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Reclaiming the Rabbinate: Why This Moment Demands Moral Seriousness and Urgent Action
The interior of Geneva’s main synagogue. Photo: Geneva Jewish community
Three years ago, a mid-sized Conservative synagogue in the Midwest began searching for a new senior rabbi. The search committee received 42 applications. Not one candidate combined deep Talmudic learning with congregational experience. Most were second-career professionals with limited textual fluency. Several had never led a community through a full Jewish calendar year. The committee eventually hired a capable rabbi, but the search exposed something deeper: the pipeline of traditionally-formed Jewish leaders is running dry.
This is not an isolated incident. It is a pattern. And now we have the data to prove it.
The newly released Atra report, “From Calling to Career: Mapping the Current State and Future of Rabbinic Leadership,” is the most comprehensive study of the American rabbinate in a generation. It offers something rare in Jewish communal life: clarity. We now know who today’s rabbis are, how they are formed, and what the next generation will look like. The portrait is sobering. But it also reveals an extraordinary opportunity, if we have the courage to seize it.
This moment could mark not the decline of rabbinic authority, but its renewal. Everything depends on what we do next.
At the Crossroads
The numbers tell a consequential story. There are approximately 4,100 non-Haredi rabbis currently serving in the United States. Only six percent are under 35, while more than a quarter are over 65. The long-anticipated retirement wave is cresting. At the same time, the pathway into the rabbinate has fundamentally shifted. Many new rabbis now enter as second-career professionals — often with limited immersion in traditional Jewish learning and communal life.
Why does this matter? Because rabbinic formation isn’t simply professional training. It is the transmission of a civilization.
Rabbis formed young develop textual fluency that becomes second nature. They absorb communal norms through years of apprenticeship. They build mentorship relationships that span decades. They learn to think in Jewish categories before the default assumptions of secular culture take root. They spend Shabbat after Shabbat in communities, watching master rabbis navigate conflict, comfort the mourning, inspire the indifferent. This kind of formation cannot be replicated in a compressed professional program, no matter how well-designed.
Second-career rabbis bring valuable life experience — maturity, professional skills, perspective that comes only with age. These gifts are real. But when second-career entry becomes the dominant pathway rather than one pathway among several, something essential is lost: the deep grammar of Jewish thought and practice that has sustained our people through every upheaval.
To its credit, the Atra report highlights rabbis’ enduring sense of calling. Ninety-seven percent report that their work remains meaningful. This devotion is real and admirable. Yet many also speak of unclear expectations, emotional strain, and insufficient institutional support. The rabbinate increasingly resembles a helping profession under strain rather than a moral office grounded in tradition, discipline, and collective purpose.
This is not merely a workforce challenge. It is a civilizational one, for rabbis do not operate in isolation. They shape schools and federations, influence donor priorities, frame communal responses to antisemitism, and articulate the public moral voice of American Jewry. When rabbinic authority weakens or when it becomes culturally detached from the communities it serves, the entire ecosystem of Jewish institutional life feels the strain.
Formation, Not Demographics, Is Destiny
The next generation of rabbis will look markedly different from previous ones. Among current rabbinical students, 58 percent identify as women and 51 percent identify as LGBTQ+, with a significant portion identifying as trans or nonbinary. Many come from non-traditional Jewish backgrounds — converts, children of intermarriage, Jews who found their way to serious practice later in life.
These demographic shifts are inevitable and, in many ways, enriching. A diverse rabbinate that reflects the breadth of Jewish experience can strengthen our communities. The question is not who enters the rabbinate, but how they are formed.
A diverse rabbinate formed in deep textual literacy, halachic fluency, and communal responsibility will serve the Jewish people brilliantly. A diverse rabbinate formed primarily through ideological conformity and therapeutic training will not. The issue isn’t identity. It’s formation. It has always been.
Religious leadership cannot long endure when it becomes unmoored from the moral instincts, lived traditions, and covenantal expectations of the communities it serves. A rabbinate shaped more by the ideological grammar of elite secular culture than by the rhythms of Jewish religious life will struggle to command authority, inspire loyalty, or sustain continuity — no matter how sincere or well-intentioned its members.
Judaism has always thrived on creative tension: between past and present, law and compassion, authority and humility, particularism and universalism. The best rabbis hold these tensions with grace. They can advocate for change while honoring tradition. They can welcome the stranger while maintaining boundaries. They can engage contemporary questions without flattening either the questions or the tradition. But this capacity doesn’t emerge naturally. It must be formed — through years of study, through apprenticeship with master teachers, through sustained immersion in communities where these tensions are lived rather than theorized.
