BERKELEY, Calif. (RNS) — Like many fast-growing organizations, Chochmat HaLev tracks new relationships using customer relations management software. Brittany Berman, Chochmat’s “community weaver,” logs newcomers’ interests and schedules digitally generated follow-ups. After meeting someone in person for coffee, Berman connects them to at least one other person at Chochmat.
“If someone meets you and asks you to reflect on your experience, then there’s a chance to make meaning,” said Berman. “And once meaning is made, then there’s more buy-in.”
The process is essential for sustainable growth, said Chochmat’s board president, Estee Solomon Gray, who spent years working in the tech world.
One of the keys to Berman’s work, too, is the small-group meetups she organizes, as well as events such as intergenerational Shabbat dinners. While it has a wide constituency among its tech-world neighbors, with more than a few non-Jewish members, Chochmat HaLev is a Jewish Renewal synagogue.
At a time when loneliness has been described as an epidemic — not least, some say, because of how our tech isolates us — Chochmat HaLev has been using technology’s approach to making connections between people to build community.
“This building is infrastructure,” said Solomon Gray, gesturing around her in the courtyard of Chochmat, a former Baptist church in the tiled-roof Spanish colonial style. “But there’s another whole kind of infrastructure that is the relational infrastructure,” she adds, “which is a fabric, a mesh of relationships in which you are living together, co-creating together.”
Chochmat’s approach has been working, almost tripling its membership to 350 since 2022, many of them younger people with ties to Silicon Valley and to Burning Man. Given that attendance has declined across the broader U.S. religious landscape (though recent data shows that has leveled off) and the trend toward disaffiliation with volunteer groups of all kinds, from religious institutions to Elks and, famously, bowling leagues, Chochmat is an outlier.
Close to sundown on a February Friday, people of all ages crowded the sidewalks in a residential corner of Berkeley for Chochmat HaLev’s Kabbalat Shabbat service, welcoming the Sabbath with songs. Many attendees were wearing some combination of flannels, beanies, yarmulkes, K-95 masks or puffer coats. Packing into the synagogue, for the next two hours they joined in a dance-filled, ecstatic worship service drenched in Jewish mysticism.
Zvika Krieger, the community’s spiritual leader, addressed the roughly 300 people sitting in chairs or standing around the fringes of the room. “Whether you encounter the divine through singing and dancing and prayers, maybe through wisdom text and ethical wisdom, maybe through silence and meditation, or maybe it’s a struggle with this whole idea of God altogether, you are so welcome here at Chochmat HaLev, and you are in good company,” he said.
When the music began, low at first, the energy in the room also built gradually. As melodies from the strings and voices swelled, then accelerated, people leapt from their seats, grabbing each other’s hands and dancing along the perimeter of the sanctuary. Afterward, members gathered in the courtyard for a potluck, or oneg, and lingered late into the evening.
“I never would have imagined that I would want to spend my Friday nights at a Jewish event,” said David Steuer, a 56-year-old raised in a Reform Jewish community in Wisconsin who joined Chochmat in 2022. “It feels miraculous. I really look forward to coming here.”
Krieger, a 41-year-old, queer, sex-positive rabbi with prior experience at Meta, TikTok and the U.S. State Department, is no small part of the success of Chachmat since being hired three years ago. He helped revive the synagogue’s long history of ecstatic dance and introduced the OpenLev program — soulful coworking time throughout the synagogue, free for members, with a suggested donation of $36 for nonmembers. The program intersperses the workday with meditation, yoga and Jewish rituals for things like celebrating milestones or grieving job loss.
He also hired Berman, who facilitated conversation groups on topics such as Israel and Palestine, all as part of nurturing a close-knit spiritual community that’s also deeply embodied.
“We’re in a loneliness epidemic right now,” said Krieger. “People are hungry for connection, and there are also a lot of spiritual seekers who are looking for meaning, looking for purpose, but traditional organized religion has rubbed them the wrong way, or it’s just stodgy or sterile or too conservative for them.”
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Rabbi Ron Wolfson, author of “Relational Judaism: Using the Power of Relationships to Transform the Jewish Community,” agreed that people are a more powerful draw than programming or liturgy. “As wonderful as a religious service might be, and I’m sure the worship services at Chochmat are fantastic,” he said, “the bottom line is, people will come for a program or even a worship service, but they’ll stay because of relationships,” he said.
He added that Chochmat’s growth strategies fit a playbook embraced by many successful Jewish communities in the last decade. Indeed, Wolfson pointed out, Chochmat’s small groups and its welcome to the unaffiliated echo the tactics of Rick Warren’s Saddleback Church, a multicampus evangelical Christian megachurch in Orange County, south of Los Angeles.
“Rick’s mantra is always, if a new person can feel connected to five to seven other people, quickly, they’ll feel like they belong,” said Wolfson.
At a recent coworking session at the synagogue, a therapist, a professional clown and development director were among the 30 or so adults in attendance. Krieger offered a blessing for overcoming writer’s block, inviting attendees to touch the sanctuary’s ark (where the Torah scrolls are kept), then open its doors as a symbol of opening a portal to creativity, inspiration and “birthing energy.”
