Constructing Reconstructionism:

Religious Values Expressed in Architecture

At Adat Shalom Reconstructionist Synagogue in Bethesda, Maryland

by Laura Hartman, University of Virginia, December 2002

Introduction

The denominations of Judaism are less classified by their beliefs, as Christian denominations are, than by their practices. For example, an Orthodox Jew always keeps his or her head covered; a Reform Jew may comfortably remain bareheaded, even during worship. There are important theological ideas behind the varying degrees of observance, but “there is no abstract affirmation of faith in Judaism.”[1] Jewish values and ideals are primarily affirmed through action – that is, through the material observance of rules and values. “Characteristically, a traditional Jew is not called a ‘believer,’ but a shomer mitzvoth, an ‘observer of the commandments.’”[2]

It follows, then, that the design process and resulting form of a synagogue should be an expression of belief and a reflection of religious values and ethics. Indeed, the sacredness of the space may depend upon the degree to which it participates in those values. The relationship between religious values and architecture plays out in an intriguing way at the Adat Shalom Reconstructionist Synagogue in Bethesda, Maryland.

Description of the Building and Grounds

This synagogue tour will touch on the following areas: the exterior and entryway, the sanctuary, the community hall, and the school and administration wings. (Consult the floor plan in Appendix A for orientation.)

Adat Shalom is located in a residential neighborhood in the suburban Carderock Springs area of outer Bethesda, MD, between a golf course and a 19^th century Presbyterian church (fig. 1, 2).

The exterior of the synagogue is covered with cedar shingles stained a dark brown. The building has only one floor, and sits low and unobtrusively in its environment (fig. 3). The area above the sanctuary, however, rises in a mountain-like massing.

The gravel driveway leads from Persimmon Tree Lane, between two pillars of stacked gray stone, into a gravel parking lot subdivided by recently planted young trees (fig. 4). From the parking lot, one passes through another set of stone pillars, past young deodar cedar trees, to the entryway (fig. 5). The path through the outer portico leads under a wooden trellis and over water (a still rectangular pool studded with pebbles) before entering the main lobby (fig. 6).

Two consecutive sets of double doors lead to the lobby, which is wide, airy, and sky lit
(fig. 7). By the entrance to the sanctuary (fig. 8), cubbies built into the wooden walls house torahs, prayer books, yarmulkes, and tallits (prayer shawls)(fig.9). The wood of the walls and sanctuary doors is light in color, and the floor is made of cork.

Beyond the heavy double doors lies the east-facing sanctuary (fig. 10, 11). It is arranged in an auditorium style, with separate seats curving in rows around the bimah (platform), centrally located on the wall opposite the entrance. The seats are arranged into four sections with open aisles on all sides, and two triangular “corner” areas of flex space have been opened up on the right and left behind the main seats (fig. 12). The sanctuary is set up for the maximum seating, 450. The seats are blue, with cushioned seats and backs, and the carpet is also blue. The walls are paneled wood.

The sanctuary is primarily lit from above, by a vast white tent-shaped fabric covering the ceiling, backlit by skylights (fig. 13, 14). There are two large windows to the right and left of the central bimah, and the entire left-hand wall is composed of windows (fig. 15) looking out onto a courtyard and large evergreen trees.

The bimah forms a thrust stage, but it is also slightly recessed into the back wall, allowing for clerestory-style vertical windows to the left and right that light the area behind the bimah. The bimah is spare and elegant (fig. 16). Covered in the same blue carpet as the sanctuary floor and edged in stone, it contains a wooden podium that is open like a table, with a tilted top and a thin microphone. Behind sits the Ark, a light wooden case carved in simple bas-relief like a tree. It is flanked on either side by screens of Jerusalem stone (creamy in color and a little rough) placed in blocks to evoke stone walls. On the other side of the screens and ark there is a handicapped-accessible ramp leading to the bimah, as well as built-in shelves and cubbies containing extra prayer books, tallits, and other things the Rabbi might need in the middle of services (fig. 17).

Above the ark hangs the ner tamid (eternal light). This hanging lamp is made of metal and stained glass, containing a low-watt electric bulb. The lighted bulb is almost completely invisible during the day. It is outshone by the sunlight streaming in through the side windows. During morning services the sun highlights the white textured back wall and directly illuminates the ner tamid. The stained glass glows and the metal arm holding the lamp becomes a kind of sundial as the morning progresses.

