As a youngster, my mother would give me dimes to put in the metallic boxes colored in Israel Blue for each session of Hebrew school. We had one of those boxes with the slot on top at home, though rarely filled it. I have one in my adult home now, mostly filled waiting to pry off its lid, emptying and counting the coins long overdue. For special occasions, we would plant trees in Israel, or really pay a dollar into a fund that would hire somebody to serve as our forest agent. When I made my only visit, a full country Israeli tour in 1999, I learned that despite all this American effort, the buildings were constructed of masonry. They had no appreciable amount of lumber. Yet much of Israel looked like places I once lived or visited in America. The vision to accomplish this came from the
Jewish National Fund. My dimes and dollar bills, very large contributions from some of our most well-off Jews. It may be one of our best confirmations that Israel is part of Judaism. We are willing to contribute part of our earnings and savings to make the land sparkle for those who live there, even when we live abroad. That timeline includes enabling distressed Jews seeking something better than Russia or displaced by Naziism, warfare on the land itself, times of political optimism, and our times dominated by technical innovations.
My community. a small but cohesive American one, shares this effort. Each year the regional Jewish National Fund office, one stationed in a major Jewish population center a less than two hours drive south, seeks from us a blend of financial support and ideas, by sponsoring an annual event. We have among us Israelis now living and working in our location. Children and siblings of very accomplished people have made their homes in Israel. Most live as they did in America, a few achieving significant public prominence. For the past three years, I have attended this gathering and later added to the financial collection in a meaningful way. These assemblies display some combination of the most endearing and most cynical elements of Jewish organizations with a fundraising purpose, though no dispute of the noble cause and the sincerity of the major participants.
This year, the format changed. It had been a tradition to gather for breakfast on a workday morning at my town's snootiest site. They made a rare concession to the JNF, allowing a Kosher caterer of the organization's choosing to pre-empt the hotel's otherwise mandatory own kitchen requirement. People in suits took the morning off from their law offices. My synagogue had ample representation, mostly of older observant people. We helped ourselves to coffee at a buffet table, then took seats at round tables. I made a point of sitting with people I had not known previously, but mostly people sorted themselves out by synagogue or Federation positions. The table had bagels, much better ones than are sold locally, mounds of plain and herbed cream cheese, insulated ivory coffee carafes for refills, a pastry plate, fruit, and another of lox. People passed these around. No public motzi or birchat, despite about half the town's rabbis sitting among the guests. We ate. My new acquaitences shared experiences, often commments about this and other Jewish organizations. Then keynote speakers, typically three. A community leader serving as our chapter's president would review the projects. Quite a lot of thought went into creating new towns in parts of Israel less populated than the cities that tourists visit. Then a financial expert to tell us the many ways we can give that will minimize the very large sums that their most valued donors will owe the IRS just a few weeks after this breakfast meeting, then an invited guest. In my few times, typically a journalist telling us what she probably tells her therapist. The others are cruel to me, they have to change. I found the morning pleasant, the parking in town, now requiring paying by credit card at a kiosk an annoyance, and the organization worthy.
An email from the organizer announced a new format. New place, new time. It would take place on a Monday evening at a suburban location of Jewish recognition. A spacious facility, one with appropriate security for an era when those hostile to Israel menace Jews and affiliated institutions. Parking free on an ample lot. Close to the town's Jewish population cluster. Dessert would replace breakfast. The invited outside speaker had a higher profile. Young man, part entertainer, part filmmaker, part cyberspace influencer. I asked the event chairman why they abandoned their longstanding fundraising arrangements. He indicated that collections had been gradually declining. The purpose of the event was to attract donors. To me, it seemed like the breakfast tables sat highly paid men, either in their earning prime or aspiring to it. Expenses were high, and people they might have liked to attract had reservations about driving into the city. Only then did I remember the male-dominated attendance. Perhaps something easier to attend that does not require an absence from work would generate more donors and at less overhead for the JNF.
