The Good Ritual Committee: A Rabbinic Extender

[Here you go, Tzipporah, per your request-]

The Ritual Committee, acting with the Rabbi and Gabai, if any, shall assist in the conduct of religious services and distribute honors.
(By-laws, Congregation of WACville, edited for anonymity)

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

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

There are two problems, though:
1. Influence, if brought to bear too often or without being invited, ceases to be influence at all. It becomes a nuisance, and is eventually ignored entirely.
2. On many of these issues, people are personally invested. Therefore, every rabbinic stance is likely to offend someone. Multiply the issues, multiply the offenses.

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

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

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

When I first heard of a Ritual Committee, I thought the person was joking.
First, the term ritual is one I hate to use for davening; it connotes a scholarly coldness and a heartless distance.
Second, why should anyone other than the rabbi be able to determine what happens during davening?!

But over the years I have come to know better. As far as the first problem, get over it; people use the term “Ritual” and they like it. As far as the second problem, the good Ritual Committee is guided by the rabbi, but makes its own decisions, under its own name.

Example of its effectiveness: The rabbi doesn’t need to push his influence into the decision of whether to have more or fewer English prayers on Rosh haShanah – the committee makes the decision, guided by him. It’s almost a Judo thing; congregants who protest will be reminded that the congregants, themselves, made this decision, via a Board-appointed committee.

Another example: The rabbi doesn’t need to offend a family that wants to create a separate Sunday morning minyan for its Bar Mitzvah – the committee makes the decision, informed by him.

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

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

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

Of Pomegranates and Shul Boards

I was thinking the other day about the way we eat pomegranates for Rosh haShanah and say that “we should increase our merits like a pomegranate,” because a sage in the Gemara says that even the wicked among us are filled with mitzvot like a pomegranate – in other words, we are stuffed with mitzvot. (Some have taken this to mean there are 613 seeds in a pomegranate, parallel to 613 mitzvot, but that’s just bizarre and not the intent of the gemara.)

That pomegranate concept, and the idea that even the wicked are stuffed with mitzvot, reminds me very much of my shul board.

Okay, that may be a little sharp, but I’m in a bad mood. My board doesn’t want to do its job, it wants to do my job. And not to do it well, either, or I would let them do it.

The board’s job includes duties like fundraising, budgeting, determining the overall vision of the synagogue and managing personnel (moi included, of course).

My job includes, as we have discussed, halachic issues, teaching, counseling, outreach, helping people with various needs, running davening, and creating the right atmosphere within the shul.

So, in our most recent case:

The board has identified Cause X as a need for the shul. The board muffs its job on fundraising for Cause X.
A congregant I’ve helped earmarks a donation for Cause Y, which a few board members think is not a priority. They think I should have told him to give to Cause X, instead of Cause Y which was close to his heart. These people really believe that donors should be told where to give, and that earmarked donations should be refused, even if they fit within the shul’s general mission and approach. Yes, they really believe that.
Those same board members tell me to my face how wonderful I am and how wonderfully things are going. Then, when I am not present, they moan about their problem with that earmarked donation to Cause Y, and that the rabbi is doing things on his own, without consulting them.

If you have a problem with me, tell me to my face, or keep your mouth closed altogether.

Ordinarily, I like my board. Many people join the board with the sincere goal of working for the best interest of the shul. Even if their version of “best interest” differs from mine, that’s fine with me. But too many others are just looking to take out their frustrations from other areas in their lives, by exercising control over the community… and therefore over me.

Yes, the board is often like a pomegranate: They are remarkably expensive, and hard to find when you need them. Their fruit is bitter, even if their seeds are sweet. They spill their juice all over everything and get it all stained. Now, if we could only cut them up and eat them on Rosh haShanah…

A Year in the Public Diary of RWAC

One year in the blogosphere.

Birthdays are a time for cheshbon hanefesh, to review where we’ve been and where we are headed – so here goes with some serious navel-gazing, and more .

I’ve gone from knowing of four blogs (Little Green Footballs, RenReb, Hirhurim and DovBear) to reading (very occasionally) several dozen. I’ve talked about shul business, personal issues, divrei torah and halachah and Batman and Rocky. I’ve ‘met’ some fascinating people. I’ve ranted to people and I’ve been ranted at by other people.

On the whole, I’d have to say that my blogosphere experience pretty much matches what goes on in my daily life, except for two things: 1. Here I wear a mask, and 2. Here I have a written record.

I’ve posted through relatives’ illness as well as through my own brush with medical disaster, I’ve posted about death and fear, I’ve posted about friendship and loneliness, and I’ve found catharsis as well as comfort.

I’ve written about Jewish communities, both to praise and to criticize. I’ve done a little politics here and there, but not much. I’ve written a lot about shul boards and presidents, and a little about rabbis, too. I’ve written very little about my rebbetzin, because I value keeping my head attached to my shoulders, thank you very much.

I’ve been recruited to apply for shuls from this blog. I’ve even been recruited to apply for a shul in Israel, but I had to decline; I believe that people living in Israel are best served, from a halachic and hashkafic and counseling perspective, by rabbis who have lived there for a few years, who know Israeli institutions such as the army and the school systems and can pasken and counsel on that basis.

I’ve wanted to drop anonymity any number of times. A few Bloggers I would love to meet, were it not for my mask: Jameel. Jack. Dovbear, when I’m in a weird mood. Renegade Rebbetzin. Rivka. Tzipporah. (There are more, this isn’t an all-inclusive list, please don’t be insulted that I didn’t mention you.)

I know that at least one fellow blogger knows my name, but he’s been good about not revealing it. Thanks, my friend.

I have tried to avoid five-line nonsense posts, and instead write only when I have something of substance to say. I don’t know whether everything has had substance, but I know I’ve kept the posts more than five lines, whether of drivel or not.

