Jewish Communities Worldwide

In Search of Authenticity: New Expressions of Jewish life in North America

A comprehensive overview of Jewish identity and cultural renewal initiatives underway in North America.

In Search of Authenticity: New Expressions of Jewish life in North America

We spoke with key leaders in each JEN community and other communities that stood out as innovative to get a sense of who they were. We had a lot of questions: Why were these communities founded as separate entities, as opposed to forming within existing communities? Why are they denominationally independent? What programming do they conduct? How many people do they engage? Who engages in these communities? How do they interact with the established Jewish community? What is their halachic approach? What is their engagement with tradition? With Israel? What is their approach to non-Jews? What innovations are they introducing to Judaism and to communal life? And how do they see the future of American Judaism developing? Summaries of these interviews follow.

Ikar – Los Angeles

Ikar in Los Angeles is the oldest and perhaps best-known emergent community. Founded in 2004 by Rabbi Sharon Brous, Ikar has risen to national acclaim, as has Brous who was 47 when interviewed. Today, Ikar has over 900 member families, or between 1500-1800 individuals, and was one of the pioneers of new models for Jewish community life and engagement.

According to founding president of Ikar and current CEO, and chairperson of the JEN, Melissa Balaban, Brous, herself, and others set out to create the Jewish community they envisioned in Los Angeles and could not find. Some communities were more traditional and deeply religious, others more focused on inclusion and social justice. The idea behind Ikar was an integration of “true Torah, intense prayer and social justice,” which Brous believes is what Judaism is supposed to be about (Ikar means “essence”). Ikar, like other JEN communities, is non-denominational. Brous herself was ordained as a Conservative rabbi and maintains close ties to the movement. Brous was certainly influenced, as well, by her time at Manhattan’s B’nai Jeshurun, discussed above. Ikar’s founders did not wish to prevent certain people from attending due to denominational labels or perceived barriers, which they believe are less relevant nowadays.

Ikar meets for Shabbat morning services every week and Friday night services on a bi-weekly basis. It offers Hebrew school classes (Limudim) twice a week, including on Shabbat. It is also heavily involved in social justice and interfaith work. While it has been renting a space since its founding, Ikar has recently purchased a property and is planning on developing the “Ikar Center,” which they will use as a platform for Jewish engagement, multi-faith work, and to promote social justice.

According to Balaban, “IKAR is in the process of designing and building the IKAR Center, a Jewish platform for spiritual, intellectual, artistic, and civic engagement in the heart of Los Angeles, one of the world’s most creative and diverse cities. IKAR is partnering with CCSM, a non-profit affordable housing developer, to include 50 plus units for permanent supportive housing for formerly unhoused seniors on the campus. We hope this partnership will serve as a model for other faith communities to include affordable housing in their facility planning. We are currently in the schematic design phase and hope to break ground in early 2024.”

Balaban explained that a small hardcore of Ikar regulars (around 10%) are Jewish professionals, rabbinical students, and non-pulpit rabbis from the area. Another roughly 30% are Jewishly affiliated in the community. The rest are Jews with weak or no Jewish backgrounds, intermarried families, or people for whom Ikar is their only Jewish interaction. Balaban believes that the reason Ikar attracts this demographic (more than established synagogues) is the combination of a radically inclusive community and a highly accessible Judaism that does not water down the Jewish aspects by including more English or conducting short services. Services are around three-hours-long and mostly in Hebrew, but are lively, musical, and constructed in a manner to help newcomers or those with little Jewish knowledge participate. In other words, Balaban explained, the entry barriers are lowered but once people come in, Ikar assists them in raising their own Jewish level.

Ikar’s membership model asks of potential members to commit to four activities: making some sort of “tzedakah” or financial commitment to the community; finding a meaningful and personalized way to engage in Torah study; making a commitment to community involvement, such as by serving on the board or in a voluntary capacity; and doing social justice work. Balaban addressed a common misconception of young adults and the millennial generation, noting that many actually seek deep meaning and real responsibility.

One of the ways Ikar seems to have succeeded in making Judaism vibrant and attractive to many previously unengaged in Jewish communities is through its unique integration of deeper and authentic Judaism with social justice work and progressive politics. While JEN communities differ in many respects, this seems to be a common thread. Another major critique of established institutions was that too many denominational synagogues promote a version of Judaism in which Jewish life, especially holidays and activities, are geared to children. Thus, young adults without children or adults whose children are grown will often be less engaged in synagogue life. Brous sought to reconnect Judaism to its roots, often in a contemporary medium, such as introducing a Purim Justice Carnival. She sees other communities in the Los Angeles area adopting such innovations, ensuring that activities and holiday celebrations are also geared to adults.

While some of the communities discussed have introduced significant innovations, such as the inclusion of non-Jews, Ikar takes a more traditional approach and seeks to work within an innovative yet halachic framework. In order to confront the challenge of including children of interfaith families, Ikar introduced a custom in which all bar/bat mitzvah students submerge in a mikveh (a Jewish ritual bath) prior to their ceremonies, which is also the symbolic ritual used to complete a conversion.

Regarding Israel and political engagement, Ikar is deeply engaged and committed to Israel but strives for a nuanced dialogue and does not shy away from complexities. On delegations to Israel, they will also meet with Jewish and Palestinian groups critical of Israel. This approach is common among emergent communities and addresses one of the barriers keeping many millennials from engaging with establishment institutions, many of which are perceived as being “too reflexively pro-Israel” and do not allow for a variety of critical voices.

Lab/Shul – New York

Lab/Shul, as its name suggests, is one of the most experimental of the emergent communities (shul means synagogue in Yiddish),83. Lab/Shul’s founding rabbi is the 50-year-old (at time of the interview),84 Amichai Lau-Lavie, originally from Israel, and of the famed Lau rabbinic family. After working as an educator at B’nai Jeshurun, Lau, in 1998, got the inspiration for “StorahTelling,” a live theatrical interpretation of the weekly Torah portion, played out during the Torah reading itself, and based on the traditional concept of “targum” (simultaneous translation),85.

According to Lau-Lavie, the concept evolved into a spiritual community in 2007 based on inclusiveness and constant experimentation – asking and rethinking basic questions: What need does a community serve in the modern era? What does membership look like today? How best to utilize physical space?

Prior to the Covid pandemic, Lab/Shul hosted between 100-300 individuals at weekly services, more if there was a bar or bat mitzvah, and between 2000-2500 at High Holiday services, with another 1000 or so streaming live online. The StorahTelling concept has spread throughout the U.S. With Covid winding down, and as we head into the 2022-2023 High Holidays, Lau-Lavie expects the in-person numbers to return to pre-pandemic levels.