The community hall is adjacent to the sanctuary. This large room (slightly larger than the sanctuary) has a tile floor in dark blues and reds (fig. 18). It is lit by fluorescent lamps and two stories of windows along the south wall. Folding tables and chairs are massed in a corner, ready to be unpacked for the oneg luncheon after services on Saturday. Glass doors lead to a covered patio area (fig. 19), looking out onto a grassy slope and the parking lot. Another set of doors leads into a kitchen.

The school and administration wings contain parts of the old prairie-style house that was originally on this property. An original fireplace can be found in the common area by the classroom wing (fig. 20). The education wings contain fifteen classrooms for the Torah school (fig. 22), each with windows that open, blackboards, and desks. In the administration wing, the office area is located behind a reception desk (fig. 23); across from this desk is a modest “shop,” selling items of Jewish interest from a glass case (fig. 24). A chimney from the original house protrudes from the top of the octagonal administration wing, whose unusual shape comes from the original house foundations (fig. 21). The chimney can be seen on the interior in the library (fig. 25), the Rabbi’s study (fig. 26), and the Cantor’s study.

Reconstructionist Judaism

The building is fascinating in itself, but new layers of meaning come to light with a further exploration of the Jewish values expressed in its design. Adat Shalom is a Reconstructionist congregation, members of a relatively new denomination in American Judaism. To better interpret the architecture of Adat Shalom, we must situate the congregation in its larger theological context.

History

Reconstructionism is the only uniquely American Jewish religious movement. Its founder, Mordecai Kaplan, began critiquing both Orthodoxy and Reform Judaism in the 1920s. He wanted Conservative Judaism to take on his ideas, which included keeping Judaism current with modern thought while strengthening the Jewish communities of both Israel and the Diaspora.[3]

In 1922, he founded the Society for the Advancement of Judaism (SAJ) in New York City. At the SAJ, Kaplan was able to apply his ideas about creating a vibrant Jewish community and culture, while also experimenting with traditional ritual forms.[4] He modified the prayers to make them more gender-equal and to de-emphasize certain themes, such as the more “magical” aspects of God’s work, that he judged less relevant to modern worshippers. Kaplan’s daughter, Judith, is famous for having the first Bat Mitzvah ceremony at the SAJ in 1922.[5]

In the late 1920s, although Reconstructionism was still not an official denomination, Reconstructionist “chapters” opened up in many cities across the United States, and Reconstructionist magazine was launched in 1934-35. By the 1940s, the SAJ was publishing prayer books containing Kaplan’s modified liturgies. These publications created a controversy in the Jewish world, including a dramatic book-burning and excommunication ceremony among the Union of Orthodox Rabbis in New York. Not until 1963, however, did Reconstructionists take decisive steps toward becoming a separate denomination. In that year, Kaplan finally agreed to retire from the Conservative Jewish Theological Seminary, and five years later the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College was founded in Philadelphia.[6]

Of particular interest in the history of Reconstructionism is the role of Rabbi Ira Eisenstein, Kaplan’s friend, student, and heir-apparent in the movement. He urged Kaplan to make Reconstructionism into a new denomination, and played an important role in interpreting Kaplan’s complex ideas for the larger community.[7] Eisenstein lived the last years of his life in Silver Spring, Maryland, and was a beloved presence in the Adat Shalom Reconstructionist Congregation there. The first funeral to be held in the new building, in fact, was for Ira Eisenstein, on July 1, 2001.[8]

Reconstructionist Theology and Values

American/Jewish Identity

For Kaplan, “the primary way of expressing oneself as a Jew is to belong – to identify as a member of the Jewish people.”[9] This group identity is central in Kaplan’s thought. He strongly advocates “ethnic consciousness,” wishing to instill a “sense of peoplehood” in Judaism.[10] At the same time, Kaplan exhorts Jews to wholeheartedly embrace their American identity, with an eye to “living a rich life as an American and as a Jew, without the need to forsake either culture for the other.”[11] As the Jewish Reconstructionist Federation (JRF) puts it, “American ideals at their best coincide with Jewish ideals as they ought to be developed and reconstructed.”[12]