Blogging has made me a better rabbi, in some ways. I think my newspaper and bulletin columns have improved; I’ve started to write more as though I were blogging, and it’s been good for my style. I’ve become a better counselor, as I’ve tried to live up to the counseling advice I write on the blog – looking out for everyone, listening well, etc.

So where are we headed for the coming year? Probably more of the same. More complaints about stress, more comments on the state of the Jewish community, more off-hand divrei torah, more Day in the Life of a Rabbi. And probably more Batman and Rocky.

And a note to my beloved, adored, esteemed, worshipped wife and rebbetzin: Bet you never thought I’d keep it up this long, right?

Why don't Environmentalism & Orthodoxy mix? Part II

First: I have now been formally nominated for the Bloggers Choice Awards.
Bad news: You have to register to vote – although registration is free.
More bad news: I was nominated after the voting had been going on for weeks. So I’m like 450 votes behind.
But feel free to go vote for me anyway...

Environmentalism, Part II
Yesterday I talked about three reasons why the Orthodox community has not embraced environmentalism, but those were reasons that could apply to anyone: We tend to be a very inertia-oriented (=lazy) community, We see ourselves as a minority that cannot affect the grand scale of things, and We grab on to scientists’ uncertainty as a way to believe that we don’t have to make such radical changes.

Today we add three more reasons, which are specific to Orthodox Judaism:
4. Fuzzy Torah
5. They don’t speak Orthodox
6. The scope of our Halachic vision

Fuzzy Torah
Medical doctors get upset when people misconstrue small bits of medical information to support bizarre ideas. Physicists do the same with physics, psychologists with psychology, scholars of English literature with English literature. People who invest significant time and energy in a field are suspicious of those who seem to co-opt the field for a particular cause.

The same is true regarding Jewish Environmentalism. COEJL, HAZON and others cherry-pick sources to show that Judaism supports an Environmentalist approach, just the way that I did in the beginning of Part I yesterday– but they ignore many other sources that could counter this approach. The result is that it’s hard to take the Jewish Environmentalist movement seriously, and in fact they tend to be outright offensive.

They don’t speak Orthodox
This may be the biggest factor.
Environmentalists and their scientists talk about climate change over hundreds of thousands, even millions of years. They talk about the world being destroyed. Gd doesn’t enter their picture at all, and of course neither does Bereishis.

This approach makes perfect sense – but it’s not going to win over an Orthodox market. It’s very hard to convince me that Judaism promotes Environmentalism if you simultaneously say that the world will be destroyed and all the Divine plans won’t help.

There is also a lack of sensitivity among the Environmentalists, including the Jewish ones. In an attempt to play up the importance of their cause, they say things like, “This is about life and death. This is more important than worrying about wool and linen in your clothing.” Maybe it is more important than that mitzvah – but you’ll have to find a better, more sensitive way to say that, or I’m not going to listen to you as you trivialize my Torah. And I’m certainly not going to have an easy time supporting you from the pulpit. Treat my Torah with respect, thank you.

The scope of our Halachic vision
My sagacious wife pointed this out to me, and it (of course) rings true. Our mitzvos and laws are very much about small-scale, immediate considerations. We are instructed to help each other, we are instructed to learn Torah, etc – but where do we have mitzvos that encourage BigThink, for us to plan and an act on a national and international level? We have no such imperative – and so we don’t act on that level.

We think local, we plan local, we act local. We are more than willing to clean up a park, or deal with local hunger, or participate in a Neighborhood Watch. But when it comes to the bigger picture, we don’t really see it.

In Sum
These all real factors, and they go a long way toward explaining why our sector hasn't adopted Environmentalism to any great extent... but while we ignore the problem, our SUVs and our lack of recycling, our inefficient light bulbs and our styrofoam are, in my opinion, killing the world we’ve been given - by Gd.

Why don’t Environmentalism and Orthodoxy mix? Part I

Disclaimer: I am not a climatologist, and I’m not weighing in on the legitimacy of the science surrounding climate change and global warming. I do recycle, I avoid unnecessary driving (with gas at these prices, why not?), but I’d hardly be characterized as an eco-nut.

I went to a program the other day on Climate Change. It was held at an Orthodox shul. I’m embarrassed to say that almost none of the attendees were, themselves, Orthodox.

Why is that?
When we know that Ralbag describes the mitzvah of immediate burial as a step against air pollution;
When we know that Ramban explains that one benefit of sending away the mother bird is to preserve the species;
When we know that Ibn Ezra views the prohibition against interbreeding species as a step to protect existing plant species;
Why do we view Environmentalism as though it were the province of the secularists?

I can think of several reasons – too many for one post, actually. But I’ll start here, and I hope to continue tomorrow.

In brief, I can think of six reasons:
1. Laziness
2. The “minority” exemption
3. Fuzzy science
4. Fuzzy Torah
5. They don’t speak Orthodox
6. The scope of our Halachic vision

Laziness
As someone who has worked to provide all kinds of programming for my shul and community, from the far left to the far right, for those with semichah, for those with Yeshiva education and for those with no background, I can safely say that Orthodox Jews are not immune from the laziness factor. We don't show up.
We can believe in a cause, talk the talk and even write a check for it, but when it comes down to sitting at a program for two hours or more, or even to taking the trouble to recycle our plastic water bottles, our time and our energy are more valuable than that cause.

The “minority” exemption
How many Jews are there in the world, right? And how many of them are Orthodox? So we can’t really be the source of Climate Change, and whatever we do won’t matter.
This is part of a much bigger issue – in general, we tend not to view our community as having a big impact. It takes a lot of speeches, followed up by personal communication, to get people to register to vote, to convince people to turn out for a rally, whatever the cause. We always believe ourselves to be the underdog. We have been trained to see ourselves as so small as to be ineffective, and certainly on a global issue like this.

