Why the Conservative (Jewish) Movement is Dying And How to Save It

Shalom Chaverim -

We are at a critical moment in American Jewry for a host of reasons and there are plenty of numbers that should concern us, but one in particular is the recent Pew study that found that 24% of Jews who were raised Jewish no longer identify as such. As someone raised in a Conservative Jewish household, and still identifies as a Conservative Jew, I’ve experienced this particular issue for far longer than the greater Jewish community. Over the recent decades, the movement that initially defined American Jewry has seen a major decline in identification and congregation membership:

The sheer number of American Jewish adults who identify as Conservative and belong to a synagogue has fallen by about 21 percent – from 723,000 adult Jewish congregational members in 1990 to 570,000 in 2013. And the number of non-synagogue Conservative Jews – those who say, in effect, “I’m Conservative, but I don’t belong to a congregation” — fell by an even more precipitous 47 percent, from 739,000 to 392,000.

Origins

To understand why the Conservative movement is declining, we have to look back and understand its origins. Zacharias Frankel—one of the leading advocates of Conservative Judaism—born and trained in Prague, was the first rabbi in Central Europe to have a university degree, and the first to deliver his sermons in German. Frankel’s main opposition to Reform Judaism was that it separated the national identity from the tradition and only focused on the intellectual. He also critiqued Orthodox Judaism being unable to adapt to the modern world, thereby creating the concept of “positive historical Judaism” - the idea that Judaism is a living organism, constantly changing and reflecting the times in which it exists.

“[H]istorical because it acknowledges that Judaism did not simply drop down from heaven ready-made, so to speak, but has had a history; positive, because, whatever the origins, this is what the religion has come to be under the guidance of God.” - Adapted from Jewish Encyclopedia

Growing in both number and wealth here in America, it’s unsurprising why American Jews adopted this approach. It offered the best of both worlds: community and tradition rooted in Halacha and Zionism as a balance to America’s warm embrace that required everyone to shed their Old World identity. That balance no longer works in a rapidly changing world with rapidly changing priorities. At some point, the Conservative movement’s roots in “positive historical Judaism” loosened and its adherents started strapping the tree down with strings, hoping to keep it upright for as long as possible. Rising rates of interfaith marriage, acceptance of the LGBTQ+ community, cost of living, and political partisanship tore the Conservative movement apart while the Reform movement doubled down on widening the tent and the Orthodox movement strengthened its fortifications. Like all ideologies that define themselves by what they are not, instead of what they are, the Conservative movement declined because it lost what made it so popular to begin with.

Partisanship

Conservative Synagogues are simply no longer the big tent they once were, and it’s due to a number of factors—mainly, the integration of politics into the pulpit. Congregants found it imperative their synagogue leadership took stances on political issues, which was no problem for Reform synagogues who were mainly liberal and Orthodox synagogues who were mainly conservative. Big tent Conservative synagogues found themselves in a Catch 22: Take a political stance and alienate a large portion of congregants or take no political stance, which encourages everyone to come to the worst conclusion. During the first decade of 21st Century, Conservative synagogues were able to avoid such tensions. No matter one’s domestic partisan leanings, the Second Intifada and the War on Terror post 9/11 made it easy for Conservative rabbis to remain clean. Once President Obama started picking fights with Prime Minister Netanyahu over the Iran deal circa 2012, Conservative rabbis found themselves constantly covered with mud. Whether Jews left because their leadership was being too soft on either one, the impact on the bottom line was still the same.

Additionally, as issues like LGBTQ+ equality entered the fray of American cultural life, the question of welcoming those couples and families entered the sanctuary. Halacha does not allow for the marriage of same-sex couples, and if Conservative Judaism was going to be rooted in Halacha, then the rabbis couldn’t marry them. Setting aside the same-sex couples who wouldn’t be unreasonable to find a different type of Judaism to practice, more liberal congregants found this as an affront to their liberal identity. Instead of accepting that Judaism exists outside of liberalism, they assumed that Halachic Judaism as a whole was oppressive and sought new venues that would serve their liberal identity more than their Jewish one.

Countless other issues such as interfaith couples, criticism of Israel, etc. all had the same underlying tension between liberalism and Halachic Judaism. Liberal Jews wanted their synagogues to be more liberal while those more observant wanted their synagogues to be just that… Jewish. Instead of finding common ground, however, these two sides decided they no longer valued the big tent. That being said, there are other issues at play that have nothing to do with politics and Halacha, and that’s it’s simply too expensive to be a Conservative Jew.

