Shabbat shalom! I want to begin my remarks by thanking the past recipients of the Hatan Torah and Kallat Bereshit for honoring me with this award. I’ve worked closely with many of you, and I’m not sure I’ve done enough yet to be included within your ranks.
Thank you, Harry, for the wonderful introduction. I wouldn’t be standing up here if you hadn’t recruited me to be Treasurer. You saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself.
Thank you as well to Carmen Hayman for nominating me. In my house, we’ve been referring to Carmen as the Gretchen Whitmer of Society Hill Synagogue for the past couple years. I’m constantly amazed by her work ethic and practical wisdom.
I also want to say mazel tov to Libby. As I mentioned to you a few days ago, I enjoy listening to you during the Torah discussions on Shabbat morning, especially when you catch onto a phrase in the text that links back to your passion for gardening.
Tonight, I am here to tell you a little bit about my Jewish journey, how I came to belong to Society Hill Synagogue and how I got involved in communal leadership.
It might be cliché to thank your wife in a speech like this, but I am certain I would not have ended up at Society Hill Synagogue, if 8-year-old Jessica Stiteler hadn’t decided that she wanted to be Jewish and have a bat mitzvah.
Back then, Jess stood out among her Hebrew school classmates in a number of ways. She came from an intermarried family, which was rare at the time. Her mother, Donna, was a secular Jew with no formal religious education, and her father, Allen, was Protestant. Jess was one of only a handful of kids at Society Hill Synagogue who attended public schools. An eager student, she was actually interested in what they were trying to teach at Hebrew school.
Luckily for Jess, Rabbi Ivan Caine was fond of her. He appreciated her curiosity and nourished it. He came up with creative ways to incorporate her non-Jewish family members into the bat mitzvah ceremony. In her own Jewish journey, Jess has valued the foundation that Society Hill Synagogue provided, but she also retains a sense – like a convert – that Judaism was something she chose.
For me, the question was never do I want to be a Jew, but rather what kind of Jew did I want to be.
My maternal grandmother, Anna, was born in Ukraine. Her earliest childhood memory was hiding on a boat in the river, while the Cossacks burned her village. Her family made their way to South Jersey and became chicken farmers.
My dad, Henry, who recently passed away, was born in Paris, France, on the eve of World War II. When France surrendered to the Nazis, his family fled Paris for Southern France, made their way to Casablanca – just like in the famous movie – and then boarded a boat in Portugal that brought them to safety in New York City.
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know these stories. I felt lucky to be growing up safe as a Jew on the Upper West Side of New York, where Ed Koch was the mayor and Henry Winkler was the biggest star on television.
Although there were always a handful of Jewish kids at my public schools, most of my school friends were different races and religions. I was less observant then, so my Jewish identity rarely conflicted with my activities at school. I was mugged three times as a kid, but I never directly experienced antisemitism or anti-Zionism.
In my room, reading my Hebrew school history book, I felt pride tracing a finger along the path of the victorious Israeli army sweeping across the Sinai Peninsula. And equally proud when Israel gave back land to Egypt in exchange for peace. My parents had grown up at Conservative synagogues and met at a singles’ dance at Congregation B’nai Jeshurun. By the early 1970s, they joined Congregation Rodeph Shalom, a large, affluent synagogue that was leading the Reform movement back toward greater ritual practice.
My parents set a strong example for involvement. My dad was president of the Synagogue Men’s Club and organized movie screenings for all the families. My mother, Joyce, was treasurer of both the Sisterhood and her local Hadassah chapter for many years.
I sang in the synagogue choir, led by Cantor Ephraim Biran, a former soloist for the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra. Boldface-named classical musicians used to drop by services to accompany his beautiful baritone voice. PBS came to film our choir for a documentary about Jewish life in America.
The board at Rodeph Shalom was for the wealthy, but the community honored my family in other ways. When my brother and I had our bar mitzvahs, we didn’t have to share the bimah with other kids.
My mom’s closest friend was Orthodox, and I picked up a lot of Jewish customs from her family by osmosis. We often hung out at their apartment on Shabbat. My brother and I played games in the living room with her two boys. In the winter, dusk would come early, and the room would start to get pretty dark. Then the Shabbat timers would go off, the lights would come back on, and we would go on playing until Havdalah.
I continued to attend Hebrew school after my bar mitzvah; in high school, I joined the synagogue youth group and eventually became president. In addition to our synagogue chapter events, I attended shul-ins at other Reform synagogues and regional retreats. I went on a six-week summer teen tour of Israel with a focus on archeology; and the other summers working in the kitchen at my Jewish overnight camp.
My advocacy for Soviet Jewry aligned with both my Jewish and American identities. I attended marches and rallies through my synagogue and wore a refusenik bracelet around my wrist at home and school.
In 1990, I enrolled in Hebrew University for my junior year abroad. A few weeks after my cohort arrived, Iraq invaded Kuwait, and the build up to the first Gulf War started. Saddam Hussein threatened to bomb Israel if the world tried to kick him out of Kuwait, which seemed ridiculous because what did Israel have to do with some other Arab country? Saddam had gassed the Kurds in his own country, so it seemed likely he would try to gas the Israelis, too. As the January 15 United Nations deadline approached, Hebrew University moved up its finals, and the American students had to figure out what to do.