Services, some of which have long waiting lists, are held in different neighborhoods and venues and have various themes. One Shabbat could be more traditional and another more experimental, for example taking place in a Brooklyn nightclub with a cocktail hour, prayer circle, and Shabbat meal. One of the most requested Shabbat services is a “Zen Shabbat,” which is held together with Buddhist monks and combines elements of Kabbalat Shabbat and Buddhist meditation and mindfulness, and which tends to draw especially from the large “Jewddhist” community, people with Jewish origins who practice Buddhism (there are hundreds of people on the wait list for this service at any given time).

Lau-Lavie, like others interviewed, has chosen to maintain denominational independence. Raised Orthodox in Israel, Lau began his career in the United States at B’nai Jeshurun, then the exemplar of creative and inspirational services. While he himself was ordained at the Jewish Theological Seminary (JTS), a Conservative institution, he has since left the Rabbinic Assembly after coming out in support of conducting interfaith marriages. Lau-Lavie does not feel the need to be a part of a larger system or movement, noting that he feels he would get little in return for the dues payment, while also wanting to maintain complete independence to experiment without having to consult a central organization. The average person, he noted, pays little attention to these labels and today, even turn away from such restrictions. He says, denominations could perhaps be compared to the traditional ABC, NBC or CBS television networks, while Netflix and Hulu are more dominant today.

Some of the major religious innovations Lab/Shul has introduced relate to their slogan “God optional and everybody friendly.” Lab/Shul excised the words “God,” “master” and “king” and gendered language from its liturgy. Thus “God” language was replaced with references to “spirit.” The bar or bat mitzvah was replaced with the gender-neutral B-Mitzvah; with celebrants taking an active role in creating a ceremony that is personalized and meaningful to them, while anchored in elements of tradition.

Other elements of experimentation relate to rethinking the purpose a synagogue and community serves in an age of hyper-individualism where half of any given liberal Jewish community might not be Jewish or interested in converting. How does the service and space evolve in a way that offers people what they need? How do you use Judaism itself as a platform to innovate and update without throwing away age-old traditions? And where do non-Jews fit into the picture?

To Lau-Lavie and many in the emergent world, one of the major challenges is the inclusion of non-Jews in their communities. Today, more young Jews marry non-Jews than they do Jews and choose to remain involved in Jewish life. While the Reform movement has long permitted their rabbis to conduct interfaith weddings, the Conservative movement does not, although both take an inclusive approach to interfaith families in various aspects of communal life. Lau-Lavie authored his famous “JOY Proposal” in 2017 (on Lab/Shul’s website), which resulted in his leaving the Conservative Rabbinic Assembly.,86 In this, he formulated a halachic solution to interfaith marriage based on the “ger ,87” (a community member who has not undergone conversion) concept that would give an official place and terminology for non-Jewish partners of Jews in Jewish communities.

Lab/Shul itself is one of a handful of emergent communities that do not differentiate between Jews and non-Jews, rather, it allows anyone who knows how to participate the opportunity to do so. Lau-Lavie pointed out that he does not disregard conversion for those who choose to do so, but that converting is not critical from his perspective. To this end, Lab/Shul offers an 18-session Jewish 101 course after which one can choose to undergo a formal conversion ceremony or not.

Lau-Lavie further spoke of designing a UX – a User Experience – terminology borrowed from the high-tech consumer age in which we live. Judaism is a product, he said, and the synagogue has to be a service provider, whether it provides religious services, a sense of community, B-Mitzvah classes, or other sorts of Jewish education. For the New York artist community to which he caters, the product is a spiritual, experimental, and non-judgmental space in which participation is entirely voluntary and optional at any given time. Lau-Lavie is convinced that Judaism is, in essence, a toolbox of wisdom and morality in a chaotic, often confusing world. He sees his role as a rabbi to make this toolbox accessible and relevant to modern sensibilities.

Lau-Lavie discussed technology and the digital age at length, an issue he has deeply considered. In an age where we spend half of our lives are online, Lau-Lavie asks questions such as what it means to be in the same space, what being a community means, and how to incorporate the benefits of technology into our lives. How, for example, will Jewish law relate to Artificial Intelligence (AI) one day, when machines become indistinguishable from people? Will AI be counted for a minyan? These are issues, he offers, Chazal (the sages) could never have imagined.

Lab/Shul is unique in that it does not use printed prayer books during services. It utilizes video monitors instead, which frees the individual’s hands and can be updated constantly. Its classes are taught online, something common today in the Jewish world. Another Lab/Shul innovation is its weekly telephonic “Kaddish conference call,” for people reciting the prayer for a deceased relative, which requires a minyan (ten people). Although, post Covid, as we discuss later in this study, Lau-Lavie’s introduction of a virtual minyan was a major innovation at the time. Lab/Shul also offers digital membership rates for those who only interact with the community online, including for prayer and education. Looking ahead, Jewish communities and leaders will have to consider these issues, as technology becomes an increasingly important part of our lives.

Lau-Lavie, himself an Israeli, noted that the political distancing and tensions between American Jews and Israel has led him and others to reduce the centrality of Israel in their lives. Israel was, for decades, a unifying factor for American Jews, but today has become divisive. The Holocaust, too, has diminished as a central unifying element in Jewish communal life. Thus, Lau-Lavie seeks to redefine what he sees as the new “central story” of Judaism: making the Jewish “toolbox” relevant and meaningful to people’s lives.

The Kitchen – San Francisco

Rabbi Noa Kushner founded The Kitchen, a self-defined “religious start-up” in San Francisco, in 2011. Ordained at Hebrew Union College (HUC) (the only founding JEN rabbi educated there), the 49-year-old (when interviewed) Kushner said she sought to recreate the lively and meaningful Shabbat experience she was familiar with from her upbringing in Boston, and so started her own community within the largely assimilated Jewish community of San Francisco. Despite having one of the larger Jewish populations in the United States (around 70,000), there are only a handful of synagogues with more than a few hundred members. Most Jews in the city simply don’t attend synagogue.

During the initial research (2019-2020), The Kitchen counted around 300 member households and continues to grow, with 50 new households having joined the previous year. Most of its membership is composed of families with young children, along with significant young adult and older adult groups. Its religious school, The Freedom School, is reserved for members. Aside from that, newcomers are not pressured to become formal members of the community as might be the case in other communities. The Kitchen’s membership system is modeled on Chabad’s (as are some other JEN communities) in the sense that members get certain access to services, but anyone is welcome for Shabbat and holidays. Kushner estimated that 40% of attendees on any given Shabbat are first timers.

The Kitchen, like other JENs, seems to be more attractive to those with marginalized Jewish identities, especially the LGBTQ community, which is highly prevalent in San Francisco. Echoing sentiments and terminology employed by other interviewees, The Kitchen was, from the start, not “Ashkenormative.” While some regulars are “hard core” Jews who hold multiple synagogue memberships, the majority are those whose only affiliation is with The Kitchen. Kushner stressed that she was not in competition with established congregations in the area, noting that there are far more unaffiliated Jews in San Francisco than there are synagogues to serve them.