Fuzzy Science
Al Gore says in An Inconvenient Truth that there have been no peer-reviewed articles that contradict the claim that humans are causing climate change, but nobody – myself included – believes him. Someone always disagrees.
So we write off the whole thing as crackpot, because it’s such a bizarre new concept altogether that the skeptics must be right; how could we believe it?

But there is more. The first three items I mentioned are not Jewish-specific, and certainly not Orthodox-specific. The latter three are the more interesting to me, and I hope to get to them in Why don’t Environmentalism and Orthodoxy mix? Part II...

What's in a Dean?

Two articles to read first:
News: Rabbi Charlop שליט"א Retires
and
YU selects Rabbi Yona Reiss as the new Dean of RIETS

I am thrilled with President Joel's choice for the new Dean, based on my understanding of what the Dean of a Yeshiva is supposed to do all day.

To better understand the expectations of the Dean position, I Googled “job of a dean” and received quite a selection of results, for a broad selection of types of Dean positions – Deans of schools, Deans of students, Deans of graduate schools, colleges and high schools. Among the first few:

Harvard Business School
The Harvard Crimson described a Dean of the Business School as “the voice of the students in the administration, and the presence of the administration in the lives of the students.”

Krieger School of Arts and Sciences at Johns Hopkins University
The job of a dean is to make the judgment calls to retain the people whom we should retain, even if it costs us something, and to make the tough decisions, because there's a limit on what we can afford.

University of Kentucky College of Medicine
The opportunity to create warm, well-functioning environments for smart people, which is really the job of a dean.

Division of the Physical Sciences, University of Chicago
The most important job of a dean is to help recruit faculty.

Digesting this information, it appears that a Dean of RIETS should be expected to:
-Direct the environment of the Yeshiva;
-Hire, support and oversee Roshei Yeshiva; and
-Determine and enforce policy for RIETS students.
This is a seriously daunting list of responsibilities – but Rabbi Reiss does seem perfect for the job.

I first met Rabbi Reiss some 20-25 years ago, in the Kollel at Camp Morasha. He was known in those days as a big baki (expert in a broad area of Torah learning), someone who learned rapidly and with hasmadah (consistent serious commitment). He also had a sharp sense of humor, as I recall.

I haven’t had that much to do with him over the years since. We overlapped somewhat at YU, and I have brought a handful of cases to him at the RCA’s Beis Din of America, but that’s about it. (Oh, and I believe I worked as an advisor in New Jersey NCSY at the same time as his wife Mindy did.)

His reputation for genius and serious thought has only grown over the years. His association with the current YU Roshei Yeshiva is close. I’m fairly certain he has grown as a diplomat over the years, given his position at the Beis Din of America.

A bona fide Talmid Chacham, a diplomat, a long history at YU and its institutions, and a sense of humor. (I have a sense that this last qualification may be the most important.) Yes, I’d say YU will benefit from this selection. Kol haKavod, President Joel.

The Role of the Roll, and why it matters

Per an email I received this morning, I’ve been nominated for Best Religion Blog in the Bloggers Choice Awards. Frankly, I know this isn’t the best religion blog out there, but I’ll put up the link for voting when I have it; it will go in the upper right corner of my page.

I’ve been mulling the role of the Blogroll (that list of “Blogs and Sites” that runs down the left side of my blog). Occasionally I receive requests to add blogs, but each time I am torn, and I generally do nothing.

The Blogroll started out as a list of blogs I read (like the Muqata). Then I added some blogs that mentioned me, out of gratitude (like Ari Kinsberg). I also added a couple of blogs I respect, even though they don’t link to me (like HaEmtza and Hirhurim).

A question: When I include a blog, am I-
Telling people, “Go read this?”
Telling the world, “I like reading this?”
Saying, “These people link to me, so I’m linking back?”
Letting people know, “Hey, these other blogs are out there, in case you were wondering?”
Or just being kind to others and giving them a boost?

Of course, removing blogs is a whole other matter. I don’t think I’ve done that, even for the ones I barely read if ever, but I am sometimes tempted. Jack, you sometimes have posts that make me wonder whether I can, in good conscience, send people your way... but then you post something else that I just love (like the Leningrad Cowboys and Russian Red Army Choir). I should really accept that the Renegade Rebbetzin has left the building, but I can’t bear to remove my all-time favorite blogger from the roll.

But let’s get down to business: Why does any of this matter? Why is RWAC wasting your time with a Hamlet-ish “to link or not to link” monologue? Two reasons:

1. The blogroll conundrum underscores the way that much of life is a replay of adolescence and high school. (I read a book called Stargirl, recently, which also reminded me of that fact. Didn’t like the book. Too heavy-handed to be meaningful for me, but probably perfect for adolescents as it will validate all of their fears and doubts about themselves.)

Here we are with our blogs, so many of us looking for others to link to us so that we will become more popular, better known, more successful, so that more blogs will link to us, so that we will become more popular, better known, more successful, so that more blogs will link to us, so that… you get the point, or the lack of a point. It's a popularity chase that seems more instinctive than rational.

The hunt for popularity is a Jewish problem too. We are taught that the opinions of others are a check on our own egos (Pirkei Avos 2:1), and we are taught to learn from everyone (Pirkei Avos 4:1), but we are also taught not to overemphasize popularity and not to follow the crowd when the crowd is wrong (Sh’mos 23:2).

2. And then second, this matters because it ties in to a major problem I face at shul. What do you publicize, how do you select? One person has this cause, another one has that cause, to whom do you give a platform, and which platform do you assign? It’s a political nightmare.

