On the autumn day in 1895 that local Jews gathered to lay the cornerstone for a synagogue here, a newspaper reported that they would soon hire a rabbi. That was wishful thinking on someone’s part. For decades, there have never been enough families to support such a move – until now.
Earlier this month, after almost a century, Congregation Ahavath Beth Israel installed its first full-time rabbi: Daniel Fink, a 12th-generation rabbi.
For Idaho’s tiny Jewish population – 500 people in a state of more than 1 million, according to the 1994 American Jewish Yearbook – these are heady and hopeful days. It seems apt that all of this coincides with Hanukkah, which begins at sundown Sunday.
“So, it’s taken 100 years,” says Leslie Drake, a former president of the synagogue. “The youth will definitely benefit, and we can really celebrate the holidays with greater understanding.”
Fink, who arrived in August, came with his wife, Laura Rappaport, 34, who is also a rabbi. She will serve one weekend a month in an emerging community of Jews in Sun Valley, a resort area 150 miles to the east. The couple has two daughters, Tanya, 3, and Rosa, 4 months.
“It is in a lot of ways a pioneering position,” says Fink, 33, who was previously an associate rabbi at a synagogue in Omaha.
Rappaport, 34, takes a similar view. “What’s one more rabbi in Boston or one more rabbi in New York?” she says. “But one more rabbi in Idaho can really make a difference.”
The first Jews to arrive here – peddlers who sold dry goods to gold miners – came from Germany, bringing with them a liberal view of the faith. They formed Congregation Beth Israel, which later aligned with the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, representing Judaism’s Reform movement.
Another group of immigrants, Eastern Europeans with a more traditional approach to Judaism, organized their own synagogue, Congregation Ahavath Israel, during World War I.
The two congregations totaled about 30 families. Services were led by the laity.
But by 1981, Boise was growing, and Jewish newcomers began arriving. from California, Texas and elsewhere. Beth Israel, its membership rising, suggested that they pool resources and hire a student rabbi to fly in once a month to lead a joint service.
In 1986, the two synagogues formally joined to create Congregation Ahavath Beth Israel, a Reform synagogue.
When membership reached 100 families a few years ago, the synagogue’s leaders decided it could afford a full-time rabbi. A search committee advertised in a publication for Reform rabbis. Six people sent in applications; three were interviewed, including Fink.
Part of the attraction for him, Fink says, was Boise’s surroundings. “I’m sort of spiritually nourished very strongly by the natural world,” he says.
His wife liked small congregations. But she was concerned about the small, right-wing white supremacist groups, like the Aryan Nations, that have appeared in rural Idaho in recent years. The search committee told her such groups are “not indicative of the population,” says Alan Tell, a stockbroker who is considered the synagogue’s historian. But few here seem to know much about Judaism. “People will ask a question, and they will sound like they’re insulting you, but it comes out of absolute ignorance,” says Tell, who has spoken to civic groups about the faith.
Some years back, Stern was helping plan an interfaith event and offered to bring in an out-of-state rabbi to participate. One man asked him whether he would be able to find a rabbi who spoke English, Stern says.