Kushner called her community “The Kitchen,” to imbue a sense of informality and intimacy, in tune with San Francisco’s start-up and hipster culture, and to attract a demographic not previously engaged in Jewish communal life. Like other JEN communities, Kushner discussed some of the changes The Kitchen introduced to remove real and perceived barriers to “connection.” The more superficial ones, she noted, included using modern language, fonts, style, and informality; food served at its functions. These were the “low hanging” fruits she noted, because many people today are not connecting to formal, old and opulent spaces or styles.

On a deeper level, Kushner and The Kitchen team thought about how to connect to many who feel distanced from Judaism and Torah. Kushner described her role not in terms of “innovation” but as “translation” of Torah and Jewish values to fit our contemporary time and place. She described a range of tools introduced to increase accessibility – such as a pack of “Deal Breaker” cards and a “Field Guide” for newcomers – which address questions that often keep people from joining a synagogue: “What if I don’t believe in God?”; “What if I’m not Jewish?”; or “What if I don’t pray?” The Kitchen also designed and published its own prayer book, complete with translations, transliterations, and cultural cues, to make services feel authentic and at the same time accessible for newcomers. Thus, services are two and a half hours long, include Mussaf (an additional service added on Shabbat and holidays, which many Reform congregations omit), are mostly in Hebrew, and include a lesson or sermon. In fact, the highly accessible but deep and “unapologetic” Judaism The Kitchen offers is one of the defining characteristics of the emergent communities and what seems to make them attractive to many Jews who seek meaningful experiences but who lack Jewish literacy.

Kushner takes a unique approach to interfaith and non-Jewish participants in her community by forgoing the “who is a Jew” question, asking instead: “Who wants to do Jewish?” Kushner wanted to avoid the endless “gatekeeping” conversations and debates many liberal communities contend with. Thus, anyone who wishes to participate (and can perform the rituals or recite the blessings) is welcome to partake. Initially, Kushner was opposed to officiating at intermarriages but soon realized if she did not do so, she would be serving only the quarter of the Jewish population that in-marries.

The Kitchen, like some of the other emergent communities, makes creative use of space. As San Francisco real estate is expensive, and as many established synagogues are struggling to maintain large and expensive structures, The Kitchen rents a space (the old Levi Strauss factory) and conducts holiday celebrations in secular spaces throughout the city. It might hold a Purim celebration in Chinatown, Sukkot in Golden Gate Park, and smaller events in cafes. It employs a full-time location scout and event planner for such gatherings. When asked if she would want a central building if she had access to the necessary funding, Kushner said that she would prefer to invest that money in launching neighborhood rabbis, similar to the Chabad “shluchim” (emissary) outreach model, in the various parts of San Francisco where Jews reside, and to invest in additional teachers.

Kushner reflected on whether The Kitchen and other emergent communities are the “future” of American Judaism or whether they too will one day grow old and “stale.” While she wouldn’t speculate on what the future may bring, Kushner did recommend that any institution seeking to remain relevant should consciously work to include young adults in leadership positions (“make them 51% of the board”) and not just in a token manner.

Mishkan – Chicago

Mishkan was founded by Rabbi Lizzi Heydemann in 2011 (Mishkan refers to the wandering Tabernacle in the desert). After having served as the first JEN rabbinic intern at Ikar in Los Angeles, the 39-year-old (when interviewed) Heydemann sought to bring emergent Judaism to Chicago. What originally began with a small group has grown into an active community with 550 family member units, or “builder households,” an estimated 2000 individuals who attend High Holiday services, and over 3,000 unique individuals who attend services and events throughout the year.

According to its director Rachel Cort, Mishkan employs a “freemium” (free + premium) model, and replaces the word “membership” with the term “buildership.” According to this concept, anyone can attend services or educational programs or pay per event or program. However, holding lifecycle events or having access to the rabbinic staff for pastoral services is reserved for paying members.

Mishkan conducts prayer services every other Friday evening and one Shabbat morning a month. It draws up to 200 people on Friday nights and 100 on Saturday mornings. For these services, Mishkan rents space either at a nearby synagogue or in churches with which it cooperates. Offices and classes, as well as its Hebrew school (the “Mensch Academy”), are held in rented office space.

Like other emergent communities, Mishkan puts considerable thought and effort into “radical inclusivity.” Cort explained that this concept translates practically in a number of areas: financial matters and membership fees; accessibility for people with disabilities; engaging with those who feel alienated from mainstream Jewish frameworks, especially interfaith families; members of the LGBTQ community; and spiritual seekers.

Religious services and lessons are structured to be accessible to those lacking knowledge or experience while maintaining a deep and serious Judaism. Mishkan works mindfully to create multiple entry points for participants, through music, the rabbis, the setting or physical structure of the room. Cort explained Mishkan’s success in connecting to less engaged young adults, through a “user centric design process.” Mishkan (the provider) seeks to understand the needs and preferences of young Jews (the clients) before designing the various ways in which those Jews can connect. Beyond that, Cort is convinced that Mishkan was established at the right time in the right place: a hip, urban and heavily Jewish Chicago neighborhood, which is also home to other actors in the Jewish innovation ecosystem.

Like The Kitchen, the “under 40” age cohort is the norm at Mishkan and its leadership is composed of this demographic, offering the community a sense of youthful energy. Thus, perhaps due to the young age of its leadership and most of its participants, and the novelty of the community itself, so far, Mishkan has avoided the political infighting that often characterizes older, established institutions.

Mishkan’s “Judaism” is more traditional than other non-Orthodox communities. Rabbi Lizzi Heydemann, its founder, was ordained within the Conservative movement. Mishkan’s services feature a Hebrew-heavy liturgy, and kosher food is served at functions to accommodate more observant individuals.

One of the major challenges, according to Cort, is developing and maintaining meaningful personal relationships, especially as the community grows. She noted that the Mishkan leadership team is even taking notes from Evangelical mega-churches, which have thousands of members, and so work to create “micro-communities” within the larger community to encourage personal connections and social cohesion.

A window into the “Jewish journey” and Views of a Mishkan member

Seth Torres, 25, is currently the rabbinic assistant at Mishkan. He was raised in a smaller Jewish community in Michigan and was a part of the only synagogue, a Conservative one, of around 300 families. At 13, Seth came out as queer, and in large part due to his orientation, had a hard time connecting to synagogue and Jewish life, as the rabbi at the time was against same-sex marriages.

Torres notes that he did not connect to Jewish life through synagogue, did not like what was taught in religious school, or synagogue, which he felt was not pluralistic enough. It was only through Jewish summer camp, Torres was able to connect to Jewish life.

During his university studies, Seth was involved in Hillel. However, the Hillel’s reflexive and defensive approach to an on-campus BDS campaign made him and others who were questioning Israel and its policies toward the Palestinians feel alienated. This was the first time Torres was exposed to the Palestinian narrative and began to think critically about the issue. Seth noted this is where he and others he knows started to become generally disillusioned with American Judaism and establishment institutions, primarily around Israel. One incident Torres recalls involved the Hillel director, who had agreed to host JStreet and Breaking the Silence on campus, backing down under donor pressure, wondering “Are they (Hillel) there to serve the students or the donors?”

