I’m no longer a lapsed Jew. Some time ago, I wrote in these pages about why my husband and I were not synagogue members. “Shuls,” I explained, “are not for unencumbered twentysomethings”.
Well, 30 now seems a distant port, and with a small son, we have not only joined a shul but started attending it regularly. And it’s lovely. The community element of shul is a boon at this stage; a comfortable, baby-friendly environment in which to see friends and for your kids to make friends too.
Across the board, our community offers so much for children, from Jewish education to summer camps and tours. Most shuls go out of their way to make life easier for families, offering children’s Yom Kippur lunches, say, or summer seudahs in the park.
Inevitably, there’s appetite for more, from undercover buggy parks to healthy options at kiddush so kids don’t spend Shabbat afternoon coming down from a sugar high. One friend suggests a play area for toddlers after their shorter service finishes; another highlights the lack of a breast-feeding space in her United Synagogue shul. Almost every baby needs milk during a service. Imagine if our shuls designated accessible, kitted-out, feeding- and changing-rooms. A small step that would represent a major welcome.
Some forward-thinking communities are already making strides; one offers a toddler lunch on Shabbat, while many offer later services on festivals, to enable parents to tag-team. Plenty run baby groups.
But there’s one area where our community could make an enormous difference; childcare. Almost every parent I know spends their life navigating its complexities, with arrangements resembling a mind-boggling equation; if dad can drop off at x then mum can leave work at y, equalling child in bed by z.
Shul nurseries are part of this, and desirable choices for many parents. Unfortunately, by and large, they are set up for the mother of at least a generation ago.
My shul nursery runs until 3pm, and closes on Fridays at 12.30. It’s term-time only, and caters only to age twos upwards. Having explored what’s on offer elsewhere, it’s not atypical. At another north London United Synagogue nursery, the day starts at 8.45 but again finishes at 3pm; another starts at 9.15 and only goes until 1.15. One goes only from age three and on some days starts at 9.30.
Outside of the Orthodox sector, Alyth’s nursery is open year-round from 7.45am to 6.15pm, taking babies from six months onwards, while Radlett Reform’s extends until 6pm. But, overall, our community is behind most private providers, who operate long days 51 weeks of the year.
“There are no Jewish nurseries with hours that work for anyone with a job,” sighs one father. While schools also finish equally, he says, why create another problem? A mother sighs that her communal nursery has far more holiday dates than most.
Annual leave is limited, few parents work that mythical nine to five, and not many are flexible enough to be back for a mid-afternoon pick up. Parental leave runs to a year tops; almost nobody can wait until their child is two. So, for those who use these nurseries, it’s by relying on grandparents, au pairs, and, usually, working through the evenings to make it all add up.
Albeit early Fridays are non-negotiable in winter, why can’t our shuls make the other days longer, or at least, offer additional wraparound care? Surely it’s not beyond the capability of our communities to find a more workable solution, even if it means investing in new buildings and staff?
There’s certainly demand for it. A friend tells me she’d have chosen her shul nursery even though it would have been further away, just to give her son that Jewish start. Likewise, I’d love my son to be heading to one. But I’m already involved in my community; others aren’t.
Young families are necessarily the future of our shuls, yet membership is down and plenty of millennials — the cohort with children under five — are more interested in Netflix subscriptions than shul ones (understandably so, since the former represents good value, you can pay monthly, and cancel whenever). Our communities may not be on life support, but they do need help.
Trust me when I say parents will buy into literally anything they think means an easier life. Offer an affordable, convenient, welcoming solution— predicated on membership — and they will flock to it, forming a habit of shul involvement that could last a lifetime.
There’s a church near me that, on weekdays doubles up as a soft play and child-friendly café. It’s a lovely space, where babies can scream and toddlers can tantrum and nobody blinks an eye. Were I to be minded to attend Christian services, I know where I’d feel welcome come Sundays.
