At a certain point you get numbed by the stories, no matter how tragic they sound. Stop #1, a lady with a

can in her hand steps into the subway and begs for money because she has AIDS and 6 kids. Stop #2, another lady with a walker and a box attached to it, begs for money because she is blind and homeless. Stop #3, a young man begging because he lost his wallet and he needs money to get his next subway ticket to go home. Stop #4, a Vietnam veteran with a box hanging from his neck begging for money because he tragically lost both arms – he touched my heart and got some spare change! You get the picture, as one comes up the other goes down, and the people on the subway continue their journey while avoiding eye contact with the beggar, as if nothing is being asked from them. Once in a while, someone will reach out to their pockets and graciously but hesitantly will contribute to the cause.

And then there is stop # 5, a guy in his mid 50s joins us on the subway and changes the rules of the game. He sits on a huge speaker box and turns on his old electric guitar. He spots a sweet young boy who is sitting next to his mom, and he starts singing to him with a smile, while improvising the lyrics ”the boy in the hood” and speaking directly to him. Smiles now start to show up, people are no longer invisible to the rest. One by one, I could see smile after smile. We started looking at each other and staring at the man singing, it was a kind of a magical awakening that we all welcomed. Who doesn’t want to feel good? Who doesn’t want to feel the “hope” in the midst of all the sad stories we heard so far during our ride? Once the man is finished with the boy, he doesn’t stop, instead he turns to my beautiful daughter and starts singing to her, to “the white lady with the gloves”. Our smiles grow bigger; we look at him as he makes eye contact with each one of us. He is not rushed, he sings during stops # 6, 7 & 8. He stays with us, he engages everyone in a way that you don’t want the ride to end. This guy has a personal story too, but he chose to share with us a different side of him, and to show us how we can keep singing and bringing joy to our lives. He chose not to share one more sad story of a declining life with no hope. He wanted us to feel good, he wanted to remind us that there is joy that can be shared, he wanted us to see what he is capable of doing when he has food and a place to sleep. All of a sudden, people started opening their wallets, all with a smile on their faces. People were not looking for small change, they were going for bills, they were happy to give and it was contagious. This man wasn’t a talented entertainer or singer, he was too a subway beggar but one who understood fundraising!

All of those beggars who stepped on the subway before Stop #5, imploring for help with moving personal stories, made us feel compassion, pity, and even guilt when they stepped down taking nothing from us. We are generally not committed to stories that we don’t know whether we can trust, or to causes that we don’t know if our contribution will have any positive impact, or things that don’t make us feel the joy of giving. We usually don’t appreciate being pushed or rushed to give, or to feel invisible to the one asking us to give without even really noticing us. We don’t give very often or much because of guilt, or to every single sad story or cause we hear. We are selective in our giving, and the way we feel when asked will determine much of our philanthropic decisions, even how we distribute our small change.

Wikipedia describes begging as “the practice of imploring others to grant a favor, often a gift of money, with little or no expectation of reciprocation.” On that subway ride I was reminded of the many solicitations I receive year after year, when I’m begged by known non for profit organizations, who support great causes, but they choose to just get on the subway with their story and avoid eye contact. They don’t care about me but just about what they have to say, and then step down on the next station and let the next one step in. I’m numbed to those solicitations! If only they chose to stay longer on the ride and connect, if they just decided to share with me the joy of their impact in a more personal way, if they chose to follow up and deliver on a promise, if only…I would connect faster and stronger.

I always remember the prominent doctor I was soliciting for a capital campaign years back, who told me “I won’t belong, so I won’t give”. My frustration led me to ask him “I’m curious, do you belong to everything you give to, or do you give so others can belong as well?” It was the turning point to a major gift. The man stayed quiet for a while, and then he said that he never thought about how others will benefit and feel by having that building, and that thought made him feel good. It is selfish to think that we only give to causes that make us feel good, but giving also has the right to be selfish, as we decide to share what we earned with hard work. When we give, that’s what we want to get in return: a good feeling!

The guy on stop # 5 gets it. He took his time to develop a relationship and connect with us, his “prospective donors”. He told us in his own way that he cared about us as much as he wants us to care about him. He made us feel good and offered us the opportunity to start the day with a bright smile while doing good.