One person comes back from Israel and wants to speak about her trip. Another one came back from a trip through Eastern Europe. A third one volunteers for a tzedakah, another one for a soup kitchen. Five people want to put printouts of their favorite emails and Dvar Torah sheets from their kids' schools, for everyone to read.

Even if they are all interesting, all worthwhile – which is not a given - you still need to make choices, rather than flood everyone. So do you shut down everything? Bad idea. But then how do you handle it?

Don’t look to me for answers; I’m still trying to figure out what to do with my Blogroll.

Time to Modernize Tzedakah

First, just for fun, you might check out one of my first and still-favorite posts, March of the Tzedakah Envelopes.

I'm not the first to say any of the following, but I've been asked to expand on the theme of Modernizing our Tzedakah organizations. (What rabbi can resist speaking on a topic, when he's actually been invited to comment?)

The Past
There was a time in America when Federations and schools and shuls were run out of smoke-filled backrooms, when a macher locked the door and told his friends they weren't leaving the room until they come up with whatever sum of money was needed that night. So they came up with the money, and that was that.

There were advantages to that system - they came up with the money, and they trusted each other to use it properly for a mission in which they all believed.

And there were downsides - there was no transparency in the way the money was spent, and the method of fundraising guaranteed a small group of donors.


The Present
Today, unfortunately, many tzedakah organizations retain the negatives of yesteryear, without the balancing positives. They are run by a small cadre of people whose fundraising motto reeks of Joe Isuzu: "Trust me," but there is no trust - not inside the group, and certainly not outside it.

Embezzlement scandals, absentee board members, overhead run amok and general mismanagement have given boards a bad reputation. Institutions anticipating donations ought to be dispelling these concerns with maximum sunshine, and many secular institutions do it, inviting donor input as well as funds - but Jewish institutions frequently do the opposite, becoming defensive and closed-doored.

Synagogues fear earmarked contributions; they want the donor to hand over the money and leave it to them to decide where it would be best put to use.

School boards keep their budgets close to the vest, afraid of the effects of sunlight on their arcane, archaic procedures, and their small group of power brokers.

And as the Jewish business-owner class of yesteryear disappears, replaced by professionals - doctors, lawyers, accountants - there are fewer machers around who know how to run a business, how to serve a customer, how to advertise and how to please.

Let's face it: The people who brought you two-hour stays in the waiting room and by-the-hour billing are not the people who should be designing a user-friendly Jewish institution.

It's bad enough that all non-profits start out with two strikes against them:

1. Non-profits are supposed to run in the red, because they cannot ask for funds they don't plan to use and because the needs of the community are so great, and

2. Jewish non-profits are supported by a very small community.

But we don't need to make matters worse for ourselves, by rejecting transparency, decreasing trust, and alienating donors.


The Future
Three simple recommendations for boards (speaking as a veteran of the boards of a dozen or more 501(c)3's) all centered on one idea: Bring in sunshine and build trust.

1. Publish a simplified version of your budget, and mail it to all of your donors - great and small - on an annual basis. Don't force them to seek out your 990.

2. Invite all of your donors to a big annual meeting. Make it festive and fun, but provide hard information for them on how you are serving your target audience.

3. Open your mind to earmarked donations. Remember that when you are soliciting donations, the donor is your "customer" - and the customer is always right.


And three recommendations for donors, all centered on one idea: Make it hard for the Tzedakah organizations to ignore you.

1. When they call you for a pledge, ask them pointed questions about how the money is spent. (The solicitor won't have a clue, but ask for the information anyway. If enough people ask, word will get back to their bosses.) Remember: These organizations should have advertising budgets, but those expenditures should be a very limited percentage of the total spending. They need to have overhead - but make sure it's reasonable overhead.

2. Find out who they are competing with in their chesed area, and find out how efficient they are in serving their target population.

3. Remember, above all, that giving to a tzedakah whose board is not trustworthy is prohibited (Rama Yoreh Deah 256:1).

As always, there's much more to say...

Re-focus

The stress is here, fully in place. I can’t rest, even for a minute; my nerves are too jumpy. Derashah for shabbos, daily, weekly and special classes, derashos for Rosh HaShanah, Shabbos Shuvah, Yom Kippur, Succos, Shabbos Chol haMoed, Shemini Atzeres, Simchas Torah, Bereishis, are the chazanim and aliyos and sifrei torah set up…

…and all while, the needs of the community are at my door. A woman whose ex-husband won’t do his share in taking care of their children. A family needing me to arrange an immediate loan to pay their bills. A man whose wife won’t agree to a Get. An ever-growing list of people who are ill, or bereaved, or just lonely.

My head itches from the stress. My teeth ache. About the only manifestation that hasn’t hit yet is the anxiety dream that it’s Rosh HaShanah and I realize I forgot to print out my derashah before Yom Tov. That will come, too.

Then two things happened, to help me re-focus and think about the good I have. One is from this morning, one is a memory that came to mind yesterday.

First, from this morning:
I received an anonymous email about a heart-breaking article, Season of Isolation, at aish.com.

It’s a real heartbreaker; there’s no other word for it. It describes the feeling of a single, Torah-observant woman at this time of year, entering Rosh HaShanah.

She’s in pain, raw pain. She recognizes the kindness of sympathetic riends who are trying to help her. She’s in misery, but not bitter. As I read it I almost wished she would have been bitter, just so that I wouldn’t have to feel so wrecked by her agonizing state, just so that I could be defensive of the blessings I undeservedly enjoy.

And second, I remembered an incident involving my son
He was then seven or eight years old. It was the night my son gave my wife the Thumbs Down.

My wife had worked hard to prepare a nice dinner. Chicken marinated in olives and cauliflower - a real treat. She had put in a great deal of time and effort, clearly.

