When I graduated from college in 1980, my two younger sisters made me a tee-shirt that said, “Save the Female Whales in Ethiopia.” They were, of course, sweetly making fun of me. They saw me as a bleeding-heart liberal: Give Ann a cause and she’ll jump right in. I was a feminist. Gloria Steinem was my idol. At age 21 I bought my first subscription to Ms. magazine. I believed passionately in women’s rights and human rights.
Shortly after college, I landed a job as an organizer with the Hotel and Restaurant Employees Union. I was always broke even though I was working—and was proud of it. We were an idealistic group of young people, and the organizers on staff always went on strike with the workers. I was on strike quite a bit in those first few years. I completely identified with the maids and dishwashers I was organizing. In fact, I didn’t much like rich people, as for me in my “just-out-of-college mentality,” they were usually the hotel owners I was organizing against.
My goal was to make the world a better place—through my deeds and my work. I certainly did not consider myself a philanthropist. Actually, I was anti-philanthropist, if there was such a thing. Then something happened that changed my life and my attitude toward philanthropy.
My aunt offered to send me on a Jewish Federation singles mission to Israel. I took her up on her offer, quite honestly, in hopes of meeting a Jewish husband. My going had nothing to do with the Jewish Federation or Israel, about which I knew absolutely nothing. The only catch was that I was required to make my own $200 donation to the Jewish Federation to go on the trip. I was embarrassed to tell my aunt (who was paying for the whole trip) that I couldn’t swing $200. The organizers of the trip agreed to let me pay the $200 over the course of the year. And off I went.
I didn’t fall in love with a Jewish boy on that trip, but I did fall in love with Israel. I also fell in love with the Jewish Federation movement. When I realized that I could stand up for human rights and everything I believed in using a Jewish lens and through a Jewish organization, I made my first-ever donation of $200. It felt like a privilege and not a burden.
Upon my return, I was a changed woman. I couldn’t wait to tell all my friends about my Israel experience. I then had a rude awakening: I learned that many of my friends, the people with whom I spent all my time trying to change the world, were anti-Israel. I was shocked. That same year Jesse Jackson was running for president, with the full support of my friends. During the campaign, Jackson made his notorious anti-Semitic “Hymietown” remarks. He was pro-PLO when it was considered a terrorist organization whose goal was to wipe the Jewish state off the map. Yet all my friends supported him; this was a nonissue for them. It was then that I decided to focus my time and efforts in the Jewish community.
As luck would have it, I landed a job with the Jewish Federation of Western Massachusetts. I finally did meet and fall in love with a Jewish boy. My husband, Jeremy (not yet my husband), was an Orthodox Jew on the board of the Federation. We married six months after I began my new job, and I began a religious, spiritual, and philanthropic journey all at the same time.
Women in the Jewish Federation movement have produced the most powerful women’s philanthropic enterprise in American history.
Women in the Jewish Federation Movement
The type of philanthropy practiced by the Women’s Philanthropy Movement of the Jewish Federation spoke to me as a feminist and shaped the type of philanthropist I am today. The UJA Women’s Campaign began after World War II. The war had taught women that they needed to educate themselves Jewishly and to make their own gifts of tzedakah if they wanted to become policy makers and be heard by the community. The formation of the Women’s Campaign in 1946 meant that each woman— as an individual, and not just as part of a family—could take responsibility for doing her share to provide for Jews not able to provide for themselves. This philosophy still holds true. Today the Women’s Campaign, now known as National Women’s Philanthropy, raises $170 million of the Jewish Federation of North America’s (JFNA’s) annual campaign. And that number is expected to climb in coming years.
Women in the Jewish Federation movement have produced the most powerful women’s philanthropic enterprise in American history. I grew up in this movement, and my philanthropy has been strongly influenced by this model. Although my husband and I have grown together in our philanthropy, I continue to give in my own name. From the first $200 gift I made as a young single woman until I became a Lion of Judah for my fortieth birthday, I have made this my philanthropic model. (The Lion of Judah pin that many women wear represents a $5,000 or more gift to the Jewish Federation in a woman’s own name.) I have educated myself Jewishly to be a better Jew, a better wife, a better mother, and a better Jewish philanthropist. I have sent all my children to Jewish day schools (K-12) because I want them also to be secure and knowledgeable Jews and informed philanthropists when they grow up.
Philanthropy in the Orthodox Community
But my work in the Jewish Federation world did not prepare me for what I would find when I turned my time and attention to the Orthodox community. Following the birth of my third child, I left my position at the Federation to devote myself full time to an effort to start the first Modern Orthodox high school in the region. I set up a home office, built a committee, and functioned as an unpaid staff person and a lay leader in organizing this project. Within a year, we had three Jewish Federations committed to supporting a new school and had raised enough money to open. We had identified families and students committed to attend the ninth and tenth grades, secured space in a local synagogue, and begun interviews for a principal. This was all before the age of cell phones (except the ones for emergency hooked up to the car). Computers were still new, and e-mail was not yet what it is today. In other words, it was an enormous amount of work (for me, in particular) done in the old-fashioned way.
The committee met one evening as we started our principal search. It was time to set up an official board and to become a 501(c)3 organization. We opened the meeting with our top agenda item—appointing a president. Admittedly, I puffed up. I had led this endeavor every step of the way. I was sure they would ask me. Who else could the committee possibly ask? Well, first they turned to a wonderful, smart man, dean of a local law school. He refused. He was new to his position and simply did not have the time to take on this big job. OK, maybe I’d be the second choice. Nope. They turned to another man (also, wonderful), and he too said no. Heads were down. There was a collective sigh of dismay and then silence. “I’ll do it,” I volunteered. More silence. Finally, someone said OK and, with very little fanfare, I became the founding president of the Hebrew High School of New England.