Diminishing Value Proposition

Once upon a time, the synagogue was the center of Jewish communal life in America. Jews met their spouses at synagogue, young families formed groups of friends with kids of similar ages, teenagers would form bonds with one another, and the elderly could escape the loneliness associated with age. Synagogue sanctuaries were built to accompany thousands of congregants for High Holidays, they were decorated with the finest stained glass windows, and they were adorned by the arks holding multiple Torahs with jeweled crowns. These immaculate buildings were properly sustained by membership fees and complimented by the generous donations of congregants. Unfortunately, the pillars upon which the Conservative movement built itself have crumbled; and just like the leaders refusing to replant the roots of the movement, they refused to build new pillars or even examine whether the existing ones were decaying.

As the cost of living has risen, and wages have not increased, young Jews who grew up in Conservative communities simply can’t afford to be members of the synagogue. When young Jews are deciding where to spend their “Jewish dollars,” they see the synagogue as one of the worst “bang for your buck” areas. Without kids, the only time we ever spend inside the synagogue is on High Holidays—somewhere between a few hours on Rosh Hashanah to half a dozen times in that ten-day period. Otherwise, all other aspects of Jewish life (e.g. singles events, social events, Shabbat dinner, etc.) are provided by other organizations. Paying over a thousand dollars to spend less than ten hours inside of a building is not a good value.

Death Spiral

At this point, the death spiral begins: Diminishing youth membership means leaders end up prioritizing the needs of the existing congregants.

About 50 percent of Conservative synagogues employ a youth director, but in only about 12 percent is that a full-time position, according to a survey of Conservative shuls conducted by the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism. While about 54 percent of Conservative synagogues have a cantor (37 percent of them full time), fewer than 25 percent have assistant or associate rabbis, and only 18 percent have a full-time associate rabbi.

It makes perfect sense why a synagogue would prioritize the paying members, but eventually membership diminishes to such an extent that even those who are older no longer find value. On the other hand, if rabbis end up catering to those younger in the hopes of recruiting new members, the existing ones will find their own diminishing value. Regardless of which end is responsible for the decline in membership, they both end up impacting the synagogue’s main revenue stream. As revenue declines, and budgets shrink, synagogues have even less to offer everyone, especially their rabbis.

We all may want to believe that our rabbis are altruistic scholars, which most are, but they’re also altruistic scholars who need to pay back their student loans, pay their mortgage, and put their kids through college. Even the most well-paid rabbis will have a difficult time paying back the cost of attending Jewish Theological Seminar—and while the Ziegler School in Los Angeles is far cheaper, living in Los Angeles isn’t. Rabbis are no different in that they want to be able to provide for their families and are looking for a return on the investment in their education. Beyond the sheer cost, we could talk about how rabbis may not want to deal with synagogue politics or the challenge of leading a Jewish life in areas without large Jewish populations, but there are entire books on that. Declining membership leads to declining revenue, which leads to declining staff, which leads to declining rabbinic enrollment, and now we are here. So how do we save the movement?

Become Chabad

Having searched far and wide to replicate the emotions I so often felt in my home synagogue, I finally found a Conservative synagogue that qualified. It has a charismatic and oratorically gifted young rabbi, a beautiful sanctuary, a thriving community, and, most importantly, no membership fee. Instead, they allow members to give what they can with the knowledge that as the value of membership increases, our gift will increase with it. However, I’m a unique case and I don’t believe an entire movement should center itself around the preferences of any individual, let alone one as unique as I am. Revitalizing the Conservative movement will not occur just because a synagogue allows its members to pay whatever they want to be members. Revitalizing the movement requires a complete overhaul.

Chabad’s success is based on simplicity. They keep their costs extremely low, maximize the value they offer, and keep their community small and tight. Multiple Chabad houses exist within a small area because they know that distance matters to Jews. Not only from a Halachic perspective of supporting Shomer Shabbos Jews the ability to walk to services, but on a practical level as well. Proximity matters no matter the context, and it matters even more when asking Jews to participate in Jewish life. Chabad has done an incredible job, and we should applaud them for their work. In fact, I still give to my college Chabad rabbi every year. Still, there remains a gap, one that the Conservative movement can fill.