What Excellence Looks Like
Before charting the path forward, we must envision the destination. What would a renewed rabbinate actually look like?
Imagine rabbis who combine the textual fluency of traditional yeshiva training with genuine pastoral sensitivity. Who can navigate both Talmudic argumentation and congregational politics with equal skill. Who arrive in communities not to affirm what’s trending, but to guide toward what’s enduring. Who lead with moral authority earned through learning, humility, and years of service.
This isn’t nostalgia. It’s the future Jewish life requires.
And we already see it emerging. There are communities where young, traditionally-trained rabbis are revitalizing Jewish life through serious learning and warm welcome. There are synagogues where Torah study, social justice, and ritual observance reinforce rather than contradict each other. There are day schools where rabbis teach with both intellectual rigor and deep care for students’ spiritual lives, and campus settings where rabbis offer students substantive Judaism — not watered-down platitudes — and find eager audiences hungry for depth.
The Orthodox Invitation
This brings us to the most consequential omission in the Atra report: the absence of Yeshiva University’s Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary (RIETS) from full participation.
Founded in 1896, RIETS has been the backbone of Modern Orthodox rabbinic life in America for over a century. It ordains approximately 50 rabbis annually — a significant portion of the Orthodox rabbinate. Its graduates populate synagogues, day schools, and communal institutions across the country. They embody a leadership model rooted not in expressive identity, but in disciplined obligation: years of intensive Talmud and halachic study, rigorous preparation for pastoral work, and formation within a tradition that sees the rabbinate as a sacred responsibility rather than a personal calling alone.
Yet RIETS did not fully participate in the Atra study. Its student data was estimated rather than integrated. Its voice was muted. This omission distorts our understanding of the American rabbinate and inadvertently shifts the perceived center of gravity toward institutions more aligned with progressive formation models.
But absence is not destiny. And critique can become an invitation.
This is RIETS’ moment. For over a century, it has quietly trained rabbis who embody halachic seriousness and communal service. Now, it has the opportunity to demonstrate publicly what rigorous traditional formation produces: not rigidity, but resilience. Not narrowness, but depth. Not exclusion, but excellence that genuinely serves diverse communities.
By fully engaging the national conversation about rabbinic leadership, RIETS would provide an essential counterweight — not through opposition, but through demonstration. It would show that there are multiple pathways to rabbinic excellence, and that the path rooted in intensive traditional learning has produced extraordinary leaders for generations.
In an era when data increasingly drives philanthropic priorities and institutional strategy, presence is leadership. Participation is not capitulation to progressive norms — it is stewardship of a vital tradition.
The alternative is to cede the narrative entirely. And that would be a loss not just for Orthodox Jews, but for everyone who believes that Jewish leadership requires both deep learning and moral seriousness.
Building the Future
The Atra report hands us a gift: clarity about where we stand. The data is sobering, but the opportunity is immense. Yet this requires action and courage from multiple actors.
Seminaries and training institutions must reclaim non-negotiable standards. Textual fluency cannot be optional. Every ordained rabbi should be able to navigate a page of Talmud, engage classical commentaries, and ground contemporary questions in traditional sources. This isn’t fundamentalism, it’s literacy.
It’s the difference between a doctor who can read an X-ray and one who cannot. Extended apprenticeship must become standard. Classroom learning must be complemented by years of embedded communal experience. There is no substitute for watching a master rabbi navigate a contentious board meeting, comfort a family in crisis, or inspire a reluctant bar mitzvah student. These skills are caught, not taught.
Seminaries should create exchange programs between institutions. Let students experience different formation models while maintaining their home institution’s standards. Imagine HUC students spending a summer immersed in Talmud study at Yeshiva University — not to change their denominational commitments, but to deepen their textual foundation. Imagine RIETS students learning pastoral counseling from master teachers at the Jewish Theological Seminary. This kind of cross-pollination would strengthen the entire field.
