Five Secrets Every Synagogue President Should Know
(But Rarely Hears)
Let me start with a confession: I have never been a synagogue president.
But I have served as president of nonprofit boards, and over the years, I’ve worked closely with more than a dozen synagogue presidents, the kind of dedicated souls who somehow hold the center while everyone else debates what the center even is. From them, I’ve learned a truth that every rabbi and congregational consultant should whisper into a president’s ear: you are doing holy work, but you were never meant to do it alone.
The Mantle and the Myth
Synagogue presidents carry a weight that few outside the role can truly understand. They inherit a sacred trust, a community’s spiritual home, and often arrive with their own vision for what it could be. That vision matters. But it must live in harmony with other visions: those of the rabbi, the staff, the board, and the congregation itself.
And that balance is where the real art of leadership lives.
Presidents stand at the strange intersection of spiritual calling and strategic responsibility, part CEO, part facilitator, part peace negotiator. They absorb complaints about budgets, clergy, and building repairs. They mediate between passionate volunteers and tired staff. They try to honor the past while daring the future.
No wonder so many feel like the last line of defense or the only adult in the room.
And that illusion of singular responsibility, while noble, is also the trap. The moment a president starts believing they alone must hold it all together, leadership becomes isolating. And isolation is the soil where resentment, burnout, and poor decisions quietly grow.
The Aftermath We Don’t Talk About
Here’s something I’ve noticed and we rarely say out loud:
Too many synagogue presidents vanish once their term ends. They drift away from the community they poured themselves into, skipping services, staying off committees, or not renewing their membership.
It’s as if the reward for their service is escape.
That’s not just a personal loss; it’s a communal one. A president’s wisdom, born from sleepless nights, board dramas, and hard-won insights, is part of the congregation’s living Torah. When presidents feel too depleted or disillusioned to stay, it’s a sign that we’ve built systems that take devotion and return exhaustion. The goal isn’t just to lead well; it’s to finish whole, with a heart still open to belonging.
So How Do the Best Presidents Thrive?
Over the years, I’ve observed a handful of synagogue presidents who didn’t just survive their term; they grew through it. They led wisely, humbly, and humanly. They understood that authority in a sacred community isn’t about control; it’s about relationship.
Here are five insider lessons from that one percent of extraordinary leaders, the ones who leave the congregation better and still love being part of it.
1. Lead as a Convener, Not a Controller
The best presidents don’t “run” the synagogue. They orchestrate energy.
They see themselves as lead conveners, not CEOs, the ones who gather the right people into the right conversations at the right time. Their job isn’t to have all the answers; it’s to make space for the best questions.
And here’s the hidden secret: don’t fall into the trap of others making you “responsible” for everything. The president who takes on every problem becomes the lightning rod for all of them. Model from the start that the congregation is everyone’s responsibility, that shared ownership is a spiritual value, not a leadership technique.
Instead of asking “What should I decide?” ask, “Who else needs to be part of this?” and “What might we not be seeing?” It’s a subtle shift from management to leadership, and it multiplies trust.
2. Practice Relational Transparency
These leaders know that trust precedes alignment.
They don’t fake certainty; they model process. They name tensions out loud (“We want to be inclusive and sustainable, and that’s not easy”) and let people see how they wrestle with competing values. It’s not about broadcasting doubt; it’s about inviting others into the honest middle.
This kind of honesty creates something rare: psychological safety. When people feel seen in their complexity, they’re less likely to weaponize it against others.
3. Create Dual Covenants and Keep Them Sacred
The healthiest presidents build two covenants: one with their rabbi and staff, and another with their board and congregation.
Each relationship has its own terrain, and each deserves clarity. With clergy, the covenant might include agreements about communication, feedback, and shared pastoral load. With the board, it might define how decisions are made, how disagreements are handled, and how gossip is prevented from undermining trust.
When these covenants are made explicit and revisited, they become more than good governance. They become spiritual practice, an act of faith that we can disagree and still stay in relationship.
4. Align Vision with Culture Before Strategy
Here’s the truth consultants usually say quietly: culture eats strategy for kiddush.
Too many presidents rush to strategic planning. But if the emotional culture of the community is fatigued, fearful, or divided, no plan will thrive.
The great leaders start by asking, What’s the emotional weather of our congregation right now? Then they lead accordingly, opening meetings with gratitude, celebrating small wins, and using humor to loosen rigid patterns.
A good plan grows from culture. A great plan transforms it.
5. Tend to Your Own Spiritual Sustainability
The wisest presidents see leadership as a spiritual discipline, not just a volunteer gig.
They set boundaries with compassion. They honor their family time. They treat feedback as information, not identity. They find mentors who help them stay grounded. They recognize that synagogue leadership will test their humility and heart, and they meet that test as part of their own growth.
They lead from overflow, not depletion. They see their presidency as avodah, sacred service, and they know even sacred service requires renewal.
The Holy Work of Staying Connected
If you’re a synagogue president reading this, know this: your work is demanding because it matters. You’re shepherding not just an institution, but a living organism, a spiritual ecosystem built on memory, meaning, and hope.
But remember, leadership in community is never meant to be lonely. The best presidents learn to share the weight with clergy, with staff, and with one another.
And when you do, something beautiful happens:
You stop leading for the congregation and start leading with it.
And that, my friends, is the kind of legacy no one walks away from.