“I really like the idea of trying to bring divine into work, and not compartmentalize so much,” said Allyson Greenlon, a newer member who began attending Chochmat after long hiatus from Judaism. “I started a job around the same time I started coming here, and that job’s been exhausting,” she said. “I want to resist my life circling around my job.”
Ben Poretzky, a 32-year-old with a background in the corporate world who began attending in 2022, partnered with Krieger to develop the concept for OpenLev. Poretzky said participants appreciate the “gentle co-regulation” that comes from working alongside others, and the “sacred co-snacking” that occurs via in-depth chats at the snack table.
Several participants have reported finding roommates, work connections or even romantic partners through OpenLev, and the concept has grown so popular that it’s spawned imitators as far away as Brooklyn, New York.
Chochmat’s growth has come amid the flurry of layoffs in the Bay Area, and Krieger noted that former tech sector workers have lost not only jobs, but their sense of belonging. “What might it be like to have a community that is resilient, so that if you either get fired or you leave your job, you don’t lose all your friends? Your workday community can be constant even as your work life changes,” he said.
Krieger said he’s not interested in leading a mega-synagogue. He hopes to cap the Kabbalat Shabbat services at their current size — 300 people feels like the right number to be able to know who you’re praying with, said Krieger — perhaps adding more services. Nor does he want, he says, to be put on a pedestal as a “guru.”
That self-awareness, experts say, could make Chochmat’s acceleration sustainable long-term. “There’s always a masked fragility, even in growing congregations,” said Mark Mulder, director of urban studies at Calvin University and co-author of the book “The Church Must Grow or Perish: Robert H. Schuller and the Business of American Christianity.” “As long as you have money coming in, as long as you have a charismatic person, as long as you have the right constituency in your area, there’s a stability. But if you lose one of those three legs of the stool, even these fast-growing places can collapse quite quickly.”
Longtime members point out, however, that innovation is part of Chochmat’s DNA. Founded in the 1990s by Rabbi Avram Davis and Tikkun magazine co-founder Nan Fink Gefen as a meditation center that trained Jewish spiritual leaders, it fused Eastern spiritual practices with Jewish mysticism and dance. A 2010 Forward article dubbed its prayer services “a Jewish rave.”
“When they started it, it was, ‘How do we take all the best parts of the crazy, ultra-f–ing Orthodox and include it in our Berkley world?” said Shoshana Phoenixx, who has been part of Chochmat since the 1990s. “Let’s smoke a lot of dope and drink a lot of slivovitz and teach meditation.’ So, I got wasted every Shabbat for the first 10 years of Chochmat at the rabbi’s house.”
Its anti-institutional legacy lives on in members who prefer to call it a “spiritual community,” rather than a synagogue, an edge supported by newer, younger members and, they claim, its rabbi.
“Zvika brought in younger people he knew, and the families are back,” said Andrew Utiger, a former Catholic lay pastor who served as Chochmat’s first non-Jewish board member. “It’s always been an amazing community. There’s just been different iterations.”
A 2020 Pew Research Center study that Wolfson cited showed that only 35% of Jewish Americans report living in a household with at least one formal member of a synagogue. While that percentage varies by location, said Wolfson, communities like Chochmat, which center Judaism but welcome members with a range of beliefs, feel approachable to the large percentage of unaffiliated Jews.
That’s especially true in the wake of what many in the Jewish world are calling “the surge,” the anecdotal influx of interest in Jewish religious life since the Hamas attacks on Israel on Oct. 7, 2023. The surge has been palpable at Chochmat, where more than 100 new members have joined since the war broke out.
One of those members is Solomon Gray, the board president, who is half-Israeli; in the days after the attacks, she experienced what she described as “smithereens of consciousness.” Long skeptical of synagogue membership, when she walked into Chochmat’s sanctuary doors for the first time in October 2023, she encountered a room full of people who were physically engaged and spiritually present, and her body “went quiet.”
“There is an openness and seriousness of connection and movement and being in this together that I have not seen anywhere before,” she said.
Krieger is careful to note that its community is connected, but not of one mind. Chochmat explicitly welcomes all perspectives on Israel and Palestine, for instance, and Chochmat’s leaders believe that being in community with those you disagree with is a spiritual practice. Krieger delivers short sermons or drashes that feature pro-Palestinian and pro-Israel perspectives, and the congregation formed an eight-week, 10-member dialogue group with opposing views on the crisis.
Krieger has also added a pause during the lively Friday evening services, inviting people to pair up and reflect on that night’s teaching, as well as post-service potlucks, “Ask Me Anything” sessions and talks on topics such as polyamory and psychedelics.
“It’s not about studying texts and religious observance of rituals. It’s about being in relationship with other people as a way of connecting with the divine,” said Krieger. “And deep relationship is not something that just happens on the sidelines; it’s something that you actually have to foster and cultivate as a spiritual practice.”
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