Recently, I found myself standing on a stage at JFS’s graduation prize evening alongside Imam Sayed Rizawi, the Chief Imam of Scotland. It was, I am told, the first time in the school’s long history that a senior Muslim religious leader had been invited to share the platform.
The moment was striking not because it diluted Jewish identity, but because it clarified it.
We were both clearly representatives of our respective faith traditions yet neither of us was trapped inside them. That, I realised afterwards, was precisely why the moment worked. We were able to speak authentically from within our traditions while also addressing a broader civic and moral conversation.
In leadership terms, this is sometimes described as being “on the balcony”.
Ron Heifetz, the architect of Adaptive Leadership, uses the metaphor of a dance floor. Leadership, he argues, requires the ability to move between the dance floor — where you are immersed, emotionally engaged and fully participating — and the balcony, where you step back, observe patterns notice blind spots and gain perspective.
You cannot lead effectively if you stay permanently on the balcony. But you also cannot lead wisely if you never leave the dance floor.
The challenge is learning how to do both.
This tension feels especially alive within contemporary Orthodox Judaism. Many of us feel deeply loyal to our mesorah (tradition), our institutions and our communal systems — and yet we are also acutely aware of the pressures they face: demographic shifts, generational change, mental health challenges, questions of belonging and the risk that rigidity can quietly push some of our most thoughtful people away.
Sometimes the people who love a system most are those who are not entirely shaped by it
I was reminded of this recently in a conversation with Saul Taylor, president of the United Synagogue. We were reflecting on a fascinating phenomenon: that some of the most passionate, committed and visionary United Synagogue rabbis and professionals did not grow up in the United Synagogue. Saul described it, quite beautifully, as having “the passion of a convert”.
I think that is a good observation but I think something else is at work as well: perspective.
When you have not always been inside a system, you are better able to see it. When you did not grow up assuming “this is just how it’s done”, you are more capable of asking, “Is this still the best way?”
Sometimes the people who love a system most are those who are not entirely shaped by it — and therefore can help it grow. That instinct — being part of something without being trapped by it — is not only modern leadership theory. It is deeply Jewish.
Consider Moshe, the greatest leader our people ever knew. The Torah describes him as the eved ne’eman, the faithful servant of God. And yet, when you look closely at the opening chapters of the Book of Exodus, Moshe’s leadership is anything but mechanical obedience.
From the moment he is commanded at the burning bush to return to Egypt, Moshe is navigating ambiguity, making judgement calls, weighing risk and interpreting divine instruction in real time. He speaks to Yitro in a way that is truthful but incomplete.
He decides to take his family with him, though God never explicitly commands it. He miscalculates the timing of his son’s circumcision and pays a price.
The commentators debate each decision in detail, but they agree on something crucial: Moshe was not given a step-by-step script. He was given a mission — and then trusted to interpret it.
Later, when Pharaoh intensifies the suffering of the Israelites, Moshe cries out, “Why have You done evil to this people? Why did You send me?” The commentator Rashi suggests Moshe’s words verge on chutzpah.
But the Maharal offers a profound reframing: Moshe is not rebelling – he is advocating. Having been appointed as leader, he understands that his responsibility includes asking hard questions on behalf of his people.
In other words, Moshe’s loyalty does not silence him. It obligates him.
This is where the Torah’s model speaks powerfully to our moment. Orthodoxy needs people who stay on the dance floor — committed, practising, loyal — but who are also able, at times, to step onto the balcony. To notice when systems have become ends in themselves. To distinguish between eternal values and inherited habits. To ask how our communities can remain faithful without becoming fragile.
What pains me most is when people respond to these tensions by stepping off the dance floor entirely. Often, those who leave Orthodoxy are not the apathetic, but the deeply thoughtful — people who care enough to struggle. Their departure is not a failure of commitment, but often a failure of systems to make room for complexity.
Adaptive leadership within Orthodoxy does not mean abandoning halachah or tradition. It means cultivating spaces where questions are not threats, where creativity is not confused with disloyalty, and where the next generation feels invited to shape the future rather than merely inherit the past.
This was the thinking behind our successful “rebranding” of Friday night services at Bushey Synagogue where creativity and a focus on families has seen us grow from barely a minyan to 200 people attending each week.
We provided a transliteration of the prayers and ensured the tunes were consistent each week so members could familiarise themselves and join in. We invited people to bring friends and family, which they did. I don’t speak during the service in order not to interrupt the flow and instead address members at the end. The real secret sauce? Toffee vodka during kiddush!
Adaptive leadership was also the message we tried to convey to the graduates at JFS. Be proud of where you come from. Be rooted in your values. But have the courage to become the leaders who will build the system in the image of what it can yet become.
Judaism has survived not by freezing the dance floor — and not by walking away from it — but by learning when to step back, see clearly, and then step forward again with wisdom, courage and love.
Elchonon Feldman is senior rabbi of Bushey Synagogue and chair of the United Synagogue Rabbinical Council
Image: Welcoming new generations: a baby-naming event at Bushey Synagogue
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