My son refused to try the cauliflower. I nudged him. He wouldn’t try it. I told him he couldn’t have more of something else he wanted, I forget what, until he tried the cauliflower. So he tried it - and then he turned to my wife and said, “I tried it.” And he put out his little fist, thumb pointed down.

My wife, patient saint that she is, wasn’t terribly bothered. But I was upset. More than upset. I marched him out of the room, then read him the Riot Act. Asked him if we had ever shown a Thumbs Down to a drawing of his, a story of his, a Lego building of his, anything at all that he had worked hard to create. You get the picture.

And then it hit me that my son's gesture is exactly what we do at a funeral. We shake our heads and sigh and say, “What can you do?” (See Ulla, Bava Kama 38a, and compare with the berachah of ברוך דיין האמת.) In the moment of our loss, we fail to appreciate the good we received, and instead we cry over the good's ending. We give Gd the Thumbs Down, because we don’t like it.

And that's exactly what I do when I am stressed, what I've been doing now - I give Gd the Thumbs Down on the berachos I've been given.

In sum: A reminder from a woman enduring pain I cannot imagine, and doing it with class and emunah. And a lesson from my son.

Time to re-focus, I think.

Competition is not a dirty word

I disagree with pretty much every other shul rabbi I have ever met. I don't think that competition is a dirty word.

I don’t believe that properly-run Chabad centers, Kollelim or Batei Medrash will ever take a dime away from other properly-run Torah institutions. (I say "properly-run" as opposed to those which thrive on lashon hara, dishonesty or other unacceptable approaches.)

I have been a rabbi in a community with far more synagogues than we needed, and I have been a rabbi in a community in which Chabad entered a vacuum of institutions. I know what serious budget deficits are. And I tell you that these deficits, and the consequent damage to a Jewish community, are not a result of competition.

I say this for three reasons:

1. The Free Market is good for a community
In the absence of competition, synagogues and schools and communities and, yes, rabbis, become comfortable. We become lazy. The same pattern of events year after year, the same classes, and innovation dies a silent death.

Introduce new institutions, and suddenly there is incentive - whether pride or finance or otherwise - for thinking up new ways to serve the community.


2. Ask more, and you’ll get more
My board, like most boards, is afraid to ask people for money. They think that repeated requests will seem like “nickel and diming” people. They think that people will give less, not more, if solicited more frequently.

To which I respond that many people would give more, but they simply aren’t on the right giving schedule.

If people are used to an annual fundraiser and a Kol Nidrei appeal, then that’s when they will give. If I am asked only twice per year, and each time the “norm” is $250-$500, then I’ll give the norm and get away with $500-$1000 per year, an absurdly small amount of tzedakah for anyone making even poverty-line wages in America.

But if I am asked for meaningful tzedakah on a monthly basis, each time for a well-explained, well-founded cause, then I will become used to giving on that monthly basis. And I’ll end up giving much more.

So if a Chabad comes to town and hits people up for Gan Israel, a Sefer Torah, a new building, a pre-school, whatever, that will accustom people to reaching into their pockets more often. And that’s something I can use to my institution’s advantage, too, by getting into that schedule of giving.


3. The true “good of the community”
Finally, I don’t think that the good of my institution is necessarily the same as the good of the community.

Let’s say we have an existing school, and it serves the community moderately well. Then a new school opens and it siphons off students, endangering the existing school.
My gut instinct is to be critical, but - might the new school be better for the community? Perhaps children might receive a better education there?

Let’s say my shul is the only bastion of Orthodoxy in my town. And let’s say a kollel opens up and draws my serious congregants into their sphere, and ultimately into their minyan. And let’s say that weakens my shul, to the point that my shul becomes a shadow of its former self. Who am I to say that this isn’t better for those who join that kollel?


Of course, you could easily argue the reverse.
You could easily argue that we need to stick together, and not build institutions to meet everyone's personal preference. I have certainly argued this point of view, in many different contexts.

You could easily argue that the associated strife in a case of school or synagogue competition will outweigh any spiritual gain. We may have better-educated children, but what will they be learning about Jewish communal life?

You could easily argue that drawing more observant families away from a school or synagogue will weaken the chance of exposure to observant Judaism for the remaining families. What happens to a minyan when all the people who like to discuss divrei torah leave for a different shul?

I won’t argue against any of those important points. But still, I wonder - how much of our fear of competition is fear for ourselves - our comfortable rabbinate, our supply of tzedakah, our own institution's good - instead of fear for the good of our communities?

Diagnophobia

First: It appears I have made the big time, with a link from none other than the Boston Globe!

“The big time” isn’t about print media vs. electronic (especially since I don’t know whether that blurb actually appeared in the paper). Rather, it’s about the fact that someone who is paid to write, and who writes to the standards of a good-sized newspaper, linked to the blog. So Mazal Tov for me, and thank you, Miss Conduct!

And on to business:

I met with a congregant the other day, a gentleman in his late sixties. He came in wearing a hat that just cried out, “Old Man.” It reminded me of the comment Rav Soloveitchik used to make on the word ותיק (vatik) in the line in Kinos, ונהיית כותיק יוצא חוצה. On this line, Rav Soloveitchik talked about old men whose contemporaries have all passed. They have no valued associations, and so they wear whatever they please when strolling the streets.

As I sat with my friend, my mind wandered for a moment to ponder what it might be like for me at that age. His health, thank Gd, is good, so far as I know… but putting my paranoid self in his shoes, I’d be worried. He’s somewhat overweight, a male of a certain age, with some degree of stress in his life; how long can it be before he develops shortness of breath, before the doctor identifies a troubling growth on his skin, before his back goes out or he starts to notice his memory sliding, perhaps his hands trembling?

It’s Diagnophobia, the fear of being diagnosed with serious illness, of being told, “You likely have three months.”