We were all torn up by the decision. On the one hand, it was clear to most of us that the last thing Israel needed was a bunch of helpless American Jews hanging around. On the other hand, we were guilt-stricken that the Israelis didn’t have the same choices that we did.
So, when I returned to the University of Michigan for second semester, I made a commitment to go to a Shabbat service each week, which I’ve done more or less since then. I never really enjoyed services as a kid, outside of summer camp and youth group, but as an adult, I have grown to appreciate the weekly opportunity to reflect and come together in community. Looking back, I see how the trauma of the Gulf War reinforced my Jewish identity and led me to decide to become a Jewish communal professional.
Anyway, flash forward to the mid-2000s. Jessica and I are married with two kids. We met through a young adult group at Congregation Beth Zion-Beth Israel; and are still active members. I’m a board member, and she’s on the Preschool Committee. But more and more of our young adult group friends are moving away; and we’ve bought a home on the other side of Broad Street.
One night, Jessica makes a shivah call to a Society Hill Synagogue family for whom she used to babysit. She comes home filled with excitement, having met Rabbi Avi Winokur. “Why can’t that be our rabbi?” she wants to know. “Avi’s great,” I agree, but I wasn’t ready to leave BZBI.
(In Brian’s best Avi impersonation) Wait a second! How DOES Brian know Avi is great? And WHY is he already calling him Avi? These are rhetorical questions. Now, I’ll answer them!
I first met Avi in my early 20s, when a friend and I decided to do a weekly Shabbat morning tour of most of the synagogues on the Upper West Side. Avi was one of our favorite discoveries, and we continued to go back to West End Synagogue a couple times a year to listen to him sound off on Judaism. In 2001, when Avi came to Society Hill Synagogue, I interviewed him for the Jewish Exponent; I remember being happy that I would see him again from time to time.
Anyway, a few more years passed, and Rabbi Ira Stone announced that he was retiring from BZBI. I did the math in my head and realized he wouldn’t be presiding at Jacob’s bar mitzvah. So, I told Jessica that I was finally ready to switch. The Society Hill Synagogue we joined was more diverse than when Jess grew up, both in terms of the family backgrounds and incomes of households. Jessica joined the Hebrew School Committee, to help her former camp director, Merle Salkin. I loved seeing the joy on Merle’s face when we dropped off our kids; and I knew it was love for Jessica and what she represented. When Merle decided to step down, Jessica served on the committee that hired Sahar Oz.
At some point, Avi asked me to join the Board of Directors. He flattered me, pointing out that the Board could use the wisdom of someone who worked for the Jewish Federation. We were emerging from the Great Recession, and the Board was wondering how we could grow the size of our community. While most suburban synagogues had experienced 10-20% declines in members during the recession, Society Hill Synagogue membership had remained stable at about 270 households. Flat became a success story to build on.
In addition to wisdom like that, I worked as a greeter at services; and I helped plan the 50th anniversary party, which raised money to burn the mortgage on the building next door.
During my second term on the Board, the succession plan for the Treasurer position fell through, and President Harry Oxman asked me to step in. And, as many of you know, it’s hard to say no to Harry.
I had never imagined myself as a member of the Executive Committee – let alone as Treasurer.
First of all, as a Jewish professional, I already was giving at the office.
Additionally, when I looked out at the landscape of synagogue and agency treasurers – even at a haimish place like Society Hill Synagogue – they were usually business people with the financial capacity to make a more ‘joyful stretch’ than I ever could.
At the same time, I knew that the synagogue was at an important inflection point. We were in the midst of a capital campaign and soon would be starting the renovation of the building next door. Both Avi and Executive Director Betty van de Rijn had shared their intentions to retire together, and Betty had already identified Sahar as her replacement. I imagined a Jewish professional turned volunteer could help make the transition smoother.
Another positive was that I didn’t actually have to deposit checks in the bank or keep the books. I knew we had capable office staff in Rhonda and Leanne.
My wise predecessor, Mark Steinberger, agreed to remain on the Finance Committee, and we recruited talented businesspeople to share their expertise. Rabbi Nathan joined us as well, taking a keen interest in a part of synagogue life that many rabbis prefer to ignore.
As I settled into my role, I realized my professional skills were helpful, especially the ability to translate the budget issues into English for the non-financial members of the Board. Over four years, we successfully completed the capital campaign; efficiently expanded our usable space; and generously increased the resources for Hazzan Jessi and our musical offerings.
Oh! And one more small thing. We calmly weathered a global pandemic. It was a great run.
After four years, I was thrilled when Rafi Licht agreed to take my place, and I hope he has found my advice helpful as I continue to serve on the Finance Committee.
Thinking back on the story of my childhood, I am saddened that my children are confronting greater levels of antisemitism and anti-Zionism. I think about the overheated discourse in American politics; the mass shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue; and the public school classmates who dismissed my son’s efforts to speak about the Holocaust during DEIJ discussions. All this even before the Hamas attack on Israel on Oct. 7, whose somber anniversary we recently commemorated.
I know as both a parent and a Jewish professional that these things are making the Jewish journeys of Jacob, Talia, and their peers more difficult to navigate than my generation experienced.
At the same time, when I come to synagogue these days and see 370+ families taking full advantage of our communal space, it gives me a great sense of personal pride to know that I helped to make this happen. And it gives me a sense of hope that the future will bring a Jewish community that is alive and strong.
Thank you in advance for helping to build that future with me.