Donors and philanthropic leaders must shift funding from innovation theater to formation infrastructure. The Jewish communal world loves pilot programs and convenings. What we need now is patient capital for the slow work of formation. Endow rabbinic chairs at institutions committed to traditional learning combined with pastoral excellence. Make 10-year commitments, not three-year grants. Create post-ordination fellowships that place newly ordained rabbis in strong communities with master mentors for two or three years before they take senior positions. Fund the apprenticeship model that produces excellence. Fund gap-year programs in Israel and intensive pre-seminary preparation. Give talented 35-year-olds considering a career change the resources to spend a year studying Talmud seriously before they apply to rabbinical school.
And measure what matters. Ask grant recipients not about diversity metrics or innovation buzzwords, but about textual competency, communal integration, and long-term placement success. One major philanthropist could transform the field by endowing a fund that provides significant annual support to institutions meeting rigorous standards for traditional learning, pastoral training, and placement support, regardless of denomination.
Communities and search committees must become more sophisticated consumers of rabbinic talent. During interviews, probe beyond résumés and talking points. Ask candidates to walk you through their approach to teaching a page of Talmud to diverse audiences. Ask how their formation prepared them to navigate tensions between tradition and change. Ask about their longest mentorship relationship and what they learned from it. Ask what it means to be a link in the chain of Jewish tradition.
An Urgent Call
The American rabbinate stands at a crossroads. One path leads toward continued fragmentation: rabbinic training driven by ideological fashion, second-career professionals with limited formation, institutions talking past each other, and communities unsure what excellence even looks like.
The other path leads toward renewal. Seminaries committed to both traditional learning and pastoral care. Donors funding formation rather than innovation. RIETS and other serious institutions leading publicly. Communities demanding rabbis who are both deeply rooted and genuinely responsive.
We don’t have to choose between tradition and inclusion, between excellence and accessibility, between past and future. These are false choices designed to paralyze us. We can have — we must have — rabbis formed in the deep grammar of Jewish thought who can lead diverse communities with wisdom and grace.
The Atra report should be read not as a warning of inevitable decline, but as an invitation to institutional courage. It surfaces truth. And truth creates possibility.
A rabbinate with moral gravity will not simply anchor Jewish life in an unsettled age. It will renew it. It will produce leaders capable of holding both tradition and change with grace. Leaders who can welcome the stranger without abandoning boundaries. Leaders who can engage modernity without being captured by it.
This is not the moment to retreat into tribalism or settle for mediocrity. This is not the moment for hand-wringing or passive resignation. This is the moment to build — not to drift, but to define. Not to mirror culture, but to shape it. Not to manage decline, but to engineer renewal.
The data is clear. The path is visible. The opportunity is now.
All that remains is the will to lead.
Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.
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ADL and JCPA clash over teachers union, exposing a divide over how to fight antisemitism
(JTA) — Two leading Jewish civil rights groups stepped up after Jewish teachers reported antisemitic harassment last year at the National Education Association’s annual convention, only to devolve into disagreement ahead of this year’s convention.
The unusual public dispute between the Jewish Council of Public Affairs and the Anti-Defamation League brought to the fore a simmering tension over how to fight antisemitism within schools and unions. Should Jewish groups promote collaboration with the institutions on solutions — or prioritize confronting them over their failings?
Two days before the assembly, the JCPA and the NEA’s Jewish Affairs Caucus heralded new rules and policies it had developed in collaboration union leaders to “ensure the safety of Jewish members and educators at the [Representative Assembly] without undermining the union’s vital commitment to free speech and democracy.”
A day before the assembly, the ADL, which had worked with caucus members over the past year, told Jewish Insider in an unusual line of attack that it was “extremely frustrated about a so-called ‘agreement’ with JCPA that was reached without all NEA JAC leadership and delegates at the table.”
It also took aim at union leaders: “NEA’s inconsistent enforcement of its own protections has sent an unmistakable message: Jewish educators are not a priority. That must change now.”
Amy Spitalnick, the CEO of the Jewish Council for Public Affairs, responded to the ADL’s criticism in an interview with the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
“When you can’t criticize substance, you find reasons to criticize process,” Spitalnick said in an interview. “In this case, we’re both very proud of the substance and the process, and the results underscore that.”
JCPA has emphasized working directly with school leaders and public officials to combat antisemitism, and opposed the Trump administration’s crackdown on campus pro-Palestinian protests.
“It is both possible and necessary to fight antisemitism — on campus, in our communities, and across the country — without abandoning the democratic values that have allowed Jews, and so many other vulnerable minorities, to thrive,” the group wrote in an April 2025 joint statement condemning the crackdown.
That letter spurred behind the scenes pushback from another legacy group, the Jewish Federations of North America.
