(JTA) — When the Shabbat-dinner nonprofit OneTable slashed a quarter of its staff last month, it wasn’t only because of a budget crisis.

It’s true that fundraising was way down. But the group was also responding to what it sees as important shifts in how Jews gather, citing its growing sense that Gen Z is less likely than others to want to open doors to their home.

Now, OneTable is revealing a raft of new pilot programs and policies, including a move away from its defining practice of subsidizing dinners; a new policy barring anti-Israel events; a renewed focus on young Jews; and a shift toward partnerships with emergent Shabbat “clubs” to lift the burden and risk of hosting at home.

“In this world right now, the idea of welcoming something, someone into your home is scary to people,” said OneTable’s new CEO, Sarah Abramson, who joined the company in May. “All of these things are actually creating barriers to people wanting to host in their homes, and so we know that we need to bring OneTable out into the world.”

At the same time, the group is centralizing its operations. While the 14 layoffs took place across the company, Abramson said OneTable had focused in part on field managers, who served as regional liaisons with hosts and potential hosts.

“If a person in that community really saw that field manager as the face of OneTable, and for whatever reason, did not feel like that person spoke to them or was not aligned with their Jewish values and how they want to Shabbat, then often they would kind of discount OneTable,” she said.

The changes come as Israel looms large over Jewish nonprofits, influencing fundraising and engagement while also at times laying a minefield, especially for younger Jews who are increasingly divided in their sentiments.

OneTable says the number of people participating annually in Shabbat dinners it supports doubled after Oct. 7, 2023, in keeping with a “surge” of Jewish engagement that many organizations observed following Hamas’ attack on Israel. Before the resulting war in Gaza, 42,000 people a year were attending OneTable dinners. After, the number reached 80,000, according to the group.

But the group struggled to keep pace when it came to fundraising. In 2024, OneTable ran a deficit of more than $900,000, spending about $10.6 million while bringing in just over $9 million in contributions, according to their tax filings that year. That represented a sharp decline in funding from 2023, when the organization reported nearly $12 million in contributions and ended the year in a surplus.

“In full transparency, our philanthropy has not kept pace with the volume,” Abramson said.

Prior to joining OneTable, Abramson worked as the executive vice president for strategy and impact at Combined Jewish Philanthropies, Boston’s Jewish federation. There, she oversaw grantmaking as well as the nonprofit’s $60 million post-Oct. 7 Israel emergency fund.

As Jews across the United States flooded funds like that with nearly $1 billion, concerns quickly emerged about whether the donations would supplant other giving. The answer at OneTable, at least, appears to be yes, Abramson said.

“Eighty thousand participants requires so much more philanthropic support at a time where, rightly, philanthropic support for the Jewish community was directed towards Israel, and really thinking about other priorities,” she said.

Gali Cooks, the president and CEO of Leading Edge, a nonprofit that provides training, research and support for Jewish nonprofits, said that there was also a “tricky confluence right now of rising demands and rising costs” within the Jewish nonprofit sector.

Cooks said that, across the sector, nonprofit leaders were realizing that they have to “think smaller and bigger at the same time” — as OneTable says it is doing.

“Within each organization, leaders are trying to achieve more focus and clarity and streamlining toward the mission,” said Cooks. “But between organizations, they’re striving for more collaboration, more partnerships, shared infrastructure, and shared planning. That’s true in the conversation about talent, board excellence, and leadership development, but I think it’s also true about things like antisemitism, security, Israel engagement, and more.”

The changes underway at OneTable include formalizing a stance on Israel for the first time. Earlier this month, the organization added a list of its “core commitments” to its website that included a section outlining drawing a hard line against anti-Israel advocacy.

“We do not formally partner with, or support, any organization, Shabbat dinners, or gatherings that call for Israel’s destruction or in any way question Israel’s right to exist,” the section reads. “We do not fund dinners that align with any political party or candidate.”

At the same time, the group is aiming to stoke Israel talk at the Shabbat table. The group has a new partnership with Resetting the Table, a Jewish nonprofit that teaches dialogue skills, to “allow our Shabbat tables to become nuanced places for hard conversations,” Abramson said during a presentation about at the Jewish Federations of North America annual conference in November.

“We also are doing a lot of pilots based on research that enable the skill of hard conversations for Shabbat,” Abramson told JTA. “For example, we have a pilot right now with Resetting the Table, helping a lot of our hosts think through, how do you actually have deep, meaningful conversations, often about Israel, but not only, particularly in the American context right now.”

For some, the changes mark an unhappy end to OneTable as a respite for young Jews from the pitched ideological divides over Israel that increasingly characterize Jewish experiences.

Alexis Fosco, a former OneTable employee, posted on LinkedIn last month in an announcement of her departure that she was “frustrated at Jewish funders withdrawing from diaspora-focused work, leaving the staff who are already subsidizing their causes to absorb the impact.” She indicated that she had not been among the laid-off workers.