Torres graduated and realized he didn’t want anything to do with Jewish life because he felt there wasn’t a place for people who felt the way he did about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. At the same time, he came out as transgender. He also entered into a relationship with a non-Jewish man around this time. Due to his gender identity, sexual orientation and nature of his interfaith relationship, Torres assumed he would not be accepted by the Jewish mainstream community, and therefore, did not engage in any Jewish communal life.

After moving to Chicago, Torres was encouraged to look into the Mishkan community (and to Svara for Torah learning). After seeing the website and biographies of Mishkan’s staff, Torres thought this might be the right community for him. He referred to the personalities and their biographies, but also noted that the Mishkan website did not discuss Israel. Further, the website, and the rabbinic faculty’s biographies made it clear that this was a space for people who felt like they were on the fringes of the community, specifically mentioning queer Jews and Jews by choice. His husband suggested they attend services together, and they both felt “it was the best time ever at synagogue services.” The rabbi was extremely charismatic, the congregants sat in a circle, which Torres had never done, and they met many other LGBTQ Jews, and Jews by choice. This experience excited Torres about re-engaging with Jewish life and Seth’s husband began a conversion process.

When Covid hit, Torres and his husband’s increased engagement with Mishkan (technical support at first) led Rabbi Heydemann to hire Torres as her rabbinic assistant. They were married by Rabbi Heydemann via Zoom but noted that they still need and will have their “big gay wedding.”

What was different about Mishkan versus other spaces he had visited? First, the rabbi personally greeted him and others, even though she didn’t know them. During services, the rabbis ask if it was anyone’s first time, and what brought them to services. Torres also noted the music as a draw, reminiscent of the music at Jewish camp, and which he did not experience in his synagogue growing up. He further recalled an engaging sermon, and generally compelling sermons by Mishkan’s clergy.

Pluralism and Inclusivity

Torres described an emphasis on educating towards of pluralism and a plurality of views. Rather than being taught one way to think, as he experienced in childhood, that the clergy’s role is to provide a plurality of views – “here are some options – take what is best for you and leave what doesn’t work.”

It is clear that Mishkan was inclusive of those who might be more progressive politically or perhaps less knowledgeable or observant, but what about the other way around? Was Mishkan accepting of Zionists or people who might be politically more conservative or religiously observant? Torres explained that it depended on whether those people were open to sharing a community with those of opposing viewpoints. He pointed out that some at Mishkan were very Zionist while others aligned with the IfNotNow movement. Some are more observant and attend minyan (prayer) every day, while others only on holidays, and still others view Judaism as a culture rather than a religion.

Torres also noted the prevalence of Jews of color, which he had not seen in other spaces. To his own experience, “when you see others like you (whether queer, Jews of color, Jews by choice), it is a welcoming sign that something is going right.” His previously not Jewish husband also felt instantly welcomed.

Are mainstream liberal synagogues not similarly inclusive or welcoming today? Seth pointed out that due to his previous experiences, he did not bother to seek out such places. He did visit an LGBTQ synagogue, noting that while having other queer people was important, he did not really connect with the community. Torres pointed out that what was most important in his Jewish experience was that it be “radically different from his Jewish upbringing” and that he sought a synagogue and rabbinic leadership that “was pushing Judaism in new directions.”

Let’s Talk More About Israel

Torres first experienced a BDS campaign on his college campus. He began to learn about the Palestinian narrative and develop a more nuanced understanding of Israel’s history and founding. The Israel-related content provided by Hillel only “looked at the good things” and avoided more complicated aspects of the conflict. At the same time, Torres and others like him felt that the BDS crowd was also entirely one sided – both sides lacked nuance. Mishkan, he noted, allows for such a “multiplicity of truths and a nuanced discussion, which Seth felt cannot be expressed in mainstream Jewish settings.

Torres described himself as “not a big fan” of the Israeli government policies. He participated in Birthright, learning much about the land prior to the conflict. However, he doesn’t plan to return to Israel until there is some sort of reconciliation with the Palestinians. Torres noted he speaks about Israel’s human rights abuses in the same breath as human rights abuses happening around the world, including in the U.S., China, and other places. Torres noted that if he feels a critique of Israel is based in antisemitism, he would similarly stand up for Israel and point out the antisemitic nature of the critique.

The Future of American Judaism

Torres believes that American Judaism is in trouble. Most of the current structure is run by those two generations older than he; they are out of touch and pushing young Jews away. Torres knows many from his university days who have either detached from Jewish life or participate in Mishkan, which is “scooping them up” in ways traditional communities cannot. American Judaism is not keeping up with what young Jews want and need from spiritual practice. If these Jews cannot find what they are seeking, they will likely stop participating in Jewish life altogether, or gravitate away from spiritual life and toward social justice related efforts.

Jewish Peoplehood

Torres explained that he views the Jews as one people, but that some of those are problematic. As much as he might want to distance himself from such “problematic Jews” (usually right-wing or ultra-religious), he recognizes that he is responsible for his own people and cannot abandon them. Rather, he must work to “help them see a different perspective and way of seeing the world.” At times, Torres explained, he does feel more connected to those of other religions who share his social values than Jews of opposing values. And, at the same time, he pointed out he would “go to the mat” for a fellow Jew, despite disagreements or different outlooks. Torres added that right-wing or ultra-religious Jews are more likely to listen to Jews who are Jewishly literate than those who are not.

Romemu – New York

Romemu (to Rise up in Hebrew) was founded by Rabbi David Ingber in 2008 on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, where he recognized the need for a deep, spirited, and inclusive religious community in the style of the Jewish Renewal movement. In its first six years, Romemu grew to 400 member families. Today, it has more than 600 member families, 20 full-time employees, and a “robust” Hebrew school called the “Seekers Holistic Hebrew School.” Romemu recently raised $11 million to purchase a campus, and also launched its pluralistic yeshiva (with 22 participants in its first class), which introduces Hassidic thought and Kabbalah in a 21st century post-modern framework. In July of 2020, Romemu launched a Brooklyn branch, headed by Rabbi Scott Perlo (who was interviewed for this study in his previous capacity at the 92nd St. Y).,88

Ingber’s personal Jewish journey was instrumental in forming Romemu. Ingber, 50 when interviewed, was raised in a Modern Orthodox home on Long Island and lived for a few years in the ultra-Orthodox world before leaving Jewish practice altogether. During this time he explored Eastern philosophies, describing himself as a seeker of spirituality. He studied mindfulness, meditation, yoga, tai chi and other practices, which stimulated his return to his Jewish roots. Ingber would later realize that Eastern spiritual practice did not have to be separate from his Judaism and that they could be combined with Jewish text and tradition to reach higher spiritual planes – “Judaism 7.0” as he described it. ,89 After a short experience in the Modern Orthodox world, including a flirtation with “Open Orthodoxy” (discussed later), Ingber became a disciple of Rabbi Zalman Schachter Shalomi, the founder of the Jewish Renewal movement, from whom he would earn his rabbinic ordination. Shachter Shalomi was famous for combining ancient Jewish teachings and mysticism with Buddhist meditation and other non-Western spiritual practices.