According to Wharton Professor Adam Grant, author of “Give and Take”, the world is filled with takers, givers and matchers. Takers are those who like to get more than they give. They tilt reciprocity — the mix of give and take — in their favor. Unlike takers, givers reflect a reciprocity style that is “other-focused”: they focus more on what others need than what they need. The final category of Grant’s three reciprocity styles is the matcher, who strives to achieve a balance between giving and taking. The guy on stop #5 took my bills and gave me a good feeling and a smile.

That ride on the NY subway to Time Square, became a reminder of the basics of fundraising: simple, personal, joyful, doable and when done well, beautiful!

It was a regular morning and I was listening to the radio before pulling into our local Starbucks. One of my favorite Beatles song was playing; “All the lonely people”. It is kind of a depressing song to start the day with;

”Where do they all come from? All the lonely people, where do they all belong?” But nevertheless, it’s a Beatles song and I was caught in a sentimental moment. I got out of my car and still had that song playing in my head as I entered Starbucks and was ready to order my beverage. It was a busy shift and the line was long. I was looking around and all of the sudden an answer came to my mind “This is where they belong…the lonely people, right here…at Starbucks” most of the people who were sitting in the comfortable couches were sitting alone. They were, of course, plugged in to their smartphones, listening to music and with their eyes on the screen. They looked busy. While I was still standing in line a wonderful song from the 50’s began playing at the Starbucks speakers, pushing aside the Beatles song. Does anybody remember The Platter’s famous song, “The Great Pretender”?

It goes by “Oh-oh, yes, I’m the great pretender

Pretending that I’m doing well

My need is such, I pretend too much

I’m lonely but no one can tell…

And a “Eureka” moment occurred; I was looking around at the lonely people, trying to look busy, pretending they are not alone. I thought to myself, everyone here can drink their coffee at home (and for much less money), why is it that they come here and sit here in public to drink their coffee? To me the answer is, to either meet other people or to not be alone. However, being plugged to their devices, they are preventing themselves from creating these human interactions that will eventually help them not be alone.

I got my beverage and left the store, I kept thinking how attached we all have become to our smart devices and the “added value” these little things are bringing into our lives. It used to be a means to make a phone call, then it became our day-timers, calendars and watches, then it also became our camera, later it became our emails, internet, pharmacy, bank, games and so much more. But the biggest thing of all is that it became our friend! We are never really alone, as long as we carry it with us.

That is a scary thought to me.

A couple of months ago I was planning to take my daughters on a road trip to Zion National Park (only two and half hours drive from our house). We were meeting a girlfriend of mine and her kids and were ready to hit the road, but then, I realized that I couldn’t find my phone. I remembered that the battery was running low and must have died, which made it even harder to locate it around the house. I was looking everywhere but couldn’t find it. Being concerned about driving in the dark, I decided to go ahead and leave for our two-day trip without my phone. I called my husband and told him not to bother looking for me as I am off the grid. Wow, 48 hours without my iPhone (didn’t take my laptop either) was such a liberating experience. All the gurus are talking about being in the present, doing meditation, and all the techniques to get our brains to quiet down; it is all so very simple – forget your smartphone somewhere! Giving yourself a break from the on going and demanding relationship that we have with these devices can generate a great sense of Zen and much more.

Not having my iPhone for 48 hours increased my attention to the magnificent nature I was surrendered by and elevated the depth of conversations that I had with my daughters and friends. Now I will be lying if I told you that I wasn’t a bit itchy from time to time, looking for my phone, wondering who might be needing me and what updates I might be missing, but being truthful I also knew that in the moments of “needing” the phone, I was also trying to avoid something else. For some people this “something else avoidance” could be having deep conversations, having to listen to other people’s opinion, doing some soul searching, reflecting on events, planning ahead, connecting with strangers, and even feeling an emotional pain. For some people, as soon as there is a glimpse of an emotional pain (a memory of a negative experience), we want to shut it down quickly. Almost like swallowing a “happy pill” to take the uncomfortable feelings away; our smart device is doing just that. I wonder what an impact we can have over our lives, if we don’t shy away from these feelings. If we do let ourselves be vulnerable and exposed. Being in the moment, even if it is sad and lonely. Feeling the real feelings without sugarcoating them. My two cents on this matter is that we can actually do miracles in our emotional progression. Being in a Starbucks alone and unplugged will invite other people into our lives. It can be a smile from another person, an eye contact, an expression, maybe even a conversation. If only we take the time to look at other people and initiate a connection, we might have a huge impact on a stranger’s day and perhaps even a stranger’s life. The power of human interaction can never be replaced by our smartphones. Having a stranger smile and say to us “Good Morning”, cannot be done by our phones. (No. Siri doesn’t count).