The ADL, meanwhile, has taken on a more confrontational approach to universities, assigning them “report cards” for campus antisemitism and also empowering Jewish educators to advocate for themselves.
Notably, progressive-leaning groups like the JCPA and centrist groups like the ADL and the JFNA flip strategies when it comes to addressing Trump administration policies that undercut Jewish civil rights advocacy. The centrist groups have at times retreated from confrontation with the government, while the JCPA has been more directly critical. In one instance, the JCPA was more outspoken about a Trump administration attack on the ADL than the ADL was.
“There are absolutely those on the right who think that we should just be burning it all down, and that is not an approach that’s going to make you safer or democracy safer,” Spitalnick said. “We believe deeply that the only path forward is one that confronts antisemitism wherever it exists, and does so in a way that recognizes our safety as Jews is tied to our democratic institutions, which includes unions and public education.”
The ADL and the JCPA found common cause last year after the NEA delegates narrowly passed a measure barring the union from using, endorsing or publicizing any materials from the ADL, which boasts a comprehensive library of anti-bias education materials. (The measure was ultimately rejected by the NEA’s board of directors.)
The JCPA at that time signed onto a letter led by the ADL describing “deep concerns about the growing level of antisemitic activity within teachers’ unions,” including reports that Jewish teachers were verbally accosted during the proceedings.
The harassment, including a reported case of NEA members appearing to cheer at a mention of the 2025 attack on a march for Israeli hostages in Boulder, Colorado, during the convention last year, last month sparked a new antisemitism investigation into NEA by the Trump administration.
Shira Goodman, the ADL’s vice president of advocacy, said in an interview the group “immediately had to take an adversarial advocacy position to address” last year’s conference.
The ADL centered its approach on engaging with Jewish teachers who had sought their help, including the incoming president of the Jewish Affairs Caucus. Goodman said that while the ADL had “some ongoing conversations with leaders at the NEA,” the bulk of its advocacy had been to “support teachers who are doing their own advocacy.”
“Working just with leadership wasn’t going to do it, but we also wanted to be there to support grassroots folks who felt like they wanted to be and remain within their union,” Goodman said.
Goodman added that she did not feel that JCPA and the ADL were working “in tandem.”
“JCPA has said publicly that they have relationships with AFT, with NEA. Different organizations in the Jewish community have different lanes and do different things,” Goodman said. “I just want to make sure that the teachers are represented, and that if somebody is speaking for the teachers, that the teachers have been part of that.”
Spitalnick said JCPA had engaged with JAC leadership and other Jewish organizations, including the ADL, throughout the negotiations with NEA. Last year, JCPA also led a workshop at NEA’s annual convention about antisemitism.
“All I could speak to is our approach, which has been to — instead of hammering the union with constant critique and framing a sort of zero sum dynamic in which it’s the union versus the Jewish community — making clear that the union’s success and Jewish safety, inclusion, are one in the same right, and that has led to the partnership we have with NEA,” Spitalnick said.
The ADL and other legacy groups have in the past expressed qualified support for Trump administration disciplinary actions targeting educational institutions. Spitalnick was adamant that was the wrong course, including in the most recent government investigation into the NEA.
“The question that everyone should be asking is what is motivating this, and at a time when we’re seeing – whether it be Republicans in Congress or others — use our real fears of antisemitism to fundamentally try to kill the unions by going after their charter and their fundamental existence, I would ask real questions about the motivation for this investigation,” Spitalnick said.
The ADL, meanwhile, wrote in a post on X that the federal government’s investigation “underscores what many Jewish educators have been saying for the last two years: no union member should be made to feel excluded, targeted, or unwelcome because of a core part of their identity.”
Alyson Brauning, the outgoing chair of the Jewish Affairs Caucus, who had collaborated with JCPA ahead of the convention, said the difference between this year’s conference earlier this month and last was “night and day.”
“I actually got to enjoy parts of the [Representative Assembly],” Brauning said. “Our table did not experience any harassment or intimidation in the hall at all. It was actually enjoyable and fun, and we got to do the business of the RA on the floor.”
Naomi Rodriguez, the incoming chair of the Jewish Affairs Caucus who had participated in the ADL’s “Hazak” program, said she “wasn’t aware” of all the work that JCPA had done behind the scenes ahead of the assembly.