My feelings were hurt at first, because I didn’t understand their hesitation. I had been a feminist far longer than I had been an Orthodox Jew. I knew women couldn’t be rabbis, but it never occurred to me, in my naiveté, that there would be a problem with a woman president. The president of our Federation was a woman. In fact, the president of our local Orthodox shul was a woman. (Looking back, I realize now that she must have been one of the first in the country.) I didn’t know that this was not the norm.
Philanthropy is not only about giving of your time and money— it is about making transformational change in the world.
This situation taught me another lesson about philanthropy and leadership. Donating in my own name was not enough. Fundraising for the cause was not enough. As a president and a donor, I was now also in the powerful position to shape policy and to make sure that this would be a school that I felt comfortable investing in. The school is now sixteen years old. Many of our young women are Talmud scholars and are accepted into the finest seminaries in Israel. Women teach Talmud to both boys and girls in the school. Leadership opportunities for girls abound. There have been other women presidents of the board.
It has been thirty-two years since I graduated from college and embarked on this journey. Today, I proudly consider myself a Jewish philanthropist. I am blessed to be able to give significantly to organizations that I believe in passionately. In particular, I focus my personal philanthropy on Jewish day school education, the Jewish Federation system, Israel, and organizations that promote women’s leadership in the Orthodox world.
Most pointedly, I have learned over the years that philanthropy is not only about giving of your time and money—it is about making transformational change in the world. To do so, we must add a few components to our personal philanthropic repertoire:
1. Think strategically; give strategically. This mantra presents a constant challenge, especially in smaller Jewish communities. Although older and wiser, I’m still a “bleeding-heart liberal.” I feel for everyone and am tempted to give to everyone who asks. Ideally, as philanthropists, we should identify our passions and invest our largest gifts in the areas that mean the most to us. Where will our dollars do the most good, according to what we believe? In today’s economy, it is not always easy to focus exclusively on one’s personal goals. There are many pressing needs in our local Jewish communities, and caring Jewish philanthropists have many organizations knocking on their doors for help. The conflict between remaining true to your personal vision and showing compassion for those in need at your doorstep is a challenge. I suggest that, even though you may try to do both, it is wise to stay focused on your philanthropic goals, even if it means giving less (or not at all) to organizations that are not your priority.
2. Be public about your personal philanthropy. I wear my Lion of Judah pin just about every day. I am delighted to have my name listed on an organization’s honor roll, in a program book, on a plaque. Some people believe that this type of public display smacks of poor taste, exhibitionism, or elitism. I do not. Even if, at first blush, the publishing of names feels contrary to our tradition’s belief that anonymous giving is the highest form of tzedakah, it is more important than ever that women serve as role models to one another. Although, the statistics regarding the future of women’s wealth in America bode extraordinarily well, this does not necessarily mean that women will think as philanthropists. We who do must let others know that we are passionate about the Jewish world, and that it is a joy and an honor to give in our own name. A friend recently commented, “You know, when you speak about your philanthropy work, you wear your heart on your sleeve.” Then she paused, adding, “Actually, you wear your pin on your lapel!”
3. Encourage people to join you—become a fundraiser for your charities. We can make transformational change within the organizations we support, but only if we couple it with securing the organization’s financial health. In fact, not doing so can be dangerous. If I have decided to give significantly to an organization, I always take on a public role in helping to raise more funds. I have been a president of a Federation and a Women’s Philanthropy Campaign chair. I have given matching grants to encourage more giving, hosted parlor meetings in my home, made phone calls, and met with people to ask for funds. If I have made a commitment and want an organization to grow, I don’t want to be the only one making an extraordinary commitment. When one or two philanthropists are seen as “taking care” of an organization, the community may not feel compelled to give or to ask and, as result, will not feel ownership of that organization. The greater numbers of people who give to an institution, the stronger the institution is. Lead donors must lead the way for others to participate.
4. Learn to speak passionately about your charity. Always have a powerful positive story on hand to share, one that will resonate with most people. Practice your story with a friend. Know how to answer nagging, commonly asked questions in an honest and positive fashion. Invite potential donors to visit your institution. Invite them to have a Jewish conversation about what interests them. Invite them to make a donation. A woman philanthropist recently told me that she has always been a donor, but has never been a fundraiser. This view of ourselves is common. We sit on boards and chair committees. We donate our time and our money. But, as I hear over and over again, we say, “I’ll do anything; just don’t ask me to ask people for money.” There are many reasons that women feel this way. Fundraising has traditionally been a “male” thing. Women are more polite. It feels rude sometimes to ask for money. We fear rejection. We have a million reasons not to ask. But ask we must. Philanthropy is an investment in what we believe. To be successful, we must inspire others to invest and believe as well.
5. Consider yourself a philanthropist, regardless of the size of your contribution. If you make a gift that is meaningful to you, think strategically about your giving, can articulate your passions, are proud and public with what and to whom you give, and inspire others to join you— you are a philanthropist!
Today, a Jewish woman philanthropist faces a complicated and time-consuming task. In fact, being a successful philanthropist is a full-time job. Trust me, there are days when I long for the opportunity to simply make a donation and walk away. I’d like to visit an island, get to the gym more often, and remember to schedule a manicure. OK, I only long for such lighter pastimes occasionally. Mostly, I long to change the world for the better, and I truly believe I’m doing just that—one donation at a time.