Kopelowitz Seymour B

KOPELOWITZ, SEYMOUR B., PH.D.
, May, 2009 TEACHING, LEADERSHIP,

AND CURRICULUM STUDIES
A MULTIPLE CASE STUDY INVESTIGATION INTO THE RELATIONSHIP

BETWEEN THE ROLE OF THE DONOR AND THAT OF THE EDUCATIONAL
LEADER IN POLICY-MAKING, IN JEWISH EDUCATION IN NORTH AMERICA.
(294 pp.)
Director of Dissertation: Anita M. Varrati, Ph.D.

Co-Director of Dissertation: Elizabeth J. Lolli, Ph.D.
The purpose of this study was to uncover the process of decision-making between
donors and educational leaders in Jewish education with regard to policy-making. The
investigation focused on issues such as vision, exercise of power, building partnerships
and developing relationships, educating the policy maker and the professional, and
planning and evaluation.
The study was a qualitative multiple case study investigation into four institutions
(two Jewish day schools and two central agencies of Jewish education) with a focus to
understand the relationship between donors and educational leaders of Jewish educational
agencies, and how this relationship influenced policy-making.
The following overall research question was posed: What are the respective roles
of the professional educational leader and the donor in the process of educational policy-
making in Jewish day schools or central agencies in North America, and what is the
relationship between these two parties?
The conclusions were stated in the form of six propositions that were identified as
important in building a thriving partnership. Firstly, it was held that both the donor and
the educational leader needed to develop resonating relationships. These social
intelligence competencies created lasting long-term relationships. Secondly, clarity in the
vision was identified as an essential component in successful relationships. Thirdly, it
was determined that, while ultimate power lay firmly in the hands of the donor, the
professional too had some power. Fourthly, it was concluded that this relationship was a
pedagogical relationship with the potential for mutual learning. Fifthly, the importance of
an accurate interpretation of the milieu, or the setting for one another could strengthen the
relationship. Finally, in developing policy, the donor and the educational leader needed to
engage in dedicated planning and develop substantive evaluation procedures to measure
success or failure.
The world of mega-donors in education philanthropy is uncharted territory in
research, and the results from this investigation suggested that further study is warranted
in public school districts, private schools, and other parochial religious schools.
ii
A MULTIPLE CASE STUDY INVESTIGATION INTO THE RELATIONSHIP
BETWEEN THE ROLE OF THE DONOR AND THAT OF THE EDUCATIONAL
LEADER IN POLICY-MAKING,
IN JEWISH EDUCATION IN NORTH AMERICA.
A dissertation submitted to the

Kent State University College and Graduate School
of Education, Health, and Human Services
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy
by
Seymour B. Kopelowitz
May, 2009
A dissertation written by
Seymour B. Kopelowitz
B.A., University of Cape Town, 1973
S.T.D., University of Cape Town, 1974
B.Ed., University of Natal, 1979
M.B.A., University of Cape Town, 1980
Ph.D., Kent State University, 2009
Approved by
_____________________________________, Director, Doctoral Dissertation

Anita M. Varrati Committee
_____________________________________, Co-Director, Doctoral Dissertation

Elizabeth J. Lolli Committee
_____________________________________, Member, Doctoral Dissertation

Tricia Niesz Committee
Accepted by
_____________________________________, Interim Chairperson, Department of

Alexa Sandmann Teaching Leadership, and Curriculum
Studies
_____________________________________, Dean, College and Graduate School

Daniel F. Mahony of Education, Health, and Human
Services
ii
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a dissertation is similar to writing a book. Winston Churchill captured it
rather well when he said:
Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with it is a toy and an amusement; then
it becomes a mistress, then a master, and then a tyrant. The last phase is that just
as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling
him out to the public. (Vanderheyden, 2003, p.28)
The initial phase and idea for this dissertation emanated from a discussion I had with
Professor Seymour Fox (Of Blessed memory) in 2004. I first met Professor Fox when he
was head of the Jerusalem Fellows program that granted me a year’s fellowship in Jewish
education at the Hebrew University. It was a privileged intellectual experience, and I was
able to study with some of the best minds in the fields of philosophy, education, and
Jewish education.
When I assumed my current position in Cleveland, Professor Fox was then head
of the Mandel Foundation in Jerusalem. We often met during his visits to Cleveland and
engaged in an intensive intellectual dialogue on educational matters. He encouraged me
to do a doctorate and suggested the topic, given my background and experience in the
field. The topic originated from a chapter in his book on Visions in Jewish Education. His
untimely death before I began the dissertation left a void for me.
I am grateful to Stephen Hoffman of the Cleveland Jewish Community Federation
who also gave his full support to this research project and my doctoral studies.
iii
I am appreciative of Marlyn Bloch Jaffe for reading some of the chapters in the
manuscript and for her thoughtful comments.
Dr. Anita Varrati agreed to assume the role as supervisor for the dissertation and
quickly developed a keen insight into the topic. Supervision of a dissertation is a time
consuming process, and Dr. Varrati’s meticulous attention to the broad issues and to the
detail of the work helped me significantly. I am most appreciative for the support she
offered to me.
Dr. Tricia Neisz introduced me to the world of qualitative research and opened a
new window of thinking about qualitative anthropological work in schools. I became
enthused, and my intellectual curiosity was heightened when I explored this technique in
two other research projects. These were the springboard for the methodology used in this
dissertation.
Finally, Dr. Libbie Lolli was a source of great encouragement during the doctoral
program. Her breadth of experience in the field of public education was keenly applied to
this dissertation in the form of curious and challenging questions that pushed me to
consider alternatives not previously entertained.
Above all, without the cooperation of the donors and professionals whom I
interviewed, this research could never have taken place. I owe them a deep sense of
gratitude. I have scrupulously tried to protect their confidentiality.
My thanks and appreciation to my wife Gail, and to my children Batya and Saul
for their tolerance over these years of study. I hope that my children will one day pursue
their intellectual curiosity, as their father has done.
iv
I have been through all the phases described by Churchill, and now I have the
opportunity to “fling it out” to the public. I am convinced that the research has the
potential to contribute significantly to the work in the field.
v
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ................................................................................................. iv
LIST OF TABLES.............................................................................................................xx
CHAPTER
Introduction......................................................................................................................... 1
Background to the Study......................................................................................... 1
Jewish Continuity............................................................................................... 1
Philanthropy and Education in North America.................................................. 2
Donors ................................................................................................................ 3
Purpose of the Study ............................................................................................... 4
Statement of the Problem and the Theoretical Orientation..................................... 5
The Research Question ........................................................................................... 6
The Literature Review ............................................................................................ 7
Significance of the Study ........................................................................................ 7
Assumptions of the Study ....................................................................................... 8
Definition of Terms................................................................................................. 9
THE LITERATURE REVIEW......................................................................................... 13
Introduction........................................................................................................... 13
Background to the Nonprofit Sector ..................................................................... 14
vi
Jewish Education and Jewish Continuity.............................................................. 15
Jewish Education.............................................................................................. 15
Jewish Identity ................................................................................................. 16
The Breadth of Jewish Education in North America ....................................... 16
Financing Jewish Education............................................................................. 21
Policy-Making....................................................................................................... 21
Definition ......................................................................................................... 21
Policy-Making in Education ............................................................................ 25
Power .................................................................................................................... 27
Sources of Power ............................................................................................. 27
Interpersonal Influence..................................................................................... 30
Consensus Building.......................................................................................... 31
Philanthropy.......................................................................................................... 32
Why Do Donors Give?..................................................................................... 32
Relationship Fundraising ................................................................................. 33
Motives of Donors ........................................................................................... 39
Donors in Context ............................................................................................ 40
Tension With Donors ....................................................................................... 44
Fundraising From Donors ................................................................................ 46
Cultivating Donors ........................................................................................... 46
Philanthropy and the Education Sector................................................................. 50
Challenges in K-12 Philanthropy ..................................................................... 51
vii
Approaches to Philanthropy in K-12 Education .............................................. 52
Paucity of Research on Grant Making ............................................................. 53
The Effective Educational Leader ........................................................................ 54
Vision ............................................................................................................... 55
Leadership ........................................................................................................ 57
Characteristics of a Successful Fundraiser....................................................... 63
Communication ................................................................................................ 64
Conclusion ............................................................................................................ 67
METHODS AND PROCEDURES .................................................................................. 70
Description of the Study ....................................................................................... 70
Preamble........................................................................................................... 70
Introduction ...................................................................................................... 70
The Research Question ......................................................................................... 72
The Theoretical Design of the Study .................................................................... 73
Introduction ...................................................................................................... 73
The Constructivist Paradigm............................................................................ 74
The Rationale for Choosing the Case Study ......................................................... 76
Consideration of Other Qualitative Methods of Study .................................... 76
The Case Study Method ................................................................................... 77
The Research Sites................................................................................................ 82
The Four Case Studies – The Object of the Study ........................................... 82
Two Jewish Day Schools........................................................................ 82
viii
Two Central Agencies of Jewish Education........................................... 82
Selecting the Themes and Issues........................................................................... 86
Data Collection ..................................................................................................... 87
Negotiating Entry to the Field.......................................................................... 87
My Role as Researcher..................................................................................... 88
Triangulation......................................................................................................... 89
Interviewing ..................................................................................................... 89
Document Analysis .......................................................................................... 95
Site Visits ......................................................................................................... 95
Data Analysis ........................................................................................................ 96
A Search for Meaning ...................................................................................... 96
Validity............................................................................................................. 98
Reliability....................................................................................................... 100
Delimitations....................................................................................................... 100
Limitations .......................................................................................................... 101
Conclusion .......................................................................................................... 102
RESULTS AND DATA ANALYSIS............................................................................. 103
Introduction......................................................................................................... 103
A Balancing Act: Miriam, the Engaged Donor, and Harold, the New Head of
School ................................................................................................................. 103
Meeting the Donor, Miriam ........................................................................... 104
The Negotiation .................................................................................... 105
ix
The Vision...................................................................................................... 106
Background........................................................................................... 106
Making a Difference............................................................................. 108
The Vision and Its Translation Into the School’s Practice ................... 109
Power ............................................................................................................. 110
The School Board ................................................................................. 111
Power is Limited................................................................................... 112
Partnerships and Relationships ...................................................................... 113
Partners and Policy-Making ................................................................. 113
Frustrations ........................................................................................... 114
Relationships and Resolving Tensions................................................. 116
Educating the Policy Maker ........................................................................... 119
Planning and Evaluation ................................................................................ 120
Accountability and Evaluation....................................................................... 122
Closing ........................................................................................................... 123
Meeting the Head of School, Harold ............................................................. 124
The School Setting ............................................................................... 124
Vision ............................................................................................................. 126
Power ............................................................................................................. 127
Other Constituencies ............................................................................ 129
Relationships ........................................................................................ 130
x
Process.................................................................................................. 130
Setting Priorities ................................................................................... 131
Relationships: Emotional Intelligence—Feelings Between the Head and
Donor.................................................................................................... 132
Closing ........................................................................................................... 135
A Sleeping Partner: Jim, the Disengaged Donor and Nathan, the Active Head of
School ................................................................................................................. 135
Meeting the Donor, Jim ................................................................................. 135
The Setting............................................................................................ 135
The Vision...................................................................................................... 136
Background........................................................................................... 136
Vision and Jewish Education................................................................ 137
Making a Difference............................................................................. 139
The Vision and Its Translation Into the School’s Practice ................... 139
Power ............................................................................................................. 140
Limitations on a Donor’s Power........................................................... 141
Relationships and Resolving Tensions .......................................................... 144
xi
Tuition Rollback................................................................................... 147
Studying the Field................................................................................. 149
Processing the Policy............................................................................ 149
The Future ............................................................................................ 151
Closing ........................................................................................................... 152
Meeting the Head of School, Nathan ............................................................. 152
The School Setting ............................................................................... 152
The Vision...................................................................................................... 153
Power ............................................................................................................. 155
Planning and Evaluating ................................................................................ 161
The Tuition Rollback............................................................................ 161
Closing ........................................................................................................... 166
A Turbulent Relationship: Estee, the Micro Managing Donor, and
Simon, the Executive Director............................................................................ 166
The Setting ..................................................................................................... 166
Meeting the Donor, Estee............................................................................... 167
Vision ............................................................................................................. 168
Background........................................................................................... 168
The Vision ............................................................................................ 168
Sharing the Vision ................................................................................ 170
xii
Power ............................................................................................................. 171
An Understanding of Power and its Limitations .................................. 171
Emotional Intelligence Issues............................................................... 173
Working as a Team............................................................................... 174
Complementary Skills—The Donor and Professional ......................... 175
Educating the Professional ................................................................... 177
Educating the Donor............................................................................. 177
Women Writers .................................................................................... 178
Evaluating the Initiative ....................................................................... 179
The Philanthropy for Teens Innovation................................................ 180
The Planning Process ........................................................................... 180
Implementing the Vision ...................................................................... 181
Closing ........................................................................................................... 181
Meeting the Executive Director of the Bureau, Simon .................................. 182
Vision ............................................................................................................. 182
Power ............................................................................................................. 184
Background........................................................................................... 184
xiii
Educating the Donor............................................................................. 189
Women Writers .................................................................................... 190
Philanthropy for Teens ......................................................................... 191
Data Driven Decisions.......................................................................... 191
Evaluation............................................................................................. 192
Closing ........................................................................................................... 192
CADS – A Professional Partnership Between Dawn, the Savvy Philanthropist,
and Jonathan, the Consummate Professional Executive Director ...................... 192
The Setting ..................................................................................................... 192
Meeting the Donor, Dawn.............................................................................. 193
Background........................................................................................... 194
The Vision...................................................................................................... 194
The Translation of Vision Into Practice ............................................... 195
Power ............................................................................................................. 196
Accommodating Other Donors’ Power ................................................ 196
Disenfranchised Professionals.............................................................. 197
Partnerships .......................................................................................... 198
Relationships ........................................................................................ 199
Professional Feelings............................................................................ 201
Being Part of a Team............................................................................ 201
xiv
Risks ..................................................................................................... 202
Relationships and Losing Heart............................................................ 203
Educating the Donor Policy Maker................................................................ 203
Evaluation............................................................................................. 206
Data Gathering as Inputs for Decisions................................................ 207
Closing ........................................................................................................... 207
Meeting the Executive Director, Jonathan ..................................................... 208
Background .................................................................................................... 208
Vision ............................................................................................................. 209
Power Issues................................................................................................... 210
Lose Heart ............................................................................................ 212
Partnerships and Relationships............................................................. 212
Planning the Vision .............................................................................. 214
The New Visioning Process ................................................................. 215
Hiring Consultants in Planning ............................................................ 216
Gathering Data to Make Decisions....................................................... 216
Evaluation of Success........................................................................... 217
Closing ........................................................................................................... 217
xv
DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSIONS .......................................................................... 218
Introduction......................................................................................................... 218
Profiles ................................................................................................................ 219
Profile of Donors............................................................................................ 219
Discussion on Profile of Educational Leaders...................................... 220
Discussion: Differences and Similarities in Vision Conceptions .................. 221
Preamble ............................................................................................... 221
Donors .................................................................................................. 222
Discussion: Differences and Similarities in Power........................................ 224
Preamble ............................................................................................... 224
Donors .................................................................................................. 224
Educational Leaders ............................................................................. 227
Discussion: Differences and Similarities in Partnership and Relationships .. 228
Preamble ............................................................................................... 228
Donors .................................................................................................. 228
Discussion: Differences and Similarities in Educating Policy Makers.......... 233
Preamble ............................................................................................... 233
Donors .................................................................................................. 233
Discussion: Differences and Similarities in Planning and Evaluation........... 235
Preamble ............................................................................................... 235
xvi
Donors .................................................................................................. 236
Final Comments on Discussion...................................................................... 238
Conclusions and Recommendations ................................................................... 239
Introduction .................................................................................................... 239
Conclusion One: Resonating Relationships ................................................... 240
Proposition............................................................................................ 240
Partnerships Versus Domination .......................................................... 240
Boundaries............................................................................................ 241
Recommendations ................................................................................ 242
Conclusion Two: Commitment to Vision ...................................................... 244
Proposition............................................................................................ 244
Conclusion Three: Power............................................................................... 245
Proposition............................................................................................ 245
Conclusion Four: Educating the Policy Makers ............................................ 246
Proposition............................................................................................ 246
Conclusion Five: Interpreting the Milieu....................................................... 247
Proposition............................................................................................ 247
xvii
Conclusion Six: Planning and Evaluation...................................................... 249
Proposition............................................................................................ 249
Implications for the Field.................................................................................... 251
Limitations in the Research: Revisiting the Limitations of the Study ........... 251
Other Limitations ........................................................................................... 253
Future Research .................................................................................................. 254
Interesting Gleanings From the Data .................................................................. 255
Revisiting the Assumptions of the Study............................................................ 256
Revisiting the Literature Review ........................................................................ 256
Some Final Methodological Comments.............................................................. 257
A Personal Reflection ......................................................................................... 261
A Philosophical Observation .............................................................................. 262
Final word ........................................................................................................... 264
APPENDICES ................................................................................................................ 266
APPENDIX A................................................................................................................. 267
CONTACT LETTER...................................................................................................... 267
APPENDIX B ................................................................................................................. 270
Interview protocol........................................................................................................... 270
REFERENCES ............................................................................................................... 277
xviii
LIST OF TABLES
Table Page
1. The Settings, Donors, and Professionals................................................................85
2. Key to Tables 3-8.................................................................................................219
3. Profiles .................................................................................................................220
4. Differences and Similarities in Vision Conceptions............................................221
5. Differences and Similarities in Power .................................................................225
6. Differences and Similarities in Partnership and Relationships............................229
7. Differences and Similarities in Educating Policy Makers ...................................234
8. Differences and Similarities in Planning and Evaluation ....................................237
9. Conclusions..........................................................................................................239
xix
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
Background to the Study
Jewish Continuity
As the Jewish community seeks to ensure its future, great emphasis has naturally
been placed on Jewish education as the repository of communal hopes and
aspirations. Long considered a stepchild, Jewish education has recently benefited
from enhanced commitment by communal leaders and philanthropists.
(Wertheimer, 2001, p. 1)
The Jewish community in North America has been faced with declining rates of
affiliation over the past half a century. Intermarriage between Jews and members of other
faiths often results in the Jewish family unit forsaking its Jewish identity. The United
Jewish Communities’ (UJC; 2004) latest population survey stated,
The intermarriage rates for Jews who have married since 1996 is 47% . . .
Intermarriage is more common among young adults, Jews in the West, Jews with
no or less intensive forms of Jewish education, those with lower levels of secular
education, and the adult children of intermarried parents. (p. xi)
For centuries, Jewish communities throughout the world had only been concerned with
the communities’ physical safety. It is ironic that today the threat to the Jewish
community is essentially an internal one—that of a diminishing community. The question
1
2
facing American Jewish leadership is the very survival of Jewish identity in North
America.
Research on the impact of Jewish education has proven the effectiveness of
education as a tool to strengthen the commitment and identity of the Jewish community.
Cohen and Kotler-Berkowitz (2004) found that there was a direct correlation between
more intensive Jewish education for children, both formal and informal, and on indicators
of Jewish identity in adulthood (UJC, 2004, pp. 10-11). There is widespread agreement
amongst leadership in the Jewish community that Jewish education is a vital pillar in
building Jewish identity.
Jewish education in North America takes place in a number of formal and
informal settings: in Jewish day schools; in supplementary or afternoon schools; in
preschools; in summer camps; and at weekend retreats. The central agency for Jewish
education is the umbrella organization providing services to these schools. For the
schools, tuition income alone is insufficient to sustain total operational costs, and in the
case of the central agency, it is completely dependent on outside sources for funding.
Fundraising is therefore a crucial factor in the operation and future survival of these
organizations.
Philanthropy and Education in North America
It was estimated by Tobin et al. (2005), that in 2003, over $200 billion was
invested in supporting nonprofits in the U.S. and charitable organizations (p. 1). Hess
(2005), surveying K-12 education, said that philanthropy constituted less that 1% of total
K-12 spending. However, he added that “this money can have a vastly disproportionate
3
impact of the direction of American schools” (p. 1). Hendrie (2005) reported that in 2004
private contributions to K-12 education totaled around $1.5 billion a year. Bacchetti and
Ehrlich (2007) estimated there are currently 68,000 grant making foundations in the
United States and that 80% of them contribute to K-12 education (p. 16).
Reliable figures of total annual fundraising in the Jewish community are difficult
to ascertain; however, the annual estimate is several billion raised for Jewish education
(Vernon, 2001). Fried (2006) estimated an “annual expenditure of $3-$4 billion” (p. 1).
Fried’s definition of Jewish education was broader than K-12, and he included ages 3-25.
Sales (2006) noted that Jewish philanthropists tend not to support Jewish education.
“Jewish education is an area of unlimited need, yet most Jewish philanthropic dollars go
outside the Jewish community” (p. 21).
Donors
One of the key elements in the effectiveness of nonprofit organizations is the
relationship that these organizations have with their donors. The Jewish community is no
exception in terms of the importance of its relationship to donors. These donors usually
contribute substantial sums of money, outstripping most of the other funds collected from
other sources, and consequently are vital in the total philanthropic efforts of these
organizations.
There have been a number of recent collaborations by mega-donors in the field of
Jewish education: Charles Bronfman and Mitchell Steinhardt established birthright
israel, a program that has sent thousands of Jewish college students to Israel; The
Partnership for Excellence in Jewish Education (PEJE) was created by 12 philanthropists