When the Platters and Beatles wrote their songs (back in the 50s and 60s) they couldn’t possibly have imagined that their songs will be “meeting” on a random morning in a Starbucks. However, they did raise awareness about the human need to feel connected to another. There are so many great things that technology has brought into our lives, including the smartphones, but let us be cautious with the emotional dependency that we might develop toward them. After all, as Thomas Merton said, “Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone – we find it with another.”

“I’m overwhelmed” – my client, who works in a high-profile leadership position said, almost breaking down

. “It feels that I’m doing everything by myself. My support staff is either new, they all have an attitude, or I simply can’t trust them to do things the way I need. The systems in place are not working. I can’t even see anymore where I’m going and when I do I feel I will never get there because I get distracted by other things that I need to take care of!”.

For those of you who have been following my blog, you know that I have been a very strong advocate of the “NO MONEY NO MISSION” school of thought.  I have even gone so far as to argue (much to the chagrin of many of you) that the money must come before the mission.

1. Hold a contest.  Engage not just the board but the full staff, clients, stakeholders in the community, in writing a new mission statement.  Find a great prize (donated, naturally). Get some good old fashioned public relations on the project (remembering that PR is free).  This project would serve several purposes as it could possibly be an opportunity for a local reporter to visit your organization and really see what is going on (all good stuff of course) and it will get the word out about your work in a new and different way.  Added benefit….more positive responses to your fundraising efforts!
2. Have a board retreat. Begin the retreat by looking at exactly what it is that you do. I call this “filling in the mission wheel.  Do all of your retreat work.  Then end the retreat with the rewriting of the mission statement.
3. Institute a “Mission Moment” at the very beginning or the very end of every board meeting. This is a three to five minute slot on the Agenda where either a client, a staff member or a volunteer (leadership volunteer or just one with a good story) shares that story with the whole Board.  The beauty of the “Mission Moment” is three-fold: it gives everyone a new elevator speech, it will, over time, be so special that Board members will arrive on time just to be sure not to miss the moment (or they will stay to the end of the meeting to not miss the moment…You get to use it to help the attendance issues of your organization by putting it first or last to fix those late-comers or early-leavers problem that you might be experiencing), and of course it will begin to point out to everyone just what the organization’s mission really is….thus helping that whole rewrite of the mission statement thing we have been taking about!

By Noa Peri-Jensch

By Orit Ramler Szulik

I had already ironed my suit, the early dinner menu planned, my “Talit” ready. It was last
year, at 3:00am on the day we wake up to get ready for Yom Kippur. My Day of Atonement started with an unexpected sharp, loud cry assuring the skies were open to hear my pain and plea for relief. My whole world suddenly collapsed, my body certainly did, and the pain was worst than any pain I could ever imagine. To make a long story short, and after days of what felt like torture, I found out that I had two severely herniated disks in my upper back, and that surgery was needed. I wondered, “Can this really be happening to me? who will take care of my family? how will the world keep
going with me in bed? “ – The answers to these questions were not clear, but eventually I learned a lesson. A year later, I didn’t just survive but I am definitely in a better place.

We were at the door steps of Yom Kippur, a time for introspection and there I was capable of doing just that, metaphorically and literally! Finding a meaning to whatever happens to us is a good practice, and for me that is what helped me make this experience a profound one, not just a painful one. It was a long month before I had my Anterior Cervical Discectomy and Fusion surgery, followed by a few months of recovery. I was forced to learn much about myself and others. And here it goes:

We are vulnerable.  I never took the time to think about it before. Being confronted with my own vulnerability was very powerful; scary at first, and yet empowering and somehow beautiful when accepted. Vulnerability made me connect with what the core of life is all about and appreciate every day with a new lens, one that doesn’t take anything for granted and yet appreciates every feeling and experience with passion. Vulnerability made me become thankful -for the good and the challenging, but mainly for being able to deal with both.

