For generations, joining a synagogue was a natural part of Jewish life in America. This book seeks to provide practical tools for evaluating the health and long-term viability of a Jewish community. The goal is to help families make informed decisions, help synagogue leaders recognize warning signs before it is too late, and help ensure that Jewish communities continue to thrive for future generations.
Many of the experiences shared in this book come from my own journey, first as a two-year Treasurer and later as a three-year President of a Conservative synagogue in Westchester County, New York. Many of those years were deeply rewarding, filled with dedicated volunteers, caring clergy, and people working tirelessly to strengthen the congregation. Like any organization, however, there were also difficult moments and challenges, particularly after my term as President ended.
In addition to my own experiences, I have spoken with numerous current and former synagogue presidents while researching this book. Their stories, like mine, are a mixture of successes and struggles. The purpose of sharing these experiences is not to criticize individuals or revisit old disagreements, but to offer lessons that may help current and future synagogue leaders build stronger, healthier congregations.
These experiences are drawn not only from presidents and past presidents, but also from Executive Committee members, board members, clergy, volunteers, and congregants who simply wanted to become more involved in synagogue life. Together, they paint a picture of both the strengths and the challenges facing many congregations today. They are shared not to embarrass anyone, assign blame, or reopen old wounds, but rather to encourage thoughtful discussion, promote positive change, and help synagogues learn from one another’s experiences.
As I have said before, this is not a history book. Nor is it a book meant to be read once and placed back on a shelf. My hope is that it becomes a practical resource—a guide that helps slow, and ultimately reverse, the decline of Conservative Judaism and Conservative synagogues across the United States, and perhaps even beyond.
We cannot simply watch this decline continue and expect our children and grandchildren to inherit the vibrant Jewish communities that so many generations worked to build. We want them to have places to celebrate their Bar or Bat Mitzvah, to gather for Chanukah celebrations, to hear the Megillah on Purim, to celebrate life’s milestones, and yes, one day, to mourn together and honor those we love.
Some of the stories in this book are difficult to read because they describe situations where decisions, actions, or personal conflicts had unintended consequences that extended far beyond the individuals involved. In some cases, disagreements with former leaders or past decisions created lasting divisions that affected volunteers, clergy, and entire families. Often, the people involved never intended for those consequences to reach so far, yet they did.
One of the recurring themes throughout this book is that leadership transitions matter. When they are handled with respect, transparency, and professionalism, they can strengthen a congregation. When they are handled poorly, they can discourage volunteers, divide members, and create lasting damage that may take years to repair.
I believe every synagogue should have a thoughtful process for leadership transitions—not simply to transfer authority, but to preserve relationships, encourage new volunteers, and maintain the positive momentum that every congregation needs to grow. What may appear to be a disagreement between two individuals can ultimately affect dozens of families and, over time, influence an entire generation’s connection to synagogue life.
The same is true in the way congregations treat their rabbis, cantors, educational directors, and other clergy. While a board may view a personnel decision as affecting only one employee, the consequences often extend far beyond that individual. Our clergy are not simply employees; they are the spiritual heart of our congregations and deserve to be treated with dignity, honesty, and respect, even when difficult decisions must be made.
Disagreements and contract negotiations are inevitable. How those situations are handled often says as much about a congregation’s values as the final decision itself. I have heard far too many stories in which clergy members were among the last people to learn that their contracts would not be renewed. That approach rarely produces a positive outcome and often leaves lasting wounds for everyone involved.
One congregation shared with me the experience of an Educational Director (whose name has been changed for privacy) who was in the first year of a two-year contract while discussions about her replacement had already begun behind closed doors. Whether or not those discussions were justified is almost beside the point. The concern was how they were conducted—without transparency, without compassion, and without giving the individual the respect that years of service deserved. Situations like this make future candidates wonder how they, too, might one day be treated.
I also spoke with a former Torah reader who lost her position after some regular attendees expressed dissatisfaction with her chanting. Her dismissal came without meaningful communication or an opportunity to address the concerns. When I contacted her later and asked about her experience, she shared a comment that has stayed with me:
“The feedback I have heard from former clergy indicates that the congregation has a history of mistreatment of clergy.”