4
who invested $12 million promoting Jewish day schools; DeLet was founded by Laura
Lauder with 12 partners to address the need to train teachers for Jewish day schools; and
the Covenant Foundation, established by Susan Crown, offered grants for Jewish
educational programs. Nevertheless, in spite of the efforts of these donors, there are
relatively few major donors to Jewish education in North America.
Purpose of the Study
Over the past 50 years of Jewish education in North America, Jewish educators
have been the dominant policy-makers (Fox, 2003). The premise of this study is that
today this power relationship has changed, and donors are a major influencing factor
together with educational leaders in policy-making in Jewish education. In addition to the
donors’ own contributions, they are often able to influence other peers to support Jewish
education, and thereby leverage additional resources for the enterprise.
Lindblom and Cohen (1979), in their work Usable Knowledge, explored the
application of research to challenges in a field. They defined “problem solving as
improvements on previously existing situations” (p. 4). They argued that knowledge is
not helpful for its own sake, but that knowledge should be reinterpreted in ways that the
field can benefit, and improve the understanding of the work that is being done. In other
words, knowledge for Lindblom and Cohen must be usable. This argument applies
equally to the study under investigation, as the intention is that the research will be usable
and provide a meaningful insight into the process of policy-making in Jewish education
and contribute to understanding the roles and relationships between donors and
educational leaders.
5
Statement of the Problem and the Theoretical Orientation
Jewish education, as a nonprofit enterprise, is highly dependent on philanthropic
contributions. Tobin, Solomon, and Karp (2003) remarked that philanthropy “is one of
the great success stories of a democratic system” (p. 5). According to Tobin et al., “mega-
giving is an important component of American philanthropy” (p. 1). The authors
recommended that there was a need for further research to understand how donors choose
philanthropies for their giving. “Are they giving to institutions or to people? Are there
personal connections to professionals, other philanthropists, or business associates, or all
of the above?” (p. 3).
In the medical profession, one would expect that a professional medical specialist
would not engage in joint decision-making with donors on medical issues. The
expectation in Jewish education is quite different, especially in the area of Jewish
continuity, where the very future of the Jewish people is at stake. Donors in Jewish
education would consider themselves as partners in the decision- and policy-making
process.
This investigation attempts to uncover the process of decision-making between
donors and educational leaders in Jewish education with regard to policy-making.
Questions that were considered revolve around issues of vision, the partnership between
donors and educational leaders, the question of the education of donors and educational
leaders, and the process through which policies are made and implemented.
This study is a qualitative multiple case study investigation into four institutions
(two Jewish day schools and two central agencies of Jewish education) with a focus in
6
understanding the relationship between donors and educational leaders of Jewish
educational agencies, and how this relationship influences policy-making. The study used
the case study research approach to explore and describe four settings and use those
settings to enhance understanding of the problem.
The Research Question
The following research question was posed: What are the respective roles of the
professional educational leader and the donor in the process of educational policy-making
in Jewish day schools or central agencies in North America, and what is the relationship
between them?
The sub questions in this research were:
1. Vision
How does the vision of the donor and the vision of the educational leader
impact on an institution’s practice (Fox, 2003)?
2. Power
What is the power relationship between the educational leader and the donor?
(Fox, 2003).
3. Partnership and relationships
Are the donor and the educational leader true partners in the policy-making
process? Are there common characteristics in this partnership relationship?
(Fox, 2003).
7
4. Educating the policy maker and the professional
What unique skills do the donor and the educational leader bring to the
discussion, and are they complementary? (Fox, 2003).
5. Planning and evaluation
If the donor and the educational leader are members of a team, how do they
plan together and evaluate what they have done to determine success, failure,
or whether they have inadvertently accomplished something else? (Fox,
2003).
The Literature Review
Although the study is unique in that research has not been conducted on the
relationship between individual donors and educational leaders in Jewish education and
policy-making, there is a body of theoretical articles and research on: policy-making;
background to the work of the nonprofit sector; foundations and education; psychosocial
factors in relationship fundraising; the cultivation of donors; donors; sources of power in
nonprofit settings; and the context of Jewish education. These topics were considered in
the literature review.
Significance of the Study
The donors’ role in policy-making in Jewish education has not been a field of
research interest. It is hoped that by uncovering the basis for policy-making, this study
will be able to provide insights into a number of areas: Firstly, to develop an
understanding of the power relationships in the policy decision-making process that
donors and educational leaders engage in. Secondly, to uncover the processes that
8
educational leaders and donors follow to ensure successful decision-making. Thirdly, to
highlight the importance of evaluation, both formative and summative as well as the need
to establish base lines for innovations in Jewish education. Fourthly, to develop strategies
to educate donors and educational leaders with regard to their own relative roles and
expertise, and how these fields can enrich the policy-making process. Fifthly, to provide
guidelines and insights for educational leaders to say “no” to donor-initiated ideas that
they believe will not work. Sixthly, to improve the management of the relationship
between the donors and the educational leaders, so that a more effective organization is
created. And finally, to enrich the discourse in donor and professional relationships, so as
to educate educational leaders and volunteer leaders, and benefit nonprofit enterprises in
general, and to positively impact the field of Jewish education.
Assumptions of the Study
Six assumptions underlie this investigation:
• There is an underlying belief that Jewish continuity will ensure a future for
Jews in the United States, and that Jewish education is a key element in
building Jewish identity and continuity.
• The overall assumption in this study is that policy-makers, both volunteers
and educational leaders, work together in an attempt to make a difference
in the Jewish world.
• The latter two assumptions relate to the golden rule theory, that he who
controls the resources has the levers of power, articulated by Pfeffer

9
(1994). It is assumed that the golden rule theory is relevant to this study
and plays a role in the relationship with regard to policy-making.
• There is an implicit assumption that, if donors are making policy decisions
in Jewish education, there needs to be a rationale as to how they are
qualified to make these educational decisions. The question is whether
these decisions are based on capriciousness, or careful study of the state of
the art of Jewish education, and application of theories from their business
experience, or because of the power of the philanthropist (interview with
Fox, 2002).
• It is assumed that philanthropists make decisions based on their high
confidence levels that the educational policy being implemented will
actually work (interview with Fox, 2002).
• Finally, the question of policy-making between educational leaders and
donors in Jewish education is a complex calculus, based on a variety of
factors, such as history, professional knowledge, power relationships, and
the process by means of which decisions are made (interview with Fox,
2002).
Definition of Terms
Jewish continuity. An individual’s relationship with the Jewish people, in terms of
religious, national, social and emotional, and/or ethnocentric identity.
Jewish Federation. A term that described the umbrella Jewish fundraising
organization. Federations are located in all major cities in North America where there are
10
Jewish populations, and raise funds from the community for local and overseas needs.
These include Jewish education, social welfare needs in the Jewish and general
community, and for world Jewry.
Philanthropy. Literally, the love of mankind (Sykes, 1976). Payton (2000)
described philanthropy as “voluntary action for the public good” (p. 12). In this
dissertation it means a person who seeks change by strategically using his or her wealth
for the improvement of Jewish education.
Power. Pfeffer (1994) defined power as the “potential ability to influence
behavior, to change the course of events, to overcome resistance, and to get people to do
things they would not otherwise do” (p. 30).
The central agency for Jewish education. These agencies function on either a
national or a local level, and are located in all the major North American communities
where there are institutions of Jewish education. National agencies usually focus on
specialized areas of Jewish education such as Jewish day schools, early childhood
settings, and supplementary afternoon schools. On the other hand, the central agency
(sometimes also called the Bureau of Jewish Education) essentially performs the task of a
local public school board of education for the Jewish education system. It provides a
range of educational services (planning, curriculum, professional development, special
education services, support services, etc.) to the day schools, supplementary schools,
early childhood institutions, and the local community.

11
The donor. The donor was defined by Tobin, Karp, and Weinberg (2005) as those
who give charitable donations. In this study, a minimum commitment of $250,000 to the
institution was the criteria for including a donor in the case study.
The educational leader—central agency for Jewish education. This describes the
position of the educational leader at the bureau or central agency. The chief professionals
in these institutions are commonly referred to by the terms “bureau director” or
“executive director.” In the Jewish day school they are referred to as Head of School. In
the public school system this role would be analogous to both that of a county/regional
superintendent and building principal.
The educational leader—Jewish day school. In this study the educational leader
was considered the professional leader of a Jewish day school. In a Jewish day school
setting, the educational leader could also be referred to as the “head of school.” The
educational leader is responsible for the planning, fundraising, budgeting, and all the
educational activities such as, staffing, curriculum, student matters, and parents. In the
public sector this position is analogous to the term “superintendent.”
The Jewish day school. The Jewish day schools that were considered are private
K-12 or K-8 schools offering a combined general and Judaic studies program with the
aim of building a strong sense of community and Jewish identity through the teachings of
Jewish values. The raison d'être of these schools is also to provide an outstanding general
education so that the graduates are prepared to attend prestigious private and public high
schools, and top-tier colleges and universities.

12
The policy maker. Israel Scheffler (1985) defined educational policy-makers as
“decision makers . . . all those whose attitudes and ideas effect the making of policy” (p.
99). Fox (2003) described the policy maker as “those people whose decisions—whether
about vision, personnel, curriculum, or budget—influence Jewish education” (p. 280).

CHAPTER II
THE LITERATURE REVIEW
Introduction
This chapter provides a review of the literature as a background to the
investigation into the relationship between donors and educational leaders in educational
policy-making in Jewish education in North America.
The purpose of the study is to provide insights into the process of policy-making
in Jewish education, and to contribute to understanding the roles of donors and
educational leaders, and the relationships between them in central agencies of Jewish
education and Jewish day schools.
The study is unique in that research has not been conducted on this topic in
Jewish education. However, there is a body of theoretical articles and research that
formed the backdrop to this investigation.
The research question that framed the literature review is what are the respective
roles of the professional educational leader and the donor in the process of educational
policy-making in Jewish day schools or central agencies in North America, and what is
the relationship between them?
The literature review is arranged thematically with each section exploring a key
thematic area in the investigation. The first section considers the background to the
nonprofit sector with reference to a Jewish education and Jewish continuity. The next
section deals with policy-making and the question of politics and power in nonprofits.
13
14
Section three considers the broad issue of philanthropy with special attention to
philanthropy in K-12 education. The review closes with an in-depth consideration of the
literature on the educational leader with specific attention to role and skills of the
effective chief professional and fundraiser.
Background to the Nonprofit Sector
The nonprofit sector is also referred to as the non governmental sector (NGO), the
third sector, the independent sector, the charitable sector, the nonprofit sector, and civil
society. For some writers the term nonprofit had negative connotations implying that it
was more worthwhile to be associated with the for-profit sector rather than the nonprofit
sector. Sievers (2001) preferred the term civil society.
In the world of civil society, we become community members, volunteers, and
civic actors. . . . A phrase that captures it particularly well is Bob Payton’s (2000)
description (referring specifically to philanthropy) of “voluntary action for the
public good.” (p. 10)
For the purposes of this literature review the term nonprofit was used.
Chait, Holland, and Taylor (1996) defined the new work of the board for
nonprofits in terms that the current “board of a nonprofit organization [was] little more
than a collection of high powered people engaged in low-level activities” (p. 53). By
performing “new work,” the board can significantly enhance the institution’s mission and
well-being.
Similarly, the historical stereotypical image of a nonprofit administrator was a
well-intentioned do-gooder. The most successful practitioners in nonprofits were

15
unschooled in management, finances, investments, strategic planning, and labor relations.
It was accidental that they assumed greater responsibility and eventually ascended to the
top of the organization (Taylor, Chait, & Holland, 2005).
Drucker (1990) noted distinctive differences when he compared the environment
of the nonprofit world to that of the business world. The nonprofit executive dealt with a
greater variety of stakeholder and constituencies than the average business executive (p.
157). Dealing with donors was an unknown concept in the business field. Later, Drucker
(2001) described the functioning board as an exception in business but commonplace in
nonprofits. He called for greater accountability in the for-profit sector and stated that a
business should take the lead of the nonprofit with a “CEO who is clearly accountable to
the board and whose performance is annually reviewed by a board committee” (p. 43).
Jewish Education and Jewish Continuity
Jewish Education
Jewish education occupies a priority position in the Jewish community. An
ancient text, the Shulchan Aruch, the code to Jewish law, captured the idea around 1564
as follows:
Teachers for children are appointed in every city, and a ban is pronounced upon
the inhabitants of a city which does not have a teacher within it until they appoint
a teacher for the young. And if they do not make such an appointment, they are
destroying the city, i.e., they are undermining rather than sustaining the future
existence of the city. For the world is sustained only by the breadth of school
children. (245:6)
16
Hoffmann (2006) compared the concept of cultural transmission in Jewish education with
that of general education. He wrote:
The late Lawrence Cremin, eminent historian of education in America, wrote of
education, as the “transmission of culture across generations.” In that sense
Jewish education, construed most widely, deals with the transmission of the
accumulated and emerging culture of the Jewish people from one generation to
the next. (p. 1)
This then is the task and challenge for Jewish education.
Jewish Identity
Following Cremin’s premise, and as suggested in chapter 1, the Jewish
community regards education as a key component in Jewish identity. Gerber (2003)
wrote:
The challenge of involving the Next Generation is a particularly interesting one. It
is a challenge of not only reaching a generation that is often little connected to
Judaism but also of finding ways to engage it that are different from our
traditional institutional framework. (p. 40)
Gerber suggested that the educators need to consider other kinds of educational
experiences that will have more relevance than existing ones in terms of the impact on
Jewish identity.
The Breadth of Jewish Education in North America
Beckerman, Isaacs, and Trachtenberg (2000) surveyed 33 communities and
reported on a widespread spectrum of Jewish education initiatives implemented in North

17
America. They included: adult Jewish education, Jewish day school education, the Israel
experience comprising educational programs in Israel, early childhood educational
programs, family education, outreach programs to the unaffiliated, supplementary school
programs in synagogues, young adult education, and teen education programs.
This literature review focuses upon two of these agencies of Jewish education—
the central agency for Jewish education and the Jewish day school—since they form the
basis for this investigation.
Central agencies for Jewish education. There are four major national
organizations with a dedicated agenda to aspects of Jewish education. In addition, there
are 48 central agencies for Jewish education (also known as bureaus) across the breadth
of North America in cities where there are substantial schools of Jewish education. S.
Kraus (personal communication, October 22, 2007) estimated the total budget of central
agencies in North America in 2006 at $86 million. These agencies essentially perform the
functions of a central office of a public school, with many variations, since they provide
services to a broader range of schools and programs and have limited budgets. Examples
of services include: budgeting and finance operations, marketing, technology services,
curriculum services, professional development, and fundraising. Sales (2006) stated that
central agencies face a number of challenges:
Central agencies are of a widely varying quality. The reasons for this are
complex. Some are still led by an earlier generation of educators who know the
educational field but lack management skills. Others have been marginalized by
18
their Federation, which lost confidence in them, and assumed the lead in setting
the community’s agenda and in driving major initiatives. (p. 11)
One of the major reasons for the marginalization, according to Sales (2006),
revolved around the funding of central agencies for Jewish education, since federations
and foundations no longer wished to fund core operations, but rather focused on funding
specific programs. Raising further dollars from individual donors is therefore a key
avenue for the future success of central agencies.
The Jewish day school. Schick (2005) reported there were over 205,000 students
in 759 Jewish day schools in North America (p. 1). These schools were spread across the
religious spectrum and included orthodox, conservative, reform, and community schools.
They included pre-school populations and although most Jewish day schools are K-8
institutions, some also included high schools.
To a large extent these schools were established in partnership between parents
who desired a Jewish education for their children and donors. Schiff (1966), a historian,
analyzed the history of these Jewish day schools: “The creation of the modern day school
was largely due to the selfless efforts of a few inspired individuals. This spirit of devotion
has become a trademark of the Jewish Day School movement” (p. 165).
Today the day schools have become part and parcel of American Jewish
communal life. Elkin (2007), the CEO of The Partnership for Excellence in Jewish
Education (PEJE), wrote:
Day school, with their mid-twentieth-century roots in Orthodoxy, have become a
beacon of excellence for a diverse American Jewish community. As independent

19
religious institutions, day schools appeal to an increasingly broad cross-section of
the population. Given the dramatic achievement of the past ten years, such as
eight-figure gifts, new high schools attracting large numbers from public schools,
and impressive campus facilities—to name just a few—I am enormously inspired
by what the next decade will bring. (p. iv)
There have been sustained national efforts to support day schools in North America.
PEJE was founded in 1997 with the explicit aim of promoting and expanding Jewish Day
Schools in North America. It was a collaborative venture of a dozen philanthropists who
partnered to create new day schools and strengthen existing schools (Elkin, 2002, p. 5).
Day schools play a key role in the formation of Jewish identity within an
American context. Shay (2007) wrote:
In day schools, Judaism becomes a part of each student’s daily life; it is not
compartmentalized to an after-school—and therefore less important—activity.
Judaism becomes second nature, not secondary . . . Day schools teach children to
be proud of being Jewish and proud of being American, with a solid grounding in
both aspects themselves. (p. 70)
Jewish day schools are administered by a head of school or principal who serves
as the educational leader with wide ranging responsibilities including, education,
administration and fundraising. Schick (2007), in his research of day school principals,
acknowledged the complexity of the role of a principal. “There is a consensus among the
principals that the job has become harder” (p. 4). However, according to Schick, “there is
an astonishing high degree of job and career satisfaction, with 80% of respondents
20
characterizing their experience as principal as rewarding” (p. 1). Whereas Schick
cautioned that the picture he presented is overtly positive, he did advance the caveat that
he did not poll dissatisfied principals who had left the system.
Referring to the costs of Jewish day schools, Wertheimer (2001) observed that the
day school is “the most intensive form of Jewish education . . . [It] is also by far the most
expensive” (p. 7). Schick and Dauber (1997) stated that “the considerable gap between
the budget and payments from tuition and fees is closed through fundraising and
Federation allocations” (p. iv). To cover these expenses there is major pressure on the
educational leader to fundraise from as many sources as possible, including individual
donors.
Individuals and organizations in the Jewish community have floated a number of
proposals to improve day school funding streams. Wertheimer (2001) reported that the
National Jewish Day School Scholarship Committee, “recruits potential donors who will
consider earmarking 5 percent of their estates for day school education” (p. 9). Second,
an independent group of parents proposed a voucher system strategy offering $2000 for a
child going to a day school. Another tactic proposed by a third group was to pressure
federations to increase their allocations to day schools. Finally, yet another sector argued
for leverage funding for Jewish day schools by using the system of government vouchers
for education, and leveraging community foundations for Jewish day schools (pp. 9-11).
Prager and Cardin (2007) advocated that approaching individual donors would be
an avenue of the future for funding Jewish education, and this applied to day schools too.
They wrote:
21
During the past two decades, momentum in the field of Jewish philanthropy has
shifted away from centralized fundraising and allocations through the Jewish
Federation system toward private philanthropists funding independently or in
small groups. To some degree, this shift from communal action to atomized
funding mirrors a trend in American philanthropy generally. (p. 1)
Financing Jewish Education
Vernon (2001) said that it was difficult to estimate the amount of money being
spent on Jewish education. He projected that it “exceeds several billion dollars” (p. 1). He
added that financial resources are from tuition payments, fundraising by boards, Jewish
community Federation support, and more recently “individual funders and groups of
philanthropists have begun to play larger roles in supporting Jewish education endeavors”
(p. 1). This became the focus of this study.
Policy-Making
Definition
Jenkins (1978) defined policy as a
Set of interrelated decisions taken by a political actor or group of actors
concerning the selection of goals and the means of achieving them within a
specific situation where those decisions should, in principle, be within the power
of those actors to achieve. (p. 15)
Jenkins understood policy as a process of decision-making.
Goldman (2005), a veteran professional in Jewish communal service, said that
everyone made policy in a nonprofit organization, although the professional carried the
22
major responsibility. “While deciding on policy is primarily the function of lay
leadership, the executive too has a role in making policy, even though the chief
responsibility lies in shaping and implementing it” (p. 78). He described the process for
shaping policy as a process along a continuum where each person, professional and
volunteer, contributed their knowledge and experience.
Mintzberg (1980) attempted to understand why top management tended to resist
policy analysis exercises in their organizations. He concluded that these analyses tended
to deny the “importance of dynamic factors characteristic of policy-making” (p. 100). He
hinted that consultants needed to use “intuition,” which is a fundamentally different mode
of thinking than previously used. Moreover, this analysis needed to be carried out by
interdisciplinary teams.
Later Mintzberg (1989) refined his understanding of intuition, and wrote that,
while formal planning was crucial in developing strategy, it was only half the story.
Although the collection of data is certainly an important part of the process, for
Mintzberg planning is also a craft, much like a potter who shapes clay. “Craft evokes
traditional skill, dedication, and perfection through the mastery of detail” (p. 27). He
argued that the consultant needed to develop an intuitive understanding of the
organization. It is through this process that creative strategies can evolve. The implication
for this study is important since, if policy-making in Jewish education is an art or a craft
and not a science, both donors and educational leaders can equally use their intuition in
attempting to solve problems in the interdisciplinary framework.

