Take this not as political commentary, but as social commentary — not about them, but about us

IN the weeks following the presidential election, this magazine provided a more-than-adequate flow of analysis, exploration, and perspective on what happened, why it happened, and what it means.

A writer offering a few more election thoughts at this point is as welcome as the middle-aged guy who still finds himself hilarious and throws a pekeleh at the chassan after the shul has already quieted down and no one expects it.

So take this not as political commentary, but as social commentary — not about them, but about us.

Firstly, imagine Kamala had won the election. Many in our community would have been disappointed, or even worried. But then, a moment later, they would have shrugged and said what Jews say — i.e., some version of “The Ribbono shel Olam fihrt di velt, and He’s in charge.”

The fact that Trump won shouldn’t change that. It was always only Him, so we’re exactly in the same place regardless of who was elected.

Okay, but it still feels good. We were given a smile from Heaven at a time when we need it so badly; less a geopolitical transformation and more a morale-boost when we were feeling down. For this, #TYH.

My second post-election point: Can we please stop being choneif Chuck Schumer? I understand that those on the front lines of political shtadlanus sometimes have to swallow and shake hands with ideological opponents, but what’s the shiur? Our great rebbeim (both the Lubavitcher Rebbe and Rav Aharon Schechter, in different contexts) have taught us that we don’t ever say “yemach shemo” on a Jew, fine — but we don’t have to laugh enthusiastically when he calls himself a shomer Yisrael anymore, do we?

I feel like the next organization that makes it clear exactly how we view his duplicity, greeting him not with applause but with a cold, hurt silence, will make up whatever they lose in federal funding on a Charidy/Rayzeit/Whatever page within the hour, donors happy to invest in gaavasan shel Yisrael and basic self-respect. Oiss shoimer.

And the third point, the one I really wanted to get to — the previous paragraphs were just pleasantries. In an article analyzing the failure of the Democratic Party, one pundit astutely wrote, “When you have wealthy consultants talking to wealthy donors who are all living in an elite bubble, it can become detached from what messages will resonate with people who aren’t in the elite bubble… When you are surrounded by monied interests, you have to figure out how you don’t become bubble-ized.”

In their shower of funding, star-studded rallies, and virtuous-sounding taglines, they stopped seeing people. This one is so relevant to us.

Our communal structure is built on the generosity of the wealthy, and it is tzedakah that drives our mosdos, which do not turn a profit or benefit from ample government funding, for the most part.

It is natural that donors will take an interest in the causes they support, and thus it is natural that they will end up on the boards or advisory committees of these organizations. It’s also practical, because aside from helping make payroll, these are generally people who have worked hard and found success, and their own experiences can also help mosdos flourish. Along with this, a successful businessman has the luxury of being able to take time off, as necessary — a nine-to-five employee doesn’t get to take up mountain biking or work on his golf swing, so these lay leaders are giving that leisure time away to the klal, which is amazing.

So far, so good.

The issue is, When you are surrounded by monied interests, you have to figure out how you don’t become bubble-ized.

The few cannot make decisions for the many. You can’t have a group of high-net-worth individuals sitting around a table deciding if Shabbos food package recipients would rather get chicken tops or bottoms.

A friend once described sitting with a tuition committee, negotiating the terms for a new school year. They were suggesting a ten percent increase over the year before, while he felt it should not be ten percent, but twenty, and not an increase, but a decrease.

He explained the reasons: He had not changed jobs, but a child who needed a particular kind of therapy had drained his income, and a badly needed basement remodeling had forced him into debt. He shared this personal information uneasily and looked around at the faces of the men across from him. One was a successful real estate syndicator who had built himself up from nothing and had no sympathy for anyone who didn’t match his ambition and drive. One was a professional yoreish, who had never filled out a form in his life because his father still paid tuition for all the eineklach. And one was clearly somewhere else, still tanned from a quick visit to Turks and Caicos and deeply immersed in planning a getaway to Panama, because “it’s so important to make time for a marriage.”

My friend, to whom making time for his marriage means an occasional walk around the block with his wife, made a respectful point.

“You would not sit on a beis din and pasken sh’eilos about hilchos yuchsin, because you don’t know it, right?” he challenged them. “So why do you think it’s okay for you to sit here and pasken sh’eilos in hilchos ‘making ends meet,’ casting judgment on whether or not sending my son to camp for one month is appropriate or my wife should be driving a Kia instead of an Odyssey? The struggles of the middle class is not your sugya.”

The word bubble-ized in the quoted article resonated, because the danger exists in our camp too, this party called the Torah community. Our wealthy class is doing so much, but if we want our every organization and institution to be relevant, then we have to make sure that regular guys are getting air time at board meetings, too.

Some words change their meaning over time. Askan used to mean a person who was oseik, involved and devoted to the needs of the community. Then it started to be seen as another word for a person of prominence, and then it became stale, so naggid came back into use, a code word for rich respectable. You need neggidim to get things done, because money is important, and you need askanim, because so is dynamism and efficiency. But make sure your board has one regular guy (loosely defined as someone who still relies on credit cards, somewhat, has never flown private or sat in a stadium box, and knows when the Charles Tyrwhitt sale is).

Ayyy, you’ll ask me, the regular guys have to do that work thing, like with bosses and schedules, so when will they have time to askan-ize? It’s a fair question, so how about this: At least bring in board members who were once regular and can remember it, or at the very least, who associate with regular people.

The askan/nadvan/lay leader class is doing so much, giving heart and soul, resources and energy. If you’re around that table, make one more investment and try to make time to listen to the people you aim to serve.

It’s how you win.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1039)