I live quite a bit of my life thinking that way. I can’t help it.

Part of it comes from spending a lot of time with hospitalized and elderly people, with people about whom I can’t help thinking, “He likely won’t see Rosh HaShanah 5769.” From which come my doubts about myself: “Will I see Rosh HaShanah 5769?”

Part of it is just my brooding nature; I have even drafted my own epitaph (which is actually a good thing – it’s become sort of a vision statement, or goal, for my life).

But it’s a terrible, frightening, depressing, maddening way to think. זכור לך את יום המיתה (“Remember the day of death”) is a good mussar warning, but you can’t really live a productive life that way.

I can’t be the only one with Diagnophobia. How do you deal with it?

For myself:
I absorb myself in work, in the realm of the practical and its myriad details.
I think about the satisfaction of finally reaching the next world and learning the truth about what happens over there.
I reflect on the positives of the life I have, and the joys I can anticipate having if I live long enough.
I focus on the undeservedly blessed existence I currently enjoy.

And, finally, as those who already have serious problems know: Even when the cancer, heart trouble or whatever comes, the diagnosis itself isn’t the end. People do live with those ailments, and still have friends and relatives and love and good times. Human beings can accept and adjust to an awful lot; we can accept reduced mobility, modified diets, even painful treatments and a reduced horizon, so long as we can simultaneously look forward to good things.

In sum: Diagnophobia is really just the neurosis of someone who doesn’t yet have something to complain about.

When the diagnosis comes, I’ll have to deal with it. When it’s time to go, I’ll go. But until then, to borrow the midrashic phrase, there’s no sense in dying before I have to die.

Jewish Charter Schools?

There’s been some talk lately about the new Hebrew-language "Ben Gamla" charter school opening this year in Florida, and about the possibility that this model could help alleviate the enormous tuition burden facing the Jewish community.

In large Jewish communities, this might work. I can tell you, though, that in smaller Jewish communities it won’t happen. I speak from experience.

In one of my communities, we spent years developing a charter High School. We read studies of charter schools, contacted existing as well as failed schools, etc. Our model was similar to what is being done in Florida – secular curriculum and Hebrew language instruction in the charter school, for half the day. Students could then attend a Judaics program, in a separate building and under separate auspices, for the other half of the day.

We looked at numerous Christianity-affiliated and Islam-affiliated schools, to see why they had succeeded or failed. We found that you couldn’t have a rabbi run the school, and it couldn’t be in a synagogue. You could not limit your population. You could have single-sex classes. You could alter the schedule, to avoid holidays. There was a lot of freedom.

However, we ran into four major problems, which I think will affect any smallish community trying to take advantage of this model:

Coordinating with the school district proved difficult
Example 1: We wanted to have Judaics in the morning, to include davening, and then do the secular studies in the afternoon. This idea ruined the possibility of sharing transportation with the district.
Example 2: We wanted to use the laboratories and athletic facilities of the school district. Again, this coordination proved difficult. It became especially complicated when some parents wanted their children to be able to compete on the school district’s sports teams.

School board approval was tough
The school board must approve creation of charter schools. Of course, since charter schools drain school district funds, the board is not inclined to look kindly upon formation of new charter schools. The state actually oversees the school board to prevent it from acting solely on self-interest, but the charter does have to prove that there is a real need for its special services.
The usual cases of need are disadvantaged children who won’t learn well in the regular system, or a style of education that the school district cannot provide. If all you offer is Hebrew language, the public schools can say – as they said to us – that this is a service they would be glad to provide.

Per-student spending is fixed by the district
Realize that most school district, thanks to economies of scale, can get away with spending $5,000 to $10,000 per student. Your charter school will only receive that same per-student amount.
If you are in Hollywood, Florida and have 400 students, that’s great. If you are in a community with 10 or 20 students, though, you’re out of luck. How are you going to provide teachers, get insurance, and run a facility on that kind of money? And remember – you are not permitted to charge tuition.

Opposition from the Jewish community itself
The last nail in the coffin came from the Jewish community itself, and specifically its clergy. I approached the Conservative, Reconstructionist and Reform clergy for help, but they were afraid that such a school would create a bad name for Jews in the community. Our school district, like most, is strapped for cash, and we would be draining that cash to create a school for Jews. (Granted that anyone could attend, it really would end up being a school for Jews.) They opposed the idea, and they counseled their congregants not to send their children.

The bottom line? This may work if you have realistic transportation/facilities prospects, weight on the school board, hundreds of students and no need for support from the Conservative and Reform communities. If you are like most non-New York Jewish communities, though, then try a different model.

Mezuzah Scam Alert

Warning: The following post contains pictures which include “sheimos” – the complete name of Gd. If you print out copies of this post, please make sure to dispose of them properly. See your local competent rabbi for more information on proper disposal.

I like to remind people to schedule Tefillin and Mezuzos checks in the days leading up to Rosh HaShanah, just to make sure that everything is in order. And every year, I get a few mezuzos that are just bizarre.

The first type of problem is obvious – the mezuzah that is not a mezuzah at all. I’ve seen mezuzos written on paper and xeroxed mezuzos. And the topper is shown below; that one really takes the cake. [Take that piece of paper to a mekubal and ask him to read your mezuzah and tell you what it means!]

But I also see mezuzos that have been sold as Kosher, under the stamps of safrus organizations, and are clearly either treif or extremely questionable. I’m not a qualified sofer; I only do small Sefer Torah repairs for a very limited set of situations, but I do know what a psul looks like, and these mezuzos are a big problem.

Take a look at this scan of five such mezuzos. I know it's not that good, but I did the best I could with it; if you email me, I'll email you the original scans.

The crowns you see are because they were in a plastic that bore the seal of a safrus organization; ditto for the rectangle emerging from the lower left one. The full seal is seen at bottom right.