“I keep thinking about how funding-driven scope creep takes hold,” continued Fosco. “It’s heartbreaking and spiritually exhausting to pour yourself into an organization and walk away realizing the work no longer aligns with what you set out to build or believe in.”

Three former field managers did not respond to JTA requests for comment.

Abramson said the nonprofit’s new initiatives would be rolled out as pilots over the coming year. But even if the tests are temporary, they mark a significant shift for the nonprofit that has long been synonymous with underwriting the costs of serving Shabbat dinner at home. Hosts have historically received $10 stipends for each registered guest at their OneTable dinners.

An analysis of host patterns found that a small number of repeat hosts were racking up disproportionate subsidies.

In September, after one former OneTable host posted about their dismissal from the program on Facebook, Dani Kohanzadeh, OneTable’s senior director of field, told JTA that it had let go of just under 50 hosts in one week. But she said that the decision was not primarily financial.

“It’s not about balancing the budget,” said Kohanzadeh. “We didn’t make this decision based on the financial cutoff, it’s based on the overall experience with our support.”

Now, Abramson said the organization plans on rolling out alternative incentives for hosting Shabbat, including a “point” system in which points can be exchanged for prizes including, potentially, trips to Israel and elsewhere.

“OneTable’s model really works for a lot of people … so we want to ensure that people who are finding a lot of meaning and financial support through nourishment continue to be able to choose that, we won’t be taking that away,” she said.

Abramson said the company was also shifting away from its recent focus on older Jewish adults to center its programming on younger Jews.

“OneTable was founded as an organization designed to provide Friday night Shabbat experiences for young adults,” she said. “This is really going back to our roots and ensuring that we are evolving the way in which young adults want to be reached.”

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(JTA) — An art gallery in Canada has been roiled by resignations after it narrowly voted not to acquire works by Jewish photographer and outspoken pro-Palestinian activist Nan Goldin over accusations that she holds antisemitic views.

The resignations of the Art Gallery of Ontario’s modern and contemporary curator and two members of its modern and contemporary collections committee were first reported by The Globe and Mail.

Goldin, who is widely acclaimed for her documentary-style photography of marginalized communities, has faced controversy in recent years over her outspoken pro-Palestinian activism.

In the weeks following Oct. 7, Goldin also signed onto a letter calling for “Palestinian liberation.” In April 2024, she also signed another letter calling for Israel’s exclusion from the Venice Biennale. In December 2023, Goldin told n+1 Magazine that she had “been on a cultural boycott of Israel for my whole life.”

And German leaders criticized her after she said in a November 2024 speech at the Neue Nationalgalerie in Berlin, where she said, “I decided to use this exhibition as a platform to amplify my position of moral outrage at the genocide in Gaza and Lebanon,” adding, “Anti-Zionism has nothing to do with antisemitism.”

Last week, Goldin donated one of her artworks to a fundraiser for Palestinian children curated by children’s YouTube star Ms. Rachel, who has faced criticism for her pro-Palestinian advocacy.

According to an internal memo obtained by The Globe and Mail, the gallery was embroiled debates over acquiring Goldin’s works in the middle of last year.

The gallery’s modern and contemporary curatorial working committee eventually voted 11-9 against purchasing Goldin’s works, after some members alleged Goldin’s remarks were “offensive” and “antisemitic.” Other members of the committee argued that her works were not antisemitic and that “refusing the work because of the artist’s views was censorship,” the newspaper reported.

The Art Gallery of Toronto is publicly funded and already houses three of Goldin’s works. The work it decided not to acquire, “Stendhal Syndrome,” does not relate to her pro-Palestinian activism and was instead acquired by Vancouver gallery that has displayed it since November.

Following the debate over Goldin’s work, the director and chief executive of the Toronto gallery, Stephan Jost, outlined a governance review that recommended a “reset” on the committee’s acquisition discussions and “clarification” of its members’ responsibilities, according to the Globe and Mail.

In a statement to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency about the resignations, the gallery acknowledged the turmoil over Goldin’s work and said they had engaged an expert to review the meeting.

“Political views are never intended to be part of the process. In this instance, personal political views did surface,” said a AGO spokesperson. “As a result, the AGO engaged an independent governance expert to review matters relating to that meeting. The AGO takes these learnings seriously and has reset to ensure that such discussions are focused on an artwork’s alignment to the AGO’s acquisition criteria, are healthy and productive, and welcome multiple perspectives.”

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When politicians publish memoirs, the goal is usually clear: introduce themselves to voters beyond their home state, often ahead of an expected national run, and present the version of their story that makes them most appealing to the broadest base. That’s what makes Josh Shapiro’s new memoir potentially counterintuitive.