Whether or not every person would agree with that statement is not the point. The fact that such a perception exists should concern every synagogue. No congregation wants that to become its reputation, because reputations travel much farther than any single incident.
This book covers a wide range of topics, each with both opportunities and challenges. Among them are fundraising, synagogue dues and alternative membership models, volunteer recruitment, governance, synagogue facilities, building funds, religious schools, leadership development, and mergers between congregations. Every one of these subjects deserves thoughtful discussion because each plays a role in determining whether a synagogue merely survives—or truly thrives.
Although many of the examples I share involve difficult situations, they are included because these issues genuinely exist. Ignoring them will not solve them. My hope is that by acknowledging these challenges honestly—and pairing them with practical solutions—we can help congregations build stronger futures.
I am covering a wide range of subjects in this book, and each one presents both opportunities and challenges. They include fundraising—the good and the bad—synagogue dues and alternative membership models, volunteer recruitment and retention, synagogue facilities, building funds, religious schools, governance, leadership development, and much more. Every one of these topics deserves thoughtful evaluation because each plays a role in the long-term health of a congregation. I also discuss synagogue mergers—why some succeed, why others struggle, and what can be learned from both.
While many of the examples I share describe difficult situations, they are included because these challenges are real. Ignoring them will not make them disappear. My goal is not to dwell on the negative, but to understand why these issues occur and how congregations can address them more effectively.
When I was a member of my synagogue for nearly twenty years before becoming Treasurer, I knew very little about how the synagogue actually operated behind the scenes. Most information remained within the Board and Executive Committee. Like many congregants, I heard occasional rumors or snippets of conversations, but very little was openly discussed.
It wasn’t until I became President that people began approaching me to share stories about events that had taken place over the previous two decades. Some involved clergy transitions, some involved board decisions, and others involved families who had quietly left the congregation. I quickly realized how little the average member actually knew about the challenges their synagogue had faced.
Were all of those stories completely accurate? Probably not. Every story has multiple perspectives, and memories are influenced by personal experiences. I made a point of listening to everyone without judgment because I believed every perspective added another piece to the larger picture. One of the lessons I learned is that transparency builds trust, while secrecy—whether intentional or not—often allows rumors to fill the void.
The second purpose of this book is to help distinguish between a synagogue that is healthy and growing and one that may be struggling to remain viable. More importantly, it is intended to help congregations understand how they can move from simply surviving to truly thriving.
This is not a checklist that assigns a score or determines whether a synagogue is “good” or “bad.” Instead, it is a discussion of the characteristics that healthy congregations often share and the warning signs that deserve attention.
For families, I hope this book will provide guidance in choosing a synagogue where your children will be proud to celebrate their Bar or Bat Mitzvah, where future generations will choose to marry, and where your family will feel connected for a lifetime.
For synagogue leaders, I hope it serves as a roadmap toward creating an institution known for strong leadership, meaningful engagement, sound governance, financial stability, transparency, and a welcoming culture. A congregation where volunteers are eager to serve, committees actively mentor future leaders, and succession planning is viewed as an investment rather than an afterthought.
Ultimately, the goal is to create synagogues that people are proud to join, proud to lead, and proud to call home.
One story that has stayed with me involves a rabbi in New Jersey who donated one of his kidneys to a member of his congregation. That extraordinary act reflects the kind of relationship that can exist between clergy and congregation when mutual respect and genuine care are present.
Another story involves a rabbi who accepted a position at another synagogue before his contract had ended. Rather than simply preparing to leave, he spent the final six months of his tenure working tirelessly to help his congregation find his successor. He did so because he genuinely cared about the congregation and because he felt respected and appreciated throughout his years there. Healthy relationships create lasting loyalty, even after someone’s tenure has ended.