23
Bardach (1996) developed a handbook for policy-making that described policy
analysis as a social and political activity, since the “subject matter concerns the lives and
well-being . . . of our fellow citizens” (p. 1). He outlined an eight-step process that began
with defining the problem, worked its way through developing alternatives and selecting
criteria, and ended with writing and delivering the report. He also provided extensive
advice on gathering data and constructing alternatives. This text was useful, because the
ways by which policy-makers performed in other fields informed how Jewish
educationalists systematically thought about the political, social, and organizational
contexts in which they worked. In particular, the analysis lent itself to enable the reader
to size up problems that are likely to impede policy implementation, and provide
strategies on the management of these problems.
Shulman (1983) wrote about policy-making and policy-implementation in local
education systems. He suggested that educators implementing policies need to be
educated, supported, and supervised (p. 501). Shulman pointed to the dilemma that
policy-makers face. He said:
The policy-maker can no longer think of any given mandate as a directive which
bears continuing correspondence to teacher actions at all times. Instead, policies
represent moral and political imperatives designed with the knowledge that they
must co-exist and compete with other policies whose roots lie in yet other
imperatives. (p. 501)
This is analogous to the quandary that the education leader in this research faces when
the donor wishes to institute a competing policy.

24
Cohen, Moffitt, and Goldin (2007) wrote extensively on the issue of public policy
and education within the context of the state and the federal government. They analyzed
the relationship between policy and practice. The authors suggested that the
“policymakers who define problems and devise remedies are rarely the chief problem
solvers. They depend on the very people and organizations that have or are the problem
to solve it” (p. 67).
This is the predicament that policy-makers face. The effectiveness of the policy
depended upon the performance of these very professionals whose problems the policies
needed to remediate. Cohen et al. (2007) proceeded to identify four factors influencing
the success of policies in practice:
One key influence on any policies success in practice is the extent of consistency
amongst its aims, the capabilities that practitioners require to implement them, the
instruments deployed to encourage revised practice, and the resources available in
the environment. (p. 71)
Cohen et al. developed a list of criteria that will ensure successful implementation of
policies. First, successful policies cannot be ambiguous. Second, since policy instruments
“are socially created tools; their aim is to bring assent to policy and offer resources to
change practice” (p. 73). Policy-makers thus should create incentives for compliance
amongst professional educators. Third, the professionals who implement policies need to
have the necessary skills. Moreover, for successful implementation there needed to be an
alignment between the personal values and interests of the professionals and the policy.
25
Indeed, some policies may deeply offend a professional educator’s core values. The
authors concluded that all these factors interact in the policy-making process.
Policy-Making in Education
Fox (2003) argued that in order for visions to be implemented, they needed to
include an understanding of real-life settings (p. 253). Policy-makers, who may be
professional Jewish educators or volunteer leaders, should have a clear understanding of
what can succeed in a particular setting. He traced the history of the relationship between
professional Jewish educators and the volunteer leadership, and suggested that although
in the past the professional was the major decision maker in Jewish education, today the
volunteer leadership, in particular the donor, is playing a much more predominant role.
Fox challenged the professional educator to frame the issues confronting education to the
volunteer leader in a comprehensible fashion (p. 283).
Scheffler (1985) wrote about dealing with The Education of Policy-Makers. For
Scheffler, policy-makers were “educational decision makers . . . whose attitudes and
ideas affect the making of policy” (p. 99). He described the role of the policy-maker in
the following terms:
The policy-maker . . . cannot become a specialist himself in every discipline
relevant to his work. But he can and should be able to raise critical questions
addressed to the specialists, concerning their basic concepts and the basic logic of
their argument. (p. 101)
In this study, Scheffler’s definition of policy-makers applied equally to the professional
and the donor.

26
Scheffler (1985) described the process of the education of the policy-maker as
being a multi-lingual process whereby the policy-maker learned to “speak and hear
various disciplinary dialects and to employ them conjointly in understanding problems”
(p. 101). To be successful, the policy-maker needed to understand the technical and value
components of a course of action, and consider the efficiencies of that course of action.
Ultimately, for Scheffler policy-making was a reflective process that required four key
components. First, one should have the ability to be reflective about the values of the
policy-making institution. Second, a form of self-awareness of the cultural context with
an emphasis on potentiality for change within the cultural milieu was required. Third, an
appreciation of the force and power of habits and policies that have already been
established should be considered. And finally, there should be openness to new
knowledge “that may open the possibility of turning today’s incapacity into tomorrow’s
capacity” (p. 108). It is this concept of reflective practice, and ultimately the evaluation
of programs, that were important for this investigation.
The literature emphasized the importance of the professional involving volunteer
policy-makers at the early beginnings of a program or project. Fox (2003) amplified the
point around the vision conversation. “If they are deeply immersed in the discussion from
the start, they can become eloquent negotiators for change and improvement, as they
have the ability and credibility to make the case” (p. 282). For Fox, the volunteer
leadership was unaware of the possibilities of raising the bar in Jewish education.
Fox (2003) stated that after the professional and the volunteer leader have
engaged in the vision creation, they needed to focus on the question of the
27
implementation of the vision. An in depth examination of vision is considered later on in
the chapter. Examples of questions that Fox submitted for consideration were:
1. Why is this proposed program a good idea? Are there alternatives? Can we
defend why we chose this idea over other possibilities?
2. Even if it is a brilliant idea, is it one that our staff and institution can carry
out? This point is consistent with leadership theory that focused both task and
people.
3. If we conclude that we can do it, how long will it take to implement the idea,
and how will we keep our constituency both informed and engaged until we
succeed?
4. What will we do when the educational leaders charged with turning the vision
into practice lose heart?
5. As members of a team, how can we, together, be able to evaluate what we
have done? How do we know that we are succeeding? (pp. 284-285).
These questions can transform the “depth and impact of an idea and become more
sophisticated in assessing the merits and hazards of future ideas” (p. 285). This study
tests this assertion.
Power
Sources of Power
The underlying thesis of Hornstein (2003) was that in corporate America today,
workers were suffering from Durkeim’s state of anomie, a feeling of disenfranchisement
where worker’s loyalty and commitment to the job and to the work ethic have declined.
28
He attributed the reasons for this situation to the deterioration of the relationships
between executives and the workers. Hornstein described this paradigm in terms of “we
vs. they.” This statement demonstrated the inequality of power that existed between the
“they” group—the executives—and “we” or the out group—the workers. The “they”
group regarded themselves as part of a class “who have the power to give you rewards
using rules from which we exempt ourselves” (p. 32). The same paradigm could well
apply to the power relationship between the donor and the educational leader. For
example, Hornstein’s thesis was predicated on the concept that the power that executives
have undermined the organization’s efficiency, credibility, and potential for success. This
construct was tested in this study. In particular, does a similar dynamic exist between the
educational leaders in Jewish education and the donor? Or are they co-producers and
active participants in the endeavor?
In contrast, Pfeffer’s (1994) theoretical study on power had a rather more succinct
definition of power. He said that power was most readily diagnosed by looking at the
important decisions taken in organizations “that involve interdependent activity and
which leads to disagreement” (p. 54). The decisions that Pfeffer essentially referred to
were the allocation of the organization’s scarce resources, such as money, promotion
possibilities, and status. He argued that in order to effectively lead an organization,
management had to understand these sources of individual power bases and come to grips
with the interplay of interpersonal relationships and the organizational structure. The rich
examples that were provided amplified the theory and applied it to practice. He did not
29
see power as merely a negative attribute in organizations, and argued that power can be a
positive and constructive force for improving the effectiveness of organizations.
Pfeffer (1994) unpacked the power concept from an organizational perspective:
“By trying to ignore the issues of power and influence in organizations, we lose our
chance to understand these critical social processes and to train managers to cope with
them” (p. 10).
Both Hornstein (2003) and Pfeffer (1994) developed a golden rule in
understanding the power relationships in organizations. Hornstein described the golden
rule in the following terms: “Harming you becomes difficult for me because the two of us
are part of we” (p. 26). Hornstein’s golden rule is that ‘we are all in the adventure
together.’ He construed the ideal relationship between donors and educational leaders as
a partnership.
Pfeffer (1994) on the other hand described his golden rule as “the person with the
gold makes the rules” (p. 83). At the end of the day both these rules are similar in that
they both recognized where the sources of power lie, although Hornstein’s (2002)
definition recognized the potential for a reciprocal relationship of power in an
organization.
Finally, a further difference between Pfeffer (1994) and Hornstein (2003) was that
in Pfeffer’s thesis effective leadership could accomplish organizational efficiency and
employees’ harmony. On the other hand, Hornstein argued that the process of
collaboration was more important than effective leadership. Both conclusions are
examined in this study as they apply to educational leaders and donors.

30
Jewish sources have recognized how easy it was to become habituated to the
trappings of power and have led Jewish authorities to caution against the abuses of
power. Lewis (2006) referred to the writings of Moses Maimonides (1135–1204) who
codified the principles of these teachings. “It is forbidden to lead the community in a
domineering and arrogant manner . . . [It] is also forbidden to treat the people with
disrespect [even if] they be ignorant” (p. 18).
Interpersonal Influence
Schlechty (2005) distinguished between power and interpersonal influence as
follows:
Both power and influence have to do with the ability to induce, encourage, or
compel others to engage in activities and to support actions that the person
exercising power or influence wants them to engage in or support. The difference
between power and influence is that power is related to the position one occupies
in a group or organization, whereas influence is related to the personal qualities
and personal relationships of individuals in the group. (p. 111)
Influence for Schlechty was related to the social networking process in which a person is
engaged, within the setting of an organization or a school. Influence was also connected
to the way individuals reacted and responded to one another, and the social bonds and
social obligations that accrued as a result of these interactions. Informal power, or more
precisely influence, was the exercise of power as a participant of a group. Informal
power, said Schlechty, cannot exist in isolation in an organization. Questions for this
investigation to consider are the levels of the informal power of an educational leader and
31
of the donor, especially when that donor is not a formal member of the organizational
structure and volunteer leadership hierarchy.
Consensus Building
In the relationship between the donor and the professional, it is essential that some
form of consensus be established for a project to proceed smoothly. This implied
understanding and accommodating the goals of each of the parties. The work of Goffman
(1959) could inform this research since, according to Goffman, there will not always be a
complete consensus.
Together the participants contribute to an over-all definition of the situation which
involves not so much a real agreement as to what exists, but rather a real
agreement as to whose claims concerning what issues will be temporarily
honored. Real agreement will also exist concerning the desirability of avoiding
open conflict of definitions of the situation. (p. 9)
Goffman termed this compromise a “working consensus” in that each of the interactions
agreements will be emphasized and conflicts minimized by the participants (p. 238).
Goffman (1969) in a later work concluded that all social interactions are similar to
strategic games in that “the control of the state of the relationship is a mutually
interdependent objective of the persons related” (p. 137).
Iannaccone and Lutz (1970) concurred with Goffman (1959). They examined the
political environment in the public school system and posited that “school district politics
tends to maximize the search for consensus and avoid open conflict” (p. 29). They termed
32
this “consensus politics.” This research was cognizant of this issue in terms of the
strategic interactions between the donors and the educational leaders.
Philanthropy
Why Do Donors Give?
Alexis de Tocqueville, in 1840, noted that Americans seemed to have moved
beyond the “alms to the poor” type of giving into a more philanthropic mode that
emphasized improving society as a whole (p. 151). Andrew Carnegie (2001) wrote in
1889 and was perhaps the first mega-donor in the United States to assert that the rich
have a moral obligation to give away their fortunes. He said:
The best means of benefiting the community is to place within its reach the
ladders upon which the aspiring can rise—free libraries, parks and means of
recreation, by which men are helped in body and mind; works of art, certain to
give pleasure and improve the public taste; and public institutions of various
kinds, which will improve the general condition of the people; in this manner
returning their surplus wealth to the mass of their fellows in the forms best
calculated to do them lasting good. (p. 25)
Carnegie’s fundamental belief was that wealth should be passed on for the
betterment of mankind. He asserted in 1889 that all personal wealth beyond that required
to supply the needs of one's family should be regarded as a trust fund to be administered
for the benefit of the community. Today Bill Gates from Microsoft, Warren Buffett from
Berkshire, and Pierre Omidyar from eBay are following Carnegie’s example of
philanthropy.
33
Burnett (2002) outlined a number of motivations for giving. Factors included: tax
planning, self esteem, the quest for immortality, self-preservation (donations to medical
science), vested interest (such as in a school), in memoriam, giving back to a cause,
identifying with the cause, religious heritage, social ambition, guilt, altruism,
compassion, authority, and simply because they were asked (p. 41).
Relationship Fundraising
Relationship fundraising is a philosophy of fundraising where people matter most.
It advocates a one-to-one relationship between donor and cause. Burnett (2002) offered
the following definition of relationship fundraising:
[It] is an approach to the marketing of a cause that centers on the unique and
special relationship between a nonprofit and each supporter. The overriding
consideration in this approach is to care for and develop that bond, and to do
nothing that might damage or jeopardize it. Every activity is therefore geared
towards making sure donors know they are important, valued, and considered,
which has the effect of maximizing funds per donor in the long term. (p. 48)
To ensure successful fundraising the professional must engage the donor with the causes
about which they are passionate and develop a relationship with them.
Psychosocial factors. The impulse to give varies from person to person. For
example, seeking a tax deduction, social prestige, community acceptance, and even a
ticket to heaven, could be motivations for an individual to become charitably active. This
review considers the ways in which philanthropy can satisfy these deeper psychological
needs.
34
Lumarda (2003) used the hierarchy of needs scaffolding as developed by Maslow,
to examine those social and psychological needs that satisfied donors who chose the
community foundation to meet their charitable goals.
By doing our work well, community foundations have the potential to lead donors
through fulfilling basic donor needs to something close to self actualization. . . .
Community foundations are particularly well positioned to provide a flexible and
freely chosen means to satisfy a donor’s needs, dreams and desire for self–
actualization. (p. 49)
Lumarda (2003) applied Maslow’s five-stage theory to fundraising and the
community foundation. The first set of needs revolved around physiological needs such
as air, water, and food. For Lumarda, the equivalents of these basic needs in a community
foundation are the ability to receive dollars, the aspects of grant making administration,
and through the conveyance of information. The second set of needs revolved around
security and the management of confidence in the foundation. In many ways donors were
in a position analogous to the dependent child that Maslow described:
When a gift is given to the community foundation . . . the donor loses control of
those dollars. The Tax Code requires the loss of control to receive the
corresponding tax benefit. This leaves the donor in a position of total trust and
dependence on the community foundation and professional. Testamentary gifts
add an even greater level of faith in the institution’s future. The person making a
charitable bequest will not be around to make sure their wishes are honored.
(Lumarda, 2003, p. 56)

35
Lumarda (2003) identified three areas where the donors required confidence in
the security and management of a community foundation: Firstly, fiscal security of the
dollars, secondly trust in the culture and the people; and finally, confidence that
charitable wishes within reason will be honored faithfully. Full disclosure, transparency,
and openness are needed by the community foundation to ensure security and trust.
The third set of needs focused upon social belonging, through creating a
community of donors. Maslow (as cited in Lumarda, 2003) described the need for
belonging as filling a natural void. The community foundation can serve this purpose as it
builds a community of donors and encourages collaboration. In the Jewish community,
major donors have many networks, both formal and informal, where they can meet and
discuss their agendas. One example is The Jewish Funders Network (JFN), an
international organization of family foundations, public philanthropies, and individual
funders dedicated to advancing the quality and growth of philanthropy rooted in Jewish
values. JFN’s members include independent philanthropists, foundation trustees, and
foundation professionals.
Maslow’s fourth set of needs revolved around esteem. Maslow asserted that one
must first have esteem for oneself and then desire the esteem of others. “The esteem of
others may come from position, money and power, but it’s the inner search for meaning
and purpose that provides a sense of inner security, contentment, and true self-esteem”
(Lumarda, 2003, p. 64). However, a foundation is not accustomed to giving the type of
recognition that many donors traditionally receive. The community foundation is
essentially a public charity that can assist a donor in examining the “distant goals of
36
meaning, greatness, and destiny” (p. 65), and then match the needs of the donor to the
needs of the community.
The community foundation should therefore ask donors the following questions:
Why do you wish to give? What do you feel passionate about? What do you love about
your community? According to Lumarda (2003) these questions encouraged
introspection and focused on the donor’s feelings, experiences, opinions, and passion.
This can set the framework for the relationship, the “first step in defining philanthropic
meaning, which affects and forms personal meaning and self-recognition” (p. 66).
The final stage for Maslow is the stage of self-actualization. In philanthropic
terms this is a journey towards fulfillment, identity, and self-actualization. The wealthy
may be motivated by the thought that since “financial security is here, now I get to do
something worthwhile with my spare time and money” (Lumarda, 2003, p. 70).
Schervish (2005) discussed the reasons why these individuals come to
philanthropy when all their other needs are satisfied. He referred to the concept of
identification and noted that people give to those causes with which they most connect.
Schervish termed this consumption philanthropy:
It is not by coincidence that schools, health and arts organizations, and
(especially) churches attract so much giving. For it is here that donors, because
they are also recipients, most identify with the individuals—namely themselves,
their families, and people much like them—whose needs are met by the
contributions. (p. 73)

37
This discussion is especially apt to Jewish continuity and Jewish education since donors
respond to causes they considered worthwhile.
Schervish (2005) introduced another psychosocial element which he termed
adoptive philanthropy. “Donors support individuals on the basis of a feeling of surrogate
kinship” (p. 74). Lumarda (2003) noted that adoptive philanthropy thus allows the donor
to share in the vulnerability of the recipient (p. 71).
Motivational studies. Lindahl and Conley (2002) who surveyed the literature of
motivational studies focused on what motivated donors to contribute. They emphasized
that a combination of psychological motives and sociological influences account for a
donor’s decision to give. Psychological or self-interest motives included: recognition,
status, peer influence, tax benefits, or preservation of family wealth. They summarized
the research from Frank (1996), Harbaugh (1998), Panas (1984), Ostrower (1995),
Cianldini (1984), Blau (1968), Boulding (1973), and Schervish (1993, 1997).
Frank (as cited in Lindahl & Conley, 2002) argued that “the most effective
approach to understanding the motivation for charitable giving lies in combining . . .
altruism and self-interest” (p. 93). Individuals were essentially selfish and pursued their
goals through the most efficient means possible. Frank suggested that gestures of
selflessness and kindness are usually based upon emotion (p. 93).
Harbaugh (as cited in Lindahl & Conley, 2002) considered two motivations for
gifts. The first motivation was intrinsic benefit to the donor, or as he termed it a “warm
glow.” The second motivation was the prestige benefit for the donor, since others knew
how much one has given (p. 93).

