Why Many Are Hunting for a New House (of Worship)

The IRS recently shifted its guidance about political speech, clearing the way for religious non-profits to speak more freely about political candidates in their sermons without risk of losing their tax-exempt status. And over the past few weeks, over 1,000 rabbis from across the U.S. tested this freedom; they signed a letter decrying what they see as growing anti-Zionism and antisemitism. Specifically, the letter urged voters to pull the slot for Andrew Cuomo and against mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani, citing his well-documented campaign rhetoric, trove of online posts, videos, and not-so-long-ago college campus activities.

Notably, however, two nationally-prominent New York City rabbis not only chose to leave their names off this letter but explained their decisions to their congregants in letters of their own. Widespread outrage ensued; one of them stepped back onto the bimah this past shabbat, in the middle of a sabbatical no less, to try and further explain her unpopular decision. Indeed, this election has laid bare deep divisions between rabbis and their flocks like no other in recent memory. These clergy, and many others, need to be reminded about what it means to lead houses of worship.

Jewish disagreement isn’t new; it is memorialized in Judaism’s holy texts. One need only look at a single page of Talmud to see the variety of conflicting rabbinic opinions calling out from the past. Yet today’s overheated political climate, amplified by social media, has taken over communal life in a way that makes issues of the past seem tame.

A perfect example of contemporary conflict played out in the synagogue I attended for fifteen years on Manhattan’s Upper West Side—which also happens to employ the other aforementioned non-letter-signing rabbi. With the formation of the newest Israeli government in late 2022, my rabbi announced that he would be removing and then rewriting the Prayer for the State of Israel. The line he could not bring himself to say? “Bestow Your light and truth upon its leaders, ministers, and advisors, and grace them with Your good counsel.”

What he could do was curse them as “apartheid ministers” in email communications to me. This felt like rabbinic malpractice; I stepped down from the synagogue’s board and stopped attending its services altogether. Is it asking too much for your rabbi to believe in the power of prayer to heal, especially those he finds abhorrent?

Fast forward through a tumultuous three years, to say the least, and both rabbis’ explanations for not supporting this letter against Zohran Mamdani boiled down to a version of this: “I think it is a misuse of my role to tell you how to vote.” It pains me to say this to two people whom I know personally and about whom I care deeply, but these statements show a stunning lack of intellectual honesty. Yes, the red line around voting recommendations has just been removed. But they have long been pushing right up against that line. The double standard and hypocrisy will become obvious when a new candidate emerges to assail, someone whom they deem less controversial within their communities. Then they will surely call that person out with the same indignation from the pulpit as they did (and still do) with Donald Trump. I only wish that the safety and security of Jews in New York City rose to the same level of urgency today.

Of course, many rabbis have offended their congregants to the breaking point. What is different today is that politics has become so intertwined into the very relationships meant to transcend worldly concerns. The atrocities of October 7th and the world’s upside-down reaction to it prompted many Jews’ desire to be somewhere, anywhere Jewish. The last thing I expected was that pulpit rabbis would abandon their primary role in this desperate time of need: to bring Jews together and comfort them.

I look at this through the lens of residential real estate, the industry in which I’ve worked for more than twenty years. My experience with thousands of clients and their transactions has demonstrated one thing, if nothing else: We all yearn for a home. Somewhere we can be ourselves, somewhere that helps us be and become the best version of ourselves. That’s no different from our homes away from home—our houses of worship. Houses of worship should be sanctuaries where we can leave our daily problems at the door and express gratitude for our blessings.

I hardly think I’m the only person who became spiritually homeless over the past few years. Jews across the world are all emotionally drained and existentially exhausted to a degree. From the boardroom to the bimah, however, American synagogues in particular have failed to effectively navigate the challenges of the last few years. That must change. We need synagogues that fill our cups. Rabbis have a hard job. But if they cannot more carefully attend to the deeper needs of their communities, I’m afraid that there won’t be anyone left for them to preach politics to, either.

Scott Harris is the founder of Magnetic, a residential real estate brokerage in New York City, and the nationally bestselling author of The Pursuit of Home: A Real Estate Guide to Achieving the American Dream.