Final thoughts on my Presidency
For the past four years, I have had the privilege — and occasional headache — of serving as President of the Board of Trustees for Ahavas Israel. When I first stepped into this role, I hadn’t been President of anything since like 7th grade shop class ( of course that was only just a few years ago, like 50).The first year as President I had time in my schedule for thoughtful discussions about vision, meaningful community engagement, and the opportunity to help shape the future of a congregation I love. Then I went back to full time employment and still tried to make all of those things happen. I was able to do this through the support from board members, staff and volunteers who stepped in and helped me juggle meetings and projects. Because what I did not fully anticipate was how much time could be spent discussing thermostats, parking lot, roof leaks, and microphones that mysteriously stop working only during important announcements, and what topic should I write about in the President’s monthly column.
Leadership, it turns out, is holy work — and sometimes this very holy work involves calling plumbers, roofers and contractors.
Looking back now, I can honestly say these four years have been among the most meaningful and transformative of my life. They have challenged me intellectually, emotionally, spiritually, and occasionally physically — particularly whenever I attempted to climb the massive ladder that is needed to change the light bulb above the ark.
Serving this congregation has deepened my appreciation for what a synagogue truly is. Before becoming president, I understood our synagogue as a place of worship, learning, and community. I still believe that, of course. But now I also understand it as a complex ecosystem held together by devotion, volunteerism, patience, caffeine, and the remarkable willingness of people to show up again and again because they care deeply about one another and about Jewish life.
During these years, we have faced our share of challenges. Some decisions were easy; many were not. There were moments of uncertainty, disagreement, and difficult conversations. I learned quickly that no matter what decision is made in synagogue leadership, someone will feel strongly that the thermostat should have been set two degrees warmer. And they will email you about it immediately.
Yet even in difficult moments, I was continually inspired by the commitment of our community. I saw people step forward with generosity, wisdom, creativity, and compassion. I’ve watched Rabbi, staff, committee members, and volunteers dedicate countless hours — often behind the scenes and without recognition — to sustain and strengthen this congregation. The truth is that synagogue life depends not on any one leader, but on an entire community of people willing to contribute their time, talents, and hearts.
One of the greatest lessons I learned as president is that synagogue leadership is less about authority and more about stewardship. We are temporary caretakers of something much larger than ourselves. This congregation existed long before any of us arrived, and, God willing, it will continue to thrive long after our terms and committee assignments are forgotten. Our responsibility is to preserve what is sacred, strengthen what is fragile, and help prepare the next generation to carry the community forward.
I also came to appreciate how deeply personal synagogue life is for so many people. This is where families celebrate baby namings and b’nai mitzvahs. It is where couples stand under the chuppah. It is where we gather in times of mourning and uncertainty. It is where friendships are formed over Kiddush lunches and committee meetings that somehow last longer than expected. A synagogue becomes woven into the story of people’s lives, and that is both beautiful and humbling.
There were many moments over these four years that I will always treasure. Some were large and public: important milestones, successful programs, meaningful services, strategic accomplishments, and moments when our congregation came together with remarkable unity and purpose. But many of the moments I cherish most were quieter ones: occasionally hearing children during Shabbat mornings, watching new families feel welcomed, seeing longtime members reconnect with the community, or simply standing in the back of the chapel and feeling the enduring strength of Jewish continuity.
Of course, there were also moments that tested my patience and sense of humor. I now know more about synagogue flooring, insurance policies, kitchen equipment, and building maintenance than I ever expected. I have attended meetings where we spent twenty minutes discussing minutia of contract language and even longer debating the placement of a sign. I have learned that “this should only take five minutes” is among the most optimistic phrases ever spoken in synagogue governance.
And yet, strangely enough, I will miss even those moments.
Because underneath every discussion — whether profound or painfully administrative — was something deeply meaningful: people caring passionately about this congregation. People wanting this community to succeed. People investing themselves because this synagogue matters to them.
I am profoundly grateful to everyone who served alongside me during these years. To our Rabbi, whose wisdom and compassion guide this community every day. To our office staff, who somehow keep everything functioning even when the rest of us are improvising. To my fellow trustees and committee leaders, who gave countless hours of thoughtful service. And to the congregation as a whole, thank you for your trust, your patience, your feedback, and occasionally your forgiveness.
Most of all, these four years strengthened my faith in our community. At a time when so much in the world can feel fragmented and divisive, our synagogue continues to be a place where people gather across generations and perspectives to pray, learn, celebrate, mourn, volunteer, and care for one another. That is no small thing. In many ways, it is sacred work.
As I conclude my term as president, I do so with immense gratitude and genuine optimism for the future of our congregation. Leadership may transition, but the mission endures. New voices will emerge, new ideas will develop, and new challenges will inevitably arrive — along with new debates about the mechanicals in the building, whether to continue to streaming services, and whether the air conditioning is too cold.
That, too, is part of synagogue life.
Thank you for giving me the privilege of serving this community. It has been an honor, a responsibility, an education, and occasionally an endurance sport. I leave this role deeply grateful for the experience and even more deeply connected to the congregation we all call home.
Your humbled President,
Ann Berman