38
The major donors whom Panas (as cited in Lindahl & Conley, 2002) surveyed
stated financial stability of the institution as a motivating factor of giving (p. 93).
Ostrower (as cited in Lindahl & Conley) surveyed the elite of New York City and found
that although the donor gave, donors also received a benefit from charitable giving.
However, more importantly there was a prestige factor associated with certain
organizations, and donors were motivated to become associated through memberships on
those boards with the highest prestige (p. 93).
Cialdini (as cited in Lindahl & Conley, 2002) discussed how the knowledge that
others are contributing to an organization created a context that legitimized solicitation.
For example, after agreeing to serve on a fundraising committee, committee members
took on the expected role of both giving and asking others to give (p. 94).
Blau (as cited in Lindahl & Conley, 2002) and Boulding (as cited in Lindahl &
Conley) considered the concept of a social exchange between the donor and the
organization, a cycle of giving and receiving that allowed a donor to build a relationship
with the institution in a mutually satisfactory way (p. 94).
Finally, Schervish (as cited in Lindahl & Conley, 2002) suggested that a basic
connection to an organization, such as being a graduate was not enough to motivate
philanthropy. There needed to be an association with the cause.
Serious engagement evolves only from the socialization process that results in the
donor’s identity with the organization or cause. The socialization process is
experienced through communities of participation in which individuals chose to
associate or become involved as a result of circumstance. (p. 95)

39
Motives of Donors
Schervish’s (2005) research focused on the wealthy and what motivated them as
donors. While finding common ground with other research, he made an important
distinction. He noted that, “those who hold great wealth and consciously direct it to social
purposes invariably want to shape rather than merely support a charitable cause. Those
who make a big gift want it to make a big difference” (p. 60). This concept is an
important factor in this research, as one would expect the donor to begin with the
assumption of changing the world.
Schervish (2005) wrote about the determination and domination of major donors.
He termed this phenomenon hyperagency. For Schervish this “refers to the enhanced
capacity of wealthy individuals to establish or control substantially the conditions under
which they or others chose to live” (pp. 62-63). It essentially meant that wealth holders
could influence allocations in funding decisions and explained the reasons for donors to
engage in policy-making.
Schervish (2005) developed an identification model for giving. It meant “that
charitable giving derives from forging an associational and psychological connection
between donors and recipients” (p. 71). The inspiration for charitable giving and care is a
function of the social-psychological processes of personal identification. Meeting the
needs of others fulfilled one’s own needs and connected one to the deeper dimensions of
life. He found that donors contributed the most to causes from whose services they
directly benefited such as schools, health, arts organizations, and churches. In

40
consumption philanthropy, it was at this moment that identification between donor and
recipient was the strongest.
Schervish’s (2005) research concluded “that the greatest portion of giving and
volunteering takes place in one’s own community . . . from which the donor is directly
associated” (pp. 74-75). In the course of Schervish’s research, it has become clear that
“when it comes to philanthropy, what matters most is one’s abundance of associational
capital in the form of social networks, invitation and identification” (p. 75). Donors
contributed most to those causes with the above elements.
Schervish (2005) concluded that the task of fundraisers was to make donors aware
of the effectiveness of their contributions. This can best be achieved by incorporating
donors into the associational relations in organizations.
Participation and identification which show the strategic importance of (1)
involving donors in increasingly more engaging and rewarding participatory
activities; (2) closely listening to what donors say about their areas of interest and
welcoming them to contribute to these areas; and (3) bringing donors into contact
with the beneficiaries of their gifts. (p. 84)
Donors in Context
Donors in the Jewish community. Green (2001) defined a Jewish funder “by the
philosophy of the giver, rather than [by] the projects or programs supported by the
funder” (p. 27). Green, who wrote from the perspective of the Jewish Funders Network,
would rather see a funder define their giving in terms of their own values and ethics. She
41
suggested that philanthropists focus their energies in three priority areas: systemic issues,
unmet needs, and tools for strategic education grant making (p. 28).
Tobin (2001) wrote that “Jewish philanthropy shapes values and norms as well as
responds to them” (p. 4). This is true in the case of Jewish education, since Jewish
education is viewed by some members of the Jewish community as the primary vehicle
through which the community can educate leaders for future generations.
Wertheimer (1999) said that the philanthropic efforts of Jews in the United States
were similar to those of other ethnic groups in that “a relatively small population of big
givers donate most of the money that goes to Jewish causes” (p. 46). This made the field
of Jewish education vulnerable and dependent upon a handful of donors.
Tobin et al. (2003) examined research on mega gifts by donors in the United
States. They concluded that donors believe that major areas of society can be seriously
influenced through philanthropy. Overall, they found that Jews were generous well
beyond their community numbers, and although the Jewish population consisted of 6.5 %
of the U.S. population, 22% of gifts and 18% of monies came from the Jewish
community. However, they found that relatively few mega-gifts from Jews went to the
Jewish community (p. 1).
Tobin et al. (2003) also pointed out that philanthropists expected the institutions
that “they support to reflect their understanding of how an effective structure should
work” (p. 29). They added that “donors expect clarity—in other words, they expect to see
their contributions resulting in meaningful outcomes” (p. 29).

42
Wertheimer (2001) concluded from his study that “there is no systematic way to
link potential funders with specific projects” in Jewish education (p. 20). He stated that
the field of Jewish education needed to rethink the types of philanthropic giving required,
and called for the establishment of a national clearinghouse in the Jewish community to
achieve this purpose (p. 20).
The Partnership for Excellence in Jewish Education (PEJE; Day school
philanthropy research executive summary, 2003) surveyed 65 day schools including
current and potential donors. From the 29 responses received, major donors had the
following attributes: They were day school parents or grandparents of day school
children, they were actively involved in day school governance and held leadership
positions, they were passionate about the day school enterprise, and they were extremely
satisfied with the education system (pp. 1-2).
PEJE (2006) also found that when asked about the reason that donors gave, the
“number one response among major donors is because day schools will ensure continuity
of the Jewish community” (p. 2). The second most common reason was that donors gave
to the school for self-motivated reasons. These included: “their children were at the
school, they loved the school, they valued the teachers or administration, and felt a
personal obligation to give” (p. 2).
There is a discussion in the literature regarding current trends in Jewish
community philanthropy. Sales (as quoted by Buckholtz, 2007) stated that whereas in the
past the donors focused upon communal priorities, there was a trend that new donors
wanted to “give because they want to make a difference” (p. 21). The point is that the
43
new entrepreneurial spirit that exists amongst donors today is a fundamental departure
from the past, and may impact negatively on traditional recipients of philanthropy.
Dees (2001) developed the concept of social entrepreneurship in relation to the
nonprofit organization. He defined it in the terms of a change agent in the following
ways:
1. Adopting a mission to create and sustain social value (not just private value).
2. Recognizing and relentlessly pursuing new opportunities to serve that mission.
3. Engaging in a process of continuous innovation, adaptation, and learning.
4. Acting boldly without being limited by resources currently in hand.
5. Exhibiting heightened accountability to the constituencies served and for the
outcomes created. (p. 4)
Given that Jewish education lacks sufficient resources, social entrepreneurship could be a
decisive vehicle for future change. Mirvis (2004) described social entrepreneurship in the
context of Jewish education as “the advancement of social value . . . Our ability to impact
the Jewish world will depend upon the skillful use of these resources and the creation of
innovative organizations and practices” (p. 1).
Donors in other settings. Barr in Modern Health Care (2005) reported on a study
conducted by Boston College which estimated that during the period 1998-2002
approximately $41 trillion would be available for philanthropic pursuits in North
America. Referring to the health care industry, Barr quoted a health care official who
emphasized that raising money for hospitals was dependent on the “worthiness not need”
(p. 30). This is related to the success of Harvard University that raised an endowment of
44
$22 billion, also based on worthiness and not need. This concept of merit and value could
apply in the setting of Jewish education, too.
Tension With Donors
The literature on demanding donors in Jewish education is sparse. However, there
are examples in the general literature where donors have withdrawn their donations. The
Chronicle of Philanthropy reported that the President of the United Arab Emirates had
withdrawn a donation of $2.5 million from Harvard University due to pressure from
Jewish groups (Lipman, 2004). Peter B. Lewis, a mega-donor to the Weatherhead
Business School building, called the university a “diseased university that is collapsing
and sucking Cleveland into a hole with it” (Peter B. Lewis, 2002, Sept 29). He boycotted
all Cleveland charities until the issue was resolved to his satisfaction. In a final example,
Paul Glen, after growing disenchantment, sued the University of Southern California for
the $1.6 million that he had donated (S. Greene, 2002, p. 7). In the Jewish community,
Mitchell Steinhardt—a mega-donor—announced to the Jewish community that he
regretted the $125 million that he had spent on Jewish causes (Mitchellson, 2007,
October 11).
Archer (2003) revealed that philanthropies endeavor to protect their investments
in education and tie their grants to professional leadership stability. For example, the
Broad Foundation reserved the right to end the funding if the school official in charge left
the system. Furthermore, the Gates Foundation suspended funding in school systems
where the superintendent had resigned. In Pittsburgh fighting between the superintendent
and school board prompted three foundations to freeze $4 million. In an open letter to
45
schools, the Pittsburgh Foundation wrote that “as investors we can no longer be confident
that any funds we put into the district will be used wisely” (p. 1).
Condliffe Lagemann and de Forest (2007) defined “venture philanthropists” as
“what they are doing is new and different, precisely because it is designed to have an
impact” (p. 49). Hesselbein (2001) contended that venture philanthropists invest in
people and not in a charity. She noted that this has also been referred to as “philanthropy
with an attitude.” “Venture philanthropists are determined not to give just their money
but their leadership and management expertise. It will be a profound learning experience
for all those on board” (p. 4). This kind of philanthropy may well create greater costs than
benefits for the organization (p. 4). This point is echoed by Hess (2004) who suggested
that donors today tend to regard grant recipients more as partners or investments.
Donors are increasingly demanding that their gifts create real value for society
(Porter & Kramer, 1999, p. 122). Edelsberg (2005) further built upon this argument of
“value creation” and suggested that “what we are seeing in the field is a shift from
intention-based charity to investment-based philanthropy” (p. 112). Donors expected
evaluations on the outcomes of the gift. If these outcomes were disappointing, this could
add to the angst in the donor-recipient relationship.
Hesselbein (2001) offered suggestions with regard to the facilitation of these
relationships. She suggested that both parties needed to ensure that they were open to
new learning, that the recipient provided a full presentation of performance and results,
and finally, that both parties needed to share in the adventure (p. 5).
46
According to Rotherham (as cited in Hess, 2005), educational policy-making is
highly politicized, ideological, and difficult. Powerful interest groups vie for control and
vigorously resist any change that comes from the expense of their membership or
prerogatives (p. 200).
Rotherham (as cited in Hess, 2005) described the relationship between donors and
recipients in higher education by using the metaphor of a patron and a bully. “Perhaps
like the teenager who is both dependent and willful in relations with the parent, the
modern university takes advantage of the foundations’ largess, all the while attempting to
minimize the amount of control that foundations exert over them” (p. 235). Whereas the
uncovering of the tension between donors and beneficiaries will be an aim of the
investigation, it is hoped that the research provides remedies for these relationships to be
successful.
Fundraising From Donors
Schervish (2005) wrote that the role of the fundraiser is to help the donor find
meaning through philanthropy by exploring a donor’s value in an atmosphere of trust.
The nurturing process of inquiry can help donors transform “from motivations that are
intrinsic to extrinsic; from self-centered to other centered; and from independent to
interdependent. Transforming major gifts work is about changing me-centeredness to we-
centeredness” (p. 96).
Cultivating Donors
Prince and File (1994) researched strategies to cultivate major donors. They called
for donor segmentation since it provided greater opportunities. First, it allowed for
47
efficient identification of current and prospective donor groups. Second, it permitted clear
selection criteria for identifying beneficiaries effectively. Third, it created the ability to
tailor solicitation methods appropriately. Finally, it set the platform for the design of
ongoing relationship-management programs geared for donors with particular needs (p.
2).
Based upon Prince and File’s (1994) research, they developed a “Seven Faces”
model to understand the motivations of wealthy donors. First, the communitarians were
comprised of those who supported nonprofits since it assisted the community and was
aligned with their business interests. This group’s interest was in developing a long-term
relationship with substantial involvement in nonprofit decision-making on condition that
they received the personal attention and recognition (p. 30).
The second category was termed the devout, who demonstrated a deep religious
orientation in their philanthropy. The characteristics in this subset included selflessness,
being uncritical, and trust. The devout expected to be well treated based upon their
religious and moral motives. Recognition needs for this group was low, and that when
recognition was granted, it should be kept within the religious community (Prince & File,
1994, p. 42).
The third category was defined as the investor, since philanthropy is seen as good
business sense. This subgroup needed confidence that the nonprofit was well managed.
They also expected that nonprofits behave in businesslike ways, by being results oriented
(Prince & File, 1994, p. 55).

48
The next category was termed the socialite, where philanthropy was viewed as a
“fun” experience. For this subset, charitable giving and fundraising activities constituted
a component of their personal identity and social self. They also had the need to be
acknowledged as part of the donor system (Prince & File, 1994, p. 68).
The fourth category was termed the altruist, who engaged in philanthropy because
it was the right thing to do. They noted that altruists seek personal growth and
development and view giving as a moral imperative. These philanthropists tended to be
loners and rarely consulted advisors or a social network (Prince & File, 1994, p. 80).
The fifth classification was described as the repayer, those who became engaged
in philanthropy based upon some experience that changed their lives and created a feeling
of obligation and gratitude. This group did not seek recognition for themselves, and were
appreciative when the nonprofit was sensitive to their reasons for being philanthropic as
well as for their own personal situation (Prince & File, 1994, p. 93).
The final category was termed the dynast, where philanthropy was a family
tradition. The challenge is that the next generation in this subset often invested in
different nonprofit ventures than the older generation did. This group tended to be more
methodical in selecting nonprofits to support, and often used professional advisors in the
process. There were also high expectations for the nonprofit’s performance (Prince &
File, 1994, p. 105).
The “Seven Faces” model is relevant to this investigation since understanding the
unique needs of the donor can be helpful in donor cultivation.

49
Religious heritage. According to Gaudiani (2005), many donors are motivated to
give based on religious tenets. In Judaism, Christianity, and Islam the commandment of
“love thy neighbor as thyself” is a core belief. “Throughout the Hebrew Bible there are
calls for people to respond with justice, love, and generosity because those responses
sustain not just families and small communities but the whole of human society” (p. 7).
In the New Testament, the Good Samaritan story illustrates a fundamental relationship
where one is meant to empathize with others regardless of kinship, ethnicity, religion,
educational background or economic level (p. 7).
In Judaism, the Hebrew word tzedaka is used to imprecisely describe the word
charity. Tzedaka is more than charity or philanthropy, since it is seen as a way of
repairing the world from one generation to the next.
Philanthropy is an acquired behavior amongst Jews and is transmitted from one
Jewish generation to another. Plotinsky (1995) explained that Tzedaka is incorporated
into most Jewish holidays and life cycle events. Maimonides, the medieval Jewish
philosopher, set out eight degrees of charity, which is often compared to steps on a
ladder. The rungs ranged from the lowest to highest as follows: To give grudgingly is to
give less than an adequate amount, but to give in a pleasant manner; to give an adequate
amount when one is asked; to make a contribution without even being asked; to give
without knowing the identity of the recipient; to give without the allowing the recipient to
know the identity of the benefactor; to give anonymously; and the highest degree of
charity is to enable the recipient to become self-sufficient through “a gift or a loan, or by

50
accepting him as a business partner, or by helping him find employment, so that he will
no longer require the assistance of others” (p. 119).
Jewish sources suggested that one should donate a minimum of 10% of net
income to charity. According to the Talmud, Ketubot 50a, Jewish law also placed an
upper limit of charitable contribution of “not more than a fifth of his income.” Telushkin
(1994) saw this as a response by the Rabbis to early Christianity’s idealization of poverty.
Moreover, he noted that “Jewish law never saw anything wrong in the accumulation of
wealth, provided that it was done honestly, and as long as the person was giving
meaningful amounts of charity” (p. 18).
Philanthropy and the Education Sector
From the perspective of a foundation, Bacchetti and Ehrlich (2007) researched
concerns amongst foundation staff who dealt with a foundation’s grant making process in
the education sector, and the education leadership who were the recipients of the grant.
Foundation staff expressed concern that their work was overtly focused upon business
models, while the education leaders complained that the foundation staff had little
experience with organizational strategy in educational organizations, and little
understanding of the culture and structures of K-12 educational institutions (p. 12). These
are precisely the issues that this study attempts to research.
Furthermore, Bacchetti and Ehrlich (2007) argued that many foundation grants do
not meet the aspirations of the funder.
The reasons include choosing marginally important or inadequately analyzed
problems, insufficient grounding in relevant research and prior work, overly

51
specific framing, uneven implementation, too-short time frames, the absence or
weakness of assessment and a lack of articulation with organizational factors
required to nourish and sustain change. (p. 22)
Challenges in K-12 Philanthropy
Lobman and Bachetti (2007) isolated two reasons for grant failure in K-12
education: “(1) Failure to build on existing knowledge, skills, and consensus and (2)
failure to attract and enable others to keep on building” (p. 76). Their advice to
foundations was to pay attention to the interdependence between the goals and strategies
of grantees. The foundations also needed to see themselves as being long-term partners
with the educational organization in strategic problem solving, rather than as independent
agents (p. 76).
In a chapter on increasing the foundation’s impact on K-12 schools, Lobman and
Bachetti (2007) suggested strategies “to cultivate better practices” (p. 97) and improve
the outcomes of the grant making. Those that are especially applicable to this
investigation were: to design the criteria for the guidelines into grant making strategies;
to design strategies in which the grantees are partners; to balance prescription by the
foundation with flexibility; to create a rubric for accountability; and to develop a back
channel to deal with surprises.
Lobman and Bachetti (2007) contended that researchers needed to adopt the case
study approach to further develop the art of grant making in K-12 education (p. 102).
They argued that this methodology was ideal to ask questions located in particular cases
of grant making. Examples of questions they advised to ask included:

52
How the foundation came to design its program by including arguments resolved
or not; how the program was implemented; results as compared with the
foundation and grantee’s stated expectations; projects with similar goals in the
field; how the foundation learned from the grants and what it did differently
afterwards? (p. 102)
This investigation heeded the advice by adopting the methodology of the case study
approach.
Approaches to Philanthropy in K-12 Education
Hassett and Katzir (2005) from the Broad Foundation explained how their
foundation adopted a business model to its investments in K-12 schools. Some of them
are described below:
1. Be clear on your approach to investing.
The authors reported that at the Broad Foundation they do not see grant
making as charity work, but rather understood it in terms of an investment that
will show a return.
2. Failure was an option.
Since the foundation chose a business approach to nonprofit investment, the
expectation was that some of the investments to be successful, while others
will fail.
3. Find ways to make program evaluation meaningful.
The Broad Foundation would negotiate milestones with the grantees that will
53
clarify the expected outcomes of the grant. The authors acknowledged that
these outcomes are difficult to implement and evaluate.
4. Communications support is vital to ensuring that effective practices travel.
The Broad Foundation envisioned that the impact of the investment it makes
in one particular project has the potential of having a deeper impact in other
schools. They concluded that “as philanthropists we must do more to
demonstrate replicability, and success, and we must insist on seeing that ideas,
success, and failures are effectively shared with the field” (p. 249).
Paucity of Research on Grant Making
Hess (2005) lamented the lack of research and critical appraisal of philanthropy in
K-12 education. He contended that the field of educational philanthropy has not been
widely studied. “Even policy thinkers have paid surprising little notice to the topic, with
the handful of works characterizing the results of much traditional K-12 philanthropy as
disappointing and hindered by insufficient attention to strategy or results” (p. 4). He
noted that in all the press coverage from 1999 to 2005, in major United States newspapers
on the work of the major foundations in education such as the Gates foundation, The
Broad Foundation, and so forth, only five stories were critical. “There are reasons for this
gentle treatment . . . reporters have a difficult time finding local educators or scholars
who will publicly criticize philanthropic initiatives” (p. 10). Hess added, “We don’t want
to prod the giver’s beliefs, ‘larger agenda,’ or plans for future giving. Out of appreciation
for the gift, in order to encourage others to give, and out of simple courtesy, we offer
54
thanks and move on” (p. 8). The reluctance to research this field critically was a major
challenge for this investigation.
The Effective Educational Leader
Educational philosophers in thinking about education have tried to understand the
crucial elements which need to be deliberated. Schwab (1977) identified these elements
and called them the commonplaces. The four that posited were: the student, the milieu,
the teacher, and the subject matter. In this investigation the milieu is an essential
component. Schwab described the milieu as the backdrop of the society where education
occurs. This could include the student, the family, the classroom, the administration, and
the teacher.
The relevant milieus will also include the congregational community, the
particular grouping of the religious, class, or ethnic genus. What aspirations,
styles of life, attitudes toward education, ethical standards (or lack of ethical
standards), for example, characterize these parents and, through their roles as
parents, effect the character of what can and cannot be attempted. (p. 4)
According to Fox (1985), Schwab claimed “that a great deal can be achieved through
schooling if educators find ways to exploit the milieus” (p. 70). The implication for this
investigation is that in thinking about educational leadership and donors, the milieu is an
important consideration in the intersection of policy-making. An effective way to achieve
this is by building a compelling vision for donors.