RSVP sent, reminder of event received by email a few days before. I could come at 7:30PM. Those who donated $1800 had a special reception an hour earlier. Incentives for large donors are common but their perks seemed difficult to predict. Maybe supper with the invited guest. I arrived at the hour reserved for the less generous. No traffic getting there. Abundant parking. Not a lot of really fancy cars in the lot. As I walked past the guards into the building, there did not seem a lot of people already there for the VIP session. The JNF staff checked my name against their reservation list, handed me an ID tag that I attached to my shirt pocket with a magnet, then shook hands with mostly people that I knew. We milled in the corridor until the auditorium door opened.
This place, where my congregation assembled for Holy Days a few months earlier, has a mid-sized auditorium. It was set up as auditorium seating, rows of chairs allowing everyone to watch a podium, stage and high-end screen. Chairs facing the stage filled about 2/3 of the space. The first two rows had Reserved Tags, though I did not identify enough VIPs to fill all of them. Much fewer people who I had never met before. My synagogue punched above its weight in attendance. We are a congregation solidly tied to traditional Judaism and to Israel. On the Kol Nidre Bond Appeal we make more pledges than the other places despite our smaller membership. We are also mostly people on Medicare. Only the speakers, two volunteers and the keynote, wore office attire. On signal, we took our places. I selected a seat near the middle.
The local volunteers spoke first. Same two as each of the last two years. Impressive discussion of projects in the Negev to make those emerging communities attractive to current Israeli's priced out of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. Housing gets priority. Employment opportunities a secondary priority. Then the financial man spoke, more low key than I remember from previous events. Then the keynote. I found his performance a refreshing change from the beleaguered journalists. Entertaining, witty, maybe at the upper reaches of my tolerance for slick. Questions at the end. Few takers, none provacative.
His speech reinforced what had kept me attracted to the JNF for most of my lifetime. It also supported how I approach the rise in American antagonism to Israel as a nation-state of the Jewish people and myself as one of the country's admirers, loyal despite the imperfections of its governance. As the viral video displayed, "I am that Jew." It was with great curiosity that I reviewed the results of the American Jewish Committee's poll on how this recent rise in travail has impacted us. They randomly selected me to take that survey. I have negligible personal adverse encounters. Yet a sizable minority have, all with different responses. My only concession has been to leave my tallis bag insignia side down on the back seat of my car. Since my insurer would have to pay for vandalism, I should not invite it. But I study my assigned Torah portions in public spaces with a kippah and photocopied Hebrew print. Only two people have commented, neither confrontational. The speaker had been assaulted by another skier on a high end ski trail. He filed assault charges. American law exists to protect him and me. We have to call assault and intimidation what they are. Perhaps getting mugged would change my response, but my Jewish identity requires responsibility for upgrading other Jewish lives. That's what the JNF does. I will take my chances with American hoodlums.
After the speeches, everyone assembled for the dessert buffet. The baked goods did not have dairy or pareve labels, but I had eaten milchig for supper. Some chocolate layer cake, a slice of dragon fruit that I'd not had before, a plastic cup of sprite. Nobody approached me to chat. Instead, I headed over first to the regional representative to ask him about resettlement of Israelis into the new Negev towns. Then I waited my turn to ask a question of the keynote speaker. He seemed more thoughtful than slick up close. We agreed on some things, differed on how to best confront or at least cope with the antisemitism that the younger folks encounter. He noted independently of me that the audience he addressed included mostly seniors like myself, people already committed to our Jewish identities. A subset of people, mostly prosperous, debt-free, late-life donors. We are people who have built families, built careers, understand that somebody else built the schools we attended, the houses we purchased, and businesses that employed us. The younger people not there may not have the same concept of building environments and institutions. It would have been a better evening with a broader array of ages in attendance.
What did I miss most? Probably the tables. An auditorium layout matches common purpose, but so does a sports arena where everyone roots for the same team without knowing each other or anyone new. The breakfast tables of previous years promoted conversation, whether with old friends or unfamiliar people. The purpose of the session was to maximize donations to a worthy cause. The most enduring outcome might be strengthening personal attachments or sharing thoughts. Groups of eight facing each other accomplish this much better than a collection of a hundred all peering a stage in unison.
After my chat with the honored guest, I put my paper plate and polystyrene cup into the wastebasket, then headed out. Nobody new in either the lobby or parking lot for me to greet.