Kaplan critiques both Reform and Orthodox Judaism in America for failing to effectively negotiate this dual identity. “Orthodoxy,” he argues, “is altogether out of keeping with the march of human thought. … Nothing can be more repugnant to the thinking man of today than the fundamental doctrine of Orthodoxy, which is that tradition is infallible.”[13] Kaplan claims that the only way Orthodox Jews could keep up with the modern sweep of American life was to compartmentalize, to sacrifice the “need for welding tradition and experience into a unitary organized mental background.”[14]

He has no kind words for Reform Judaism, either. In fact, Reconstructionism arose primarily in response to Reform, not Orthodox, Judaism. Kaplan denounces the Reform movement’s attempts to “reduce Judaism to a few anemic platitudes.”[15] He takes deep offense at what he called “the negation of Judaism” found in the Reform tradition, and he insists on the paramount importance of upholding Jewish identity and culture.[16]

Currently, Reconstructionists are less hostile to other denominations than Kaplan’s polemics imply. However, modern Reconstructionism still maintains a fierce insistence on the importance of Jewish identity in an American context.

Community

For Kaplan, Jewish identity is important partly because it is conducive to a community experience of religion. As historian Mel Scult observes, “Kaplan came to believe in group consciousness as a source of … religious matters … long before this idea received its classical formulation in the works of Emile Durkheim.”[17] Kaplan had a specific vision of community, advocating “organic” Jewish communities working democratically on many levels, promoting both unity and diversity.[18]

The community theme of Reconstructionist Judaism has continued to develop since Kaplan’s time. One important voice in this conversation is that of Sidney Schwarz, the founding rabbi of Adat Shalom. Schwarz is a pioneer of community process, placing it in a privileged place among Reconstructionist values. “In the Reconstructionist movement,” he argues, “the process by which we make decisions is more important than the decisions themselves, for in our recognition of the sovereignty of our affiliates, we acknowledge the primacy of people over doctrines, of communities over institutions. The process itself is a statement of principle.”[19]

Kaplan would agree. He once stated, “we must have faith in the capacity of the Jewish people to determine for themselves the character of Jewish life.”[20] Today, one way that Kaplan’s Jews are determining the character of their lives is to continue reinventing their synagogues. Schwarz argues “American synagogues need to evolve from the post-war, synagogue-center model, to a new paradigm called the synagogue-community.”[21] The synagogue-center was Kaplan’s innovation, but he would certainly approve of those who wish to push past his idea of the synagogue as a cultural center into an exploration of the synagogue as a community.

Today, Reconstructionism is known for its committed, egalitarian, organic communities. As the JRF puts it: “Reconstructionist communities are characterized by their respect for such core values as democratic process, pluralism, and accessibility. In this way, they create participatory, inclusive, egalitarian communities committed to exploring Jewish life with dedication, warmth and enthusiasm.”[22]

Ethics and Tikkun Olam

Emanuel S. Goldsmith traces much of Kaplan’s thought to the influence of his father’s participation in the Mussar (ethics) movement within eastern European Judaism in the nineteenth century. In contrast with the contemporary Hasidic movement, with its emphasis on “joyous piety and emotional ecstasy,” Mussar stressed “responsibility, conscience, and soul-searching.”[23]

Kaplan himself emphasized ethics and moral action: “The type of religion which we Jews as a people, and which mankind as a whole, urgently needs as a means to survival has to … take the form of moral responsibility in action.”[24]

For the Reconstructionist movement, ethical convictions often play out in the form of tikkun olam (repairing the world through social action). According to the JRF, the movement “works actively in several areas including international conflict resolution, hunger and civil rights. It has committed itself in particular to issues concerned with the environment. As we Jews concern ourselves with the spiritual and cultural legacy that we leave to future generations, we must also commit ourselves fully to such legacies as clean air, pure water and unpolluted soil.”[25] The strength of this thrust toward social justice and environmental conservation in the movement admits no equivocation: “We challenge our own communities to reach for the highest application of ethical standards.”[26]

A Brief History of Adat Shalom Reconstructionist Congregation

Adat Shalom Reconstructionist Congregation was founded in 1987 by Rabbi Sidney Schwarz. The original membership consisted of 19 families. Like many new Jewish congregations, they met for worship in non-Jewish facilities for several years. In 1988 they met at Potomac Presbyterian Church, but soon outgrew the space, so in 1990, they began meeting at Christ Lutheran Church near downtown Bethesda. When that space could no longer meet their needs, the Adat Shalom congregation “began to see the need for its own home.”[27] After “lengthy community meetings, feasibility studies, and idea-sharing,” the congregation voted, in 1993, to purchase land to build a synagogue.[28] While plans and building were underway, they moved to their first Jewish space, the Jewish Community Center in Rockville, MD, starting in 1995.