55
Vision
Developing a vision to attract donors to the agenda of an organization is a sine
quo non for educational leadership. Senge, Kleiner, Roberts, and Smith (1994) identified
vision as one of the five disciplines of a learning organization. Shared vision is the
discipline for “building a sense of commitment in a group, by developing shared images
of the future we seek to create, and the principles and guiding practices by which we
hope to get there” (p. 6).
Lee and King (2001) related vision to leadership. They identified two types of
vision: a personal vision and a leadership vision.
By personal vision we mean the overarching ideal you see for your life, including,
family, work, community life, and any other areas you feel are important. By
leadership vision we mean the aspect or subset of your personal vision that
includes how you [should] be as a leader and how your leadership will help you
your organization fulfill its organizational vision. (p. 31)
Pekarsky (2007) also argued for educational organizations to be vision driven.
An institutional vision is a vision that drives the organizations are institutions
organized around conceptions of what they are most fundamentally about,
conceptions that give meaning and direction to the activities of the participants
and to the enterprise as a whole. (p. 426)
Pekarsky differentiated between two kinds of visions: an institutional vision and an
existentialist vision. An institutional vision was based upon a conception of what at its
best an institution could be, such as a learning community, a caring community. On the
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other hand, an existentialist vision was a conception of the kind of person the educational
institution is trying to cultivate. In a Jewish day school it could be a conception of the
ideal graduate or a community of graduates (pp. 426-427).
Pekarsky (2007) concluded that educational institutions needed to be driven by
existentialist visions. The question educational leaders should ask of themselves is not
what kind of excellence they have in their school, but rather what kind of practices of
excellence do they need to adopt to cultivate certain kinds of human behavior amongst
their students. Visions in a school or central agency usually arose out of a strategic
planning process where the core values were teased out.
Blanchard and Stoner (2004) concluded that world-class organizations were
driven by “clear vision and direction championed by top management” (p. 21). They
found three elements that constituted a compelling vision. First, the educational leader
should have a significant purpose for the organization. Second, the leader should develop
a clear picture of the organization, and third, define the values of the organization (p. 24).
Visions also needed to be rooted in the past, without the encumbrances of the past. As
Fox, Scheffler, and Marom (2003) noted:
Vision as we understand it is not a simply ideological preference. It implies both
comprehensive understandings and guiding purpose. It places the work of
education in the setting of the past but that also contains the seeds of the future to
be grasped creatively through imagination and effort. (p. 8)
Visions need to be compelling for both educational leaders and donors.

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Leadership
There has been a wide discussion in this literature review on the need for
leadership skills. Drucker (2001), a prolific writer on management for over 60 years, had
a clear conception of leadership. Drucker said that a functioning organization required
effective leaders. As far as he was concerned, leadership had nothing to do with
leadership qualities or charisma. For Drucker, “leadership is mundane, unromantic, and
boring” (p. 268). The leader needed to set goals, priorities, and maintain the standards (p.
270). The second requirement of leadership is to assume responsibility and accept blame
when things go wrong. Harry Truman’s folksy the buck stops here is as good a definition
as ever, according to Drucker. An effective leader should surround himself with strong
associates and would see their triumphs as his triumphs. Moreover, Drucker said that an
effective leader needed to understand the concept of risk and be prepared and encouraged
to take calculated risks. The final requirement of effective leadership according to
Drucker is to earn trust. This did not mean that staff who reported to a leader should like
him or agree with him. Rather, it is a belief and conviction that the leader meant it when
he said he would do something. Ultimately it was trust in his integrity.
Collins (2001) was concerned with leadership excellence in great organizations.
Executive leadership for Collins was the highest level of leadership. It is the kind of
leadership that Eli Broad, from the Broad Foundation, also expected (Colvin, 2005, p.
36). Collins (2001) described executive leaders as leaders who “have no ego or self-
interest. Indeed, they are incredibly ambitious—but their ambition is first and foremost
for the institution, not themselves” (p. 21). Collins concluded that these leaders built
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enduring greatness through a paradoxical blend of personal humility and professional will
(p. 36).
Collins (2005) in a monograph related these concepts that were originally
developed in the business sector, to the social sector. Applying Collins’s theory
educational leaders would need to figure out three things: First, what can you be best in
the world at in your school or central agency? Second, what drives your school vision?
How do you go about improving children’s lives? Third, what are you deeply passionate
about in your school or central agency? How do you make a positive difference in the
students’ and staff’s performance? (p. 19).
Collins (2001) used the metaphor of the flywheel to illustrate great organizations.
“After pushing on the flywheel in a consistent direction over an extended period of time,
they would inevitably hit a point of breakthrough” (p. 169). This is what distinguished
good organizations from great organizations; great organizations sustain the breakthrough
(p. 186).
Ultimately leaders needed to develop a vision for the organization, mobilize their
stakeholders to accept the change, and work together towards achieving the new vision.
This did not mean that leadership is easy. Heifetz and Linsky (2002) suggested that
leadership is dangerous since the leader is rarely authorized to lead. When one exercised
leadership outside of the circle of authority, the leader tended to encounter resistance.
The authors invented the terms adaptive and technical changes. Technical problems can
be solved with current know how, whereas adaptive problems require new ways of
thinking to solve them. Adaptation is a biological term used in connection with an

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organism that is always changing to cope with the environment. Moreover, with a
changing organism one never knows whether it has completed its work. For Heifetz and
Linsky it was a technical problem to improve reading scores to 75%. The adaptive
problem is to move it beyond 75%, and that required difficult learning. It demanded a
response out of the current leadership repertoire and will result in disequilibrium. Heifetz
and Linsky suggested that adaptive problems require complex learning and new personal
masteries (p. 68). It is expected that many of the policies donors wish to implement will
be adaptive problems.
Schlechty (2005) argued that adaptive problems required disruptive innovations.
These innovations “require dramatic alterations in both the structure and the culture of
the organization. Such alterations require changes in beliefs, values, and commitments as
well as changes in rules, roles, and relationships” (p. xiii). The educational leader
therefore needed to come to grips with the implications of systemic change in the
implementation of new and agreed upon policies.
Leadership competencies. Nygren, Ukeritis, McClelland, and Hickman (1994)
investigated the characteristics that distinguished outstanding leadership in nonprofits by
examining leaders of Roman Catholic religious orders. They concluded that:
“Organizational survival depends less on managerial competencies than on the ability of
leaders to interpret the founding purpose in current metaphors and idioms to find new and
exciting means to address pressing human needs” (p. 389).The researchers viewed those
competencies common of excellent leaders in religious orders as being similar to the

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competencies for excellence in other nonprofit organizations. In essence, many
underlying values are common to all charitable nonprofits.
Kouzes and Posner (2007) also conducted extensive case study research on
leadership processes. They uncovered five practices common to personal-best leadership
experiences. First, model the way was “about earning the right and respect to lead
through direct involvement and action” (p.16). Second, inspiring a shared vision and
being enthusiastic about the vision, since enthusiasm is in their terms “catching” (p. 18).
Third, leaders had to have the ability to challenge the process. This implied that although
the leader created the climate for experimentation, and although leaders must be
supportive of experimentation, they also needed to ask the hard questions. Fourth,
leadership needed to enable others in the organization to act. In their research of the
personal-best cases, the test was how frequently the word we was used. Finally,
leadership needed to show “appreciation for people’s contributions and to create a culture
of celebrating values and victories” (p. 22).
Emotional intelligence and relationships. Daniel Goleman’s (1995) work is also
valuable for this study. He contended that emotional competence is central in getting
others to do their jobs more effectively. Goleman based his work on Salovey and Mayer
(1990) who identified four qualities for a leaders’ success. First, required was the skill of
self-awareness, when the leader recognized an emotion before it engulfed a person.
Second, the leader required the skill of emotion management, which meant controlling
one’s reactions to an emotion laden event so that the response fits the situation. Third, the
leader required self-motivation. This meant directing one’s emotions in the service of a
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desirable goal. Fourth, the leader should have the ability to empathize in and recognize
the emotions in other people. Last, there is the skill of relationship management. Here the
leader needed to effectively manage the emotions of others. Leadership is therefore about
building effective, empathic, and trusting relationships.
Goleman, Boyatzis, and McKee (2002) refined this concept and suggested that
leadership involved two sets of competencies: personal (self-awareness and self-
management) and social competencies (social awareness and relationship management
skills). It is submitted that these are essential components in the relationship between
educational leaders and donors, and that the issue of these competencies will form part of
the self-reflection component from the individual case studies.
This study examines how these competencies translate into building resonating
relationships between donors and the educational leaders. Boyatzis and McKee (2005)
summarized the challenge as follows: “[It] is about how you use your knowledge, not
what you know.” They added, “[emotional intelligence assists in] developing self-
awareness and self management enables us to capitalize on our strengths and manage our
emotions so we can feel—and create—passionate commitment to our goals.
Understanding others enables us to more effectively motivate” (p. 32). This concept must
be applied to both educational leaders and donors. Goleman (2006) further refined this
idea and narrowed the debate within emotional intelligence to what he termed “social
intelligence.” He identified two broad categories of social intelligence: social awareness
of what one sensed about others, and social facility what defined as what an actor did
with that awareness.

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Other writers have also emphasized the need to build sound relationships as a
prerequisite for leadership. According to Fullan (2002), “The single factor common to
successful change is that relationships improve” (p. 18). Fullan did not underestimate the
difficulty of the education leader doing this. He built on the work of Goleman and
focused on the disaffected teachers in a school, and emphasized that by engaging them,
and forging relationships with them, “can have a profound effect on the overall climate of
the organization” (p. 18). In a chapter devoted to relationships Fullan (2001) suggested
that “investing in like-minded innovators is not necessarily a good thing” (p. 75). Fullan
added:
That is why I endorse Heifetz’s seemingly counterintuitive advice (1994),
“respect those you wish to silence,” and Maurer’s touchstones for “getting beyond
the wall of resistance” (1996, p. 54), which include maintaining a clear focus
while you take concerns of resisters seriously. (p. 75)
These relationship issues were the focus in this investigation as the research attempts to
drill down on dealing with diverse relationships in each case study.
Meaning and soul-based competencies. Drucker (1990) reinforced the theme of
managing relationships and added the concept of a search for meaning.
In no area are the differences greater between businesses and nonprofit
organizations than in managing people and relationships. Although successful
business executives have learned that workers are not entirely motivated by
paychecks or promotions—they need more—the need is even greater in nonprofit
institutions. (p. 181)

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Community members who engaged with nonprofits are therefore looking for meaning,
for an organization with a soul, an organization characterized by hope and change. This is
also true in the field of Jewish education.
Smith Orr (2004) posed the following question:
What confluence of skills, values, attitudes, and competencies or set of leadership
acts are integral to purposeful, soul-based leadership, the kind of leadership that
ensures the existence of a gratifying place to work? Soul-based or purposeful
leadership in this context is defined as the kind of leadership that seeks to conjoin
the compelling reason people wish to be part of the organization and devote their
energies to it with the organization’s cause or reason for being. Why is this
important? It is assumed that most nonprofits are founded on a basis of altruism—
a cause worth supporting with one’s heart and soul. (p. 269)
This research tested the concept of soul based leadership as it applies to donors and
educational leaders.
Characteristics of a Successful Fundraiser
Pribbenow (2005) expanded on the public character of the fundraiser and
suggested that these professionals needed to engage in a certain kind of practice. This
included: civic practices such as caring for others, promoting and facilitating public
conversations, and civic friendship. Professional practices included informed
competence, the stewardship of knowledge and expertise, and public leadership. Personal
practices were “about self-reflection, and being a good person” (pp. 21-22). Pribbenow
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emphasized the need for integrity and discernment, the need for curiosity and openness to
difference, and accountability for practice (p. 22).
Lindahl and Conley (2002) reported on the work of Duronio and Tempel (1997)
who asked respondents to identify the personal characteristics, skills, and professional
knowledge of the best fundraisers they knew. The most common responses were:
1. Personal characteristics including commitment, integrity, and honesty.
2. Skills such as, organization, communication, writing, making the “ask,” and
effective listening.
3. Professional knowledge reflected in knowledge regarding planned giving and
others areas such as tax or legal knowledge (p. 97).
Communication
Sawyer (1995) highlighted the listening component in communication and wrote:
Effective listening is the cornerstone on which relationships are built and
sustained. Successful development professionals understand that their profession
requires a combination of effective communication, perceptive listening, and
meaningful relationships, anchored by a solid commitment to the essence of
philanthropy. (p. 45)
Communication is an important skill in fundraising. Tobin (1995) added that “effective
communication is critical to effective fundraising” (p. 61). He called for the fundraiser to
move beyond the simplified rhetoric to raise money and to rather understand what the
donor has to say. He made a number of observations. According to Tobin, donors did not
always say what they feel or know what they believe; donors often changed their minds;
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donors had multiple sources of information; most donors liked to talk about their personal
beliefs; donors often communicated ambivalence or had conflicting feelings and these
doubts and conflicts were often communicated to the fundraiser. Moreover, Tobin (1995)
suggested there were different levels of ambivalence amongst donors. “The solicitation
process may help the donor resolve certain internal conflicts, or may actually sharpen or
intensify the ambivalence” (p. 69). According to Tobin, “donors will often communicate
disinterest or disdain for personal gratification and yet respond positively to proposals
that grant them recognition” (p. 71).
Linked to communication is negotiation as part of soliciting major gifts. Kelly
(1998) reported that negotiation was not taught in the training of fundraisers. “Giving
defined as pure altruism would not require negotiation, but current theories that account
for the self-interest of donors legitimize negotiation as an essential aspect of soliciting
major gifts” (p. 488).
Goffman (1959) termed consensus building as the process to reach a mutually
satisfying agreement. For Goffman, this was the best long-term outcome of any
negotiation, and collaborative process was the best means to achieve this. He saw
collaboration as a problem solving approach that allowed negotiation towards a mutually
satisfying outcome to occur within a good working relationship, and this was a theme in
this research.
Stewardship in donor relations. Kelly (1998) referred to stewardship as consisting
of four elements: “reciprocity, responsible gift use, reporting, and relationship nurturing”
(p. 343). Kelly noted that ethical practice is crucial in the ongoing stewardship process,
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and that all the obligations and responsibilities to the donor must be met. Once the gift is
secured, then according to Kelly the stewardship process must begin. The fundraiser must
intensify “her professional relationship with the donor to effectively manage
stewardship” (p. 495). Kelly termed this reciprocity since it also “engenders mutual
respect thereby strengthening the relationship between the organization and the donor”
(p. 435).
Conway (2003) understood stewardship as “being responsible for something
valuable on behalf of someone who has entrusted it to our care” (p. 433). Conway quoted
from an interview with Rosso, where Rosso referred to stewardship as a “sacred trust” (p.
431), and the “heart of philanthropy” (p. 441). Seiler (2003) said that “demonstrating
wise stewardship of contributed funds makes renewal of the gift possible” (p. 29).
Kelly (1998) referred to Rosso who said that “proper stewardship involved
periodic reports to the donor on how the money is being used” (p. 434). In the
stewardship process, Kelly advocated for appreciation and recognition to ensure gifts in
the future (pp. 435-436).
According to Rosso and associates (2003) it is:
Through the practice of stewardship, we learn to care for others and to be
responsible for the world in which we live. Building a better world by accepting,
nurturing, and sharing a profound sense of responsibility for the public good.
(Kelly, 1998, p. 441)
Deception. Tuan (2004) wrote that deception in the world of philanthropy existed
where fundraisers and donors are less than honest with one another. They withheld
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information, manipulated data, and adapted programs to meet the requirements of a grant
proposal.
Tuan (2004) described the struggle for power and fear amongst fundraisers, since
the risk of losing funding is a challenge for nonprofits. The culture within philanthropy is
not to openly talk about mistakes or bad funding decisions. The metaphor used to
describe this is entitled the “dance of the deceit.” Organizations tended to minimize any
possible negative reaction and maximize positive associations. In order to get beyond the
“dance of deceit.”
Tuan (2004) identified two reasons for the dance. The lack of power amongst the
fundraisers, and the existence of an element of fear that the donation will be withdrawn.
According to Tuan, remedies included: objective performance information, timely and
accurate outcome data, and the creation of effective and objective measures to evaluate
performance. She noted that working towards “a greater basis for open and transparent
relationships” would ensure greater effectiveness (p. 76).
Conclusion
The aim of this literature review was to serve as a platform to survey the literature
in the field of Jewish education, on policy-making, on power, on philanthropy—from
courtship through to conception. Policy-making was defined as a direct attempt by a
donor and an educational leader to shape anything and everything that happens in an
institution of Jewish education.
John Gardner’s (1983) comments marking his retirement from the independent
sector were especially apt as a conclusion to this review:

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When we started the independent sector we had in mind, and told one another
repeatedly, that we wanted to preserve and enhance a sector of our society that
contributes importantly to the texture and quality of American life. We mustn’t
ever become so preoccupied with institutional self-preservation that we forget our
vision of this sector.
It’s a sector in which you’re allowed to pursue truth, even if you’re going in the
wrong direction, allowed to experiment even if you’re bound to fail, to map
unknown territory, even if you get lost; a sector in which we’re committed to
alleviate misery and redress grievances, to give rein to the mind’s curiosity and
the soul’s longing, to seek beauty where we can and defend truth where we must,
to honor the worthy and smite the rascals, with everyone free to define worth and
rascality, to combat the ancient impulse to hate and fear the tribe in the next
valley, to find cures and console the incurable, to prepare for tomorrow’s crisis
and preserve yesterday’s wisdom, and to pursue the questions others won’t pursue
because they’re too busy or lazy or fearful or jaded.
It’s a sector for seed planting and path finding, for lost causes and for causes that
yet may win, and in the words of George Bernard Shaw, “. . . for the future and
the past, for the posterity that has no vote and the tradition that never had any . . .
for the great abstractions: . . . for the eternal against the expedient; for the
evolutionary appetite against the day’s gluttony; for intellectual integrity, for
humanity.” (p. 1)
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It is Gardner’s unbridled optimism and unshakable belief in the importance of preserving
yesterday’s wisdom for tomorrow that guides the passions and creativity of donors and
educational leaders in Jewish education.