These mezuzos are just so sloppily done. For example:
Upper left: Look at “va’avaditem elo—him acheirim”, the lamed in HaShem’s Name. Look at the ayin in “nishba” at the bottom.
Upper right: Look at “bein eienecha” and “v’savata”
Lower left: “deganecha” and “ha’adamah”
Lower right: “tishmi’u” and the second “uvlechticha”
And the bottom left one: Look at all of the letter/word spacings, not to mention the size of the “yud” vs. letters around it in various places.

These didn't 'become' pasul - they were written that way.

This is terrible; we are trying to fulfill a mitzvah, and we are being cheated.

On a practical level: I always advise people against buying small mezuzos, because they tend to be poorly written. All of the above five mezuzos are of the small variety. But if you have to buy one, PLEASE have it checked by a responsible rav before you use it.

May we have mezuzos with a ksivah tovah and a chasimah ne'emanah, and so merit a ksivah vachasimah tovah.

The Seven Habits of Highly Ineffective Congregants

First: Thanks for the Haveil Havalim link, Jack!

And a preface: I know the following post is going to offend people who feel ignored in their shuls. I apologize. (And Rivka, this is not about you.)

Having just faced my ten thousandth person to come up with the brilliant idea that all we need is an Outreach Kollel to make our community grow – and rabbi, you should be able to raise a hundred grand each year to pay them – I am in a ranty mood.

Want to know how to get your rabbi’s attention? Want to know why your projects never see the light of day? Want to know why no one is jumping on board with your brilliant campaign to purchase a sushi-and-hot-dog cart for shul Little League games or sell synagogue-branded bidet covers as an Adult Ed fundraiser?

Okay, folks, here it is: The definitive list of reasons why people aren’t falling all over themselves to follow your wise counsel:

1. Two words: Follow Up.
If you want me to take your idea seriously, don’t blurt it out at kiddush on Shabbos as part of a five-minute conversation and expect me to remember it – and act on it - the next day. First, my memory isn’t the best. Second, if it’s not worth your own time during the week, why should it be worth mine?

2. You’ve got to walk the walk.
Are you willing to chair the project, or at least sit on the committee? Any idea you generate will be entirely meaningless to me if you aren’t willing to give real time to make it happen. Just like for #1 above – if it ain’t worth your time, it ain’t worth mine.

3. Be polite.
If I had a dime for every person who has introduced his own idea by trashing everyone else’s… It sets the wrong tone, folks, and makes me break out in a rash. Don’t do it.

4. The sky isn’t falling.
Ideas that are sold as the only way to save the community from disaster – we MUST have a kollel, NOW! – are hard to take seriously. Jewish communities, through HaShem’s aid and through the course of social dynamics, will go through ups and downs, will ride high and then fall low, etc. Ultimately, though, barring cataclysm, they will survive. Your idea may be great, but don’t over-sell its importance.

5. SHRILL is bad.
I know you’re angry and upset. I know you think I’m ignoring you. But I’m not, I’m just working on ten other projects simultaneously, so that I can’t jump on yours, at this insistent instant. Particularly if you aren’t fulfilling #1 and #2 above. Yelling in my ear is not going to convince me to support your project, let alone move it forward.

6. The board is neither stupid nor traitorous.
You came up with a wonderful idea. Someone else suggests a creative modification. The board wants to discuss it. That’s okay. Really. I’m serious. No one is taking credit for your genius, no one is trying to sabotage you. In fact, they may modify your idea in a good way, and you’ll still get the credit. So just calm down.

7. Coalition-building is smart.
Don’t be a Bush; going it alone is a recipe for disaster in a communal organization. Get others on board, work on their projects and invite them to work on yours. Why be a lone voice crying, if you can be part of a team of people getting the job done? There’s no glamour in losing alone.

There you have it, folks, and I could illustrate each of these with numerous real-life examples. Want an Outreach Kollel? Great, so do I – but let’s do it together, in a smart and well-planned way, as a team.

End rant.

Funeral Humor

A while back I posted some Hospital Humor. I'm not too sure many people found that post as funny as I did. Nonetheless, I found writing that post cathartic, so I’m back for a stab at Funeral Humor.

Okay, there isn’t a whole lot of humor in funerals, but having buried north of 100 people, I’ve seen a few, um, interesting things at graveside. Here is a selection of some of the more interesting things. (I must acknowledge that one or two are taken from the exploits of other rabbis, as shared with me.)

You haven’t really lived until you’ve officiated at a funeral at which the following things happen:

Before the funeral
-the family engages in a battle royale over who will have to suffer being buried next to the deceased

-a belligerent relative insists on opening the casket to see the deceased, only to discover that the relative is covered by tachrichin (ritual shrouds)

-the gravediggers open the wrong grave


Eulogies
-relatives despise the deceased, and make it known in their eulogies

-relatives tell off-color jokes in the name of the deceased

-relatives tell of petty crimes the deceased got away with committing

-a relative praises the deceased as “the family member who most enthusiastically welcomed my Catholic wife into the fold”

During the burial
-the casket turns out to be too wide for the grave - as you discover only while the casket is being lowered, so that it is now tightly wedged in place

-someone falls into the grave

-the funeral director falls into the grave

-the rabbi falls into the grave

-a small idol is placed atop the casket, representing the deceased’s love of African culture (other sundry things I’ve seen placed atop caskets: a favorite rock, flowers, clothes, blankets, a copy of the New York Times)

-a cemetery staffer’s cell phone goes off at graveside. Twice.


There’s lots more I’m forgetting at the moment; maybe I’ll post another round someday soon…

Shofar Practice

Rosh HaShanah is coming; I know, because Shofar Practice started today.