Also in 1995, a site was chosen for the new synagogue. The search committee found a 4.7-acre property, including a 2400 square foot two-story 1959 prairie-style house, for $850,000. The property’s location in western Bethesda, MD, was central for the congregation’s scattered member families.

Sidney Schwarz stepped down as rabbi in 1996, in order to devote more time to his Washington Institute for Jewish Leadership and Values, but then-student Rabbi Fred Sherlinder Dobb was ready to sign on as full-time rabbi in June of 1997.[29] Schwarz stayed on as rabbi emeritus, and continues to contribute to the leadership of the synagogue.

Meanwhile, the search for an architect had begun. The congregation chose “the creative, environmentally aware, communally-minded services of Robert Schwartz and Keith Peoples.”[30] After a long process of community participation, which included surveys, workshops, group discussions, committee formation, and field trips, the architects drew up a design for the synagogue, which was approved by the board of directors in May of 1998.

The capital campaign’s goal of $3,000,000 for the property plus the building, was, compared with other local synagogues, “very economical.”[31] Ground at the present location was broken in 1999 and the synagogue was dedicated in April of 2001.[32]

The more than 400 member families of Adat Shalom are “a highly empowered group of people,” according to their Rabbi.[33] Like many Reconstructionist Jews, they tend to be well educated, theologically and politically liberal, and reasonably well off financially. “But we aren’t the wealthiest congregation,” Rabbi Dobb points out: this community is composed of government workers, nonprofit advocates, and educators, not corporate magnates. Adat Shalom currently has over 400 member families.[34]

The Synagogue as an Expression of Reconstructionist Jewish Values

Adat Shalom is a prominent synagogue in the Reconstructionist movement. It was the final home for the famous Ira Eisenstein; it is the current home for the well-known Sidney Schwarz; and its current rabbi, Fred Sherlinder Dobb, is quickly making a name for himself in the world of Judaism and the environment.[35] With these luminaries to its credit, the synagogue building also plays its own part in expressing the values of Reconstructionism.

Jewish Identity

Adat Shalom looks like a synagogue. To be precise, it looks like the wooden shuls (synagogues) of Eastern Europe – and consciously so. According to architect Robert Schwartz, the congregation expressed a strong preference for a wooden, shingled exterior because of its resemblance to the historic synagogues of Europe, which is “where most of their families came from”[36] (fig. 27). The design committee visited other modern wooden synagogues for inspiration, including the famous Gates of the Grove Synagogue, designed by Norman Jaffe in 1987, in East Hampton, New York (fig. 28). Wooden synagogues may be part of a larger architectural trend, according to art historian Evelyn L. Greenberg. “Wooden synagogues are back,” she declares, and they’re being built all over the United States, in a new, postmodern “expression of an authentic Jewish architectural tradition.”[37]

Why the push toward Jewish architecture? Kaplan emphasized embracing Jewish identity in an American context, and Reconstructionists take him seriously. Reconstructionist Jews aren’t building Reform-style synagogues that look like churches without steeples. Nor are they building exact replicas of the shuls from the Old Country. The Reconstructionist principle of embracing Jewish experience within an American context holds forth in the architecture of Adat Shalom.

The Jewish aspects of the synagogue go beyond the exterior cedar shingles. The entire approach to the synagogue and sanctuary is fraught with symbolism. The authorship for these symbols cannot be attributed to any one individual – “these ideas came collaboratively, through the process,” insists Rabbi Dobb.[38] But, as the architects explain, the symbols add up to stages of holiness that culminate in a sense of the space as sacred. “Yes, we were designing a sacred space,” says architect Robert Schwartz. “That was the most interesting part of the job.”[39]

As described in a booklet available in the lobby of the synagogue, the path from the everyday world into the sacred begins in the parking lot. The gravel of the parking lot symbolizes the journey through the desert; the cedars around the forecourt represent those that Solomon used to build his temple.[40] The passage over water in front of the building may represent crossing the Jordan into the Promised Land, or the ritual cleansing necessary before entering the Temple in Jerusalem.[41]