CHAPTER III
METHODS AND PROCEDURES
Description of the Study
Preamble
This study was a qualitative multiple case study investigation of four institutions
of Jewish education. Two of the institutions were Jewish day schools (K-12), and two of
the institutions were central agencies of Jewish education, providing educational services
to Jewish day schools and supplementary schools in the U.S. The focus of the study was
to understand the relationship between the donor and the educational leader (a school
principal or director of a central agency) in policy-making in Jewish education.
This chapter is organized along the following framework: the theoretical design of
the study, the rationale for choosing the case study approach, the research sites, the
selection of themes and issues, the data collection, the data analysis, and delimitations to
the study.
Introduction
Jewish continuity is a vital concept for the Jewish community. Given the strong
environmental factors of an open American society, the Jewish community population is
in a deep demographic decline. Factors that impact negatively on Jewish identity are a
low birth rate, assimilation, and intermarriage. Many donors see Jewish education as a
key factor in strengthening Jewish identity and strengthening Jewish continuity (UJC,
2004).
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The definition of the term Jewish continuity is a difficult one. Isaacs and Shluker
(1995) synthesized its relationship to Jewish education eloquently.
The term Jewish continuity is used widely today, but rarely defined rigorously.
The meaning of the term as a characterization of our broad goal is relatively clear,
if not necessarily specific: we want Jewish life to continue on this continent,
vigorously and creatively. However, when we begin to speak of Jewish continuity
planning, initiatives, or programs, the question of what differentiates such activity
from more traditional categories such as Jewish education emerges. In our view,
there will always be some ambiguity involved, since Jewish education constitutes
one of, if not the, prime strategies for promoting continuity through building
Jewish identity and community. (p. 1)
Jewish education, as the premier conduit for Jewish continuity, is a nonprofit enterprise
that is heavily dependent on the support of donors for a large percentage of the operating
and capital costs. In the case of the day schools, tuition revenue forms a relatively small
percentage of operating costs. In central agencies, these institutions have no membership
or constituency besides volunteer leadership. Donors to these institutions are crucial for
their financial viability. These institutions are therefore constantly searching for new
donors.
Donors do not generally hand blank checks to nonprofit organizations, and their
primary motives for donating to an institution is often to make a positive difference. On
the other hand, the professionals have their own agenda and motives, too. Herein was the
crux of this investigation: what happened when these motives coincided or collided? And
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if there was disagreement, where did the power for policy-making lie? Did it lie in the
hands of the donors or the educational leaders or, alternatively, was it a partnership?
Indeed, if it was a partnership, how were policy and vision created, implemented, and
evaluated?
This was a qualitative multiple case study with a specific focus on the policy-
making process between each of the donors and the educational leaders.
The Research Question
This investigation attempted to uncover the process of decision-making between
Questions that were considered revolved around issues such as vision, exercise of power,
building partnerships and developing relationships, educating the policy maker and the
professional, and planning and evaluation.
The following research question was posed: What are the respective roles of the
professional educational leader and the donor in the process of educational policy-making
in Jewish day schools or central agencies in North America, and what is the relationship
between them?
The sub questions in this research revolved around vision, power, partnerships
and relationships, educating the policy maker and the professional, and planning and
evaluation. These were discussed in chapter 1.
The researcher who conducted this investigation has been in the field of Jewish
education and Jewish community service for 30 years. He has worked closely with
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donors and educational leaders. This experience provided the researcher with a unique
insight into these relationships and the process of policy-making.
The Theoretical Design of the Study
Introduction
There were a number of cogent reasons for choosing a qualitative study rather
than a quantitative study. First, a qualitative approach is based on the premise that this
study is an exploratory one, since little is known about the relationship between policy-
makers and educational leaders in the field of Jewish education. Second, there are
numerous challenges in researching donors that a quantitative approach would not be able
to address. According to Creswell (2002), in a quantitative study the collection of
measurable observable data requires the use of instruments with pre-set questions,
whereas in a qualitative study the research questions are broad and general (p. 39).
It is posited that in this research the questions posed cannot be pre-set since both
parties may experience difficulty in interpreting the nuances of a questionnaire without
the researcher being present. The weltanschauung of the various donors is also assumed
not to be similar to that of the educational leaders. Their social status could differ
significantly and depending on whether the donors have inherited money or have new
money, their life experiences will be very different to educational leaders. This may make
both donors and educational leaders insensitive to the nuances of the questions asked.
Another justification, according to Creswell (2002), for choosing a qualitative
research approach is that qualitative research gathers data from a small number of sites.
This investigation focused on four sites, as there are few institutions in North America
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that will have the educational leader–donor working relationship that the investigation
seeks to uncover.
Finally, Merriam (1998) said that a qualitative study is appropriate since the
design allowed one to “gain an understanding of the situation and the meaning for those
involved. The researcher’s interest is in the process rather than the outcomes; in the
context rather than a specific variable; in the discovery rather than the confirmation” (p.
19). It is submitted that this is an appropriate design for this study, since it is essentially
aiming to understand a specific situation, the relationship between the parties, and the
process in achieving the outcomes of policy-making.
The Constructivist Paradigm
Having made the decision to adopt a qualitative approach, the next stage was to
isolate the research paradigm. McNamara (1979) applied Kuhn’s notion of a paradigm to
an educational context as a way to understand explain the world. He described two
important qualities in a paradigm. First, it provided a theory, and second, researchers “are
engaged in work which is cumulative in that they seek to develop knowledge and apply it
within an established theoretical context” (p. 168), thereby added to the understanding.
Hatch (2002) argued that even before the researcher began to identify the
underlying questions for the research, the real starting point was to “take a deep look at
the belief systems that under-gird our thinking” (p. 12). This contention was based on the
work of Guba and Lincoln (1989) who explained that it is useful “to think of a paradigm
as a basic set of beliefs, a set of assumptions we are willing to make, which serve as
touch stones in guiding our activities” (p. 80).

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According to Walker (2003) constructivist theorists argued that “humans are
continually building mental representations that they use in their interactions with the
world” (p. 49). Stake (1995) asserted that “most contemporary qualitative researchers
nourish the belief that knowledge is constructed rather than discovered” (p. 99).
The assumptions that underlie this investigation arose from the constructivist
paradigm. Hatch (2002) noted that the nature of reality in the constructivist paradigm is
to assume a world in which “universal, absolute realities are unknowable, and the objects
of inquiry are individual perceptions of the construction of reality” (p. 15). Individuals
therefore perceived of the world, and constructed their reality of the world, through their
own lenses. In other words, members of the Jewish community who emanated from
different Jewish religious denominations, different orientations, different philosophies, or
different visions will construct their own unique weltanschauung. Nevertheless, whereas
unique multiple realities existed for each individual, it is anticipated that there will be
some commonalities across the cases with regard to policy-making.
Although Merriam (1988) and Yin (1994) asserted that the case study research fit
into the post positivist paradigm, Hatch (2002) said that there “is nothing inherent in a
bounded system approach that precludes the application of constructivist principles” (p.
31) in a case study.
Guba and Lincoln (1989) further validated this approach by stating that:
“Constructivism sees itself as fully competent to carry out both discovery and
verification” (p.115). He also stated that the methodology in a constructivist approach
“involves a continuing dialectic of iteration, analysis, critique, reiteration, and reanalysis

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and so on” (p. 84). Indeed, the methodology used in this naturalistic qualitative study
consisted of data collection through in-depth interviews. These took place in the
respondents’ natural settings (their offices or their homes) to meet Hatch’s (2002) criteria
to “reconstruct the constructions participants use to make sense of their world” (p. 15).
The Rationale for Choosing the Case Study
Consideration of Other Qualitative Methods of Study
The design of the qualitative research for this investigation could have taken
many different forms. It may be argued that grounded theory, naturalistic inquiry, or a
narrative study could all have been appropriate design methods. According to Glaser and
Strauss (1967), grounded theory is a research method in which theory emerges from, and
is grounded in the data. Grounded theory is inductively derived from the study of the
phenomenon it represents. Strauss and Corbin (1990) contended that in this approach, one
does not begin with a theory and then prove it; rather, one begins with an area of study,
and what is relevant to that area is allowed to emerge. In this investigation, since there is
an assumption that the power element in the decision-making process probably resided in
the hands of the donors, grounded theory can not be a suitable method of inquiry.
Hatch (2002) observed that naturalistic inquiry has the goal of “capturing
naturally occurring activity in natural settings” (p. 26). In naturalistic inquiry, real-world
situations are studied as they unfold naturally. This study by its ex-post nature cannot
observe the unfolding of the process of policy-making; hence naturalistic inquiry was not
a suitable methodology.
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Hatch (2002) said that narrative studies focused attention on “gathering and
interpreting the stories that people use to describe their lives” (p. 29). It is predicated on
the premise that “humans make sense of their lives through stories” (p. 29). Whereas this
study made some use of narrative analysis in interpreting the interviews, gathering stories
was not the primary form of inquiry, given the complexities of the phenomena under
investigation.
The Case Study Method
It is contended that the case study methodological approach was ideal for this
particular in-depth investigation into donors, educational leaders, and policy-making.
Patton (1990) stated that the “case study approach to quantitative analysis is a specific
way of collecting, organizing, and analyzing data. The purpose is to gather
comprehensive, systematic, and in-depth information about each case of interest” (p.
384). The investigation into these four institutions and their settings allowed the
researcher to gather comprehensive data, and offered a deep understanding of the
complex influences between educational leaders and donors that have shaped the policies.
Merriam (1998) stated that case studies needed to be focused and holistic. “Case
studies concentrate attention on the way particular groups of people confront specific
problems, taking a holistic view of the situation. They are problem centered, small scale
entrepreneurial endeavors” (p. 29). This approach was an ideal tool for the investigation
as it focused on the specific problem of policy-making in Jewish education within entities
that are relatively small-scale entrepreneurial organizations.

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Hatch (2002) reported that both Merriam (1998) and Yin (1993) viewed case
study research as a “special kind of qualitative work that investigates a contextualized
contemporary phenomenon within specific boundaries” (p. 30). According to Hatch, the
“definition of the boundaries, or specifying the unit of analysis, is the key decision point
in case study design” (p. 30) and distinguished it from other forms of studies. Merriam
(1998) concurred with the bounded system notion. She contended, “The single most
defining characteristic of case study research lies in delimiting the object of study . . . I
must be able to fence in what I am going to study” (p. 27). Indeed, each case (school or
central agency and donor and professional) that this research considered was unique and
situated within a different bounded system. Within the multiple case studies, it was
expected there would be clear differences and similarities. These differences and
commonalities are the insights gained from this investigation.
Merriam’s (1998) added emphasis for boundedness in a case study is to
“determine how finite the data collection would be, that is whether there is a limit to the
number of people involved who could be interviewed or a finite time for observations”
(pp. 27-28). This investigation of four case studies fulfilled these criteria, since it was
limited to the donor and the educational leader within each institution, within a specific
setting, and over a specific time period.
Yin (1993) said that an investigation into multiple cases between donors and
educational leaders could also fit the case study approach, “since case study is the method
of choice when the phenomenon under study is not readily distinguishable from its
context” (p. 3). Indeed, the power relationship, the social networking, and the process of
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policy-making between the donors and the educational leaders are not easily
distinguishable to the outside observer. Moreover, the schools and central agencies
covered in this research are complex, real life social institutions. They have the normal
complex relationships between staff, parents, students, and board members one expects to
find in educational institutions. But when these institutions are totally dependent on one
donor who may even be from outside the hierarchy of relationships, it becomes even
more complex. The case study was then an ideal mechanism to investigate this
multifaceted phenomenon.
Merriam (1998) noted that the case study is a suitable design, if the researcher “is
interested in process” (p. 33). In this study, as one tried to understand the process of
policy-making it was evident that policy-making does not occur in a vacuum, nor is it an
isolated event. It is rather a process of a prolonged social interaction and relationship-
building within a social network.
Merriam (1998) stated that “qualitative case studies can be characterized as being
particularistic, descriptive and heuristic” (p. 29). It is particularistic since the case study
approach concentrates attention on a “particular situation, event, program or
phenomenon” (p. 29). Patton (1990) reinforced the point and added that: “the case study
should take the reader into the case situation . . . Each case study in a report stands alone,
allowing the reader to understand the case as a unique, holistic, entity” (p. 387). The
particularistic aspect of the case study therefore gave the researcher the opportunity to
investigate each institution, from the viewpoint of the professional and donor, to examine
what influenced their decisions in policy-making, and to understand the processes that
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have occurred. It is from these understandings that the research was able to generalize the
particular case to other situations and highlighted issues with regard to policy-making
facing both donors and educational leaders.
Merriam (1998) suggested that a case study has a heuristic quality since it “can
bring about the discovery of new meaning, extend the reader’s experience, or confirm
what is known” (p. 30). The heuristic quality highlighted the researcher’s perception of
the case and uncovered new deeper understandings of the nature of policy-making and
the relationships between donors and educational leaders. The research confirmed
Merriam’s supposition and teased out insights and enlightened the discourse in the field.
Merriam (1998) suggested that case studies offered a descriptive picture of the
phenomenon under consideration. This implied that “the end product of a case study is
[a] rich thick description of the phenomenon under study” (p. 29). Geertz (1973), who
invented the term thick description, distilled this concept as follows:
What the ethnographer is in fact faced with—is a multiplicity of complex
conceptual structures, many of them superimposed upon, or knotted into one
another, which are at once strange, irregular, and inexplicit, and which he must
contrive somehow first to grasp and then to render. (p. 10)
The challenge in the exploration of these four educational institutions was to unpack the
“knotted” or deeper issues to which Geertz alluded. The end product of the case study
was then a rich description of the phenomena and the complex processes that have shaped
policies.
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Moreover, according to Yin (1994), the case study approach is suited to the study
under consideration, since the approach asked questions of “how” and “why,” instead of
“what” and “how many,” and focused on contemporary events (pp. 5-6). This study
focused on understanding relationships and uncovering the process of decision-making,
rather than counting decisions and listing courses of action in decision-making. Bromley
(1986) suggested that the case study methodology “get[s] as close to the subject of
interest as they possibly can, partly by means of direct observation in natural setting,
partly by their access to subjective factors (thoughts, feelings, and desires)” (p. 23). The
researcher, by “getting close,” indeed entered the inner sanctuary of the world of the
educational leaders and donors and engaged in a dialogue with their thoughts, feelings,
and desires.
Lincoln and Guba (1985) viewed the case study as providing a “grounded
assessment of context . . . It is a vehicle that allows for communicating contextual
information that is grounded in the particular setting that was studied” (p. 360). In this
research, the case study allowed the researcher to richly portray the context of the donor
and the professional with regard to their goals in Jewish education, grounded in the
setting of the central agency or school.
Finally, as discussed in the literature review, Lobman and Bachetti (2007)
contended that the case study methodology is an ideal approach to research the field. It is
for these reasons that the case study approach was adopted.
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The Research Sites
The Four Case Studies – The Object of the Study
Two kinds of institutions were investigated. The first two case studies were of
Jewish day schools, whereas the second two were of central agencies of Jewish
education.
Two Jewish Day Schools
The Jewish day schools that were considered were 9-12 and K-8 schools that
offered a combined general and Judaic studies program with the aim of building a strong
sense of community and Jewish identity through the teachings of Jewish values. The
raison d’être of these schools was also to provide an outstanding general education so
that the graduates were prepared to attend prestigious private and public high schools,
top-tier colleges, and universities.
Two Central Agencies of Jewish Education
These agencies were located in the major states in North America where there are
institutions of Jewish education. The central agency essentially performs the task of a
local public school board of education, and provides a range of educational services
(planning, curriculum, professional development, special education services, and support
services, etc.) to the day schools, supplementary schools, early childhood institutions, and
the local community.
The first central agencies for Jewish education or bureaus of Jewish education as
they were then known were pioneered between 1910-1917.

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The idea of community responsibility for Jewish education . . . had been adopted
in some form by a dozen mid-to-large sized Jewish communities. Some
communities such as Baltimore, Cincinnati, and St. Louis established
coordinating bureaus of Jewish education funded by the local philanthropic
Federation. (Krasner, 2005, p. 123)
In an unpublished memorandum, the Jewish Education Service of North America
(JESNA, 2000) described the current role of central agencies as follows:
As leaders for educational innovation, central agencies across the country are
actively involved in all aspects of Jewish educational enterprise. They work
directly with thousands of organizations providing Jewish educational programs,
tens of thousands of educators to hundreds of thousands of Jewish learners.
Central agencies are committed to creating and expanding the capacity for
innovation in lifelong Jewish learning within our communities. (p. 1)
Central agencies can thus play a pivotal role in policy-making in Jewish education for
their local communities. This point was reinforced by Wertheimer (2007) who observed
that “the strength of central agencies is precisely that they are perched at the center and
therefore have a wider grasp of the educational configuration of the community. Central
agencies may be the logical coordinators of Jewish education” (p. 248). However,
Wertheimer pointed out that central agencies today are not without their difficulties.
They are largely dependent on federations for their funding, they have little
authority except if the Federation cedes such authority . . . Central agencies have
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the expertise, but not the authority, resources, or control to bring the community
together to address educational needs. (p. 248)
The issue of resource development was an overriding theme in the investigation.
The profile of the central agencies and schools. The central agencies and day
schools for the case study met the following criteria:
1. Had as its mission the promotion of Jewish education, either formal or
informal.
2. Had a minimum of a million dollar annual budget.
3. Had an identifiable educational leader and donor.
The profile of the donors and educational leader. The four donors who were
selected for the case studies met the following criteria (see Table 1):
1. Contributed and or committed substantially (above $250,000) to Jewish
education.
2. Demonstrated involvement and commitment to the school or central agency.
Their counterparts were those educational leaders who have been responsible for
implementing the vision, mission, and policies of the agencies, institutions, or schools
where the donor is committed. This would satisfy Rubin and Rubin’s (1995) criteria for
“whom you choose to interview should match how you have defined the subject of your
research” (p. 65). The investigations took place in the following settings:
1. Carmel College, a Jewish Day School for grades 9-12 serving a metropolitan
area on the coast of the United States. The school opened in 2001 and had an
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enrollment of 153 students, and a budget of $5.8 million. Separate interviews
were held with Miriam the donor, and Harold the Head of School. Miriam was
Table 1
The Settings, Donors, and Professionals
Donor Professional Institution Classification
1
1. Miriam Harold Carmel College 9 -12 school
2. Jim Nathan Weizmann School K - 8 school
3. Estee Simon The Bureau of Education Local central agency
4. Dawn Jonathan The Central Agency for Day Schools National agency
(CADS)
in her early 60s whereas Harold was in his early 50s. Miriam had been with
the school since its inception, some years ago, and Harold had recently joined
as Head of School. His background was in law and Rabbinics.
2. The Weizmann Jewish Day School for grades K-8 serving a Midwest city.
The school was founded in 1965, had an enrollment of 115 students, and a
budget of $1.2 million. Separate interviews were held with the donor Jim, who
was in his 60s and had been involved in the school for more than 30 years.
Jim is the chairman of a large listed public company. Nathan the Head of
School, who was in his 30s, was appointed five years ago. He has a doctorate
in education.
1
All names are pseudonyms to protect the identity of the organizations and participants in the study.
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3. The Bureau for Jewish Education, a central agency serving a Jewish
community of approximately 137,000 in the southern United States, with 3975
students enrolled in the various educational settings. It had a budget of $1.8
million. Separate interviews were held with the donor Estee who is in her 60s,
and Simon who is in his early 40s, the executive director. It was founded in
1990 and Simon and Estee have been involved with the Bureau for the past
five years. Estee is a trained therapist with a Ph.D. and Simon is a trained
social worker and Jewish educator.
4. The Central Agency for Day Schools (CADS), a national organization,
established 10 years ago, situated in a large metropolitan city, and dedicated to
serving Jewish day schools. It was estimated in 2003-04 that 205,000 students
were enrolled in 750 day schools in the United States (internal document). It
has an annual budget of $4 million. Separate interviews were held with the
donor Dawn who was in her 40s, and Jonathan, the executive director, who
was in his 50s. Dawn is a trained educator with a Masters degree from
Harvard, whereas Joseph is a trained Rabbi with a doctorate in education.
Dawn has been involved as a donor in the organization for some years, and
Joseph has been with the organization since it was created in 1997.
Selecting the Themes and Issues
Five themes were selected for this investigation into the relationship between the
donor and the educational leader: the history and context; vision; power relationships and
decision making; partnerships; educating donors and educational leaders; and