Ingber was drawn to Schachter Shalomi’s approach, which was “deeply rooted in tradition but not stuck there.” Both “innovative and complex,” it could engage people of any level simultaneously, and appealed to Jews as well as non-Jews – it was, Ingber said, “enlightening and profound and transformative” Judaism. According to Ingber, Schachter ,90 “looked like a Hasidic rebbe,” and could “quote the Talmud and Bhagavad Gita” equally well. Schachter Shalomi, was ordained by Chabad (and was a student of the previous two Chabad Rebbes) and took Chabad’s mystical approach in his unique direction.,91/a>

Ingber is convinced this approach is in high demand in the modern world and represents the future of Jewish life. He described it as serious and spiritually rich Jewish engagement based on Jewish resources, which is also inclusive of other traditions and all people. Ingber feels that too often there is an assumption that for a Jewish, religious, or spiritual experience to be deep and authentic it must adhere to traditional assumptions, such as the authority of the Torah and rabbinic texts – that Orthodoxy is the only authentic brand of Judaism. Rather, Ingber argues that one need not believe and accept everything to be able to have a deep connection to religious life. Jewish tradition, in this regard, is a “tool kit” (to echo Lau-Lavie’s approach) or a “treasure chest” to help one live a sacred life. Judaism, therefore, is a means to that end, not the end itself.

Ingber sees great importance in Jewish tradition and Halacha as guides of behavioral norms of how our ancestors did things. He described his own observance as “ortho-prax,” unless he sees an ethical or moral imperative to do otherwise. Thus, his approach to women is fully egalitarian and he welcomes the LGBTQ community. Ingber often refers to the halachic discussions on an array of issues conducted within the Conservative movement and sometimes adopts a more lenient position, sometimes less so, than taken by the Conservative movement. He described his approach to Halacha as a protective exoskeleton as opposed to an endoskeleton; the former provides more protection from outside influences but leaves little room for flexibility, while the other is flexible but less protective. His goal is to help people internalize the Halacha, to understand the deeper question at stake, so that they can approach significant questions and Jewish life with flexibility. Reflecting his neo-Hasidic approach, he said, “one cannot limit God in the boundaries of Halacha.”

Multi-faith engagement is another defining characteristic of Romemu. The community is home to many interfaith families as well as to non-Jews interested in belonging to a Jewish community (“Jew-curious or philo-Semites”). Romemu is unique as it employs a non-Jewish staff “reverend” who acts as a liaison with its non-Jewish members and helps navigate difficult conversations between interfaith couples. Ingber allows all comers to fully participate in services, noting it’s a “big point of honor that a non-Jew wants to participate in a Jewish service.” There are non-Jewish members on its board, and they share space and enjoy good relations with The West End Presbyterian Church.

Regarding Israel, Ingber reflected that it is a core part of his own Jewish identity, and thus cannot be avoided. At the same time, he recognizes the potential for divisiveness. Romemu includes educational programming to help understand Israel, offering a deeper, more balanced exploration without devolving into polarization.

Relating to broader trends in North American Judaism, Ingber asserts that young adult Jews do indeed want to engage in Jewish life and seek spaces in which they feel welcome and included. He sees the JEN communities as taking a new approach in adapting to the needs and preferences of young adults and providing them the space and tools to help shape Jewish life for themselves and the next generation.

God isn’t going away, Ingber explained, nor is the need for religion. It helps people find meaning and purpose and provides a framework for seeking answers to the deepest existential questions. There are many ways to find meaning, including through Judaism, but Ingber believes that Torah, Worship and Acts of Kindness are the fundamental pillars of Judaism relevant to this and future generations. This is why he is convinced that the synagogue will not be replaced and will remain vital to Jewish life. Communities must, therefore, invest in synagogues as the “seed centers” for the vitality and future of Jewish life.

A Chat with a Romemu Member turned Jewish Professional

Jeffrey Cahn, 60, is from New York and is currently the executive director of Romemu, the flagship synagogue of the Jewish Renewal movement and one of the seven JEN communities. Cahn attended Jewish camp, participated in Young Judea, and is the son of Holocaust survivor. Cahn noted that like many Romemu participants, he became disillusioned with organized synagogue life in the U.S. and said, “synagogue was the last thing in the world he would connect to, or federations, for all the usual reasons.”

Cahn was attracted to Romemu because of its combination of deep Jewish thought and practice, and the spirituality and meditation that draws on Eastern traditions. He noted that Romemu and the Jewish Renewal movement appeal to many American Jews who had not found spiritual depth in Judaism.

He described Romemu as a diverse community with around 1,000 members with roughly half of all participants at any given service being newcomers. People of all ages, backgrounds, belief systems, and halachic approaches, from Orthodox Jews to those who have never set foot in a synagogue and thought Judaism had nothing to offer, to former Reform or Conservative Jews who were put off by their childhood experiences. He described his first experience with Romemu as having an “aha” moment of feeling immediately at home, and he noted that this response is typical of many others.

Cahn attributed this to Rabbi David Ingber’s mastery of deep, authentic Judaism with a broad mix of other spiritual techniques and modalities. That in a deeply Jewish space, Rabbi Ingber isn’t afraid to quote Eastern, Christian or other texts, as well as pull in experiences from non-religious spiritual healing movements.

Cahn described this approach, which isn’t fearful or triumphalist toward other religious traditions, as something that appeals to many, especially those who are interfaith or the products of interfaith families, as many Jews are increasingly. Jews today generally are repelled by the exclusivist approach often prevalent in Jewish spaces, especially more traditional ones, and feel they can learn from every tradition, and that intermarriage is not something to fear. Romemu is one of a number of communities that seems to have found a path to speak to this emerging generation. Cahn mentioned his wife, who is younger, as part of this demographic. They feel that this approach doesn’t contradict their modern progressive values as they seek a deeper, more authentic spiritual experience. Cahn also emphasized inclusivity, where people are never made to feel like they don’t know enough to participate or belong.

Another aspect of Romemu Cahn and others like him appreciate is that it feels authentic, not performative, perfunctory, or scripted as many synagogues do. “You read the words, sing the tunes, and that’s it.” He stressed the sense of “heart openness” that allows for the deep spiritual experience one cannot find in many settings.