The sanctuary’s striking canvas ceiling “wraps the entire congregation in a tallit” – or, more literally, recalls the desert tents of the Jewish ancestors.[42] Like the tents of Abraham and Sarah, this “tent” has open sides (the windows below) as a sign of hospitality and openness. The Jerusalem stone surrounding the ark provides a connection to Israel and is a symbol of the Western Wall (the only remaining piece of the destroyed Second Temple).[43] Stripes on the carpet are oriented toward Jerusalem.[44]

These symbols, and others in the sanctuary, were negotiated by a “Judaica committee,” which was formed during the design process as the need became evident.[45] This committee approved the design of the ark doors, hand carved in a tree design seen as an etz chaim (tree of life), a burning bush, or perhaps a menorah. Inside, the parochet (ark curtain) shows a large fig leaf – an important Biblical tree and a connection to the land of Israel. As the literature attests, these tree and leaf symbols are a reminder that “our search for truth involves both scrutinizing the smallest detail of an issue, and seeing the ‘big picture.’”[46]

Hebrew words and phrases from scripture adorn the parochet and the beams surrounding the sanctuary ceiling. On the former is written “You are the source of light; by your light, we see light.”[47] Above the ark, inscribed on a wooden beam, is written: “Let all that breathes praise God.”[48] The facing beam declares: “the world stands on three pillars,” and the two adjacent beams provide two alternate descriptions of those three things: “Torah, avodah [worship/service], and acts of loving-kindness”; and “justice, truth, and peace.”[49]

The Jewish symbolism in the approach to the synagogue facilitates the transition into a sacred, Jewish space. And the symbolism within the sanctuary reinforces the atmosphere of Judaica – but with a particular American flavor. The two slightly conflicting interpretations of the “three things” emblazoned on the ceiling beams are given equal emphasis and allowed to coexist in peace. This multiplicity, coupled with the other images like light, breath, and trees, shows that the congregation chose Jewish symbols that avoid an overly dogmatic emphasis on law and lend support to an American acceptance of pluralism and emphasis on freedom and openness. They have achieved a subtle and graceful expression of Kaplan’s charge to be Jewish and open to values from American society.

Community Process

According to Rabbi Dobb, “community is our key theological concern.”[50] This is no platitude: the entire process of design and fundraising for the building attests to the centrality of community – a truly engaged, active community – in the life of Adat Shalom.

The initial decision to build came from grassroots community process. As the building buzz mounted, a concerted effort was made to listen to the voices of all families in the congregation – meaning “small meetings in individual homes, as many as a dozen on a single night.”[51] As Rabbi Dobb explained, the idea was “to talk about what is special in their experience about Adat Shalom, and to strengthen communication – to bring in the entire community at every possible phase.”[52]

This community involvement did not stop when the architects began work. On the contrary, architects Robert Schwartz and Keith Peoples were chosen partly because they specialize in engaging community participation. Beginning with a congregational survey, they ascertained three key priorities: a simple meaningful aesthetic, environmental sustainability, and space to facilitate community flow.[53] A variety of small, focused committees were then formed to undertake the various tasks of the design and building project. Many congregants enthusiastically served on these committees, and they solicited input from the larger congregation as needed. The community also participated in the design process during the annual retreats, and had the opportunity to vote on models during services.

Lay leader Edward Gross, who served as chairman of the land and building committee, approved of the congregational involvement with the project. “Being Jewish is a communal experience,” he explains.[54] The input from the congregation was very important, and the survey proved a useful rebuttal to the inevitable complaints: “You can answer: ‘Well, seventy percent of the people said they wanted it this way.’”[55] There were certainly frustrations along the way, as is expected with any communal process, but by the end Gross and his colleagues were very satisfied with the process and the result. As Rabbi Dobb put it, “in the end, the building works as a unified whole – not seamless, but whole.”[56]

The capital campaign of fundraising for the building represented another miracle of community involvement. It was a grassroots campaign in the community, run by self-selected “solicitors” who encouraged generous contributions from their fellow members. The “giving curve” was quite horizontal, with few huge gifts but surprising involvement percentages. As an article in Washington Jewish Week reported, “95 percent of its 343 member units contributed money toward the building, with the average per capita donation of about $10,000.”[57] Carol Feder, who chaired the capital campaign for the first four years, motivated giving by evoking a desire for shared ownership of the synagogue. She describes a woman who had little money and was reluctant to pledge: “I told her, $18 to the campaign makes you feel like you can put your hand on the hammer when we put up that mezuzah. We want everybody to feel like they can put their hand on that hammer.”[58]