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implementation of policies. They were posed in the form of questions that served as a
basis for the interviews and are included in the appendices.
Data Collection
The key to validity in any research is the data collection and analysis process. As
the researcher, I needed to negotiate entry to the field, clarify my role, and then use valid
methodologies for the fieldwork.
Negotiating Entry to the Field
There are relatively few Jewish educational institutions in America where the
institutions have a major donor. It was challenging to find appropriate sites to conduct the
research.
Moreover, since the researcher cannot easily enter the domain of these donors in
order to conduct the research, there must be an “adequate negotiation of entry in the field
setting” (Erickson, 1986, p. 141). This is a sensitive topic, and I anticipated difficulties in
securing agreement from donors and educational leaders to participate in the research and
in them finding adequate time to meet with me to conduct the interviews. It was expected
that it could be difficult to focus some of these donors on the topics that I had sketched
out for the research, since they may have only been prepared to discuss aspects that
interested them. I anticipated that at times I would have to assert my authority on the
direction of the interview. This indeed occurred.
Each of the eight interviewees was initially contacted personally to inquire as to
their willingness to participate. Once agreement was secured, letters were emailed to the
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interviewees, detailing the scope of the interview, the protocol, and their rights under the
Independent Review Board. I also requested permission to tape record the interview.
The interviews were scheduled through their assistants. Even though it was not
always possible, I preferred to do the first round of interviews with the educational
leaders, since I expected that this could build a basis for the interviews with the donors so
that I would be able to obtain the relevant documentation. I had also thought that it would
be easier to retrieve this information from the professional rather than from the donor.
Separate interviews were held with each of the donors and each of the educational
leaders. In the ideal world it would have been also preferable to interview them together
to witness the relationship in practice, but this was not achievable.
My Role as Researcher
Rubin and Rubin (1995) described the role of the researcher as needing to
recognize how his or her “biases, angers, fears, and enthusiasms influence their
questioning style and how they interpret what they hear” (p. 18). I had both an insider and
outsider status in this investigation, as I am well known in the field of Jewish education. I
needed to recognize that I bring my own subjectivity and biases. Peshkin (1988) warned
the researcher to be aware of this issue in that “researchers . . . should systematically
identify their subjectivity throughout the course of their research” (p. 17). After all, my
position in Jewish education within the Jewish community may be a factor in terms of
how people in the field would relate to me. Indeed, I was acquainted, in some way or
another, with all the people whom I interviewed. Although that familiarity allowed me to
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put them at ease, I was at the same time concerned that there could be an editing of their
responses to me. I made use of probe questions to address this concern.
Triangulation
Patton (1990) asserted that data collection or “fieldwork is not a single method or
technique . . . Multiple sources of information are sought and used because no single
source of information can be trusted to provide a comprehensive perspective” (p. 244).
Triangulation of the key interviews and validating the bases for interpretation is therefore
an important aspect of data collection.
Stake (1998) defined triangulation as “a process of using multiple perceptions to
clarify meaning, verifying the repeatability of an observation or an interpretation” (p. 97).
I understood triangulation as a triage-like approach to verify the data. By using multiple
sources of evidence, triangulation allowed the researcher to confirm the accuracy of the
data, and this would ensure reliability, credibility and external validity. For example, if
the sources of data produced conflicting evidence, the researcher would be forced to
question the authenticity. In this research, the primary methods were interviews,
document analysis, and site visits.
Interviewing
Patton (1990) said that the purpose of interviewing is to “find out what is in and
on someone else’s mind” (p. 278). He continued:
We cannot observe feelings, thoughts, and intentions. We cannot observe
behaviors that took place at some previous point in time. We cannot observe
situations that preclude the presence of an observer. We cannot observe how

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people have organized the world and the meanings they attach to what goes on in
the world. We have to ask people questions about those things. The purpose of
interviewing, then, is to allow us to enter into the other person’s perspective. (p.
278)
It is important to hear the meaning of what is being said in the interviews.
According to Rubin and Rubin (1995), “qualitative interviewing requires listening
carefully enough to hear meanings, interpretations, and understandings” (p. 7). Listening
allowed me to obtain a greater level of understanding of the weltanschauung of the world
of the interviewees.
Rubin and Rubin (1995) advised the researcher to consider designing the
interview in such a manner so there may be effective probing that will result in “depth,
detail, vividness, and nuance” (p. 76). They noted that persons are more willing to talk
with an interviewer if they conclude that you are familiar and sympathetic to the field.
They suggested tactics to dig down to in-depth analysis, such as: follow-up questions, by
returning to an issue later and asking for clarification, by requesting particular details of a
policy, and by asking for specifics early on—so when the interviewee mentions a policy
the interviewer should delve deep into it (pp. 77-78).
In structuring the questions for a qualitative interview, Rubin and Rubin (1995)
outlined three kinds of questions: Main questions that are prepared to direct the
discussion. Probe questions that are employed when main questions “lack sufficient
detail or depth, or clarity” (p. 146). Finally, follow up questions that for Rubin and Rubin
“pursue the implications of answers to the main questions” (p. 146).

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This research relied upon the semi-structured interview technique as described by
Creswell (2002), where the “researcher asks some questions that are close-ended and
some questions that are open-ended” (p. 205). As such, I prepared a set of questions and
kept in mind Hatch’s assertion of the need to be flexible during the interview (Hatch, 2002,
p. 95). The mix of main questions, follow up questions, and probe questions were ideal
forms of questioning for the investigation.
Creswell (2002) observed that this approach had the advantage in
That the predetermined close-ended responses can net useful information to
support theories and concepts . . . The open-ended responses, on the other hand,
allowed the participant to provide personal experiences that may be outside or
beyond those identified in the close-ended options. (p. 205)
The questions that were formulated were based upon the literature review and the
researcher’s own experience.
Rubin and Rubin (1995) described different types of interviewing such as oral
histories, evaluation interviews, cultural interviews, and topical interviews. Topical
interviews were particularly suited to this study since they are “narrowly focused on a
particular event or process, and are concerned with what happened and how” (p. 28). As
the research attempted to “seek out explanations of events and description of events” (p.
29) with regard to policy-making, the interviewer “typically play[ed] a more active role
in directing questioning and in keeping the conversation on [a] specific topic” (p. 29).
The topical study may also be influenced by the interpretation of the researcher.
“The researcher may sort out and balance what different people say, especially if there
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are contending interpretations of the same events. Then the researcher creates his or her
narrative based on this analysis” (p. 30).
During the interviews, I probed a direction or explored a new avenue when an
opportunity was created. These interviews therefore attempted to uncover the thick
descriptions (Geertz, 1973) rooted in the interviewee’s firsthand experience. This was
part of the process of gathering, synthesizing, and analyzing the data.
The set of interviewees for this study were a set of busy high-level educational
leaders and donors with concomitant high social status. In my role as the researcher I
needed to therefore “balance between too much deference and too little” (Rubin & Rubin,
1995, p. 103). My preparation for these interviews was also crucial to the success. Rubin
and Rubin noted that the researcher gains credibility by getting all the details correct. In
this investigation, given the expertise and seniority of the interviewees, the bar was set at
a much higher level than Rubin and Rubin required. As the researcher, I needed to be
well prepared.
Processing the interview. I used a tape recorder as a voice memorandum. All the
interviews were transcribed to enable the coding process. In addition, I kept a research
journal to keep track of “the personal side of [the] research experience” (Hatch, 2002, p.
87).
At each interview, I wrote detailed field notes documenting exchanges, mood
shifts, and my impressions. I used the tool of bracketing extensively to make comments,
express my feelings, and note professional judgments on what I was seeing. When
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spontaneous interactions occurred that did not allow for immediate recording, I noted it.
Later, I reflected, and filled in the notes and impressions in a journal.
I needed to be sensitive and alert to the context, especially to the verbal and non-
verbal cues emanating from the people I interviewed. Hatch (2002) had the following
warning for the researcher: “It is impossible and undesirable for researchers to be distant
and objective. It is through mutual engagement that researchers and respondents construct
the subjective reality that is under investigation” (p. 15). This approach should be
contrasted with Heshusius’s (1994) contention that “anxiety about how to be as objective
as possible has been translated into anxiety about how to manage subjectivity as
rigorously as possible” (p. 15). The researcher has to then strike a careful balance.
Stake (1998) said that “the more the researcher has [an] intrinsic interest in the
case, the more the focus of study will usually be on the case’s uniqueness, particular
context, interests and story” (p. 103). Yin (1994) commented that a case study places
demands on the researcher’s “intellect, ego [and] emotions [that] are far greater than any
other research strategy” (p. 55). He said that the researcher must be a good listener, be
adaptive and flexible, and be unbiased by preconceived notions (Yin, p. 26). This
research attempted to heed these caveats and ensured that the objective and subjective
nature in the role of the researcher was clearly managed. There is a fine line between
objectivity and subjectivity, and I consciously worked to manage subjectivity or “hot
spots” I experienced to maintain impartiality when I described the findings.
As the interviewer, I came from a similar cultural and religious background to the
respondents; nevertheless, as the researcher I had to be cognizant of the problem of

94
relativism. Relativism is “learning to recognize that other people’s view of the world is as
legitimate to them as yours” (Rubin & Rubin, 1995, p. 21). I had to remain cognizant of
these issues of relativism.
Moreover, Rubin and Rubin (1995) contended that the interviewer “should not be
neutral but . . . at least a partner or collaborator. Such collaborations should produce
better interviews that help those being interviewed rather than merely using them for the
purposes of the researcher” (p. 37). This implied that at times I had to be prepared to
engage in a dialogue on issues pertaining to Jewish education during the discussion.
Rubin and Rubin (1995) warned the researcher on the question of ethics in
qualitative interviews. In this research, it was critical to guarantee the anonymity of the
respondents. By its very nature, the relationships between donors and the educational
leaders are sensitive matters, and the research would not want to undermine or jeopardize
these relationships and ultimately the philanthropic contributions by a donor to an
organization. This was a major challenge in the research, and one that needed to be
managed carefully.
Since the interviews were a crucial and major dimension to the research, all the
questions in the interview were piloted in a separate sample interview with a donor and
professional not included in the study. This was to test the respondent’s understanding of
the questions, the flow and pace of the interview, and the appropriateness of the
questioning bearing in mind the goals of the research.

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Document Analysis
It was assumed that the policy-making process would generate a trail of
documentation that the researcher could follow. Merriam (1998) defined “the term
documents as the umbrella term to refer to a wide range of written, visual, and physical
material relevant to the study at hand” (p. 112). Patton (1990) provided an additional
insight and stated that “documentation analysis provides behind-the-scenes look at the
program that that may not be directly observable and about which the interviewer might
not ask appropriate questions” (p. 245).
Lincoln and Guba (1985) viewed documents as “a stable source of information
. . . in the sense that they may accurately reflect situations that occurred at some time in
the past and that they can be analyzed and reanalyzed without undergoing changes in the
interim” (p. 277). All the interviewees provided me with documentation of proposals,
concept papers, mission statements and vision statements, agendas, minutes, and other
relevant materials in the policy-making process. I kept in mind Merriam’s (1998) caveat
that the value of the document was in “whether it contains information or insights
relevant to the research question” (p. 124). Using the documentation corroborated and
supported the evidence collected in the interviews and site visits.
Site Visits
Fieldwork was described by Patton (1990) as when “the researcher spends time in
the setting under study” (p. 10). He added that “qualitative approaches emphasize the
importance of getting close to the people and situations being studied in order to
personally understand the realities” (p. 46). Although it was not possible to observe the
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donors and educational leaders in a joint interaction, visiting the sites where policy-
making was being implemented added to the richness and provided supporting evidence
to confirm, support, or reject the research. Since each interview took place in a different
location within the United States, it was possible to only make one visit to each site.
Where necessary, I spent extended time in each site, and documented my observations in
my field notebook. I also took photographs of the sites to refresh my recollections.
The fieldwork journal that was logged was described by Merriam (1998) as “an
introspective record of the anthropologist’s experience in the field. It included ideas,
fears, mistakes, confusion, and reactions to the experience and can include thoughts about
the research methodology itself” (p. 110).
Data Analysis
A Search for Meaning
Hatch (2002) described data analysis as “a systematic search for meaning. It was a
way to process qualitative data so that what has been learned can be communicated to
others” (p. 148). For Hatch, “analysis means organizing and interrogating the data in
ways that allow researchers to see patterns, identify themes, discover relationships,
develop explanations, make interpretations, mount critiques, or generate theories” (p.
148).
Patton (1990) referred to the work of Max Weber who introduced the
phenomenological term verstehen that was described as a deep-seated understanding to
make “sense of the world.” Patton wrote: “The tradition of verstehen places emphasis on
the human capacity to know and understand others through empathetic introspection and
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reflection based upon direct observation of and interaction with people” (p. 57). This
research was intended to uncover the deep-seated “verstehen” in these complex
relationships between donors and educational leaders.
Coding. Once the interviews, site visits, and documentation stages were
completed, I read through all the materials, listened to the tapes, and then personally
transcribed the interviews. I then organized the notes, memos, and journal so that the
process of coding could begin (Maxwell, 2005, p. 96), and a number of conceptual
themes were identified. The goal of coding was to break the data apart and “rearrange
them into categories that facilitate comparison between things in the same category . . .
[and] organizing the data into broad themes and issues” (p. 96). LeCompte and Schensul
(1999) outlined a three-stage process that accomplished this called items, patterns, and
constituents or structures. They defined it as follows:
Items consist of discrete and concrete units of analysis or things—the specific
units that one codes.
Patterns consist of collections of items or categories of items that seem to fit
together or are related to one another.
Constituents or structures consist of larger groups of patterns or relationships
among patterns in the data that begin to build an overall cultural portrayal or
theory explaining a cultural phenomenon. (p. 68)
In this way the research addressed Hatch’s (2002) assertion of finding patterns,
relationships, and themes. For example, were there patterns in the social networking
process? Were there patterns in the power relationships? Were there themes such as the
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golden rule of power, that he who has the gold rules? What were the relationships
between donors and educational leaders? Did emotional intelligence play a role?
Ultimately, the aim of the data analysis was to ‘link the silos’ of data together in order to
make sense of the data.
Validity
Validity refers to “the correctness or credibility of a description, conclusion,
explanation, interpretation, or other sort of account” (Maxwell, 2005, p. 106). Rubin and
Rubin (1995) suggested three concepts as being indicators of quality: transparency,
consistency, and communicability.
First, transparency meant that the reader “is able to see the basic processes of data
collection . . . [and] assess the strengths and weaknesses, the biases, and the
conscientiousness of the interviewer” (Rubin & Rubin, 1995, p. 85). This research
scrupulously outlined each methodological step to meet this criterion of transparency. At
no stage did I allow the research to fall into the trap of having my preconceived
assumptions overridden by the findings. Rubin and Rubin warned the researcher “to
follow the data where they lead” (p. 64). Consequently, a number of the assumptions
posited might not be proved through the research.
While the question of subjectivity has already been discussed, it is also important
within the context of transparency, validity, and reliability. Peshkin’s (1988) premise was
that, whereas subjectivity was inevitable, the researcher nevertheless needed to “actively
seek out . . . subjectivity” (p. 18) during the research process. “By monitoring myself, I
can create an illuminating, empowering personal statement that attunes me to where self
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and subject is intertwined” (p. 19). I needed to be reflective about myself and the methods
of study, and to demonstrate this I documented my dilemmas and concerns.
Second, according to Rubin and Rubin (1995), consistency meant that there was
“coherence with the themes presented” (p. 87). Coherence also implied that the
researcher identified the inconsistencies and discrepancies found in the data. In the
research, I remained open to reconsider the themes and premises that I had predicated in
the research outline and the emerging themes that emerged from the research.
Consistency also insured that there was a fit between the research questions, data
collection procedures, and analysis techniques.
For Rubin and Rubin (1995), the test of the principle of communicability of the
research was that it “should feel real to the participants and to the readers” (p. 91). They
wrote: “Research that is designed to garner lots of evidence; that is vivid, detailed, and
transparent; that is careful and well documented; that is coherent and consistent is going
to be convincing” (p. 91).
Lincoln and Guba (1985) suggested different strategies for achieving credibility:
prolonged engagement at the site; persistent observation; triangulation; peer debriefing
with colleagues; referential adequacy and member checking where the data is
corroborated with the source. “Member checking” for Lincoln and Guba “is not only to
test for factual and interpretative accuracy but also to provide evidence of credibility—
the trustworthiness criterion” (p. 374). The research attempted to address these criteria.
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Reliability
Guba (1981) suggested that studies have external validity once the research
results are transferable. In this study, the data were converted through “multiple readings”
of the raw materials (Erickson, 1986, p. 149). I attempted to provide an “interpretative
commentary to make connections between general and particular description[s] to help
[the] reader make connections between the details . . . and the abstract argument” (p.
149). At the conclusion of the research, I asked the hard questions. Does the evidence
support the assertions and interpretations I have made? Ultimately, was the argument that
was developed convincing?
Chapter 1 of this proposal began with the concept of usable knowledge. Using the
above techniques on validity and reliability, the data should speak to all the educational
leaders and donors in the field of Jewish education and lead to an improvement of the
strategies that they employ to accomplish their goals. If the knowledge was unusable this
investigation would have failed.
Delimitations
The scope of this study was narrowed to surveying policy-making decisions in
institutions, on the basis of self-report by donors and educational leaders. There was no
outside impartial observer to ensure that the steps in completing the survey were rigorous.
The researcher had a close working relationship with key donors and educational leaders
in America, and these donors and educational leaders may have felt obliged to take part
in the interview.
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It could have been informative to delve deeper into the results of the investigation
through even more in-depth interviewing. However, given the time constraints on donors
and educational leaders, it was not possible to do this. In addition to the time constraints
and the sensitive nature of the relationship, it was not possible to observe the interaction
between donors and educational leaders in a joint meeting.
The scope of this study was narrowed to surveying policy-making decisions in
four institutions, amongst four donors and four educational leaders. The researcher
selected the donors based on the criteria outlined at the beginning of the chapter.
Moreover, given the researcher’s close working relationship with donors in the city in
which he works, donors in this city were excluded from the study.
Limitations
The following limitations were anticipated. Firstly, that donors and educational
leaders could be uncooperative in granting an interview and even if they agreed to an
interview, they may not have been prepared to cooperate with the direction of the
research questions posed.
Secondly, that donors and educational leaders might be insensitive to the
questions posed, as these high status individuals live within a cocooned strata of society
and were not always sensitive to the nuances of other strata.
Finally, the educational leaders might not be open to admitting to painful truths
about their institutions and their relationships with donors. As such, some may not have
answered the questions honestly and openly.

