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When a synagogue shuts its doors, what happens to its windows?

Local mergers reflect a national trend

 
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Bergen County’s synagogue mergers reflect a national trend, according to Jonathan Sarna, professor of American Jewish history at Brandeis University.

The trend has several causes, he said, including the economic downturn and declining synagogue affiliation among Reform and Conservative Jews.

According to the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, the number of families affiliated with the movement’s synagogues in the Northeast dropped by 30 percent in the past decade.

Another factor in Conservative mergers are long-term changes in the movement. When the Conservative movement began building its suburban synagogues in the 1950s, Sarna said, “they assumed that there were members who walked, so you tended to have Conservative synagogues every couple of miles. Nowadays, you don’t make that assumption.”

That would explain why Fair Lawn, which encompasses 5.2 square miles, had four Conservative synagogues before mergers reduced them to two, one egalitarian and one traditional.

“In terms of the Reform movement, I think that the economic downturn hit the Reform movement particularly hard, as did the Great Depression, because for some Reform Jews, paying synagogue dues was a discretionary expense,” he said.

Sarna said synagogue mergers have been a constant in American Jewish history. A wave of mergers took place when Jews began moving to suburbia. Chicago’s KAM Isaiah Israel synagogue, famed for its location across the street from President Barack Obama’s former home, is the result of merger of several Reform congregations. “As that area of Chicago changed and the Jews moved out, all of them merged into one congregation,” Sarna said.

He believes that larger cultural trends herald more bad news for synagogue affiliation and continuing interest in mergers.

“We’ve gone a significant number of decades of having a religious revival, where much of the talk was about people becoming more religious. I think there’s growing evidence that that era has ended and in fact we’re seeing — as we did in the 1920s — a movement in the other direction, away from churches and synagogues. We’ve seen these cycles throughout American history,” he said.

 

More on: When a synagogue shuts its doors, what happens to its windows?

 
 
 

Sons of Israel’s parting gifts

 

(And other questions about closure)

For an ailing synagogue, merging with a healthier congregation is seldom Plan A.

“It’s something that develops over a period of years, because the first choice is to make what you have work,” said Mel Glantz, who was a long-time member of Cong. Beth Israel of Northern Valley in Bergenfield. “There’s a sense of failure when you’ve got to merge.”

Nevertheless, his synagogue merged with another Conservative congregation, Beth Sholom in Teaneck, in 2008. It was one of eight synagogue mergers in North Jersey over the past five years.

 
 
 
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Stay tuned for the return of comments

 

Rabbi, doctor, author, shrink

Teaneck’s Rabbi Abraham Twerski, M.D.

It’s a fair bet that the most prolific author living in Teaneck — if not all Bergen County — boasts rabbinic ordination, a medical degree, and an impressive chasidic pedigree.

Rabbi Abraham Twerski has written 70 books, most shelved in the self-help/psychology sections. Some are Jewish in focus but others are not, including a series featuring his psychological advice illustrated with Peanuts cartoons. His latest, “The Rabbi and the Nuns,” is a memoir — with a strong helping of psychology, because it chronicles his career as a psychiatrist, with particular emphasis on his twenty years at St. Francis Hospital in Pittsburgh.

How does a rabbi end up heading psychiatric services at a Catholic hospital managed by nuns, let alone counseling nuns and priests?

In this case, by wanting to fill the very large shoes of his father, Rabbi Jacob Twerski.

 

From Budapest to Woodcliff Lake

Rabbi Andre Ungar’s career crossed continents, spanned streams

Rabbi Andre Ungar, a courtly man with a spade-shaped beard and impeccable manners, speaks with what seems at first to be pure and crystalline Queen’s English, precise and beautiful.

Listen carefully, though, and you hear something else underneath, something somehow both more and less familiar.

It’s a Hungarian accent, giving depth and context to his speech.

Rabbi Ungar, rabbi emeritus of Temple Emanuel of the Pascack Valley in Woodcliff Lake, is a complicated man, an intellectual with a well-earned passion for social justice and a life that took him to five countries in four continents before allowing him to settle here, in this one.

 

Blue and white moon

Israeli lunar mission makes stop in Paramus

In the May 1944, Itzhak Bash and 299 other Jewish engineers were removed from Auschwitz and taken to work at a Volkswagen factory that was assembling the V-1 flying bomb.

He had been a textile engineer in Hungary before the Nazis invaded and deported the Jews, but the Germans didn’t need his specific technical skills; they wanted slave laborers they could trust with careful work. The first V-1s from occupied France landed on London on June 13, 1944. As the Allies pushed into France, Mr. Bash was switched to work on the V-2, the first rocket to reach the edge of space. By the war’s end, more than 3,000 V-2 rockets had been launched.

Mr. Bash was one of the lucky hundred men who had survived from the original group of 300 engineers. Some were killed by Allied raids; others by the conditions at the work camps.

 

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Born to heal

Dr. Sharyn Lewin, new to Holy Name, talks about gynecological oncology, helping women, and saving lives

Ever since she was a small girl, Sharyn Lewin knew that she wanted to be a doctor.

But not just any doctor. The laser-like precision of her goal, from the time she was very young, was oddly specific.

“My earliest memory was going to school with a white coat and a stethoscope for Career Day,” Dr. Lewin said. By the time she was about 8, “I didn’t even know what an obstetrician or a gynecologist was — but I knew I wanted to be one.”

Very soon, Dr. Lewin narrowed her goals even further. She wanted to be a gynecological oncologist, studying and curing women’s cancers. She wanted to take after her grandmother, Dr. Gerda Bruno, who was a gynecologist at a time when few women were. And she succeeded. Dr. Lewin is newly arrived at Holy Name Medical Center in Teaneck, where she has begun a practice and eventually will inaugurate a full-service women’s health center. “It will be a comprehensive venue, where women can come for complete care,” she said.

 

Turning grief into action

Stephen Flatow talks about his long quest for justice for Alisa — and the fine assessed against BNP Paribas

As more and more bleak news from Israel continues to chill hearts here, the parents of all four murdered boys — the three Jews and the one Arab — will have to learn how to live without them.

It is a pain that they will feel forever, but they will learn to manage somehow, each in his or her own way.

In this country, Stephen Flatow models a way to take grief, fashion it into a lance, and wield it powerfully in his quest for justice. Ever since his daughter, Alisa — a Brandeis student who graduated from the Frisch School in Paramus and was spending her junior year abroad in Israel — was killed by terrorists, blown up, along with everyone else on board, as she rode a bus to an Israeli beach, Mr. Flatow has fought to make her murderers, and the terrorist state that supported them, pay for her death.

 

Turning grief into action

Palestinian terrorism is genocide

It’s time to say the G-word out loud.

Palestinian terrorism is not just another form of violence. It’s genocide by another name.

A word such as “genocide” should never be used lightly. If it is to have any meaning, it must not be flung about just to make some political point or to award victim status to some aggrieved group that has suffered far less than mass murder.

At the same time, we have to be willing to use the G-word when it applies—even if doing so is politically inconvenient or unpopular.

I recently spoke at the 11th National Conference of the David S. Wyman Institute for Holocaust Studies. It was the first time I have ever addressed such a forum. I was one of the speakers in a session involving people connected to genocides other than the Holocaust.

 
 
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