It’s a metaphor that Rabbi Emeritus Sidney Schwarz would especially appreciate. Rabbi Schwarz was extensively involved with the entire building effort, and according to Ed Gross, he was instrumental in persuading people to participate.[59] Rabbi Schwarz has a charisma that comes from his convictions about community, and his ideas on the subject are well known at Adat Shalom and in the Reconstructionist movement at large. In his book, Finding a Spiritual Home: How a New Generation of Jews Can Transform the American Synagogue, Schwarz uses Adat Shalom as an illustration for his argument about the centrality of community for the Jewish experience. As the booklet Lech-Lecha boasts, “Sid based the new paradigm [for a synagogue-community] on what was created at Adat Shalom, an innovative model featuring high levels of participation, inclusivity and engagement – a model which is now being widely emulated around the country.”[60] This isn’t just a pragmatic model for forming a cohesive group – there is a spiritual element that resides in the process itself. As landscape committee chair Cheryl Kollin explained, “It’s a creative, mindful process, and that’s what makes it sacred. It’s not about the end product, but learning about Torah and our history as a Jewish people.”[61]

As noted earlier, Reconstructionist Judaism has become well known for its dynamic, engaged synagogue communities. The Adat Shalom congregation, through the work of Rabbi Schwarz, has become a “poster child” for community process. Nowhere is that process more evident than in the design and funding of their synagogue building.

Environmentally Ethical Action

Rabbi Dobb and his congregation will soon be hanging a plaque from the EPA in the synagogue, announcing their achievement as 2002 “Energy Star for Congregations” award winners. Apart from this advertisement, however, it is far from obvious to the casual observer that Adat Shalom is a showpiece of environmentally friendly building. A simple “eco-tour” will suffice to show the extent and thoroughness of the efforts in this regard.[62]

First, the location: while not ideal for public transportation (it’s a highway-belted seven miles from the nearest metro stop), this location was chosen because it was central to the families who were members of the congregation – thus guaranteeing a minimum average commute.[63] The site is on the “Potomac Flyway” and provides safe habitat for birds, woodchucks, and deer. The landscaping, though unfinished, favors native plants and pesticide-free landscaping. During construction, a maximum number of original trees were preserved on-site. They now have a computer timed, moisture sensitive tree watering system. According to landscaping committee chair Cheryl Kollin, this system was installed after members resorted to hand-watering trees during a drought in the summer of 2000.[64]

Building committee members saw to it that all of the wood used was sustainably harvested. As Ed Gross explained, it was very hard to get sustainably-certified Cedar for the shingles on the exterior: they had to call companies in Washington state to make sure it was all right for the contractor to buy certain wood.[65] And in one respect they fell short. Originally, the committee had planned for the exterior portico columns to be made of reclaimed telephone poles or old logs dredged from the Great Lakes where they’d sat since the logging trade of the 19^th Century. But “we discovered at the eleventh hour, however, that these materials were not recycled as we had specified.”

Effort was made to secure other environmentally responsible building materials. The majority of the flooring (about 2500 square feet) is made of cork (thus supporting the sustainable cork industry and minimizing the vinyl tiling). The tiles in the social hall and kitchen are recycled VCT flooring, which is composed of 80% limestone and natural materials, 9% recycled vinyl, and 11% virgin vinyl. The carpet in the sanctuary was acquired from a supplier guaranteeing 25-100% recycled content and low levels of volatile organic compounds.[66] The Jerusalem stone in the sanctuary, although it looks solid, is actually only a thin veneer (to minimize the pollution from transporting heavy rocks long distances). Preference was given to local stone in the building. The salvaged and retrofitted prairie house already on the property was made of this stone.

