover seders, in a friendly environment that emphasizes a soft sell.
Above all, there is a certain sweetness and kindness in the contacts between the emissaries (and their families) and the people who are their clientele. This is evident in the personal services that are given, as well as in the expanding network of Chabad synagogues and day schools.
The lesson is that even as more American Jews are moving away from Judaism’s core observances, many feel comfortable with Lubavitchers because of the kindness which they experience. In a sense, what Lubavitch offers even more than formal services and activities is the ability to fill an emotional need that overcomes whatever hesitancy non-observant Jews may have about dealing with these Chassidim. In a world where loneliness is pervasive and insecurity erodes happiness, caring and being available go a long way.
The flip side of non-observant Jews being comfortable with Chabad is that the relationship usually does not have a lasting religious impact on these Jews and their families. Assimilation continues to undermine Judaic commitment in too many homes that are involved with Chabad. With the possible exception of Sephardim and ex-Israelis who in some communities are the mainstays of Chabad, increasingly the movement is reaching out to American Jews of questionable religious status, Jews of the sort whom the Rebbe insisted should not be accorded Jewish identity when the Who Is a Jew? issue was debated in Israel. This is an inconsistency that has not been addressed.
There is, more generally, the compelling question of the efficacy of Chabad’s brand of feelgood Judaism, of an approach that does not challenge or disturb the status quo and thereby becomes an inadvertent handmaiden to ongoing assimilation. It is, of course, meritorious to make Jews feel good about themselves and it certainly is important to reach out in a tolerant way to marginal Jews. But what we now ask or expect of other Jewish activities must also be asked and expected of Lubavitch: In what ways are the Jews served by the movement being influence toward greater Judaic commitment?
Long before the last Lubavitcher Rebbe passed away – and perhaps even before he succeeded his father-in-law as Rebbe – the Chabad movement which he headed had developed an arrangement that over the years has propelled it into what is now by far world Jewry’s largest organization. Nothing else in Jewish life approaches it in scope of activity or in the number of Jews who are being served.
What is also impressive is the quality of much of what Chabad does. It publishes each year a large number of books, magazines and other material and it manages to do all of this while maintaining a high intellectual standard, which is also true of what Chabad presents on the internet. It is evident that a great number of talented people are involved in creative ways in presenting the Chabad message.
Likely, much of this is news to most of us. When reading about Lubavitch, the Moshiach issue attracts the greatest share of attention, which is understandable since in the last decade of his life the Rebbe constantly trumpeted the theme, at times obsessively, and some of his more ardent followers took the message to be personal rather than a bit of abstract theology. This question has now been somewhat muted, but certainly not settled, by the ruling of a Chabad beth din. The focus can now turn to the more mundane, yet quite significant, matter of understanding the phenomenal growth of the movement.
There is a tendency to regard Chabad as a centralized operation located in Crown Heights, with all key decisions controlled at the top. This is a simplistic view, which helps to explain its attractiveness. In any case, Chabad is a classic example of decentralization, a reality that was masked during the long years of the Rebbe’s charismatic leadership. Now that he is gone and the movement is directed by administrators who have had a long run at internecine conflict, it is a stretch to maintain the notion of centralized authority.
Decentralization has been the key to Chabad’s growth. For decades, emissaries and their families have been sent to localities or positions where, as a rule, the expectation has been that they will serve until the end of their days. In an earlier period, the emissaries usually settled in large cities and the movement’s authority was vested in them. If another Lubavitcher wanted to come into the area and engage in Chabad activities, the Rebbe’s blessing was always sought but the ultimate decision of whether the person could come was made by the local emissary who was in charge.
This arrangement has produced an excess of nepotism within Lubavitch as relatives of emissaries frequently get the plum assignments. This has also meant that younger Lubavitchers, including some of the most gifted, have had to seek out new places and services, which goes a long way toward explaining why the movement is constantly expanding.
If this appears to be something like a franchise system, it is. Like franchises in the business world, there are common features, including the ubiquitous pictures of the Rebbe, the distinctive look of Lubavitcher men, standard services and events that are often pre-packaged and promotional material. As is also true of other franchise arrangements, the success of each separate enterprise depends to a considerable extent on the talent and drive of the people who are put in charge.
In this regard, Chabad is well served by a talent pool which feeds on the expectation developed at an early age among the best and the brightest of young Lubavitchers, that their mission in life and greatest accomplishment is to become emissaries. Chabad’s post high school educational process is less geared to the creation of scholars as it is to molding people who can go into the field. Through travel and contacts with fellow Lubavitchers in various settings, as well as work experience, young men and women mature quickly. By their mid-twenties, many are self-reliant and seem ready to establish, if not also conquer, new Chabad worlds.
As they seek opportunities that have not been spoken for, the young emissaries need a measure of good fortune to go along with their abilities. Although overall the results have been impressive, inevitably the record has been spotty. I remember coming upon the Chabad House on a major Midwest college campus where 7,000 Jews were students. The emissary, whose family I know, had been there nearly twenty years and he looked like a beaten and lonely person. Campus-based Chabad Houses, which were much in vogue in an earlier period, have not been a Lubavitch success story, I think because campuses have not been fertile ground for Jewish outreach.
The Mitzvah Mobiles or “Tanks,” which used to be familiar Lubavitch apparitions, seem no longer to be in style, a change that few would regard as a loss.
Inevitably, some emissaries do not succeed in the field, at times because they have had to settle for dead-end positions, serving in communities with few Jews who will pay attention to their activities or message and with little prospect for success. Shabbos, one such Lubavitch wife told me, is the worse day of the week because without the car and telephone, she and her family are alone and cut off from the world. The emissaries - especially the women – cherish the trips back home, usually to Crown Heights.
While Chabad has had a handful of rogue operators who use the movement’s imprimatur for self-enrichment, they have been few in number and they are greatly counterbalanced by the men and women who have sacrificed so much and who strive to do good. Because communal service is the highest ambition for Lubavitchers and status is given to those who choose this path, there are not too many Lubavitchers who have become affluent through business activity.
Fundraising is, of course, essential to the Chabad enterprise and, here too, decentralization is an important factor. Emissaries in the field learn immediately that they cannot count on 770 Eastern Parkway to pay their bills, so they hone their fundraising skills. In the process, they acquire greater confidence, as well as greater independence from central authority.
In the aggregate, what is raised to support all that the movement does must come to a staggering figure. My low estimate is a half-billion dollars, although there is no way to know the true figure. The emissaries’ fundraising accomplishments provide evidence of their skill, especially since nearly all of what is raised comes from people who are not Lubavitchers.
What we know about the consequences of advanced assimilation should suggest that the Lubavitch Chassidic outlook and ambiance is not one that Jews in communities across the continent are seeking. The beard and dress and much else should be turn-offs for Jews who are not observant, who live modern lives and certainly are not seeking an old-world look. Yet, a great number are attracted to Lubavitch, a phenomenon that requires an explanation.
What the emissaries offer is a presence, at times the only Jewish presence, in a community. They perform pastoral duties that traditionally have been the responsibility of pulpit rabbis, including visiting the sick, elderly and frail, helping the needy, arranging for life-cycle events and counseling. They provide basic religious services, such as Menorah lightings and Passover seders, in a friendly environment that emphasizes a soft sell.
Above all, there is a certain sweetness and kindness in the contacts between the emissaries (and their families) and the people who are their clientele. This is evident in the personal services that are given, as well as in the expanding network of Chabad synagogues and day schools.
The lesson is that even as more American Jews are moving away from Judaism’s core observances, many feel comfortable with Lubavitchers because of the kindness which they experience. In a sense, what Lubavitch offers even more than formal services and activities is the ability to fill an emotional need that overcomes whatever hesitancy non-observant Jews may have about dealing with these Chassidim. In a world where loneliness is pervasive and insecurity erodes happiness, caring and being available go a long way.
The flip side of non-observant Jews being comfortable with Chabad is that the relationship usually does not have a lasting religious impact on these Jews and their families. Assimilation continues to undermine Judaic commitment in too many homes that are involved with Chabad. With the possible exception of Sephardim and ex-Israelis who in some communities are the mainstays of Chabad, increasingly the movement is reaching out to American Jews of questionable religious status, Jews of the sort whom the Rebbe insisted should not be accorded Jewish identity when the Who Is a Jew? issue was debated in Israel. This is an inconsistency that has not been addressed.
