Choosing Jewish Community No Matter the Distance

A couple of weeks ago, I played pickleball with a few friends at Sandy Springs Racquet Center instead of the JCC. There was nothing particularly malicious about this decision; I was not making a statement or acting on some deep personal conflict. Instead, it was far simpler: it was more convenient. My friends and I didn’t want to travel the extra 15 minutes to play on the admittedly far nicer courts at our Jewish Community Center. It was simply closer.

But afterward, I thought about the implications of my actions. What does it mean to call myself a member of the Jewish community if I only support it when it is convenient? What does it mean to just take from it, and what does it mean to give?

These questions cannot be ignored; we have to answer them every single day. Oftentimes, the answers that lead us farther from our community aren’t malevolent. They come from a simple reluctance to make an effort. But effort is what sustains this community. Effort is what keeps us alive.

The Jewish community, particularly in Atlanta, is built on the idea of going out of the way to support each other. Jewish life in Atlanta has long been supported by institutions like Hadassah, BBYO, AJC, and the Jewish Federation. Without these foundational organizations working to ensure a thriving Jewish community, a strong Jewish presence in Atlanta would be near impossible. Specifically, synagogues have played an immense role in sustaining Jewish life. Reform synagogues like The Temple and Temple Sinai, Conservative synagogues like Ahavath Achim and Shearith Israel, Orthodox synagogues like Beth Jacob and Beth Tefillah, and the rapidly expanding network of Chabad centers across Atlanta have built Jewish religious and communal life for generations, but these institutions require one essential ingredient: effort. Effort to attend Friday and Saturday services, bar and bat mitzvahs, and High Holidays. Effort to go to events and engage younger generations early and often.

But afterward, I thought about the implications of my actions. What does it mean to call myself a member of the Jewish community if I only support it when it is convenient? What does it mean to just take from it, and what does it mean to give?

Recently, we have struggled to support these congregations with the same consistency they require. Synagogue attendance across American Jewish life has declined, and many congregations now face aging populations, financial strain, and lower levels of regular participation. Pew Research found that “Jewish adults are among the least likely groups of religiously affiliated Americans to say they attend religious services in person at least monthly.”

Any American or Atlanta Jew can recognize the evident decrease in religious involvement among American Jews, particularly among the younger population. With declining synagogue attendance, maintaining Jewish involvement in one’s life becomes much more difficult. But this isn’t anything new. Historically, many Jewish communities, especially in modern Western societies, have faced high rates of secularization and assimilation. Nevertheless, a decrease in synagogue attendance means greater reliance on outside institutions that often provide far less continuity.

Take BBYO, for example, which has become one of the most popular Jewish youth organizations in the United States, fostering tens of thousands of high school teens. But BBYO is still primarily built around the high school experience. Once teens leave for college, they have to find a new institution. They may find a Hillel or Chabad on campus, but once they leave college, they need another new organization for Jewish involvement. And before high school, many young Jews may not have a unified program activating that same level of Jewish engagement.

Even BBYO reflects a broader failure to emphasize effort in everyday Jewish life. If Jewish life is shaped mainly by when there is an event planned for us, when our friends are going, or when it feels socially convenient, then convenience becomes the defining aspect of Jewish involvement. This is not an indictment of BBYO; in fact, for many teens, it is their first real introduction to Jewish life. But if Jewish involvement only exists when it is convenient, entertaining, or planned for us, then we have failed to make it part of who we are.

But this problem is not limited to BBYO, synagogues, or any one institution. It is rooted in how we see our community. It is a problem in how we don’t simply sustain Jewish life for ourselves, but rather sustain Jewish life for each other. Too often, involvement in our community only occurs when our friends are going, when it is closer, or when it is already built into our schedule. We participate when it is easy or when we have to, but the second it requires true effort, it becomes a nuisance rather than a privilege. This is the real test of a community. Not whether we consider ourselves Jewish – culturally or religiously – but whether we put in the effort to sustain the community that allows for that very identity. A true community is not built by those who only show up when it costs them nothing; it is built by those who care enough to go out of their way, even when they could be doing something easier.

This is why the JCC example stuck with me. It was not some moral failure, but it forced me to consider how my habits affect the community that raised me. How can we choose the easier option and still expect our community to stay strong? How often do I embrace my community while simultaneously treating it as optional?

These are questions that, sooner or later, we are going to have to face. Because in the end, the Jewish community is not something we simply inherit. It is something we choose. And we have to keep choosing it, even when it is 15 minutes farther away.

Jackson Powers is the Managing Editor of The Weber School’s Rampage newspaper.