“Maybe Alyson was, and she is the chair of the caucus,” she added. “As the incoming chair, I’ll be more on top of those things.”
Rodriquez, who is currently participating in a JCPA cohort to support teachers, said that as the incoming chair she would “accept support from anybody who wants to support us.”
‘This issue with antisemitism is a huge problem, and it’s only getting worse, and I really think we all need to work together, and collaborate and coordinate to ensure that we are as effective as possible in fighting it,” Rodriguez said.
In a statement to JTA, an NEA spokesperson said that the union had “enhanced our work to counter antisemitism and ensure all of our members are respected and supported.”
“That effort included extensive consultation with the Jewish Affairs Caucus, Jewish NEA members, and partners in the Jewish community, including the JCPA,” the spokesperson said.
Following the assembly, which took place in Denver from July 3 through 6, the ADL as well as several other prominent Jewish groups that had also lent support to the Jewish Affairs Caucus published a statement saying that the results of the assembly “provides reason for optimism.”
“We commend the important steps the NEA took to foster a more inclusive Representative Assembly this year,” the groups wrote.
They added a caveat: “Yet that experience does not yet reflect the reality facing many Jewish educators in their own communities. We continue to hear from educators across the country who report marginalization within their unions, hostile rhetoric, intimidation, and exclusion…That reality requires continued attention and action at every level.”
The Conference of Presidents of Major American Jewish Organizations also joined the ADL’s statement, which did not include JCPA.
The JCPA “chose to have their own press release in the beginning and kind of break with what we had already decided as a group, and so that was why they weren’t part of this press release,” said Stephanie Hausner, the Conference of Presidents’ chief operating officer. The JCPA, like the ADL, is a constituent member of the conference.
Hausner said she felt the dispute between the organizations ahead of the conference “took away from the real issue at hand, which is how do we support Jewish teachers.”
“For the last year I’ve been working with all the organizations on this work, and I really thought we were in that place, and I hope that tomorrow we can get back to that place where everyone’s working together because I do think that it is better for the Jewish community,” Hausner said.
The ADL and JCPA “sometimes reach out to different audiences,” she said, but “in an ideal world, we all speak from the same notes and be able to to move together and work together on a regular basis, and we wouldn’t have some of this going on, some of this back and forth.”
“There are no two organizations that operate in this space and do things exactly the same,” Hausner added. “Hopefully, some of their efforts can complement each other moving forward.”
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JD Vance tells Joe Rogan that Jeffrey Epstein had ‘connections’ to Israeli intelligence
(JTA) — Vice President JD Vance claimed that the late convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein had ties to the “highest levels” of Israeli intelligence.
“He clearly had connections to the upper, the highest levels, of American intelligence. He clearly had connections to the highest levels of Israeli intelligence,” Vance told Joe Rogan, one of the country’s most popular podcasters, in a three-hour interview released Wednesday.
Vance also told Israelis purportedly behind attacks on his efforts to broker a ceasefire with Iran to “go to hell.”
The remarks from Vance, who described himself as “one of the O.G. Epstein conspiracy theorists,” marked a notable embrace by a Trump administration official of theories about Epstein’s ties to Israeli intelligence, which have proliferated in the years since his death and often have veered into antisemitism. No evidence supports the claim, and Naftali Bennett, Israel’s former prime minister, last year publicly denied allegations that Epstein worked for Israel or its intelligence agency.
During the interview, Vance went on to theorize about Epstein’s ties to Israel, particularly his ties to the Israeli political left. Epstein had an association with Ehud Barak, the former Israeli prime minister. Barak, whose politics in recent years have veered to the center, has denied wrongdoing and said he regrets the relationship.
“As much as I know, you know, Prime Minister Netanyahu, not a particularly popular person in the United States of America right now, Epstein seemed to be connected to the elements of the Israeli deep state that were left of center,” Vance said. It was not clear what Vance meant by “deep state,” a catchall frequently deployed by right-wingers peddling conspiracy theories.
Vance continued that, in the United States, Epstein was “connected across the board, he had Republican friends, he had Democratic friends. He had much deeper connections to the Israeli left of center than right of center. I don’t know what that means.”
The interview with Rogan was not the first time that Vance had flirted with conspiracy theories about Epstein.
“I am frankly kind of a conspiracy theory on the Epstein stuff,” Vance told the hosts on “The View” last month. “I think that it’s crazy that you have this guy who is clearly a sex predator who is hanging out with a lot of wealthy and powerful people.”