Cahn expanded on the sense of inclusivity, especially with multi-faith families. He noted the efforts of Romemu and Rabbi Inger to be forward thinking, such as by hiring a full-time pastor for multi-faith engagement, and by quoting Jesus alongside Jewish (and other) texts. Cahn noted that when people feel they don’t have to erase their past identity and can be themselves fully, it helps them deeply connect without diluting the Jewish experience of the space.

Regarding intermarriage, Cahn said that Romemu seeks to “flip the experience upside down.” He doesn’t regard intermarriage as the death of Judaism. He believes that those who marry non-Jews should be brought in, not shunned. He welcomed the day when having more non-Jews than Jews at Yom Kippur services becomes a problem the Jewish community will have to contend with. He acknowledged that were he dealing with Orthodox Jews, this would indeed be an issue. However, in today’s liberal Jewish world, this is a model that seems to work very well with most younger Jews and their sensitivities.

Romemu and similar synagogues, he explained, brought him into a life of Jewish engagement that he would not have found otherwise. This was, Cahn said, not because he was uninterested in Jewish life, but because prior to this, he simply could not find a place to fulfill his spiritual needs in Jewish settings, like many of Romemu’s members and participants.

Kavana Cooperative – Seattle

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum started the Kavana Cooperative in 2006. Kavana is Hebrew for intentionality. Its engagement model is unique and differs from those of traditional synagogues and from other emergent communities. Nussbaum’s upbringing and Jewish experiences helped shape her decision to establish the non-denominational Jewish community she leads today.

Nussbaum, (44 when interviewed) was raised Conservative alongside family members who were Orthodox and Reform. She described her college Hillel experience and participation in trans-denominational leadership programs such as the Bronfman Youth Fellowships in Israel,93 and Wexner Foundation Graduate Fellowship,95 as further strengthening her non-denominationalist identity. Even as a rabbinical student at the Conservative JTS, Nussbaum regularly attended Minyan Hadar (now Kehillat Hadar), one of the original independent minyanim (more on this later). Having moved to Seattle and serving as a rabbi at a Conservative synagogue, Nussbaum noticed that the institutions of Seattle’s established community had not kept pace with the changing community. Seattle, with its thriving tech economy and progressive social scene has attracted many younger, highly educated, and largely unaffiliated Jews.

Nussbaum set out to build a Jewish community adapted to the needs of this new, growing, and underserved demographic. She turned to the Hillel model that so positively influenced her – in essence to create a Hillel for adults and families. Noting that most of the JEN founding rabbis attended college and participated in a similar Hillel experience in the 1990s, Nussbaum believes that this influenced the non-denominational direction of the seven communities.

Kavana came to organically reflect the Seattle culture and community. Nussbaum described a population that was highly educated and spiritual but for whom4 “religion” and religious institutions play a minor role (similar to San Francisco). Nussbaum worked together with a young Jewish Microsoft executive, Suzi LeVine,,95 who brought the tech start-up playbook to building a synagogue community – including formulating a business plan, finding investors, and putting together a launch team. Kavana, in this sense, was launched much like a Seattle-area tech start-up, consciously drawing on the language and methods of the business world.

Kavana also drew on the cooperative model popular in the Seattle area, in which members are highly participatory partners. Nussbaum explained that as opposed to many traditional synagogues, regular and active participation is expected of members beyond their financial contributions. She described this as a model of high empowerment and high engagement. Kavana has today 150 partner households (members are called partners), who are expected to commit to participating in or organizing at least one activity a month. Those unwilling or unable to make this commitment are welcome to attend services and contribute financially but are not considered partners. Nussbaum described this approach as building an entry ramp to the highway and expecting greater commitment over time. This is in diametric opposition to larger synagogues with a base of dues-paying members that hardly attend – a model she feels is losing its relevance.

Unlike the other emergent communities (except Sixth & I, discussed next), Nussbaum noted that prayer is not the central focus of Kavana, although in addition to holidays services are held on one Shabbat morning and one Friday night each month in varying styles. Kavana, primarily comprises young families and focuses its activities on education and community life. It features daily educational programs for families as well as a Hebrew immersion kindergarten, after-school programs for older children, and adult continuing education. Beyond this, the community engages in regular social justice activities and social programming. Each program meets once a month and builds micro-communities within the larger community. Those who participate in multiple programs help build overlapping micro-communities and expand the network of close connections within the larger community. That is, “Kavana functions as a pluralistic umbrella community for many intersecting sub-communities,” according to Rabbi Nussbaum, similar to a campus Hillel where a variety of Jewish activities can take place and sub-communities can develop and interact within the larger umbrella.

Kavana’s membership is a mix of those who were not otherwise involved in a Jewish community and those who were. However, the majority of its early members had never been a part of an organized Jewish community. The community continues to attract younger and older adults and has become multi-generational over time.

Nussbaum described generally positive relations with the larger Seattle Jewish community, although the established institutions were initially suspicious. Today, Kavana has carved out a space for itself as a “lab” for experimentation in the use of space, membership models, participation, and funding, and sees established local synagogues adopting those successful experiments first run at Kavana. Unlike other communities that house emergent or emergent-like communities, Seattle does not host a larger innovative Jewish ecosystem.

Nussbaum noted the community does not have a permanent structure but rather rents office and classroom space from a local church, and larger spaces on an ad-hoc basis. Kavana cooperates with a number of churches and a community center for its various services and activities. Nussbaum stressed, however, that although real estate costs are rapidly rising, this is not the main reason Kavana does not have its own structure. Rather, she “wouldn’t know where to build it.” Nussbaum explained that the demographic patterns of Seattle, and neighborhoods where Jews live, are constantly changing, and it is imperative to “be where the Jews are.” Thus, the community made a strategic decision to not invest in real-estate. This allows the community to remain nimble and also save considerable costs, which can be invested in high-quality staff as opposed to building maintenance and upkeep.

Regarding tradition, Halacha, and inclusion, Nussbaum explained her approach as reflecting her Conservative upbringing and ordination but striving for true pluralism. Kavana seeks to create a space for a range of practices without alienating those who seek more tradition, or less. Because Kavana is not a denominational synagogue, rather because most of its members are not primarily attracted to it for spiritual purposes, this is possible. Thus, Shabbat morning services are more traditional in style and egalitarian, while Friday nights are more in the Reform or Renewal tradition with musical instruments (dubbed the “musical and contemplative service”). Similarly, to accommodate a range of kosher observance levels, communal meals tend to be vegetarian.

Regarding the involvement of non-Jewish individuals, Kavana takes a unique approach, even relative to other JEN communities. Rabbi Nusbaum explained that because Kavana is not a synagogue, it is able to create and allow for the creation of spaces within itself. Therefore, the many non-Jewish individuals who engage in the community can be highly involved and feel maximally welcomed, with minimal barriers to their participation. Regarding non-spiritual activities, such as education, book clubs, social justice work, and lay-leadership roles, non-Jewish individuals can be fully involved. In spiritual or ritual spaces, Nussbaum explained, the participation level of non-Jewish individuals varies depending on the type of service, with each sub-community able to determine its own standards. Thus, a more traditional service might not fully include those who are not halachically Jewish, while Reform or Renewal type services include those who “feel” they are Jewish, regardless of halachic status. Nussbaum feels that this model of pluralistic and inclusive spaces, in contrast to homogeneous denominational institutions, is a growing trend in American Jewish life.