I realize that many of the stories in this book describe situations that are difficult or uncomfortable. That is unavoidable if we are going to have an honest conversation about the challenges facing Conservative Judaism today. However, I have made a conscious effort to balance those stories with examples of outstanding leadership, dedicated volunteers, compassionate clergy, and congregations that continue to flourish.
One question I continue to ask throughout my research is this: Are internal conflicts and governance issues contributing to the decline of Conservative Judaism? I do not yet know the full answer. But I do know that almost everyone I have interviewed has wanted to share a story—often about a volunteer who felt pushed aside, a committee that became dysfunctional, a communication breakdown, or an opportunity that was missed.
These stories are not presented to criticize any particular congregation. Rather, they reveal patterns that many synagogues share. If we can recognize those patterns, perhaps we can begin to change them.
For every discouraging story I hear, I also hope to discover an inspiring one. I know they exist because I have witnessed them myself. Throughout this book I will also highlight congregations that have found creative solutions, volunteers who have gone above and beyond, clergy who have inspired their communities, and leaders who have successfully guided their synagogues through difficult times.
If you are reading this manuscript before publication and have a story about a synagogue that found a positive way to overcome a challenge, I would sincerely welcome hearing from you. My hope is that this book becomes a resource filled not only with lessons learned from mistakes, but also with examples worth following.
My one request is simple: if you begin this book, please stay with it until the end.
I don’t want readers to finish the early chapters believing the future is bleak. The purpose of this book is not to describe decline—it is to explore renewal. Later chapters focus on practical ideas, leadership strategies, and opportunities that can help Conservative Judaism not merely survive, but flourish for generations to come.
We are the current guardians of our synagogues and, in many ways, the stewards of the next generation of Jewish life. What we choose to do today will shape what our children and grandchildren inherit tomorrow.
Because this book draws heavily on my experiences as a synagogue president and on conversations with leaders from many other congregations, I wanted to ensure that it remained hopeful rather than cynical. That has become one of my guiding principles throughout the writing process.
To help me maintain that perspective, I turned to a longtime friend whose work is dedicated to helping people see opportunity where others see obstacles. Richard Guberti—known to many as Coach RichG—has encouraged me to continually reframe challenges as opportunities and to focus on solutions rather than shortcomings.
That simple philosophy has become one of the guiding principles of this book.
Rather than asking:
Challenge: Shrinking membership
I now ask:
Opportunity: How do we build stronger engagement and better member retention?
Instead of saying:
Challenge: An aging congregation
I ask:
Opportunity: How do we create and mentor the next generation of synagogue leaders?
That change in perspective has influenced nearly every chapter that follows.
Finally, I know I am not the first person to write about the challenges facing Conservative Judaism, and I certainly will not be the last. Nor do I pretend to have all the answers. My hope is simply that my experiences, combined with the wisdom generously shared by so many others, will make a meaningful contribution to a conversation that is critically important.
If this book encourages even one congregation to become stronger, one family to find a synagogue where they truly belong, or one future leader to step forward with confidence, then it will have accomplished exactly what I set out to do.
A Note About the Writing Process
Everything in this book reflects my own experiences, opinions, research, conversations, and conclusions. Every story, observation, and recommendation is my own.
As part of the writing process, I also chose to use ChatGPT as an editorial tool. Much like working with a professional editor, I used it to improve grammar, refine sentence structure, eliminate repetition, and help organize ideas more clearly. It also challenged me to think more deeply about certain topics and encouraged me to present difficult issues in a more balanced and constructive way.
The thoughts, experiences, and conclusions in these pages remain entirely my own. ChatGPT did not create the ideas—it simply helped me communicate them more effectively. I believe that using modern tools to improve clarity ultimately makes this book a better resource for its readers.
During the writing of this book, I discovered that ChatGPT could serve as something I had never expected—an incredibly patient first editor. It challenged my assumptions, suggested clearer wording, pointed out when I sounded too emotional or repetitive, and continually reminded me to focus on solutions instead of frustrations. In many ways, it encouraged me to become a better writer while ensuring that every idea and every conclusion remained my own.