During the interview with Rogan, Vance also said that there was a “separate conspiracy that hasn’t gotten covered as much,” saying that Epstein was the “tax guy” of Les Wexner, the Jewish billionaire philanthropist whose decades-long relationship with Epstein has shadowed his philanthropic legacy.
“I think there’s an underreported, underexplored story of, was Epstein doing a lot of tax stuff that was not on the up and up, and is that one way in which he gained blackmail,” Vance said. “It’s not opposite of the sexual blackmail story, but in some ways you could imagine both things being true.”
Epstein’s relationship with Wexner has been extensively reported. Wexner, too, has denied wrongdoing and said he cut off relations with Epstein after learning about his misconduct.
“There’s so much bulls–t out there,” Vance said, referring to a recent report that Israelis are behind a paid campaign to discredit the Iran deal he brokered last month.
Vance said he did not care if Israel or any other country tried to influence outcomes — it’s “the nature of the beast,” he said — but was irked by Americans he claimed were taking Israeli money to oppose the deal.
“Many of the people who were receiving that money were actually attacking me in completely dishonest ways, you know my response to that is ‘Go to hell!’ I’m going to do what I have to do for the American people,” he said. “I represent Americans first.”
Vance’s deal with Iran, which has come under fire for its unprecedented concessions to the country regarding its role in controlling Lebanon and the Strait of Hormuz, is in abeyance. Trump resumed the war against Iran this week.
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The first synagogue inside a U.S. prison reopens — no conviction required
As prisons go, Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia was unusually luxurious. For one, it had flush toilets — beating out even the White House in making the upgrade, museum exhibit developer Beth Tinker told me on a recent tour.
But if plumbing reflected the penitentiary’s commitment to prisoners’ physical well-being, its biggest innovation was more spiritual. Eastern State housed the first synagogue inside a U.S. prison, complete with a Torah ark and ner tamid, or eternal light. That restored sanctuary — a short walk from gangster Al Capone’s former cell — is now newly open to the public in a museum exhibit, Freedom through Faith: Judaism at Eastern State and Beyond.
“It’s a place really of humanity, when you’re not getting a lot of humanity in this space,” Tinker said.
The synagogue, founded in 1922, hosted holiday celebrations and weekly Shabbat services. Outside volunteers brought in kosher meats. A circus performer visited and provided entertainment. After a prisoner gave birth to a baby boy, they brought in a mohel and held a bris.
Compare that level of institutional support with modern-day prisons, where there are often multifaith chapels, but a separate, dedicated space for a synagogue is rare, according to Rabbi Joseph Kolakowski, the first full-time Jewish chaplain in the history of the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections.
The exhibit comes on the heels of a Supreme Court ruling that makes it more difficult for prisoners to obtain a remedy when their religious rights are violated. Last month, the Court ruled that a Rastafarian man, Damon Landor, could not sue prison guards for monetary damages after they forcibly shaved off his dreadlocks, which he kept as part of his faith. When he entered the prison, Landor carried with him a copy of a 2017 court decision that required the Louisiana Department of Corrections to honor Rastafarian religious practices — which a guard threw in the trash, according to court records.
But while Landor couldn’t sue the guard, the Supreme Court did agree that Landor’s rights had been violated. His case led the Louisiana Department of Corrections to update its prisoner grooming policy to prevent similar violations.
Eastern State, meanwhile, was accommodating Jewish religious practice decades before those legal protections existed, Tinker said.
“That’s part of what makes this synagogue and this Jewish congregation so amazing, is because they didn’t have to do it, legally,” Tinker said. “It was able to not just sort of secretly start up, but thrive.”
The synagogue’s history
Eastern State didn’t exactly start as a model of restorative justice. Opened in 1829, the state-funded prison pioneered solitary confinement in the U.S., with the idea that solitude would force prisoners to reflect on their sins and find redemption.
That philosophy shaped the prison’s design. A wagon-wheel shaped, panopticon-esque layout allowed for centralized surveillance of prisoners. Skylights in each cell represented the “Eye of God,” suggesting to prisoners that they were always being watched. Cells were attached to small outdoor exercise yards, enclosed by high walls to discourage communication between prisoners. Guards placed hoods over prisoners’ heads whenever they left their cells to prevent them from seeing each other.
But overcrowding made isolation difficult to enforce, so Eastern State abandoned solitary confinement in 1913. That same year, Jewish prisoners gathered to pray for the first time together in the prison’s emergency hospital.