There is, more generally, the compelling question of the efficacy of Chabad’s brand of feelgood Judaism, of an approach that does not challenge or disturb the status quo and thereby becomes an inadvertent handmaiden to ongoing assimilation. It is, of course, meritorious to make Jews feel good about themselves and it certainly is important to reach out in a tolerant way to marginal Jews. But what we now ask or expect of other Jewish activities must also be asked and expected of Lubavitch: In what ways are the Jews served by the movement being influence toward greater Judaic commitment?
Wednesday, May 05, 1999
Renee Schick, a'h
(Originally published in the New York Jewish Week in May 1998)
My mother died on April 21, two days after Pesach and sixty years after my father. She was an extraordinary person, with a prodigious memory and powerful mind. Her courage sustained and molded a family that might have disintegrated under the burden of tragedy. At 92, she was too young to leave us.
She was born in Romania into a comfortable family that lost everything, as did many others, in the World War. Although she was an outstanding student, her studies were not continued after high school graduation, something that she regretted all her life.
In 1928, she came to the U.S., shortly after her marriage to my father, a cousin from the same area in Rumania who was already in this country, serving as the Rabbi of a Manhattan synagogue. We have few photographs and know little of her early years here. She began to raise a family – Arthur in 1930, Ruth in 1932, Allen and me in 1934. In 1931, she published a recipe book in English, with the income going to charity.
Purim in 1938 fell on March 17, St. Patrick’s Day. My father had been hospitalized for a burst appendix but seemed on the way to recovery. My mother saw him in the morning, went home to care for the children and then was called back to the hospital to be told that her husband had died of peritonitis. Just weeks before her passing and sensing that she was seriously ill, she sat down immediately after Shabbos and wrote a narrative of that dark day, of how she fought her way through the carousing crowd with tears streaming down her face to return home to cover the mirrors and to mourn.
She entered a period of pain and despair, of a desperation that she never spoke of although over the years scraps of information appeared. My father had died penniless; three weeks later she was served with eviction papers. She had no close relatives in this country, no parents or siblings or nieces and nephews, only cousins and four young children, ages 3 to 7.
Allen and I were placed in an orphans’ home. In 1939, I was hospitalized critically ill with diphtheria. The next year was Allen’s turn with pneumonia. She turned to people for help and some of the responses added to her pain. A handful of people who assisted in a modest way could not forget to remind her of what they had done.
Already in 1938 she had written to a saintly relative in Europe, asking whether she could send Arthur and Ruth to be cared for back home and also for advice. He responded that there were darkening clouds in Europe and told of a widow who, faced with a similar situation a century earlier, had provided for her children by baking challahs for Shabbos.
Late in the year she moved to Borough Park where there were cousins who helped. Out of a small oven in her apartment, she began to bake, four challahs at a time. Skilled in all ways with her hands, her challahs and cake quickly gained acceptance. In 1943, the year of Arthur’s bar mitzvah, the family was reunited and my mother opened what would become perhaps the most famous kosher bakery in the world.
The next seventeen years were hard work, running the bakery and trying to raise four children. In quality of product, kashruth and business ethics, my mother maintained a high standard. I cannot recall a single dispute with a supplier or customer. Our practice was to give a weight allowance on every piece of cake that was sold.
My mother’s schedule in those years was legendary, but only in the sense that it was so extraordinary that in the absence of unimpeachable corroboration, it would be impossible to regard the testimony as credible. We lived above the bakery. Except during the summer, on Thursdays she would arise at 3 am, be in the bakery within the hour, and work without let-up until an hour or two before Shabbos.
By 1960, Arthur had started his own business, Ruth was married and living elsewhere, Allen and I were on the way toward doctorates and academic careers. The bakery was sold.
Retirement hardly meant inactivity or much leisure. My mother had gone to Israel in the 1950’s to seek relatives who had survived and to provide help. This became a larger part of her life, as did the local women’s burial society. She read and corresponded widely, made bedding for the children and grandchildren, and cooked and baked up a storm. She often responded to calls by saying that she was too busy to talk.
The pain of her first years as a widow left its mark, mainly in her fierce caring for the unfortunate and also for ordinary people who led simple, good lives. She cared not whether they were Jewish or of the color of their skin. At her local supermarket, she find out when the cashiers had a birthday, confirmation or other happy event coming up in their family and for each one she would bake and decorate a cake and have it delivered. So it went in doctor’s offices and wherever else she met people she hardly knew.
As the years went by, she developed close bonds with each of her grandchildren, later her great-grandchildren, offering advice and revealing more about herself than she had to her children. They were a constant presence in her life.
Age began taking its toll in her 80’s and protesting against the inevitable, she slowly reduced her chores, much like a general yielding territory to a superior enemy. Yet, through some amazing chemistry, her mind became stronger and her memory a wonder, as if the diminution of her physical powers was the catalyst for mental growth. In her 91st year, while celebrating Pesach at Allen’s home in Silver Spring, she recited from memory a long poem by Goethe in German.
A year earlier, Allen commemorated her 90th birthday, as we had her 80th, by dedicating a Sefer Torah that was written in her honor. It was a wonderful events, one of her happiest days. Afterwards, she wrote a letter of appreciation to the community which began, “I have been fortunate to spend the last Shabbos celebrating my birthday in your warm, friendly, caring community. Thank you.” Then, “The Kovod and respect is for the Torah. The Torah is everlasting and its message lets us live and survive in this modern society.”
Despite our pleas, she never allowed us to bring someone in to stay with her. This past fall, after the holidays, her health began to fail. Six weeks before her death, my mother relented and a woman was hired, yet her condition worsened and reluctantly she was hospitalized at Maimonides. Ten days of constant care from family and nurses did not prevent further deterioration. We (and she) sensed that she was dying and for Pesach and her last ten days, she was at Arthur’s and Dorothy’s home in a makeshift hospital room where family members and several wonderful medical people ministered to her.
As she lay dying she bequeathed us a legacy of living. It was a gift that she never lost awareness or her remarkable memory. Each day she recited from memory chapters of Tehilim (Psalms) and favorite prayers and said the Viduy, the confession for the dying. On her last Friday night, the final day of Pesach, she blessed the Shabbos lights and heard Kiddush. The next afternoon, we thought the end was near. Her four children gathered around her bed, held her hands and said the transcendent Sh’ma Yisroel prayer with her, word by word. The grandchildren then came in, one by one, to say goodbye, to cry, to be blessed.
On her final day, as she reviewed what might be left unfinished, she gave instructions to give gifts to three nurses at Maimonides, a book by Allen for the hospital’s president, a birthday cake to a handicapped man. On Monday morning, while holding my wife’s hand, she let go and she died.
Amidst the tears and Tehilim, we had celebrated a Pesach of loss and of redemption.
My mother died on April 21, two days after Pesach and sixty years after my father. She was an extraordinary person, with a prodigious memory and powerful mind. Her courage sustained and molded a family that might have disintegrated under the burden of tragedy. At 92, she was too young to leave us.
She was born in Romania into a comfortable family that lost everything, as did many others, in the World War. Although she was an outstanding student, her studies were not continued after high school graduation, something that she regretted all her life.
In 1928, she came to the U.S., shortly after her marriage to my father, a cousin from the same area in Rumania who was already in this country, serving as the Rabbi of a Manhattan synagogue. We have few photographs and know little of her early years here. She began to raise a family – Arthur in 1930, Ruth in 1932, Allen and me in 1934. In 1931, she published a recipe book in English, with the income going to charity.
Purim in 1938 fell on March 17, St. Patrick’s Day. My father had been hospitalized for a burst appendix but seemed on the way to recovery. My mother saw him in the morning, went home to care for the children and then was called back to the hospital to be told that her husband had died of peritonitis. Just weeks before her passing and sensing that she was seriously ill, she sat down immediately after Shabbos and wrote a narrative of that dark day, of how she fought her way through the carousing crowd with tears streaming down her face to return home to cover the mirrors and to mourn.
She entered a period of pain and despair, of a desperation that she never spoke of although over the years scraps of information appeared. My father had died penniless; three weeks later she was served with eviction papers. She had no close relatives in this country, no parents or siblings or nieces and nephews, only cousins and four young children, ages 3 to 7.