Shofar Practice - it's like MLB Spring Training without the steroids, NFL Mini-Camp without the salary holdouts, NBA pre-season without the high school kids who all think they're the next Jordan. When Shofar Practice starts, there is no drama; it's just you, and the horn.

("Just let it happen, be the horn. Be the horn, Rabbi. You're not being the horn, Rabbi."

"Well, it's kind of difficult with you talking like that."

And I must include the song here, as well.)

Batten down the hatches, Rosh HaShanah's here. It's been here, coming closer, for weeks now, but as of today it's really here.

I know it's here, because I had to pull out the shofar and practice for Elul this afternoon. You can pretend there are five weeks left in the Shiva d'Nechemta, but I know better. Rosh HaShanah is knocking at the door, and it isn't going to care whether I answer or not. It's going to huff and puff on the old shofar and blow my house in.

When I was eight or nine years old, I used to live in dread of Summer Camp; I vividly remember nights when I went to sleep hoping I would die before the summer, so I wouldn’t have to go to camp. My dread of Rosh HaShanah doesn’t move me quite that far - but only because I have my own children to think about now, and I would hate to do that to them.

How can a Baal Tokeia (shofar blower) concentrate on his own teshuvah while he blows the shofar? Obviously, they’re all much better at this than I am. I spend those moments worrying about the mechanics, about generating a clear sound, about not embarrassing myself. Which is why I blow only for Elul, not for Rosh haShanah.

Rosh HaShanah: The day when I have to find a way to motivate hundreds of people who have ignored Elul to suddenly take their judgment seriously.
Rosh HaShanah: The day when the fate of my community of cancer patients and heart patients, financially needy and emotionally needy, unlearned and tinokos shenishbu, will be determined.
Rosh HaShanah: The day when I have to be judged, myself.

A lot of the trick is just in getting the Shofar seated properly. If it’s in wrong, all the blowing in the world won’t help. If it’s in right, the gentlest puff generates a smooth, powerful sound. There’s a nimshal (allegorical lesson) in there somewhere.

Soon I'll get the phone calls asking, "I'm five months pregnant, do I fast?" "I'm nursing, do I fast?" "What about my asthma medication?" "Heart medication?" "Insulin?" "Prozac?" I'm glad they ask, and I'm grateful to those who actually ask before the morning of Erev Yom Kippur, but each question puts my nerves a little further on edge, makes me a little more tense.

I put the Shofar to my lips and blow the first blast, and it's tentative because my lips vibrate and they kind of jump back, startled, from the weird feeling of these vibrations. I get nervous, against my better judgment; will I be able to blow well, or will I have trouble?

I spoke to our Lulav and Esrog vendor last week, to lock in prices. We’ve set the shul schedule through Yom Kippur; tomorrow, I’ll work on Succos.

I want to blow Shofar with the tallis over my head, befitting the solemnity of the moment, but my nerves get in the way.

Rosh HaShanah is coming. I am so not ready.

The other day, someone remarked to me that Elul is coming early this year. I think he must have been joking; Elul comes early every year.

Predicting Future Sadness

I found out the other day that a close relative of mine is dating a non-Jewish girl, and is likely going to marry her.

I’m not sure what the caller expected of me – commisseration, rabbinic intervention, or something else entirely? It wasn’t clear, but I was duly informed.

It’s just sad. Sad because he’s a good guy. Sad because it’s a loss for future generations of Jews. And sad because – I think - he’s going to regret it ten, fifteen or thirty years from now.

I base that prediction not just on the usual unattributed statistic of 75% of intermarriages ending in divorce, but on my own experience as a listener. Too many men and women have told me about the mistakes of their youth, about how they didn’t know what they were doing, about how they would have done things differently, had they understood.

Right now, it’s relatively easy for my relative to say he will raise his kids without prejudice toward any religion, and then allow them to choose when they get older. But in practice, I think he will be disappointed when they have no interest in Judaism, the religion of his youth. I think he will feel singed when his daughter becomes a good Catholic or Muslim or Buddhist. I think he will be hurt when his son comes home spouting anti-Israel claptrap-du-jour, because he lacks the Jewish education that would provide our side of the story.

Right now, it’s relatively easy for him to say that he and his wife are going to overcome their different upbringings and the values of their different families, because of their shared love and their common approach to the world. But when he encounters serious marital strife – as almost all of us do – some part of him will wonder about his decision to share life's greatest intimacy with someone whose social and emotional and filial background is so different from his own.

Right now, it’s relatively easy for my relative to offer his family the “Either you’re for us, or you’re against us,” Bushian dichotomy. But in decades to come there will, I expect, be bouts of illness and times of sorrow, moments he will want to celebrate and experiences he will want to share, and having made the decision to split from his family – and yes, he is the splitter, the one who walked away, and not the rest of the family – he will have to laugh and cry alone, as embittering an experience as exists in this world. (Just ask Noah Feldman, whose sour grapes are the best witness to this misery.) No, his Jewish family won't ostracize him, but he will likely feel somewhat apart at the Jewish celebrations, and his wife almost certainly will feel apart. It's hard enough to blend into a new family, and this will be an order of magnitude more difficult.

As with many decisions made by younger friends and relatives, I wish I had a time machine that could telescope my relative into the future, so that he could see the results for himself. But it doesn’t work that way; as Moshe told the Jews, it’s for us to choose the ברכה וקללה, the blessing and the curse, for ourselves. And so it will be for my relative as well.

Is ArtScroll Anti-Semitic?

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

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

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

Then I went out into the big world and found out that my rebbe was working with old information; many people at that minyan, and at other minyanim I have attended since, really have needed page number announcements for parts of Rosh haShanah and Yom Kippur, and even for parts of the Shabbos davening.

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

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

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

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

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

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