In Where We Keep the Light, set to be published on Tuesday, Pennsylvania’s Jewish governor does not sidestep the parts of his biography and political record that could complicate a 2028 presidential bid.

Instead, he leans into them. Most notably, in a passage that made headlines earlier this week, Shapiro reveals that during his vetting as a potential vice presidential nominee in 2024, he was questioned so aggressively about Israel — including being asked whether he had ever been an Israeli agent — that he felt singled out because he is Jewish.

Shapiro, who has been mentioned as a potential first Jewish president since his gubernatorial campaign in 2022, was one of six finalists who conducted interviews with the campaign of then-Vice President Kamala Harris, a group that included Illinois Gov. J.B. Pritzker, who is also Jewish. Shapiro’s popularity as a governor from a key battleground state, strong oratory skills and reputation as a moderate made him a formidable choice for many Democrats.

But Shapiro’s staunch defense of Israel and criticism of the pro-Palestinian protests after the Oct. 7, 2023 Hamas attacks made him a more complicated choice at a moment of deep polarization within the Democratic Party. Shapiro refused to call for a unilateral ceasefire in Gaza, he highlighted expressions of antisemitism at pro-Palestinian protests, and he criticized a “culture” at the University of Pennsylvania which he said did not take antisemitism seriously enough.

In his interview with Harris before she ultimately selected Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz as her running mate, Shapiro writes that he was urged to apologize for some of his comments about the protests to avoid alienating younger, more progressive voters and the Muslim-American electorate in Michigan. “‘No,’ I said flatly,” Shapiro writes.

Embracing a position that could complicate a campaign rather than smoothing away rough edges is not without precedent. In New York City, Mayor Zohran Mamdani sustained criticism during his campaign for his refusal to soften his stance on Israel, which alienated Jewish voters, long considered one of the most influential blocs in citywide races. But he defied expectations, scoring a surprise primary victory in a city with the largest Jewish community outside Israel and winning the mayoralty with a majority of the vote.

But Mamdani’s political focus was local, driven by social media and grassroots organizing, and the response was immediate, not years away. His stance on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict actually attracted new voters.

For Shapiro, the stakes are national and long-term — and the benefits are far less certain. Palestinian rights and the Gaza war have increasingly become a litmus test for Democrats, many of whom want sharper opposition to Israel. Polls show that Democratic voters are increasingly sympathetic to Palestinians. Even national Jewish Democrats, like Pritzker and former Chicago mayor Rahm Emanuel — both considered possible presidential candidates in 2028 — have publicly challenged Israeli policy. In July, a record 27 Senate Democrats, a majority of the caucus, supported a pair of resolutions calling for the blocking of weapons transfers to Israel.

“People have grown frustrated with some of their elected leaders who just blow with the wind and take a poll instead of finding their pulse,” Shapiro writes. “I try to stay true to what I believe is right regardless of what others think.”

In the book, Shapiro focuses on humanizing moments, detailing experiences shaped by and tied closely to his Jewish identity.

Passover arson attack 

The book opens with a harrowing account of the Passover arson attack on the Pennsylvania governor’s residence, hours after his family’s Seder, by an intruder who said he wanted to beat the governor with a sledgehammer over what he claimed was a lack of empathy towards Palestinians.

Shapiro recounts how the attack rattled his children and sharpened his sense that antisemitic violence is a lived reality — even for a governor with a police detail. “I have hardly been shy about my beliefs and my faith, all of which have put a target on my back over the last half decade,” he writes. “The vitriol only intensified after the October 7 attacks on Israel, as I continued to live my Judaism out loud.”

Still, he continues, until that moment, he felt safe. “The bubble burst that morning,” Shapiro writes. “People did want to kill me. They were hoping to, and willing to try.”

The Pennsylvania governor said this sentiment was shared by many American Jews who felt frightened after learning of the attack. But they were also comforted by his response and his refusal to be deterred from openly practicing his religion.

Tree of Life massacre

Shapiro devotes a chapter to the 2018 massacre at the Tree of Life Congregation in Pittsburgh that killed 11 people, describing his role as attorney general at the time and the emotional toll of repeatedly standing with a community shattered by the deadliest antisemitic attack in American history. Shapiro was sworn in as the state’s 48th governor on a stack of three Bibles, including one that was rescued from the synagogue.

The episode, he writes, reinforced his belief that political leadership must be rooted in moral clarity. “It has only made me more proud to be Jewish, more willing and able to use my voice and whatever platform I do have in my position to speak out.”

Shapiro faced criticism for switching his position on the death penalty, after initially favoring it for the killer, Robert Bowers. In the book, he defends his evolution on the issue, after meeting with some of the families of those slain in the shooting attack and a conversation with his son Max. “I went the opposite way of what would be politically popular for me,” he writes. “But it was a matter of principle for me, not politics. I wasn’t about playing a game or pleasing a constituency.”