Allen and I were placed in an orphans’ home. In 1939, I was hospitalized critically ill with diphtheria. The next year was Allen’s turn with pneumonia. She turned to people for help and some of the responses added to her pain. A handful of people who assisted in a modest way could not forget to remind her of what they had done.
Already in 1938 she had written to a saintly relative in Europe, asking whether she could send Arthur and Ruth to be cared for back home and also for advice. He responded that there were darkening clouds in Europe and told of a widow who, faced with a similar situation a century earlier, had provided for her children by baking challahs for Shabbos.
Late in the year she moved to Borough Park where there were cousins who helped. Out of a small oven in her apartment, she began to bake, four challahs at a time. Skilled in all ways with her hands, her challahs and cake quickly gained acceptance. In 1943, the year of Arthur’s bar mitzvah, the family was reunited and my mother opened what would become perhaps the most famous kosher bakery in the world.
The next seventeen years were hard work, running the bakery and trying to raise four children. In quality of product, kashruth and business ethics, my mother maintained a high standard. I cannot recall a single dispute with a supplier or customer. Our practice was to give a weight allowance on every piece of cake that was sold.
My mother’s schedule in those years was legendary, but only in the sense that it was so extraordinary that in the absence of unimpeachable corroboration, it would be impossible to regard the testimony as credible. We lived above the bakery. Except during the summer, on Thursdays she would arise at 3 am, be in the bakery within the hour, and work without let-up until an hour or two before Shabbos.
By 1960, Arthur had started his own business, Ruth was married and living elsewhere, Allen and I were on the way toward doctorates and academic careers. The bakery was sold.
Retirement hardly meant inactivity or much leisure. My mother had gone to Israel in the 1950’s to seek relatives who had survived and to provide help. This became a larger part of her life, as did the local women’s burial society. She read and corresponded widely, made bedding for the children and grandchildren, and cooked and baked up a storm. She often responded to calls by saying that she was too busy to talk.
The pain of her first years as a widow left its mark, mainly in her fierce caring for the unfortunate and also for ordinary people who led simple, good lives. She cared not whether they were Jewish or of the color of their skin. At her local supermarket, she find out when the cashiers had a birthday, confirmation or other happy event coming up in their family and for each one she would bake and decorate a cake and have it delivered. So it went in doctor’s offices and wherever else she met people she hardly knew.
As the years went by, she developed close bonds with each of her grandchildren, later her great-grandchildren, offering advice and revealing more about herself than she had to her children. They were a constant presence in her life.
Age began taking its toll in her 80’s and protesting against the inevitable, she slowly reduced her chores, much like a general yielding territory to a superior enemy. Yet, through some amazing chemistry, her mind became stronger and her memory a wonder, as if the diminution of her physical powers was the catalyst for mental growth. In her 91st year, while celebrating Pesach at Allen’s home in Silver Spring, she recited from memory a long poem by Goethe in German.
A year earlier, Allen commemorated her 90th birthday, as we had her 80th, by dedicating a Sefer Torah that was written in her honor. It was a wonderful events, one of her happiest days. Afterwards, she wrote a letter of appreciation to the community which began, “I have been fortunate to spend the last Shabbos celebrating my birthday in your warm, friendly, caring community. Thank you.” Then, “The Kovod and respect is for the Torah. The Torah is everlasting and its message lets us live and survive in this modern society.”
Despite our pleas, she never allowed us to bring someone in to stay with her. This past fall, after the holidays, her health began to fail. Six weeks before her death, my mother relented and a woman was hired, yet her condition worsened and reluctantly she was hospitalized at Maimonides. Ten days of constant care from family and nurses did not prevent further deterioration. We (and she) sensed that she was dying and for Pesach and her last ten days, she was at Arthur’s and Dorothy’s home in a makeshift hospital room where family members and several wonderful medical people ministered to her.
As she lay dying she bequeathed us a legacy of living. It was a gift that she never lost awareness or her remarkable memory. Each day she recited from memory chapters of Tehilim (Psalms) and favorite prayers and said the Viduy, the confession for the dying. On her last Friday night, the final day of Pesach, she blessed the Shabbos lights and heard Kiddush. The next afternoon, we thought the end was near. Her four children gathered around her bed, held her hands and said the transcendent Sh’ma Yisroel prayer with her, word by word. The grandchildren then came in, one by one, to say goodbye, to cry, to be blessed.
On her final day, as she reviewed what might be left unfinished, she gave instructions to give gifts to three nurses at Maimonides, a book by Allen for the hospital’s president, a birthday cake to a handicapped man. On Monday morning, while holding my wife’s hand, she let go and she died.
Amidst the tears and Tehilim, we had celebrated a Pesach of loss and of redemption.
Wednesday, April 28, 1999
Secular Education
A foundation with a splendid record in Jewish education wants to upgrade secular studies in yeshivas and day schools. Since these institutions need all the help they can get, the new initiative is welcome, although to be effective, the essential character and mission of Jewish schools needs to be respected.
Education is one of the two key functions of Jewish schools. The other – often more important – function is religious socialization, the process whereby young children are taught to understand and accept the principles of our faith. This role transcends courses and curriculum and explains why all who care about Jewish continuity now place so much hope in all-day Jewish schools, institutions that for nearly the entirety of the American Jewish experience were treated as unwanted leftovers of a Jewish past.
If Jewish schools produce graduates who go on to elite colleges and successful careers but who abandon religious commitment, they are failing in their mission.
This does not mean that educational performance is to be neglected. It cannot, if only because, after all, these are schools and what they do mostly during the hours they operate is to impart knowledge and develop intellectual and other skills. Parents would be up in arms if schools did not maintain educational standards, if subjects were not taught properly, if assignments and exams were not taken seriously, if student performance was not graded.
Jewish schools and especially yeshivas confront potent and largely immutable difficulties as they carry out their responsibilities. They have a dual program, which means that starting from a very young age, children have to be taught two sets of subject matter, almost always in two or three languages. In most places, Jewish education occupies the first half or more of the school day, with the secular program consisting primarily of basic courses and little more.
The problem of maintaining a dual educational program is intensified by the financial crunch at most Jewish schools. It costs about $10,000 a year to educate (such as it is) a public school student in New York, about double what yeshivas spend to teach Jewish kids religious and secular subjects. Our schools are, with few exceptions, badly underfunded, a condition that is reflected throughout the educational program. Libraries, labs and nearly all of the other accoutrements of a good school are inadequate or non-existent. Funds are not available to offer electives to gifted students or to provide additional attention to special students. Extracurricular activity can consist of nothing more than recess. On the secular side, the faculty is invariably made up of stringers or unlicensed seminary graduates.
In short, all of the ingredients for educational failure are abundantly on display in nearly all Jewish schools. Somehow, though, our schools manage to do a credible job and even more than that, including in the secular area. This is one of the primary findings of an ongoing study I am conducting of yeshiva and day school student performance on standard New York State examinations. The results are uneven, so that girls perform better than boys and students at chassidic schools do not do as well as those who attend elsewhere. There is, as is true of all human contrivances, a measure of failure and more than a little room for improvement. Overall, the record is laudatory.
Why this is so may be a mystery to outsiders who cannot see how a strong performance can emerge in schools that operate under such severe limitations or, more likely, have come to believe the worst about yeshivas. People who are familiar with the workings of our schools, including admissions officials at first-rate colleges and professional schools, know that for all of the time and financial pressures they face, Jewish schools produce exceptional graduates.
One reason for the unexpectedly strong outcome can be summed up in a single word: commitment. This is manifested when underpaid teachers, in both the religious and secular program, devote long hours at home to prepare their lessons and find ways of reaching out to students beyond the ordinary classroom experience.
There is a culture of learning and study in our schools that compensates – not entirely, but in large measure – for programmatic and even attitudinal shortcomings. Students in Jewish schools are, in the aggregate, serious-minded. They are not distracted by outside elements and certainly not by the social pathologies that have harmed too many bright students in elite secular schools. When students in Jewish schools set their mind to educational tasks, including subjects that may be regarded as of lesser consequence, the outcome invariably is impressive. This affinity for serious study stands yeshiva graduates in good stead when they enter the job market or take graduate and professional training, often after they have concluded their seminary study.