Kavana takes a similar pluralistic approach to Israel as well, aiming to accommodate a variety of viewpoints in an attempt to encourage members to seek and create deep, meaningful, and personal connections to Israel and the Jewish world. Kavana operates a Hebrew-immersion kindergarten and a preschool program to build cultural and linguistic bridges to Israel. Israeli history is a core part of its childhood education program, which includes Israeli staff members. Echoing other emergent communities, Kavana doesn’t shy away from the “nuance and mess” of modern Israel and its complexities, nor from talking about the “occupation” or Palestinians.

The Kavana Experience: Members’ Perspectives

We spoke to two members of the Kavana community to understand their specific Jewish journeys and perspectives.

Julie (who prefers that we not use her last name) is in her 50s and a Kavana partner. She grew up in a small Midwestern town in a non-Jewish, Presbyterian, church-going family. Prior to meeting her now husband, who is Jewish, she had never met a Jew before and knew almost nothing about Judaism. When they began dating, her husband was not engaged in Jewish life in any way, but it was an important part of his identity, while Julie’s Christian upbringing was less central to hers. Therefore, they decided that they would eventually raise a Jewish family. Julie describes her family’s Jewish practice as including lighting Shabbat candles and saying prayers each week, attending services roughly once a month, participating in High Holiday services, and celebrating other holidays with family and friends.

After moving to Seattle, Julie and her husband “shopped around” for a synagogue, eventually joining a large Reform congregation. They had, until then, not been a part of any congregation, and mainly attended during the High Holidays. They eventually enrolled their children in the synagogue’s Hebrew school and sought out volunteer roles to be more intentional about their religious life, and less passive like many other parents. She recalled a sense of frustration at the lack of adult education opportunities. Julie felt unwelcome or invisible, uninspired, and generally unengaged in synagogue life. This, together with the long commutes to Hebrew school, eventually drove her and her family to try out Kavana.

Julie sums up her first interaction with the Kavana community as having “found our people.” She described a warm, personal, intimate, and welcoming environment. And while her previous community didn’t do anything specifically to make her feel unwelcome, she noticed an immediate sense of belonging in the Kavana community.

What was it about Kavana that felt different from her pervious synagogue experiences? For example, with respect to the inclusion of interfaith families, she noted her previous synagogue’s approach was to assume that everyone was Jewish, when it was known that many of the families were interfaith. She also later found out that there were leadership positions off-limits to her as a non-Jew. The role of non-Jewish members in raising their Jewish children, was rarely discussed or acknowledged.

She described Kavana has embracing a culture of empowerment that didn’t restrict members through bureaucracy; “if someone wants to make something happen, and others support it, they can make it happen,” rather than being told “that’s not how things are done here.” She offered the bar mitzvah planning process as an example. Unlike the traditional synagogue approach where there is little room for self-expression, her family worked together with the rabbi to tailor the bar mitzvah to her child’s interests, abilities, and limitations. Her child is dyslexic and had difficulty learning Hebrew. So, together with the rabbi, the family created an individualized bar mitzvah ceremony in which the child read from the Book of Maccabees (it was during Hanukkah), offered a modern interpretation of the Hannukah story, and created a “battle-scape” of the Maccabees’ struggle. Julie highlighted that this sense of empowerment and agency, the sense that “everything is possible,” is a defining aspect of Kavana’s culture and differentiates it from other communities.

Inclusion, Jewish Identity, and Jewish Peoplehood

Julie decided not to undergo conversion and does not call herself Jewish. She does, however, describe herself as “feeling Jewish, being part of a Jewish family and the Jewish people.” She is dedicated to raising a Jewish family, maintaining a Jewish home, and being a part of the Jewish community. So, her identity in this regard is complex, but not unique in today’s American landscape. She initially considered conversion but did not go through with it (yet) for several reasons, among them, she didn’t feel the need to have an official label “to feel Jewish,” believes that faith is an internal matter. She also noted that because she felt there were no barriers to her participation in communal life at Kavana, she did not feel the need to officially convert. However, Julie noted that due to growing antisemitism in recent years, and an incident where her children’s Jewishness was called into question, she is considering converting to feel closer to her family and community.

What about Israel?

Julie described her feelings about Israel as “complicated.” Although she had no connection to Israel (apart from Bible stories) prior to her relationship with her husband, her family has been to Israel multiple times, her husband lived there in his youth, and both feel closely connected to Israel. She and her family care about Israel and support its existence, but she stopped short of saying it was a central part of her Jewish life. She also stopped short of calling herself a “Zionist,” noting that it is an outdated term that does not resonate with her.

Julie supports the state of Israel and the need for a Jewish homeland and a safe-haven, but is also deeply critical of Israel’s policies, especially in regard to the Palestinian conflict. She supports Israel and wants the U.S. to support Israel, but not to offer blanket support for anything Israel does.

***

Lisa Colton, 47, is a Kavana partner and a consultant to Jewish organizations seeking to adapt to changing trends. Lisa grew up in a large Reform congregation, attended Jewish camp, and participated in a youth group. She spent considerable time as a young adult studying in intensive, pluralistic Jewish educational spaces in Israel (Pardes), which was a transformative process for her. Lisa, like many involved in the emergent space, strive for greater spiritual depth and a deeper connection to Jewish tradition than they had been raised with.

After spending part of her life in an area with little in the way of Jewish life, and especially innovative Jewish life, Colton concluded that she cannot be a “passive Jew” as she had been in Israel, rather she must be proactive in shaping her own Jewish life. This attitude of taking a “proactive approach” is a unifying factor among the disparate communities described in this study. While there are differences in approach, the community leaders and members interviewed are “proactive creators of the Jewish life that they seek, and not passive consumers of the Jewish life that institutions tell us we need.”

Colton and her family, early members of Kavana, also belonged to a large Reform congregation as Kavana did not have a childhood education program at the time. She described a stark difference. If, at Kavana, members were responsible for communal life and expected to contribute beyond paying dues (time, talents, creativity), traditional synagogues have a professional staff and board of directors, with everyone else being a “consumer.” This culture, Colton described as being “over-professionalized,” disempowers the average American Jew, “who no longer have as much of an active role in creating their own communities or personal responsibility for educating their children or supporting their community members”.

Colton offered the issue of real estate, the fact that Kavana does not own a permanent structure, as one part of its unique culture. She explained that despite consistently struggling to find a suitably large space for holiday events, and even though purchasing property was financially viable for the Kavana community, they preferred to continue gathering in people’s homes to maintain a sense of communal intimacy. Moreover, Colton noted that too many Jewish institutions become focused on the outward structures of communal life and not the true purpose they serve (maintaining a building versus creating Jewish life).