The building’s remarkable measures to save energy earned it the EPA Energy Star for Congregations award. Nearly all of the lighting is done with efficient fluorescent bulbs. The building is divided into seven heating/cooling zones, each with its own programmable thermostat (allowing one or two rooms to be heated or cooled while the rest of the building is unused). Care has been taken to insulate the walls and double-glaze the windows. The dark floor and high south-facing windows of the community hall serve as a collector for passive solar heat, while the large overhang shades the room from the hot summer sun. The Rabbi also manipulates the insulated blinds in his study for maximum passive solar heating and summertime shading. Every space has windows that open, providing natural ventilation when needed, and the sanctuary and community hall have useable windows at both high and low locations, thus allowing for a summertime “chimney effect.”[67] Exterior doors were built with foyers (two doors in a series) to minimize heat exchange with the outside. Appliances were chosen with energy-efficiency in mind. The exterior and parking lot lights are on timers, and are fully shielded to avoid creating light pollution. Finally, a less energy-saving but symbolically important detail is the ner tamid (eternal light) in the sanctuary. It’s a low-watt bulb powered by a photovoltaic panel on the roof of the building.[68]

Tikkun olam in all its aspects, but particularly the environmental ones, is conscientiously practiced at Adat Shalom. The oneg luncheon after Saturday services is served on durable plastic plates, eaten with metal silverware, and washed down with drinks from sturdy plastic mugs. These dishes are all placed in racks and washed to be ready for use the next week (fig. 29). Adat Shalom’s tikkun olam efforts range from interfaith work on behalf of low-income housing to women’s shelters to food drives. But their most enduring legacy of tikkun olam may be the building itself, because of its low environmental impact and its usefulness as a showpiece of green building.

The model building came at a price, however – the price of hours and hours of hard work on the part of Rabbi Dobb and other committee members. Although they had the expert tutelage of Schwartz and Peoples, architects experienced in environmentally friendly building, they still had trouble finding contractors and builders who understood the methods and materials they preferred. When Ed Gross recalled the hassle of documenting the sustainable cedar shingles, he admitted that building in an environmentally conscious way does take more work. “But the more people insist on these kinds of products and ask these questions, the better it’ll be,” he predicts. In the end, he reflects, “it was worth it.”[69]

Rabbi Dobb was a primary motivating force behind the green building initiative. While many members of the congregation shared environmental values and appreciated the importance of building a low-impact synagogue, the Rabbi’s deep convictions proved inspirational when obstacles caused enthusiasm to flag. Rabbi Dobb reminded the community that “these are not choices, but moral and spiritual imperatives: as a house devoted to God, we must zealously strive to minimize the ways in which its construction and operation might adversely impact God’s creation and God’s children.”[70]

The Rabbi has a keen sense of ethics with regard to the building as a sacred space. He has written that “every CFL, every LED exit sign, every double-glazed window, every square foot of recycled carpet, every programmable thermostat is making a difference, and is sacred.”[71] When the building is carrying out the sacred work of tikkun olam, it carries an air of sacredness with it. But Rabbi Dobb still regrets the building’s shortcomings: the 11% virgin vinyl in the tiles, the location that necessitates driving (although the Rabbi himself does bike to work), and the virgin timber in the portico columns. If only they’d had more money, he laments, they could have triple-glazed the windows and installed more photovoltaic panels on the roof.[72]

For the Rabbi, the ethics of the building in this regard do impact its sacredness. “Arguably a space is only sacred if it’s ethical,” he maintains. “It’s hard to feel we even have the right to build this without ensuring ‘first do no harm.’ Relatively speaking, this is an environmentally sensitive building. But the negative effects are still appreciable. And can a building even be called holy when not every step has been taken to ensure minimal effects?”[73]

On Ethical Building

Rabbi Dobb’s reflections on the environmental ethics of a sacred building may seem demanding, but he raises important issues for sacred architecture in general. The architecture of sacred spaces has long been regarded as an aesthetic expression of theology, but could it not be – should it not be – an ethical expression as well? The Reconstructionist movement, with its mandate from Kaplan to engage in the modern world, and its Jewish heritage of faith manifest in action, is in a unique position to explore this new dimension of sacred architecture.

Adat Shalom remains a paradigm for environmentally ethical building, but there are other ways to build an ethical synagogue. Members of Reconstructionist Congregation Beth Israel in Middletown Township, Pennsylvania, for example, had other considerations in mind. In 1997, as they prepared a capital campaign for a new building, congregants began speaking up about the irony of using their money to build a synagogue when many poor people could not even afford homes. They devised a plan inspired by the “gleaning” commandments in Leviticus: to dedicate three percent of every capital campaign contribution towards low-income housing construction. As the synagogue was being built, members of the congregation contributed their labor as well as their money to the low-income housing project. In this way, the congregation’s consciences were assuaged, and the seeming extravagance of building a synagogue was offset by their generosity to others.[74]

Myriad other concerns, from the labor of the workers to the effect on the neighborhood, could also be considered in the design and construction of an ethical religious building. Rather than representing “one more thing to feel guilty about,” ethical building offers an opportunity for a level of religious integrity previously not considered. All religions strive to be more than just the words repeated in the sanctuary: what better way to give life to a religion than to incorporate its ethics into the very funding, materials, and design process of a building?