The idea for a more official synagogue came from the top: Alfred Fleisher, the Jewish president of the prison’s board of trustees, advocated for the construction of a sanctuary, partly over concerns that Jewish prisoners would be pressured to convert to Christianity, according to Tinker.
In 1922, prisoners and outside volunteers built the ornate sanctuary. Lights in the shape of menorahs surrounded the ark, and a gold Star of David was affixed to the ceiling next to a skylight.
“It was a chance for the Jewish congregants to have a space that really resonated with their religion, and was a little fancier than the rest of the prison,” Tinker said. “It has sort of the gravitas that you might really find in a synagogue.”
Most of the congregants were serving time for petty crimes, Tinker said, and their stays at Eastern State lasted no more than a few years. For instance, Sydney Bleecher, a prisoner and congregant at Eastern State, was serving time after pleading guilty to stealing 542 suits and overcoats from a store. But for many congregants, the synagogue’s impact lasted beyond the lengths of their prison sentences.
“It is not easy to find words that can say what we feel about you,” Bleecher wrote in a 1948 letter to Joseph Paull, one of the synagogue’s most devoted volunteers. “You have done so much for us that we are far and away indebted to you. Maybe we can repay in part by becoming decent citizens and, like you and your wife, reach out a hand to those who need help.”
The synagogue was also unusually integrated with the outside community. Fleisher attended every service at the synagogue until his death in 1928. Sabato Morais, the spiritual leader at Congregation Mikveh Israel in Philadelphia, simultaneously served as a chaplain at Eastern State.
All that support occurred despite the prison’s small Jewish population, which never rose above 80 in a prison that held roughly 1,800 people in the 1930s.
Yet according to Tinker, the synagogue never faced much pushback from people of other faiths.
“When they started it, it’s also World War I, World War II, and all that antisemitism that’s happening,” Tinker said. “It could have easily gone another direction.”
Jewish life behind bars
Most prisons today hold Jewish services in multi-faith chapels rather than separate Jewish sanctuaries — a practical arrangement that allows facilities to accommodate prisoners of many faiths in a shared space.
After Eastern State closed in 1971, its successor, Graterford Prison, also featured a dedicated synagogue. But after Graterford closed in 2018, its replacement, SCI Phoenix, opened with a multifaith chapel instead.
Today, Kolakowski, chaplaincy program director at the State Correctional Institute at Waymart, Pa., conducts services in a multifaith chapel or, when it’s occupied, a classroom shared with Jehovah’s Witnesses.
There, he leads regular services and holiday celebrations, including Passover seders and Hanukkah candle-lightings. During Sukkot, he hosts services in a makeshift sukkah.
“It’s meaningful to every inmate that practices a religious tradition,” Kolakowski said. “I remember one inmate in particular — he expressed how much he appreciated having the opportunity to have the lulav.”
But accommodating religious practice inside a prison often requires balancing spiritual needs with security concerns. When Kolakowski advocated for a Sikh prisoner to be able to wear a turban, for example, prison officials had to consider that the traditional head covering could be used to hide contraband, he said. Kolakowski ultimately got the item approved by suggesting a small turban with less fabric.
Modern-day prisons are legally required to accommodate prisoners’ religious practices unless they can demonstrate a compelling reason not to, such as a risk to staff or other prisoners’ safety. How those accommodations are carried out, however, can vary from prison to prison.
In 2023, for example, Jewish inmate Riley Benjamin sued the D.C. Department of Corrections after officials required him to produce outside proof of his Judaism before providing him with kosher meals. The jail later agreed to change its policy.
“Today, it’s really prison by prison, warden by warden, how they are defining religious freedom,” Tinker said. “One thing those laws really do is they sort of let the prison decide and the staff decide what it means to a certain extent.”
Still, there have been some successors to the Eastern State synagogue — including at Sing Sing Correctional Facility in Ossining, New York, where Rabbi Irving Koslowe convinced the prison administration to let him convert a basement storage room into an exclusively Jewish place of worship in 1959.
Koslowe died in 2000. But his great grandson, Benjamin Koslowe, visited the prison years later and wrote about the experience for Yeshiva University’s student newspaper.
In an interview with the Forward, Koslowe recalled one of his great-grandfather’s favorite jokes: “They’re the only synagogue that hopes that they don’t have a quorum.”
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