This picture of yeshiva education is not the one that we usually get. We are told of corruption – which must be severely criticized and never condoned – in a small number of schools, as if this is the pattern everywhere. We read of writers and people of accomplishment who look back with disdain at their yeshiva education, without any thought being given to the possibility that the skills or discipline acquired during the yeshiva years had anything to do with their later success. Worst of all, we are given a distorted and invariably ugly description of how yeshiva graduates fare financially. They are depicted as parasites in language that comes dangerously close to the language used traditionally by anti-Semites.
The truth is that nearly all adult Orthodox men, including those who are referred to as charedim, work, as do many of the women. They are lawyers, teachers, communal employees, accountants, computer experts, technicians, doctors and medical personnel. They work at large firms where they are regarded as devoted and trustworthy employees. Among chassidim especially, there is an entrepreneurial instinct which already has an important bearing on the economic profile of the community.
The further truth is that despite their hard work, many have difficulty making ends meet. Those in communal positions, including teachers, are badly underpaid. Family size is a critical factor, as is the cost of living an observant life, specifically tuition but other expenses as well. Residual job discrimination takes a toll, as does their nearly total lack of geographical mobility. As a consequence, many of the Orthodox take a second job, wives work (usually part-time), parents help out and there is a measure of reliance by a minority on communal and governmental benefits.
None of this alters the basic picture of hard work or the extraordinary ongoing value of their yeshiva education. Of course, more Orthodox Jews are poorer than the non-Orthodox, but instead of seeing the dignity – indeed the spirituality – of thousands of people who struggle constantly to make ends meet and who go daily to their jobs and do them well, the goodness of these people is denigrated, at times by know-nothing writers who employ the mantle of sociology to transmit their hate and bigotry.
What I write here will have no impact. We are far from the point when the cascades of hatred flowing toward the Orthodox will cease. It is remarkable how so many secular Jews who claim to embrace tolerance and enlightenment can display so much prejudice toward their fellow Jews. As yet, there is no way to stop those who traffic in hate, especially since it masquerades at times as scholarship.
Still, the effort must be made and the truth must be written. At long last, is there any decency left in our community? Are we incapable of stopping the bigotry?
Education is one of the two key functions of Jewish schools. The other – often more important – function is religious socialization, the process whereby young children are taught to understand and accept the principles of our faith. This role transcends courses and curriculum and explains why all who care about Jewish continuity now place so much hope in all-day Jewish schools, institutions that for nearly the entirety of the American Jewish experience were treated as unwanted leftovers of a Jewish past.
If Jewish schools produce graduates who go on to elite colleges and successful careers but who abandon religious commitment, they are failing in their mission.
This does not mean that educational performance is to be neglected. It cannot, if only because, after all, these are schools and what they do mostly during the hours they operate is to impart knowledge and develop intellectual and other skills. Parents would be up in arms if schools did not maintain educational standards, if subjects were not taught properly, if assignments and exams were not taken seriously, if student performance was not graded.
Jewish schools and especially yeshivas confront potent and largely immutable difficulties as they carry out their responsibilities. They have a dual program, which means that starting from a very young age, children have to be taught two sets of subject matter, almost always in two or three languages. In most places, Jewish education occupies the first half or more of the school day, with the secular program consisting primarily of basic courses and little more.
The problem of maintaining a dual educational program is intensified by the financial crunch at most Jewish schools. It costs about $10,000 a year to educate (such as it is) a public school student in New York, about double what yeshivas spend to teach Jewish kids religious and secular subjects. Our schools are, with few exceptions, badly underfunded, a condition that is reflected throughout the educational program. Libraries, labs and nearly all of the other accoutrements of a good school are inadequate or non-existent. Funds are not available to offer electives to gifted students or to provide additional attention to special students. Extracurricular activity can consist of nothing more than recess. On the secular side, the faculty is invariably made up of stringers or unlicensed seminary graduates.
In short, all of the ingredients for educational failure are abundantly on display in nearly all Jewish schools. Somehow, though, our schools manage to do a credible job and even more than that, including in the secular area. This is one of the primary findings of an ongoing study I am conducting of yeshiva and day school student performance on standard New York State examinations. The results are uneven, so that girls perform better than boys and students at chassidic schools do not do as well as those who attend elsewhere. There is, as is true of all human contrivances, a measure of failure and more than a little room for improvement. Overall, the record is laudatory.
Why this is so may be a mystery to outsiders who cannot see how a strong performance can emerge in schools that operate under such severe limitations or, more likely, have come to believe the worst about yeshivas. People who are familiar with the workings of our schools, including admissions officials at first-rate colleges and professional schools, know that for all of the time and financial pressures they face, Jewish schools produce exceptional graduates.
One reason for the unexpectedly strong outcome can be summed up in a single word: commitment. This is manifested when underpaid teachers, in both the religious and secular program, devote long hours at home to prepare their lessons and find ways of reaching out to students beyond the ordinary classroom experience.
There is a culture of learning and study in our schools that compensates – not entirely, but in large measure – for programmatic and even attitudinal shortcomings. Students in Jewish schools are, in the aggregate, serious-minded. They are not distracted by outside elements and certainly not by the social pathologies that have harmed too many bright students in elite secular schools. When students in Jewish schools set their mind to educational tasks, including subjects that may be regarded as of lesser consequence, the outcome invariably is impressive. This affinity for serious study stands yeshiva graduates in good stead when they enter the job market or take graduate and professional training, often after they have concluded their seminary study.
This picture of yeshiva education is not the one that we usually get. We are told of corruption – which must be severely criticized and never condoned – in a small number of schools, as if this is the pattern everywhere. We read of writers and people of accomplishment who look back with disdain at their yeshiva education, without any thought being given to the possibility that the skills or discipline acquired during the yeshiva years had anything to do with their later success. Worst of all, we are given a distorted and invariably ugly description of how yeshiva graduates fare financially. They are depicted as parasites in language that comes dangerously close to the language used traditionally by anti-Semites.
The truth is that nearly all adult Orthodox men, including those who are referred to as charedim, work, as do many of the women. They are lawyers, teachers, communal employees, accountants, computer experts, technicians, doctors and medical personnel. They work at large firms where they are regarded as devoted and trustworthy employees. Among chassidim especially, there is an entrepreneurial instinct which already has an important bearing on the economic profile of the community.
The further truth is that despite their hard work, many have difficulty making ends meet. Those in communal positions, including teachers, are badly underpaid. Family size is a critical factor, as is the cost of living an observant life, specifically tuition but other expenses as well. Residual job discrimination takes a toll, as does their nearly total lack of geographical mobility. As a consequence, many of the Orthodox take a second job, wives work (usually part-time), parents help out and there is a measure of reliance by a minority on communal and governmental benefits.
None of this alters the basic picture of hard work or the extraordinary ongoing value of their yeshiva education. Of course, more Orthodox Jews are poorer than the non-Orthodox, but instead of seeing the dignity – indeed the spirituality – of thousands of people who struggle constantly to make ends meet and who go daily to their jobs and do them well, the goodness of these people is denigrated, at times by know-nothing writers who employ the mantle of sociology to transmit their hate and bigotry.
What I write here will have no impact. We are far from the point when the cascades of hatred flowing toward the Orthodox will cease. It is remarkable how so many secular Jews who claim to embrace tolerance and enlightenment can display so much prejudice toward their fellow Jews. As yet, there is no way to stop those who traffic in hate, especially since it masquerades at times as scholarship.
Still, the effort must be made and the truth must be written. At long last, is there any decency left in our community? Are we incapable of stopping the bigotry?
Friday, April 16, 1999
Staying Out Of Israeli Politics
(Originally published in the New York Jewish Week)
Americans love wrestling because it is loud, outrageous and phony. The participants and the audience are all part of one act, as phantom blows are struck and the wrestlers feign pain and injury. James Carville and Mary Matalin, the husband-and-wife tag team, engage in liberal vs. conservative verbal wrestling, and their act is on a par with the crude product that is sweeping the country. When she says to her spouse, “down Rex,” as she did not long ago on “Meet the Press,” the aim is to enhance marketability. They were probably laughing all the way to the bank.
Carville’s recent experience in Israel is more serious. Along with other Clintonites, he has been enlisted by Ehud Barak, the Labor Party leader vying to replace Prime Minister Netanyahu, who again is relying on the expertise of Arthur Finkelstein. While Carville has an instinct for exhibitionism, Finkelstein is secretive. Whatever their styles, the expanding reliance on American spin masters and political strategists is an unsettling development.