Being Orthodox, Chabad remains limited in its ability to engage a Jewish community. They suffer from what any other Orthodox synagogue suffers from. They accept they are simply “not for everyone,” and that's okay if the mission is to protect Jewish tradition. However, I believe that Jewish tradition can only be protected if our tradition remains important to our children, and that requires compromise—on some things. There’s a reason why Conservative Judaism became such a powerful movement in America, and, in the aftermath of 10/7, it has a chance to come back. Unaffiliated Jews along the political horseshoe are looking to reconnect with their Jewish identity and to find protection with the Jewish community. Unfortunately, the big tent doesn’t exist—both Reform Judaism and Orthodox Judaism are too radical for these “October 8 Jews”—so we have to rebuild it. We’re just not going to do it the same way.

Rebrand

At this point, “Conservative” as a moniker is too toxic because of its affiliation with the political movement; additionally, it no longer represents the movement. To “conserve” made sense at the time, but just like Frankel says, we need to contextualize all things Jewish, so it’s time to rebrand it. Masorti means “tradition” in Hebrew, which is a far more appropriate description of what the Conservative movement is trying to do. It’s focus is on the tradition, which is an all-encompassing concept that includes halacha, our history, and our identity as a nationality. On that note, because that’s how both Israelis and those outside the U.S. and Canada identify, rebranding as Masorti will unite the movement under one flag. Finally, by using a Hebrew word, and one associated with the movement in Israel, it will leave no doubt as to where the movement stands on its support for a Jewish state.

Big Tent - Small Houses

Chabad houses live and die by the rabbis that run them, and each rabbi has to be willing to cater to the community they serve. A Chabad rabbi who operates on a college campus has to approach his community very differently than the one living in a suburb. Being a Chabad rabbi is delicate especially in young, liberal areas, because the issues of interfaith marriage, LGBTQ+, and politics will naturally arise. One subset of people will still attend Chabad despite these contradictions while the rest won’t; but what if there was a Jewish space that offered the former no need to compromise and the latter a place to feel truly at home?

Masorti Judaism is a natural big tent that offers the flexibility for each individual rabbi to match the community they live in. For those who work with more liberal populations, the movement’s philosophical roots don’t preclude them from sitting under the shade of political activism. In Israel, Masorti Jews support the Women at the Wall movement and fight for non-Orthodox conversions to be recognized. For those that work with communities with young families, they can focus their engagement efforts more readily. As opposed to a rabbi that has to serve 100 families with kids under the age of ten, imagine the attention they could give if they only had 25 families. A Masorti Jew is someone who is a) constantly looking for Jewish guidance and b) someone who doesn’t know much. Reform Jews (generally) don’t know much, but also don’t necessarily seek out answers in Judaism. Orthodox Jews always seek for the Jewish answer, but they already know how to find it. Masorti Jews are the ones who require the most individualized attention. Shrink the size of the community, make it tighter, and unite it around a rabbi that reflects the specific needs and wants, and see the magic unfold.

Reversing the Death Cycle

When Masorti Judaism focuses on maximizing the value and minimizing the cost, those who are yearning for “positive historical Judaism” will come knocking. Rabbis who operate out of their homes will have smaller budgets, but also fewer expenses. They can then focus their attention on building community through tzedakah, not annual subscriptions. By going smaller and more decentralized, Masorti Judaism will need exponentially more rabbis, meaning that recruitment will need to increase, leading to more applicants and (hopefully) lower costs to become a rabbi. When the cost to become a rabbi decreases, rabbis will feel less obligated to seek the highest paying job that is usually serving a community that is well served already. With more ordained rabbis, the Masorti movement will increase its membership ranks, leading to a demand for more Masorti rabbis, and… you get the picture. Additionally, I imagine many rabbis will take the opportunity to be a leader of a community that reflects their own values, and one that doesn’t come with the baggage of synagogue politics.

Surely this will lead to the very thing I did not like about many Conservative synagogues I entered since I left home. Those glorious sanctuaries with beautiful stained-glass windows that amplify the cantor’s incredible voice will go away. The charismatic, oratorically-gifted young rabbi will undoubtedly have a smaller congregation to serve. But Conservative Judaism also tells us that our tradition is contextual—it does not exist within a vacuum. So, I submit that my version of Conservative Judaism no longer works. I can be sad about it, but I am far happier about the idea of its roots being replanted and the tree regrowing to its greatest heights.