Alliance with Barack Obama 

The memoir also revisits an earlier chapter in Shapiro’s political life: his defense of former President Barack Obama during the 2008 campaign, when Obama faced skepticism in the Jewish community over his associations with Chicago pastor Jeremiah Wright and his positions on Israel. Shapiro’s oratory skills are often compared to Obama’s.

Shapiro, who was at the time a state representative, writes that he was criticized within his own community for vouching for Obama, who went on to win the White House. Shapiro said a private conversation with the then-candidate convinced him that Obama’s commitment to the Jewish community was genuine.

“I felt comfortable defending his beliefs,” Shapiro writes. “I thought the attacks were unfair.”

Shapiro recalls that Obama invited him to attend the first-ever Seder he hosted with several Jewish aides as he campaigned throughout the state during the Democratic primary. “I politely declined and explained I needed to be home with my family,” he writes. “He totally understood.” Obama went on to lose Pennsylvania to Hillary Clinton.

A semester in Israel

Shapiro also recounts his early relationship with Israel, including a trip he took as a teenager with his classmates from Akiba Hebrew Academy — around the time he met his wife Lori — and how those experiences shaped his views on the Jewish state.

Shapiro spent four months living in a dorm, taking classes and touring the country. Jerusalem, he writes, felt entirely different from home, where his faith had largely been contained within the walls of his synagogue on Saturday mornings or at the family table on Friday nights. Shapiro and his family are practicing Conservative Jews who keep kosher and gather for Shabbat dinners, joined by Shapiro’s parents and in-laws.

“There was something foundational about being in Israel that really connected me more to my faith,” he writes. “In Israel, it was just everywhere. It was the first time I could feel faith. I could see it and touch it, and it wasn’t abstract.”

On Saturday nights after Shabbat ended, he and his friends would wander Ben-Yehuda Street, watching crowds spill out of cafes and bars. Every time, he would run into someone with a connection to Pennsylvania or to his family. It was a reminder, he writes, of the bonds tying Jews together around the world.

Shapiro proposed to his wife in 1997 under the 19th-century Montefiore Windmill in the Yemin Moshe neighborhood of Jerusalem, during one of more than a dozen trips to Israel.

Vetting as vice president

The final chapter of the book recounts former President Joe Biden’s decision to step aside and Shapiro’s willingness to be considered as a vice presidential nominee. Shapiro writes that while he was publicly praised, there was also what he describes as a coordinated effort to derail his candidacy, including “ugly antisemitic rhetoric.” He recalls praying frequently during that period, hoping the process would go smoothly. “I said the Shema more times during that week than maybe I had in my whole life before,” he writes.

When he first met with the vetting team over Zoom, Shapiro says the panel “spent a lot of time asking me about Israel.” He began to wonder, he writes, “whether these questions were being posed to just me — the only Jewish guy in the running — or if everyone who had not held federal office was being grilled about Israel in the same way.”

Ahead of his consequential meeting with Vice President Kamala Harris at the Naval Observatory, Shapiro writes, members of the vetting team asked whether he had “ever been an agent of the Israeli government” or had “ever communicated with an undercover agent of Israel.” Early in his career, Shapiro briefly worked in the Israeli Embassy’s public affairs division in Washington. He says he told Dana Remus, a former White House counsel under Biden and a senior member of Harris’ vetting team, “how offensive the question was.”

The Gaza war loomed over the campaign even before Biden withdrew from the race. Anxious Democrats pressed Biden to take a tougher stance on Israel as a way to recover from his disastrous debate performance in June 2024. Some urged an arms embargo to appeal to disaffected progressives and Michigan voters who had cast “uncommitted” ballots in the primary. Harris took a more forceful public position in calling for an immediate ceasefire to address the humanitarian crisis.

According to Harris’ own memoir, 107 Days, in her private conversation with Shapiro, she discussed how his selection might affect the campaign, including the risk of protests tied to Gaza at the Democratic National Convention and “what effect it might have on the enthusiasm we were trying to build.” Harris wrote that Shapiro responded by saying he had clarified that earlier views he held were misguided and that he was firmly committed to a two-state solution.

Shapiro’s account of that exchange is very different. He writes that Harris pressed him to apologize for criticizing pro-Palestinian campus protests, which he refused to do. “There wasn’t much more issue-based conversation before we moved on to what the [role of] vice president would look like in her administration,” he writes.

After leaving that meeting, Shapiro writes he considered publicly withdrawing his name from consideration. Instead, he privately informed the Harris team that he no longer wanted the job. “I had prayed for clarity,” he writes. “And now I was nothing but clear.”

Shapiro’s memoir will be released on Jan. 27.

The post Why Josh Shapiro’s memoir could complicate a presidential run appeared first on The Forward.