The practice has more to do with America’s place in contemporary affairs than with the particulars of Israeli politics. There is an assumption that our goods and services are superior, and this has carried over to political gurus as well.
This represents the triumph of celebrity over ideas, morality and even politics, since outsiders are unfamiliar with local terrain and often are no more than amateurish interlopers who advance pat formulas and cliches.
Carville’s first round of advice to Labor quickly demonstrated his deficiency, and it appears his role has been sharply curtailed. That enhances Mr. Barak’s prospects, but does not dispose of the fundamental question of White House interference in the election.
We are seeing, of course, a repeat of what transpired in 1996, when the Clinton administration openly worked for Shimon Peres. It is one thing to favor an incumbent and something quite different to attempt to engineer his defeat. The White House strategy may backfire, as it did three years ago. Netanyahu has the skill to turn Washington’s opposition into political advantage by demonstrating that he is independent and tough enough to withstand American pressure when he believes that Israel’s security is at stake.
While Netanyahu’s skill is not in question, his style is. He has an extraordinary capacity to alienate those around him, people who have provided political cover and support. He is a loner who shows little loyalty. He also has a tendency to mislead, as he has on the peace negotiations. His Likud Party is shattered and should he be re-elected, his ability to govern effectively is likely to be compromised by his alienation of groups and people whose support he will need.
Still, it certainly is his right to exercise the mandate given by a majority of Israelis to go slow on implementing the Oslo agreement, even to evade concessions agreed to by Yitzchak Rabin and Peres. He was not elected to be subservient to the U.S. or the political clone of his predecessors. He campaigned against their policies, was elected and given the rather difficult task of abiding by the peace treaty, but not too faithfully.
The moral dimension provides an even more compelling argument in support of Netanyahu’s tactic. For all of what is deeply unattractive about the diehard opponents of Oslo — they prefer a state of permanent war over any settlement — it remains that they are motivated by urgent security concerns. The divide in Israel between doves and hawks is not over abstract ideology or a distant war. It concerns matters that make the familiar “clear and present danger” appear to be child’s play. There is, in other words, little or no margin for error in the neighborhood where Israel is located. It is not prudent to ignore the intense hatred of Israel throughout the Arab world, a hatred that is not going to disappear because a treaty is signed.
It is instructive to contrast Israel’s situation with how the United States acts when its security needs are at stake. We fired cruise missiles into Afghanistan and Sudan, hoping to destroy the very distant terrorist infrastructure of Osama bin Laden. These countries and the terrorists they harbor are thousands of miles away from the U.S., while the dangers and terrorists Israel faces live across the border, at times even closer.
A majority of Israelis may soon decide to replace Netanyahu. That’s their choice, not ours, and we — including American Jewry and certainly the U.S. government — ought to allow Israeli democracy to work without outside interference. As for James Carville, once more, “down Rex.”
Americans love wrestling because it is loud, outrageous and phony. The participants and the audience are all part of one act, as phantom blows are struck and the wrestlers feign pain and injury. James Carville and Mary Matalin, the husband-and-wife tag team, engage in liberal vs. conservative verbal wrestling, and their act is on a par with the crude product that is sweeping the country. When she says to her spouse, “down Rex,” as she did not long ago on “Meet the Press,” the aim is to enhance marketability. They were probably laughing all the way to the bank.
Carville’s recent experience in Israel is more serious. Along with other Clintonites, he has been enlisted by Ehud Barak, the Labor Party leader vying to replace Prime Minister Netanyahu, who again is relying on the expertise of Arthur Finkelstein. While Carville has an instinct for exhibitionism, Finkelstein is secretive. Whatever their styles, the expanding reliance on American spin masters and political strategists is an unsettling development.
The practice has more to do with America’s place in contemporary affairs than with the particulars of Israeli politics. There is an assumption that our goods and services are superior, and this has carried over to political gurus as well.
This represents the triumph of celebrity over ideas, morality and even politics, since outsiders are unfamiliar with local terrain and often are no more than amateurish interlopers who advance pat formulas and cliches.
Carville’s first round of advice to Labor quickly demonstrated his deficiency, and it appears his role has been sharply curtailed. That enhances Mr. Barak’s prospects, but does not dispose of the fundamental question of White House interference in the election.
We are seeing, of course, a repeat of what transpired in 1996, when the Clinton administration openly worked for Shimon Peres. It is one thing to favor an incumbent and something quite different to attempt to engineer his defeat. The White House strategy may backfire, as it did three years ago. Netanyahu has the skill to turn Washington’s opposition into political advantage by demonstrating that he is independent and tough enough to withstand American pressure when he believes that Israel’s security is at stake.
While Netanyahu’s skill is not in question, his style is. He has an extraordinary capacity to alienate those around him, people who have provided political cover and support. He is a loner who shows little loyalty. He also has a tendency to mislead, as he has on the peace negotiations. His Likud Party is shattered and should he be re-elected, his ability to govern effectively is likely to be compromised by his alienation of groups and people whose support he will need.
Still, it certainly is his right to exercise the mandate given by a majority of Israelis to go slow on implementing the Oslo agreement, even to evade concessions agreed to by Yitzchak Rabin and Peres. He was not elected to be subservient to the U.S. or the political clone of his predecessors. He campaigned against their policies, was elected and given the rather difficult task of abiding by the peace treaty, but not too faithfully.
The moral dimension provides an even more compelling argument in support of Netanyahu’s tactic. For all of what is deeply unattractive about the diehard opponents of Oslo — they prefer a state of permanent war over any settlement — it remains that they are motivated by urgent security concerns. The divide in Israel between doves and hawks is not over abstract ideology or a distant war. It concerns matters that make the familiar “clear and present danger” appear to be child’s play. There is, in other words, little or no margin for error in the neighborhood where Israel is located. It is not prudent to ignore the intense hatred of Israel throughout the Arab world, a hatred that is not going to disappear because a treaty is signed.
It is instructive to contrast Israel’s situation with how the United States acts when its security needs are at stake. We fired cruise missiles into Afghanistan and Sudan, hoping to destroy the very distant terrorist infrastructure of Osama bin Laden. These countries and the terrorists they harbor are thousands of miles away from the U.S., while the dangers and terrorists Israel faces live across the border, at times even closer.
A majority of Israelis may soon decide to replace Netanyahu. That’s their choice, not ours, and we — including American Jewry and certainly the U.S. government — ought to allow Israeli democracy to work without outside interference. As for James Carville, once more, “down Rex.”
Friday, March 12, 1999
How ‘New’ Will New UJA Be?
(Originally published in the New York Jewish Week)
The pending union of the Council of Jewish Federations and United Jewish Appeal seems like a good idea, in view of the urgent need to downsize an American Jewish bureaucracy that has elevated organizational redundancy, waste and irrelevance into major virtues. But like most appearances, this one may be deceiving. What already is being marketed to a gullible Jewish public as a historic achievement may turn out to be transparent and little more than the old arrangement in new wrapping.
At the local level in communities across the continent, federations and the UJA have long had a close relationship, without waiting for their parent organizations to tie the knot. Because the federations essentially control the institutional framework, they have been the dominant partner, so that in many places the UJA, which evoked the establishment of Israel and the struggle to provide for the security of the Jewish state, is virtually extinct.
It is hard to gauge the implications of this development. When we recall the successful 1967 and 1973 UJA campaigns that were mounted when Israel was at war, we can appreciate what American Jewry was able to do in crisis periods. Hopefully, similar needs will not arise, but we cannot know for sure. Will the new merged entity be able to do the work that UJA once did?
More fundamentally, the merger is likely to result in a further reduction of financial support for Israel. Over the years, the formula for dividing the federation-UJA pie has been altered in many communities, with American-based activities receiving an ever-increasing share of allocations. The primary explanation as to why our federations are giving less to Israel is that since their fund-raising outcomes are essentially flat, this is a convenient way to free up money for local priorities.
Israel’s economy is strong, with expanding pockets of affluence, so the case for philanthropic support for Israel that once could easily be made is now something of a stretch. The country is far from poverty-stricken and should not continue to don beggar’s garb as it seeks American Jewish alms. A reduction in what had been UJA support may not, in any case, turn out to be too significant in view of the many other channels for American Jewish philanthropy that remain open and receptive to Israeli causes.