Colton described the diversity and pluralism as another aspect of the Kavana culture, which she feels is the direction more American Jewish communities should be embracing to keep pace with the times. She described Kavana as being fully welcoming of all, regardless of Jewish background, literacy, level of practice, or identity. Rather than being a synagogue, in which many employ the “guilt and shame” model for people who are not “good enough Jews” or defining a narrow vision of what the good enough looks like, Kavana seeks to work with each partner to understand what aspects of Jewish life are important to them (prayer, education, communal service, etc.) and facilitate a deeper connection through that aspect. She offered her own son’s bar mitzvah at the Reform synagogue as an example. The synagogue offered little room for personal expression or creativity; the process and ceremony were scripted. This makes sense, of course, when trying to manage communal and ritual life for large synagogues with thousands of members, however it did little to inspire her own personal Jewish life.

Rather than being a synagogue, Kavana works as an umbrella, offering “almost infinite room to innovate, creative and wrestle, within the boundaries of the community’s values.” It is, therefore, able to provide a home to people who are totally Shabbat observant on one end, while also being a home to transgender converts, people exploring Judaism, or non-Jews married to Jews who are full members. Lisa (and Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum earlier in this section) described Kavana as setting a high standard of practice, offering a range of choices, and working to make all these accessible to all (such as by announcing page numbers or contextualizing the prayer and offering commentary). Therefore, even those less knowledgeable do not feel as if they are being judged. Colton suggested that what Kavana and other emergent communities who seem to be succeeding at this time are doing is successfully identifying what in the Jewish tradition requires preservation, and what are less relevant social constructs from previous generations.

Israel

Colton described her approach to Israel as “very supportive” of Israel’s existence, and that it was an “incredibly important part of her Judaism,” while also being “critical of its recent leadership and culture.” That said, she did not hesitate to call herself a “Zionist” and took pride in her teenage son’s desire to study in Israel and learn Hebrew. She explained that the “critical Zionist” approach was common in her community. She credited the clergy and community with creating a space for real pluralism on this issue as well, where people can confront complexity, and accept uncomfortable discussions. She contrasted this with many establishment spaces where she feels people are expected to be unconditionally supportive of Israel.

Sixth & I – Washington DC

The Sixth & I community (on the corner of Sixth and I Street) in Washington DC is housed in a historic synagogue that had become a church and was set to be demolished. The Jewish community of DC came together to purchase the building, only later sitting down to figure out how to best utilize it. Rabbi Jesse Paikin, who was the JEN rabbinic fellow at Sixth & I at the time of his interview, explained that because it was the result of a community-wide initiative, the concept that all Jews should feel welcome and able to engage through multiple access points was “baked into the DNA” from the beginning.

This was the vision of its founding rabbi, Shira Stutman, who is unique among founding JEN rabbis in that she was ordained at the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College. Unlike the other JEN communities, which are essentially fully functioning synagogue communities whose main focus is prayer and who cater to all age groups, Sixth & I is decidedly geared toward outreach to young adults in urban Washington, DC, which has seen a re-urbanization trend and has attracted many young Jews. At this time, unlike other emergent communities that have evolved to include religious schools for children and adult programming, Sixth & I prefers to remain focused on young adults (without children) exploring their Judaism.

Sixth & I features rotating services each Shabbat that span the spectrum from more traditional to new age. It also hosts a Modern Orthodox minyan each Shabbat. All in attendance are invited for Shabbat dinner or a pre-Shabbat happy hour. Paikin estimated that anywhere from 200 to 400 young adults attend each week, more on special occasions. High Holiday services are attended by as many as 10,000 participants, which requires Sixth & I to rent a handful of neighboring churches, in which multiple services of different styles are conducted simultaneously.

Sixth & I is also unique in that it has no formal membership. Rather, participants register and pay per event online. Programming is heavily subsidized by philanthropists and revenue generated by hosting non-Jewish cultural activities in its facility. Within this organizational model, some attend programming and services regularly while others are more selective. These approaches lead to the development of micro-communities within the larger Sixth & I community, which help build social cohesion in an area with significant population turnover and transience, and in a community that by its nature never really comes together in its entirety.

Sixth & I is one of the more religiously traditional emergent communities, although it defines itself as non-denominational and allows experimental expressions of Judaism under its umbrella. For example, it holds a full Megillah reading on Purim, and its conversion course is among the most intense of the non-Orthodox congregations in the DC area, according to Paikin. Conversion candidates are encouraged to learn about and seek out a personalized observance of Shabbat, Kashrut, and Tzedakah (charitable giving) that meshes with their lifestyle.

However, Paikin pointed out that while other emergent communities focus primarily on prayer and spirituality, education is the main attraction at Sixth & I. One of its hallmark classes is a 38-week university-level introduction to Judaism, which takes participants through Jewish history, ritual, peoplehood, and thought. This is especially popular with non-Jewish partners of Jews and is often a launchpad for conversion. This course and others have long waiting lists.

Sixth & I also offers a shorter introductory course that concentrates on the Jewish calendar, holidays, and history, as well as adult “bnei mitzvah” classes on the basics of Jewish prayer and Torah study. Among its other offerings is a workshop for interfaith couples with rabbi-guided discussions of often difficult issues without judgment or ,97pressure to convert. Roughly 30% of regular Sixth & I attendees are not Jewish, and DC has generally higher rates of intermarriage than most other major Jewish communities.

Sixth & I also offers a six-week, high-level course, “Israel-Palestine: The Hardest Conversation,” in which leading policy experts help participants explore the core issues, including from the Palestinian perspective. Many also participate in an educational delegation to Israel. In addition to these classes, ad-hoc lectures are offered regularly on a range of topics.

Paikin explained that the concept is to offer many points of engagement to a demographic that is highly educated and intellectually curious but may have a weak Jewish background or little Jewish literacy. Sixth & I provides access to education and answers without pushing participants to become more religious. However, he stressed that like other JEN communities, including the ones that operate from a more halachic perspective, creating accessibility and being inclusive of those with little Jewish knowledge, or of non-Jews, while maintaining a high level of authentic Jewish practice and thought is one of the crucial elements to successfully engaging young Jews today.

The Washington DC Jewish community is one of the more rapidly growing in the U.S., offers an interesting model to examine Jewish identity and engagement as a host of synagogues and organizations, some denominational and some independent, have popped up in recent years. Paikin discussed a significant level of “deconfliction” with other religious and Jewish frameworks and emphasized that Sixth & I does not seek to compete with them. If another community is holding a young adult Hanukah celebration, for example, Sixth & I might decide to refer its participants to that event. If someone is offering better programming, Sixth & I won’t hold a competing event “just to keep up.” One may conclude that a possible successful model of Jewish engagement, at least in urban areas, is specialization and coordination between institutions, something made easier in the age of social media.

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