Compassion is a practice.  I always thought I was compassionate, and somehow I was, but now I know better. There are friends and family who “carried me through” my ordeal, they taught me what compassion in action is. The friend who didn’t just guess but instead asked me “what do you need?”; the one who massaged my  numbed fingers for hours; the one who asked me “what do you want for lunch today?”- almost every day; the one who sat next to me while I was sleeping so my husband
could do some work; the one who organized a four-week schedule of visits and meals for my family; the ones who called every day; the one who baked chalah every Friday; the many who would sent flowers from around the world and from around the corner; the ones who came to visit; the ones who made sure I had everything I needed to be comfortable; the one who got me into all those TV series and kept me entertained; the many who cooked home made meals. I am eternally grateful for having them in my life, but also because they taught me all I need to learn about compassion, not because of
what they did, but because of how they did it.

There is a time for everything. “Can I stop everything in my life? what will happen with my clients? what will I miss for my kids? what if I can’t take my parents to an important doctor’s appointment? how can I miss being there with my husband during the High Holidays?”… bottom line, “will the world continue functioning without me?”. I had no choice but to let go and eventually find out by myself. As you can imagine, the world kept going pretty smoothly. My clients are still there, my kids did well and actually gave me lots of care and love, my parents didn’t need a doctor but helped me heal, my husband was surrounded by the love of our community, and things didn’t stop or collapse because my body did. There is a time for healing and there is a time for all the rest. We have the permission to do what’s truly important for us some times.

Scars happen.  At first I didn’t even care about it, I just wanted to make sure I will be able to walk. Then I started to wonder, and my son told me “it is cool, it will be another story to tell”, and I liked the idea. After the surgery, my scar looked as if someone tried to decapitate me, but it was ok. Then, I hated it because it reminded me about the pain. Later I forgot about it, and everyone would tell me “I can’t even notice your scar”, and I would think “yes you can, but you’re sweet”. A few weeks ago, I walked into a store and a guy tells me, “you belong to my club”, then he showed me his own scar…I loved it! No more words were needed, we were brothers. We shared everything about our common
experiences, and spoke the same language. Since then, my scar is officially noticeable, a story to share, and a reminder of vulnerability, compassion, friendships, love, belonging, introspection and strength.

We have no control. I knew it, but I didn’t, and some times I still forget. The bottom line is that I fear every situation where I’m not in control or command – such as roller coasters or airplanes. Going into the surgery, I had no control (thanks G-d) over what the surgeon would do, and the outcome of his work. The only thing I could control at times, was my fear and thoughts. And yes, I chose my surgeon. So, although we never have full control over absolutely anything in life, we can do our due diligence to get as close as we can to some peace of mind that we did our best. Peace of mind is my new goal, as opposed to control.

My husband is the best! I knew it the day I met him and I know it 27 years later. The way he was there for me, carrying me through, was a way that goes beyond anything I could imagine or describe. He gave me dignity and made me feel well with whatever was happening all along the way. What my husband taught me about him, myself and our relationship is a gift that can help rebuild any collapsed human being.

And the lessons go on and on. This Rosh Hashanah, I’m thankful to so many and for so much. Now the Day of Atonement is almost back, and I’m thanking G-d for the journey he took me through. This Yom Kippur I will stand tall, look deep inside, and I will know I have been strengthened by all the lessons I learned from the past year.I have my suit ironed, the early dinner menu planned, my “Tallit” ready, again. I also have a renewed wisdom to accept that I’m vulnerable and that’s part of being alive, that true compassion carry people through the most challenging times, that I can take time
off and the world will be just fine, that control is an illusion and peace of mind is the way, that scars have their beauty, that community and friendships are a blessing, and that my family is a gem.

I wish all of you a meaningful Holiday, where you can look deep inside, find the meaning to what’s important, think of the lessons learned and be open to keep learning, and be ready for new beginnings.