What is of concern, or should be, is something more ephemeral than financial support and yet far more powerful. Israel needs the loyalty — the caring and emotional nurturing — of diaspora Jews, and this has been slipping as advanced assimilation takes an expanding toll. A decline in concern about Israel is an inevitable outcome of the abandonment of any sense of Jewish identity.
What is especially troubling is how many people in the federation world are detached from Israel. Late in 1997, Earl Raab and Larry Sternberg of Brandeis University surveyed the attitudes of nearly 7,000 randomly selected federation donors in 14 communities and more than 600 leaders of Jewish Community Relations Councils in 12 communities. Sixty percent of the respondents said they were distant from the Israeli government.
While an unfavorable view of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu doubtlessly contributed to this statistic, what many respondents were expressing is a sense of distance that transcends the particular policy or leadership of the Israeli government. As evidence, 24 percent of the surveyed participants expressed themselves as distant from Israelis. They weren’t talking about the 6,000 miles that separate the two countries.
This is a remarkably high figure, but it is not entirely surprising when we keep in mind how assimilation has eroded the identity of American Jews, including those who remain involved in our communal life. There are more problematic statistics, including the revelation that 31 percent of the federation and community relations people had never been to Israel and that an equal percentage had visited but once. Perhaps Michael Steinhardt and Charles Bronfman ought to expand their Birthright Israel project to include adults whose feelings for the Jewish state need to be awakened.
When the avalanche of hype hits us, touting the merger as an epic achievement befitting the arrival of the millennium, we might want to keep in mind that somehow in the equation there is a little place called Israel that must remain large in the hearts and minds of American Jews.
What must not remain large is our organizational bloat. If the new entity is only about a new name and institutional setup, we will continue to have an emperor without clothing. What is needed is the vision and courage to radically transform our organizational life, else we be left with an exercise that amounts to rearranging the chairs on the deck of the Titanic.
Even as they lend their names to organizations and arrangements that should be discarded, our super-rich put their money elsewhere, mostly into their own foundations that are better run and which incorporate their view of philanthropy. This is unlikely to change, even if the unexpected happens and our communal leaders decide that while the 20th century was an extended period for organizational excess, the 21st century requires that we discard wasteful practices.
Still, there is reason for modest optimism. While Charles Bronfman, shortly to be the head of the CJF-UJA merged entity, will not fold his family philanthropy into the new organization, he is a man of accomplishment and influence. He knows what is wrong with the arrangement that has been in place for far too long. We can hope that major reform will be at the top of his agenda and that he will succeed. n
The pending union of the Council of Jewish Federations and United Jewish Appeal seems like a good idea, in view of the urgent need to downsize an American Jewish bureaucracy that has elevated organizational redundancy, waste and irrelevance into major virtues. But like most appearances, this one may be deceiving. What already is being marketed to a gullible Jewish public as a historic achievement may turn out to be transparent and little more than the old arrangement in new wrapping.
At the local level in communities across the continent, federations and the UJA have long had a close relationship, without waiting for their parent organizations to tie the knot. Because the federations essentially control the institutional framework, they have been the dominant partner, so that in many places the UJA, which evoked the establishment of Israel and the struggle to provide for the security of the Jewish state, is virtually extinct.
It is hard to gauge the implications of this development. When we recall the successful 1967 and 1973 UJA campaigns that were mounted when Israel was at war, we can appreciate what American Jewry was able to do in crisis periods. Hopefully, similar needs will not arise, but we cannot know for sure. Will the new merged entity be able to do the work that UJA once did?
More fundamentally, the merger is likely to result in a further reduction of financial support for Israel. Over the years, the formula for dividing the federation-UJA pie has been altered in many communities, with American-based activities receiving an ever-increasing share of allocations. The primary explanation as to why our federations are giving less to Israel is that since their fund-raising outcomes are essentially flat, this is a convenient way to free up money for local priorities.
Israel’s economy is strong, with expanding pockets of affluence, so the case for philanthropic support for Israel that once could easily be made is now something of a stretch. The country is far from poverty-stricken and should not continue to don beggar’s garb as it seeks American Jewish alms. A reduction in what had been UJA support may not, in any case, turn out to be too significant in view of the many other channels for American Jewish philanthropy that remain open and receptive to Israeli causes.
What is of concern, or should be, is something more ephemeral than financial support and yet far more powerful. Israel needs the loyalty — the caring and emotional nurturing — of diaspora Jews, and this has been slipping as advanced assimilation takes an expanding toll. A decline in concern about Israel is an inevitable outcome of the abandonment of any sense of Jewish identity.
What is especially troubling is how many people in the federation world are detached from Israel. Late in 1997, Earl Raab and Larry Sternberg of Brandeis University surveyed the attitudes of nearly 7,000 randomly selected federation donors in 14 communities and more than 600 leaders of Jewish Community Relations Councils in 12 communities. Sixty percent of the respondents said they were distant from the Israeli government.
While an unfavorable view of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu doubtlessly contributed to this statistic, what many respondents were expressing is a sense of distance that transcends the particular policy or leadership of the Israeli government. As evidence, 24 percent of the surveyed participants expressed themselves as distant from Israelis. They weren’t talking about the 6,000 miles that separate the two countries.
This is a remarkably high figure, but it is not entirely surprising when we keep in mind how assimilation has eroded the identity of American Jews, including those who remain involved in our communal life. There are more problematic statistics, including the revelation that 31 percent of the federation and community relations people had never been to Israel and that an equal percentage had visited but once. Perhaps Michael Steinhardt and Charles Bronfman ought to expand their Birthright Israel project to include adults whose feelings for the Jewish state need to be awakened.
When the avalanche of hype hits us, touting the merger as an epic achievement befitting the arrival of the millennium, we might want to keep in mind that somehow in the equation there is a little place called Israel that must remain large in the hearts and minds of American Jews.
What must not remain large is our organizational bloat. If the new entity is only about a new name and institutional setup, we will continue to have an emperor without clothing. What is needed is the vision and courage to radically transform our organizational life, else we be left with an exercise that amounts to rearranging the chairs on the deck of the Titanic.
Even as they lend their names to organizations and arrangements that should be discarded, our super-rich put their money elsewhere, mostly into their own foundations that are better run and which incorporate their view of philanthropy. This is unlikely to change, even if the unexpected happens and our communal leaders decide that while the 20th century was an extended period for organizational excess, the 21st century requires that we discard wasteful practices.
Still, there is reason for modest optimism. While Charles Bronfman, shortly to be the head of the CJF-UJA merged entity, will not fold his family philanthropy into the new organization, he is a man of accomplishment and influence. He knows what is wrong with the arrangement that has been in place for far too long. We can hope that major reform will be at the top of his agenda and that he will succeed.
The pending union of the Council of Jewish Federations and United Jewish Appeal seems like a good idea, in view of the urgent need to downsize an American Jewish bureaucracy that has elevated organizational redundancy, waste and irrelevance into major virtues. But like most appearances, this one may be deceiving. What already is being marketed to a gullible Jewish public as a historic achievement may turn out to be transparent and little more than the old arrangement in new wrapping.
At the local level in communities across the continent, federations and the UJA have long had a close relationship, without waiting for their parent organizations to tie the knot. Because the federations essentially control the institutional framework, they have been the dominant partner, so that in many places the UJA, which evoked the establishment of Israel and the struggle to provide for the security of the Jewish state, is virtually extinct.
It is hard to gauge the implications of this development. When we recall the successful 1967 and 1973 UJA campaigns that were mounted when Israel was at war, we can appreciate what American Jewry was able to do in crisis periods. Hopefully, similar needs will not arise, but we cannot know for sure. Will the new merged entity be able to do the work that UJA once did?
More fundamentally, the merger is likely to result in a further reduction of financial support for Israel. Over the years, the formula for dividing the federation-UJA pie has been altered in many communities, with American-based activities receiving an ever-increasing share of allocations. The primary explanation as to why our federations are giving less to Israel is that since their fund-raising outcomes are essentially flat, this is a convenient way to free up money for local priorities.