Conclusion

Thanks to the hard work and enthusiastic participation of its many members, and to the inspiration of its leaders, the Adat Shalom congregation has created a remarkable synagogue. It is a very Reconstructionist building: unabashedly Jewish, communal, and environmentally sound.

And is it sacred? Yes. Not primarily because of its ethical or community aspects, according to congregants, but because of the actions that take place there. Adat Shalom members see the sanctuary as sacred “because it provides our community a place to come together for prayer, teachings, life cycle celebrations and observance of Jewish rituals and traditions that are over two thousand years old.” As members are quick to point out, however, “other parts of the building… are also sacred spaces simply because of what we do there…. [When] we are engaged in forms of positive, constructive communal activity in a safe, comfortable space, [that also] is sacred.”[75]

This broad view of the sacred certainly informed the building process, and it continues to be present on a daily basis at the synagogue. One anecdote will suffice for illustration. Visiting Adat Shalom on October 4, 2002, I happened to be present when Vicki Breman, an active board member of Adat Shalom, showed the Rabbi the solar garden lamps she’d bought to light the front walk outside the synagogue. They were environmentally friendly and she got them at a good price, and Rabbi Dobb received them with delight. Carlos, the maintenance man, agreed to install them, and as the Rabbi handed the lamps to him, he thanked him for his help and declared emphatically, “those are sacred.” The Rabbi and his congregation would agree that this was no exaggeration. From the prayers in the sanctuary to the lamps for the garden, the sacredness of this synagogue is built from its Reconstructionist heritage and its contributions to the future.

Works Cited

Adat Shalom Website, http://www.adatshalom.net.

Alpert, Rebecca T. and Jacob J. Staub. Exploring Judaism: A Reconstructionist Approach. Wyncote, PA: The Reconstructionist Press, 1997.

Dobb, Rabbi Fred Sherlinder. Personal interview, 10/04/02.

“EPA Energy Star for Congregations Award” application. [Congregational record]

“Events in the First 13 Years of Adat Shalom Reconstructionist Congregation As of 3/01.” [Congregational record]

Fingerhut, Jeff. “Home of its own: Adat Shalom dedicates new building.” Washington Jewish Week. 4/5/01. p. 1, 31

Fishbane, Michael. Judaism: Revelation and Traditions. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1987. 83-84.

Friedman, Reena Sigman. “The Emergence of Reconstructionism: An Evolving American Judaism, 1922-1945.” On American Jewish Archives website, http://huc.edu/aja/Fried.htm, accessed 11/6/02.

Goldwyn, Ron. “Building the Building: Capital Campaigns, Reconstructionist-Style.” Reconstructionism Today. http://www.jrf.org/rt/building.html. Accessed 12/13/02.

Greenberg, Evelyn L. “Sanctity in the Woodwork.” Hadassah Magazine. http://www.hadassah.org/news/archive/1996/oct96/pub2b_07.htm. Accessed 12/13/02.

Gross, Edward. Phone interview, 10/8/02.

Jewish Reconstructionist Federation website, “Reconstructionist Judaism Is…” www.jrf.org/recon/rjis.html, accessed 11/6/02.

Jewish Reconstructionist Federation website, “Who Is a Reconstructionist Jew?” www.jrf.org/recon/whois.html, accessed 11/6/02.

Kollin, Cheryl. Phone interview, 10/6/02.

Lech-Lecha: An Introduction to Adat Shalom Reconstructionist Congregation. [booklet]

“Questions and Answers About the Land and Building Program – Solicitor’s Copy.” 5/98. [congregational record]

Sadowsky, Shelley. E-mail correspondence, 10/20/02.

Schwartz, Robert. E-mail correspondence, 10/17/02.

Schwarz, Sidney H. “Reconstructionism as Process.” Reconstructionist, Vol. XLV, no. 4, June 1979.

Scult, Mel and Emanuel S. Goldsmith, eds. Dynamic Judaism: The Essential Writings of Mordecai M. Kaplan. New York: The Reconstructionist Press, 1985.