Israel’s economy is strong, with expanding pockets of affluence, so the case for philanthropic support for Israel that once could easily be made is now something of a stretch. The country is far from poverty-stricken and should not continue to don beggar’s garb as it seeks American Jewish alms. A reduction in what had been UJA support may not, in any case, turn out to be too significant in view of the many other channels for American Jewish philanthropy that remain open and receptive to Israeli causes.
What is of concern, or should be, is something more ephemeral than financial support and yet far more powerful. Israel needs the loyalty — the caring and emotional nurturing — of diaspora Jews, and this has been slipping as advanced assimilation takes an expanding toll. A decline in concern about Israel is an inevitable outcome of the abandonment of any sense of Jewish identity.
What is especially troubling is how many people in the federation world are detached from Israel. Late in 1997, Earl Raab and Larry Sternberg of Brandeis University surveyed the attitudes of nearly 7,000 randomly selected federation donors in 14 communities and more than 600 leaders of Jewish Community Relations Councils in 12 communities. Sixty percent of the respondents said they were distant from the Israeli government.
While an unfavorable view of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu doubtlessly contributed to this statistic, what many respondents were expressing is a sense of distance that transcends the particular policy or leadership of the Israeli government. As evidence, 24 percent of the surveyed participants expressed themselves as distant from Israelis. They weren’t talking about the 6,000 miles that separate the two countries.
This is a remarkably high figure, but it is not entirely surprising when we keep in mind how assimilation has eroded the identity of American Jews, including those who remain involved in our communal life. There are more problematic statistics, including the revelation that 31 percent of the federation and community relations people had never been to Israel and that an equal percentage had visited but once. Perhaps Michael Steinhardt and Charles Bronfman ought to expand their Birthright Israel project to include adults whose feelings for the Jewish state need to be awakened.
When the avalanche of hype hits us, touting the merger as an epic achievement befitting the arrival of the millennium, we might want to keep in mind that somehow in the equation there is a little place called Israel that must remain large in the hearts and minds of American Jews.
What must not remain large is our organizational bloat. If the new entity is only about a new name and institutional setup, we will continue to have an emperor without clothing. What is needed is the vision and courage to radically transform our organizational life, else we be left with an exercise that amounts to rearranging the chairs on the deck of the Titanic.
Even as they lend their names to organizations and arrangements that should be discarded, our super-rich put their money elsewhere, mostly into their own foundations that are better run and which incorporate their view of philanthropy. This is unlikely to change, even if the unexpected happens and our communal leaders decide that while the 20th century was an extended period for organizational excess, the 21st century requires that we discard wasteful practices.
Still, there is reason for modest optimism. While Charles Bronfman, shortly to be the head of the CJF-UJA merged entity, will not fold his family philanthropy into the new organization, he is a man of accomplishment and influence. He knows what is wrong with the arrangement that has been in place for far too long. We can hope that major reform will be at the top of his agenda and that he will succeed. n
The pending union of the Council of Jewish Federations and United Jewish Appeal seems like a good idea, in view of the urgent need to downsize an American Jewish bureaucracy that has elevated organizational redundancy, waste and irrelevance into major virtues. But like most appearances, this one may be deceiving. What already is being marketed to a gullible Jewish public as a historic achievement may turn out to be transparent and little more than the old arrangement in new wrapping.
At the local level in communities across the continent, federations and the UJA have long had a close relationship, without waiting for their parent organizations to tie the knot. Because the federations essentially control the institutional framework, they have been the dominant partner, so that in many places the UJA, which evoked the establishment of Israel and the struggle to provide for the security of the Jewish state, is virtually extinct.
It is hard to gauge the implications of this development. When we recall the successful 1967 and 1973 UJA campaigns that were mounted when Israel was at war, we can appreciate what American Jewry was able to do in crisis periods. Hopefully, similar needs will not arise, but we cannot know for sure. Will the new merged entity be able to do the work that UJA once did?
More fundamentally, the merger is likely to result in a further reduction of financial support for Israel. Over the years, the formula for dividing the federation-UJA pie has been altered in many communities, with American-based activities receiving an ever-increasing share of allocations. The primary explanation as to why our federations are giving less to Israel is that since their fund-raising outcomes are essentially flat, this is a convenient way to free up money for local priorities.
Israel’s economy is strong, with expanding pockets of affluence, so the case for philanthropic support for Israel that once could easily be made is now something of a stretch. The country is far from poverty-stricken and should not continue to don beggar’s garb as it seeks American Jewish alms. A reduction in what had been UJA support may not, in any case, turn out to be too significant in view of the many other channels for American Jewish philanthropy that remain open and receptive to Israeli causes.
What is of concern, or should be, is something more ephemeral than financial support and yet far more powerful. Israel needs the loyalty — the caring and emotional nurturing — of diaspora Jews, and this has been slipping as advanced assimilation takes an expanding toll. A decline in concern about Israel is an inevitable outcome of the abandonment of any sense of Jewish identity.
What is especially troubling is how many people in the federation world are detached from Israel. Late in 1997, Earl Raab and Larry Sternberg of Brandeis University surveyed the attitudes of nearly 7,000 randomly selected federation donors in 14 communities and more than 600 leaders of Jewish Community Relations Councils in 12 communities. Sixty percent of the respondents said they were distant from the Israeli government.
While an unfavorable view of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu doubtlessly contributed to this statistic, what many respondents were expressing is a sense of distance that transcends the particular policy or leadership of the Israeli government. As evidence, 24 percent of the surveyed participants expressed themselves as distant from Israelis. They weren’t talking about the 6,000 miles that separate the two countries.
This is a remarkably high figure, but it is not entirely surprising when we keep in mind how assimilation has eroded the identity of American Jews, including those who remain involved in our communal life. There are more problematic statistics, including the revelation that 31 percent of the federation and community relations people had never been to Israel and that an equal percentage had visited but once. Perhaps Michael Steinhardt and Charles Bronfman ought to expand their Birthright Israel project to include adults whose feelings for the Jewish state need to be awakened.
When the avalanche of hype hits us, touting the merger as an epic achievement befitting the arrival of the millennium, we might want to keep in mind that somehow in the equation there is a little place called Israel that must remain large in the hearts and minds of American Jews.
What must not remain large is our organizational bloat. If the new entity is only about a new name and institutional setup, we will continue to have an emperor without clothing. What is needed is the vision and courage to radically transform our organizational life, else we be left with an exercise that amounts to rearranging the chairs on the deck of the Titanic.
Even as they lend their names to organizations and arrangements that should be discarded, our super-rich put their money elsewhere, mostly into their own foundations that are better run and which incorporate their view of philanthropy. This is unlikely to change, even if the unexpected happens and our communal leaders decide that while the 20th century was an extended period for organizational excess, the 21st century requires that we discard wasteful practices.
Still, there is reason for modest optimism. While Charles Bronfman, shortly to be the head of the CJF-UJA merged entity, will not fold his family philanthropy into the new organization, he is a man of accomplishment and influence. He knows what is wrong with the arrangement that has been in place for far too long. We can hope that major reform will be at the top of his agenda and that he will succeed.
Monday, March 01, 1999
UJA Merger
The pending union of the Council of Jewish Federations and United Jewish Appeal seems like a good idea, in view of the urgent need to downsize an elephantine American Jewish bureaucracy that has elevated organizational redundancy, waste and irrelevance into major virtues. But like most appearances, this one may be deceiving. What is already being marketed to a gullible Jewish public as an historic achievement may turn out to be transparent and little more than the old arrangement in new wrapping.
At the local level in communities across the continent, Federations and the UJA have long had a close relationship, without waiting for their parent organizations to tie the knot. Because the institutional framework is essentially controlled by the Federations, they have been the dominant partner, so that in many places the UJA is virtually extinct. It once had an identity that evoked the establishment of Israel and the struggle to provide for the security of the Jewish State, but it did not have troops or an organizational infrastructure and changing times in Jewish life have not been kind to it.
It is hard to gauge the implications of this development. When we recall the successful 1969 and 1973 UJA campaigns that were mounted when Israel was at war, we can appreciate what American Jewry was able to do in crisis periods. Hopefully, similar needs will not arise, but we cannot know for sure. Who or what will be available to do the work that UJA once did?
More fundamentally, the merger is likely to result in a further reduction of financial support for Israel. Over the years, the formula for dividing the Federation-UJA pie has been altered in many communities, with American-based activities receiving an ever-increasing share of allocations. It’s been said that this is the consequence of secular Jewish dissatisfaction over the role of the Orthodox in Israel. But this view puts a bogus ideological gloss on decisions that long proceeded the recent debate.
The primary explanation as to why our Federations are giving less to Israel is that since their fundraising outcomes are essentially flat, this is a convenient way to free up money for local priorities.
Because Israel’s economy is strong and there are expanding pockets of affluence, the case for philanthropic support for Israel that once could easily be made is now something of a stretch. Israel is far from poverty-stricken and it should not continue to don beggar’s garb as it seeks American Jewish alms. A reduction in what had been UJA support may not, in any case, turn out to be too significant in view of the many other channels for American Jewish philanthropy that remain open and receptive to Israeli causes.
What is of concern – or should be – is something more ephemeral than financial support and yet something that is far more powerful. Israel needs the loyalty – the caring and emotional nurturing – of diaspora Jews and this has been slipping as advanced assimilation takes an expanding toll. A decline in concern about Israel is an inevitable outcome of the abandonment of any sense of Jewish identity. Millions of Jews who scarcely regard themselves as Jewish cannot be expected to listen to the radio in the morning in order to learn whether there is news about Israel.
What is especially troubling is how many people in the Federation ambit are detached from Israel. Late in 1997, Earl Raab and Larry Sternberg of Brandeis University surveyed the attitudes of over 6,800 randomly selected Federation donors in fourteen communities and more than 600 leaders of Jewish Community Relations Councils in twelve communities. Their published findings have not received much attention, though the data should give pause to any who are certain that the CJF-UJA merger is a Jewish marriage made in heaven.
Sixty percent of the respondents said that they were distant from the Israeli government. While an unfavorable view of Prime Minister Netanyahu doubtlessly contributed handsomely to this statistic, what was being expressed by many respondents is a sense of distance that transcends the particular policy or leadership of the Israeli government. As evidence, twenty-four percent of the surveyed participants expressed themselves as distant from Israelis. They weren’t talking about the 6,000 miles that separate the two countries.
This is a remarkably high figure but it is not entirely surprising when we keep in mind how assimilation has eroded the identity of American Jews, including those who remain involved, in one fashion or another, in our communal life. There are more problematic statistics, including the revelation that thirty-one percent of the Federation and community relations people had never been to Israel and that an equal percentage had visited but once. Perhaps Michael Steinhardt and Charles Bronfman ought to expand their Birthright Israel Project to include adults whose feelings for the Jewish State need to be awakened.
When the avalanche of hype hits us, touting the merger as an epic achievement befitting the arrival of the millennium, we might want to keep in mind that somehow in the equation there is a little place called Israel that must remain large in the hearts and minds of American Jews.
What must not remain large is our organizational bloat. If the new entity is only about a new name and institutional setup, we will continue to have an emperor without clothing. What is needed is the vision and courage to radically transform our organizational life. Else, we will be left with an exercise that amounts to rearranging the chairs on the deck of the Titanic.
Even as they lend their names to organizations and arrangements that should be discarded, our superrich put their money elsewhere, mostly into their own foundations which are better run and which incorporate their view of philanthropy. This is unlikely to change, even if the unexpected happens and our communal leaders decide that while the twentieth century was an extended period for organizational excess, the twenty-first century requires that we discard wasteful practices. What fuels the instinct for private Jewish philanthropy is ego, not any deepfelt concern about the errant ways of our establishment.
Still, there is reason for modest optimism. While Charles Bronfman, shortly to be the annointed head of the CJF-UJA merged entity, will not fold his family philanthropy into the new organization, he is a man of accomplishment and influence. He knows what is wrong with the arrangement that has been in place for far too long. We can hope that major reform will be at the top of his agenda and that he will succeed.
At the local level in communities across the continent, Federations and the UJA have long had a close relationship, without waiting for their parent organizations to tie the knot. Because the institutional framework is essentially controlled by the Federations, they have been the dominant partner, so that in many places the UJA is virtually extinct. It once had an identity that evoked the establishment of Israel and the struggle to provide for the security of the Jewish State, but it did not have troops or an organizational infrastructure and changing times in Jewish life have not been kind to it.
It is hard to gauge the implications of this development. When we recall the successful 1969 and 1973 UJA campaigns that were mounted when Israel was at war, we can appreciate what American Jewry was able to do in crisis periods. Hopefully, similar needs will not arise, but we cannot know for sure. Who or what will be available to do the work that UJA once did?
More fundamentally, the merger is likely to result in a further reduction of financial support for Israel. Over the years, the formula for dividing the Federation-UJA pie has been altered in many communities, with American-based activities receiving an ever-increasing share of allocations. It’s been said that this is the consequence of secular Jewish dissatisfaction over the role of the Orthodox in Israel. But this view puts a bogus ideological gloss on decisions that long proceeded the recent debate.
The primary explanation as to why our Federations are giving less to Israel is that since their fundraising outcomes are essentially flat, this is a convenient way to free up money for local priorities.
Because Israel’s economy is strong and there are expanding pockets of affluence, the case for philanthropic support for Israel that once could easily be made is now something of a stretch. Israel is far from poverty-stricken and it should not continue to don beggar’s garb as it seeks American Jewish alms. A reduction in what had been UJA support may not, in any case, turn out to be too significant in view of the many other channels for American Jewish philanthropy that remain open and receptive to Israeli causes.
What is of concern – or should be – is something more ephemeral than financial support and yet something that is far more powerful. Israel needs the loyalty – the caring and emotional nurturing – of diaspora Jews and this has been slipping as advanced assimilation takes an expanding toll. A decline in concern about Israel is an inevitable outcome of the abandonment of any sense of Jewish identity. Millions of Jews who scarcely regard themselves as Jewish cannot be expected to listen to the radio in the morning in order to learn whether there is news about Israel.
What is especially troubling is how many people in the Federation ambit are detached from Israel. Late in 1997, Earl Raab and Larry Sternberg of Brandeis University surveyed the attitudes of over 6,800 randomly selected Federation donors in fourteen communities and more than 600 leaders of Jewish Community Relations Councils in twelve communities. Their published findings have not received much attention, though the data should give pause to any who are certain that the CJF-UJA merger is a Jewish marriage made in heaven.
Sixty percent of the respondents said that they were distant from the Israeli government. While an unfavorable view of Prime Minister Netanyahu doubtlessly contributed handsomely to this statistic, what was being expressed by many respondents is a sense of distance that transcends the particular policy or leadership of the Israeli government. As evidence, twenty-four percent of the surveyed participants expressed themselves as distant from Israelis. They weren’t talking about the 6,000 miles that separate the two countries.
This is a remarkably high figure but it is not entirely surprising when we keep in mind how assimilation has eroded the identity of American Jews, including those who remain involved, in one fashion or another, in our communal life. There are more problematic statistics, including the revelation that thirty-one percent of the Federation and community relations people had never been to Israel and that an equal percentage had visited but once. Perhaps Michael Steinhardt and Charles Bronfman ought to expand their Birthright Israel Project to include adults whose feelings for the Jewish State need to be awakened.
When the avalanche of hype hits us, touting the merger as an epic achievement befitting the arrival of the millennium, we might want to keep in mind that somehow in the equation there is a little place called Israel that must remain large in the hearts and minds of American Jews.
What must not remain large is our organizational bloat. If the new entity is only about a new name and institutional setup, we will continue to have an emperor without clothing. What is needed is the vision and courage to radically transform our organizational life. Else, we will be left with an exercise that amounts to rearranging the chairs on the deck of the Titanic.
Even as they lend their names to organizations and arrangements that should be discarded, our superrich put their money elsewhere, mostly into their own foundations which are better run and which incorporate their view of philanthropy. This is unlikely to change, even if the unexpected happens and our communal leaders decide that while the twentieth century was an extended period for organizational excess, the twenty-first century requires that we discard wasteful practices. What fuels the instinct for private Jewish philanthropy is ego, not any deepfelt concern about the errant ways of our establishment.
Still, there is reason for modest optimism. While Charles Bronfman, shortly to be the annointed head of the CJF-UJA merged entity, will not fold his family philanthropy into the new organization, he is a man of accomplishment and influence. He knows what is wrong with the arrangement that has been in place for far too long. We can hope that major reform will be at the top of his agenda and that he will succeed.
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