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Conclusion
This methodological chapter began by developing a theoretical design for the
study by analyzing the decision to adopt a quantitative rather than a qualitative approach
to the study. A rationale justifying the selection of the case study method was carefully
built. This was followed with a description of the research sites, the data collection
process, and the data analysis process.
Patton (1990) said that “each case study in a report needs to stands alone,
allowing the reader to understand the case as a unique, holistic entity” (p. 387). The next
chapter aimed to fill that premise and meet these criteria, and examined each of the four
cases on a stand alone basis.

CHAPTER IV
RESULTS AND DATA ANALYSIS
Introduction
The investigation focused on four case studies. Two of the cases were in Jewish
day schools, Carmel College and Weizmann School, and two in central agencies of
Jewish education, the Bureau of Jewish Education, and The Central Agency for Day
Schools (CADS). In each case study there was a clearly identifiable mega-donor and
educational leader in the role of school head or executive director.
The methodology was a qualitative multiple case study investigation with a focus
to understand the relationship between mega-donors and school heads in the process of
policy making.
This investigation attempted to uncover the process of decision-making between
Questions that were considered revolved around issues such as vision, exercise of power,
building partnerships and developing relationships, educating the policy maker and the
professional, and planning and evaluation.
A Balancing Act: Miriam, the Engaged Donor, and Harold, the New Head of School
Carmel College founded in 2001 with 21 students from 9th to 12th grade, is a co-
educational day school providing a rigorous, college preparatory curriculum in general
and Judaic Studies with the aim that students engage in life-long Jewish learning. My
interviews were with the donor Miriam and Harold the Head of School.
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Meeting the Donor, Miriam
The hotel where I met Miriam was located in the heart of one of the major cities
in the United States and was at the top end of the luxury hotel market. I entered the lobby
and was greeted by the concierge, since the hotel provides personal concierge services.
The appointment was set for 12:00 noon and I arrived a few minutes early. Originally, I
had been informed by the Assistant to Head of School that the interview would take place
at the school. That morning while in my Holiday Inn hotel room, I received a 7:30 a.m.
call informing me that the appointment had to be cancelled and rearranged since Miriam
had flown in from Israel that morning. After protesting that I had spent months trying to
arrange the interview, and that I had flown across the country for it, the Assistant to the
Head of School promised she would see what she could arrange. After more calls, it was
rescheduled at the hotel. Setting an appointment with a mega-donor could be very
challenging.
Miriam is a mega-donor who purchased and refurbished the building at around
$20 million and contributes over $6 million a year to the school. Miriam’s investment in
the school is through a foundation that has been set up for Jewish education purposes.
The concierge spoke in hushed tones on the phone to Miriam. Eventually, Miriam
exited from the brass door elevator and greeted me formally. I introduced myself, and I
tried to be warm and engaging. She asked where we should sit. I requested a quiet corner,
and we retired to the Club Business Lounge on the top floor.
When we alighted from the elevator, it was clear that the hotel staff was familiar
with Miriam and we settled for a table in the expansive luxurious room. The club room’s
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furnishings were tasteful, and music was being played. I was afraid that it could interfere
with sound quality of the tape recorder, and Miriam asked a staffer to turn the volume
down. I was politely asked whether I would like something to drink. I declined since my
goal was to complete the interview.
The Negotiation
Miriam is of slight build and probably in her early 60s. She wore a black pants
suit and had closely cropped grey hair. Her late husband was a very successful
businessman, and he left his fortune mainly to Jewish education in the United States and
Israel. Miriam told me that she did not live in the city, but visits frequently.
I briefly explained the purpose of the interview and the process involved with the
Institutional Review Board (IRB) forms. She was the first interviewee to carefully read
the IRB materials. She was very suspicious, and finally agreed to sign the documents on
condition that she would be able to review the transcripts. I readily agreed, as member
checking is an important part of the triangulation process.
Miriam’s body language was tense, her arms were firmly folded. She had flown
an exceedingly long distance and was obviously very tired. Moreover, she is a very
private person and is never quoted in the press. I wondered how I was successful in
arranging this interview.
I programmed the tape recorder to begin recording the interview. Permission had
formally been granted by Miriam, and I then discovered that the tape recorder’s digital
disc was full. I also realized that the previous interview in another part of the city was not
recorded. Heshusius (1994) warned the researcher to manage his or her anxiety—but at
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this stage my anxiety was out of control! I frantically searched for ways to delete some
files on the recorder. After a few moments I succeeded, and the interview was being
recorded.
I again thanked Miriam for agreeing to the interview. She again asked for a
promise that I would not use her real name in any documentation, and I readily agreed. I
noted in my journal that I cannot help thinking how much financial muscle she has, and I
am filled with an overwhelming admiration for the investment in Jewish education.
The Vision
Background
I began the discussion by establishing how the vision of the donor and the vision
of the educational leader impacted on an institution’s practice. I tried to tease out the
reasons for her involvement in the school and her vision. She explained that it is,
“Simple. I have a daughter who lives here, and I used to live in this city.” Miriam was
approached by a group of parents who wanted to start a high school. She added that many
years ago she started a Jewish day school in another area of the city. She continued: “And
we said OK—and that was the beginning.” Schervish (2005) defined this as consumption
philanthropy, since these philanthropists invest because they see their families as
recipients of the gift. Indeed, Miriam’s daughter is on the school board, and I was
confident that Miriam would like to see her grandchildren ultimately enroll in the school.
Her original intention was to provide a matching grant to “get the school started.
We thought we would give them a $10 million grant and that they would be able to raise
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the rest of the money. It turned out that they couldn’t.” Miriam explained that a property
then became available on the market, and the foundation purchased the building.
I asked about the forward planning aspect of this investment, and Miriam
admitted to me: “We decided to move forward. I don’t think that we gave much
forethought to the planning. If I had to go back and do it over again, I would do a lot of
things differently, but that is it.” She indicated that a feasibility study was conducted. I
noted in my journal that I was quite astounded as to how a donor takes such a major leap
of faith, with such an enormous investment without a proper planning process. It was
truly audacious!
Vision and Jewish identity. I probed Miriam’s philosophical basis for
identification with the Jewish people to try and establish how it blended in with her
vision. At first, she ignored the question, but on the probe regarding what excited her
about Jewish education, she responded:
I look at it as the future of my children and my grandchildren. I think that a
[Jewish day school is] a place where a Jew belongs . . . and should do their work.
I find it a challenge. I also think that Jewish education is very exciting if taught
well, and I think that every Jewish child should have that opportunity.
Shay (2007) concurred with this sentiment since he postulated that Judaism can only
become a part of each student’s daily life in the Jewish day school setting.
Miriam struck me as a very reserved person, and it is clear that she is deeply
committed to the Jewish people, but at the same time she was not going to reveal her
hidden self, or inner personal feelings, or religiosity (Goffman, 1959).

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Miriam’s vision is to have a vibrant Jewish high school in the city, with an
emphasis on prayer, Jewish text study, and Hebrew language. She expressed it in terms of
building a school with a solid enrollment and a waiting list so that “children would
clamor to get into [the school].” This question of increasing enrollment was a recurring
theme in all the case studies and was one of Miriam’s primary concerns in this interview.
Making a Difference
One of the premises of this study is the overall assumption that policy-makers,
both volunteers and educational leaders, work together in an attempt to make a difference
in the Jewish world. I steered the conversation to this question. Miriam responded that,
“when you get started, you always think that you could make a difference.” Schervish’s
(2005) research supported the contention of mega-donors making a “big difference” in
the world. For Miriam this is clearly in Jewish education. Her other investments reflected
this passion, too.
I didn’t think very much about the fact that it was this city that we were going to
be working in, and that comes with its own set of difficulties. It is a community
that has a very high rate of intermarriage. It is a community that does not
necessarily value Jewish day school education. It is probably the last large
metropolitan city with a large Jewish population that did not have a high school.
. . . that was attractive to all students [from different religious denominations].
The schools that existed in the city prior to establishing this school catered to the
orthodox religious denomination, whereas this new school attracts enrollment from a
broad spectrum of Jewish denominations.

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The Vision and Its Translation Into the School’s Practice
The discussion turned to the question of the importance for the professional
educational leader to support and share in the vision (Senge et al., 1994). Miriam felt this
was an obvious question, since no one can head a school without sharing in the vision
and mission. In my journal notes, I concurred that Senge et al. too described a shared
vision as the discipline for “building a sense of commitment in a group.” However, given
that the school within a relatively short period of time has had four heads of school, I
noted in my journal that I wondered whether they all shared in that vision.
Miriam told me that the grant to the school was contingent upon a requirement
that every student participate in the daily Tefilah (prayer) program, take two courses in
Jewish studies and two in Hebrew language every year. A source document at the school,
as well as the interview with the Head of School, confirmed the policy. I also confirmed
with the school that the bylaws were appropriately amended to reflect the requirements
set by the donor. This can be seen within the context of Maslow’s needs for security by
the donor to have control over the investment (Lumarda, 2003).
In response to whether the vision is still shared by the board, Miriam agreed;
however, she qualified this by saying that the students do not “necessarily share” the
vision. “They do not necessarily come with the vision that Jewish education is what they
want for themselves—they get it—but they might not have chosen it.”
Miriam is passionately committed to the enterprise of Jewish education, and this
investment is one example of her passion.

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Power
This investigation attempts to uncover the power relationship between the
educational leader and the donor. The element of power is front and center in this
investigation. Miriam had no illusions regarding the clout that she carries as the donor.
She told me that she owns the school. This confirms the “golden rule” of Pfeffer (1994)
discussed in the literature review.
But power carries frustrations for Miriam. She said the school “doesn’t want to
hear from you. They want your money, and go away and leave them alone. It is a huge
problem.”
When she is not physically present at the school, Miriam has a phone
conversation with the Head of School once or twice a week. The foundation’s Chief
Financial Officer also calls, receives financial reports, and monitors the school’s finances.
Miriam’s formal influence on the school is through the control of the school’s budget.
For example, she has not funded a development director, since she felt that the school
was not ready for such an appointment. There are other examples, too, of her power. She
can appoint the Head of School, the board president, and six trustees.
My tour of the school revealed that she had her own spacious office in the
building, albeit sparsely furnished. The organization of the office was quite unique in that
there were two desks, or rather tables, in part of the room. The tables were placed
together and looked as if they were work desks. I had been told by the Head of School
that this arrangement was for all the offices where Miriam worked. The other section of
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the desk was for her partner at the foundation. In addition to having an office there,
Miriam has an employee on site who is the building manager.
Miriam told me that during the previous Heads of School’s administration, she
vetted every piece of public relations material that was sent out. Harold, the new head,
pushed back on this policy, and she agreed to reconsider the policy on condition that if
the materials were not acceptable, she reserved the right to re-implement it. In any event,
Miriam conceded that Harold was a skilled writer/communicator, and there was no need
for her to scrutinize the materials.
I suggested that the donor, if dissatisfied, has the ultimate power, and can simply
walk away. Miriam acknowledged that it did happen amongst donors in Jewish
education. On the other hand, she had a deep commitment to the school. Miriam then told
me she did not want power, and I implicitly believed her. She wanted the school to work,
with increases in enrollment, but acknowledged that these schools were very challenging
enterprises.
The School Board
The relationship between the school board and the mega-donor can be
complicated. In this school, it is even more complex. The trustees of the foundation have
the right to appoint six directors of the school board and the president in consultation
with the nominating committee and Miriam. The agreement was secured since it was
incorporated into the bylaws of the school. So when I asked about the board being in
synch with the vision, Miriam told me, “Definitely!”

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I probed the process used to secure agreement with the board. At this stage, her
arms were still folded and she was a very reticent participant—she was not very
forthcoming—but later on she did warm up to the interview, though not necessarily to
me. She told me that the board was made up of a group of people who had their children
in an elementary Jewish day school, and they wanted to see their children in a Jewish
high school. Initially the funding was dependent upon the board agreeing to a particular
person being appointed as president of the board.
Miriam felt comfortable with her investment. She continued: “They [the board]
knew what they wanted and we just basically came along to fund what they wanted
because it was in line with what we were doing, we are involved in Jewish education.”
Power is Limited
As the interview continued, it became apparent that even a donor’s power is
limited in a school. Miriam embraced the idea of personally speaking to parents and to
promote the school and Jewish education. The administration tried to minimize her
contact with parents, and although she had previously addressed parents, the
administration had never invited her again. She complained that she has very little contact
with any staff at the school. She did receive visits from students “who come into my
office when I am there because they want to speak.” Tobin (1995) suggested that
recognition is often an unspoken motivation amongst donors. In this case it was clearly
articulated.
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Partnerships and Relationships
Partners and Policy-Making
A central theme of this investigation was to identify whether the donor and
professional can be true partners in the policy-making process.
Miriam and I delved into the issue of relationships with the Head of School.
Miriam’s answer was that the first and most important requirement is trust. She hastily
added, “They [the Heads of School and staff] are afraid to trust us, and [as a donor I]
have to get over that.” I noted in my journal that the lack of trust between the professional
and the donor is an unspoken issue in this research and would need to be addressed in the
next chapter.
I burrowed into the relationship issues between her, the board, and the Head of
School. Miriam admitted to me that it is “complicated. It is difficult for them to say no to
us as we are a major donor.” I pushed back and dug further into the issue to explore how
uncomfortable the other constituencies were in saying “no” to her as the major donor.
Miriam admitted that “I think about that all the time . . . Of course they would be
uncomfortable. But they would say we have had conversations.” She added, “but I do not
think it has stood in the way of any progress.” I noted in my journal that these
relationships are multilayered and very complex, and Miriam clearly recognized this.
She was also deeply involved in policy making decisions at the school. The
original intention of the foundation was to have a rigorous Jewish studies program, but
the school had difficulty implementing the policy, since the students found the rigors of
the Jewish academic program requirements challenging. Miriam told me that “we have
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given on two occasions a bye for the year where we have allowed them [the school] to
experiment in a different way with the curriculum.”
Although Miriam did not visit classes, she informed me that she did speak with
teachers, including Jewish Studies teachers but added, “I can not say that I am in an
ongoing conversation with the Jewish Studies teachers, but I am not far removed.” She
periodically received a copy of the course curriculum. According to Miriam, policies are
set by the board President, the board, and the Head of School. But as noted, Miriam had
significant influence over these appointments.
I raised the issue of the policy on prayer for students in the school. Jews are
commanded to pray three times a day, and I noted in my journal that adolescents are
generally not in the mood for organized prayer. Miriam was adamant that prayer had to
form an integral component of the Jewish studies curriculum. She informed me that there
was no board process on this matter of prayer, and that the board had agreed to the
stipulation before the founding of the school. This is clearly a donor driven decision.
Moreover, this decision was congruent with the founding Board’s views at the time. I
noted that the Scholarship Fund Grant Agreement stated that the foundation may
withhold payment if the school amended its bylaws on Tefilah (prayer) requirements
applicable to all students.
Frustrations
I asked about the feelings of disappointment that are so intertwined with ventures
such as these. Miriam then really opened up:

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I can’t say that I have lost heart, yet I often feel frustrated. I often feel challenged
[as] there are a million moving parts every day. I just think that it is probably a
good thing that I did not know what we were getting into.
She revealed that her disappointments essentially revolved around the recruiting process.
The feeder schools are all the local elementary Jewish day schools. The recruitment rates
were low and she ascribed this to the lack of support from the elementary schools and the
attitude of parents to day schools. Indeed, when she started the school, she convened the
major Jewish families in the city and was unable to garner their support for a new Jewish
high school. So she decided to do it herself.
Miriam reported that fundraising has also been particularly slow and was a source
of frustration. I suggested that the argument could be made that the school had failed to
build coalitions and partnerships. She countered this by saying that the Jewish day school
concept was simply not valued by the major families, and she ascribed this to their own
public school experiences.
Miriam suggested to me that her biggest frustration revolved around the lack of
partnership between her and the school, including the Head of School. Although the new
Head of School began some three months prior to this interview, she was nevertheless
concerned.
I have talked myself blue in the face about partnership. People can not look at us
as partners. It is very difficult for us. Very frustrating. Because with the amount of
money we are putting into the schools, we want to be a partner.

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There are other frustrations too. She expressed concern about some of the key
hires in the school and lamented the staffing quality. “I would never of have hired them—
never . . . and the school [administration] is top heavy.” I noted in my journal that in
hiring there was nothing barring a school from having a process that included volunteer
leadership, professionals, and donors together in interviews (Peterson, 2002, p. 9).
She explained that the only hiring decision she made in the school was the Head
of School appointment. Miriam would like to see more open communication and be
better informed as to what is happening in the school. In general she articulated the
dilemma that many mega-donors share:
It is very hard because most heads of schools consider that a threat. What they
want is just give us the money and go away and let us do what we have to do. We
know better. In the course of education sure they know better, but this is a
business. I see it as a business, and there is a big difference because in a business
comes all those personal services that they neglect.
This comment identified an important premise in this research. The question that needs to
be answered in the next chapter is the criteria that would constitute a healthy partnership,
and prevent this kind of attitude from developing. How could the school administration
improve these relationships by giving donors a larger role in the school without
compromising their own authority?
Relationships and Resolving Tensions
I pushed on the relationships she has had with the other Heads of School. I
inquired as to whether she ever thought about their feelings. She interpreted the question
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in terms of the relative strengths and weaknesses each one had. She pointed out that none
of them came from the local community, so that their ties and power were limited. “Not
one of them was a leading player in this Jewish community.” Boyatzis and McKee’s
(2005) contention regarding the importance of emotional intelligence and the failure of
the mega-donor to recognize the Heads of School’s feelings and lack of community
power over which they have no control are a lacuna that is addressed in the next chapter.
Miriam suggested that open conversations are key aspects to building these
relationships. But then added, “That’s a conversation you must have, but you can only
have it if someone is prepared to speak to you on the other side. It is not easy.”
The question of partnerships between the mega-donor and the professional head is
one of the key issues in this investigation. I probed on how to resolve tensions. Miriam
said that she did not work alone and the foundation has a team of advisors. Regular
conference calls with the Head of School were held to process issues and resolve
tensions. But she was cognizant that tensions exist. Her preference for dealing with this
was to be non-directive and passive. She added: “In any case of tension, what we have
said is that this is what we would do. Do what you want to do, but [the path you have
chosen] is problematic.”
I probed on disagreements with the Head of School. Miriam corrected me saying:
They are “not disagreements—they are conversations. It is the Head of School coming to
say we do not think that [referring to the current Jewish studies policy] is a good
educational model.”
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Her strategy to relieve tensions is to give the new head face time with her and the
foundation key staff. This provided a forum to thrash out the issues and achieve better
working relationships. Nevertheless, it was hard for Miriam as the outsider and non
professional to understand why the new Head of School would not want to implement
these ideas.
[We] said to him . . . look these are the things that we think you need to do. And
we said we would not understand why you would not want to do this. He could
say I need a year to get this done. That’s fine—take a year and get this done.
Coming back to the power relationships as a mega-donor, Miriam fulfilled the golden
rule. She said clearly to me, “I own the school,” and this has led to challenges with the
board in that they have not been prepared to be involved in raising money for the school.
I noted in my journal that the premise is wrong and it is the professional leader who
needed to drive the fundraising process.
But Miriam concurred that these relationships between her and the Head of
School and the board are delicate. She therefore needed to tread cautiously since she
cannot afford for the board to walk away. At the end of the day, she regarded it as the
head’s responsibility to mold the board into a team. As with any business investment,
Miriam viewed this as a long term investment. She emphasized that one needed patience
to see it through.
It does not frighten me . . . The most difficult thing as I have said before is that
you could have to wait 20 years to see whether your investment was worth it. And
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that’s a lot of money. You can easily spend $100 million before you know it was
worth it.
Educating the Policy Maker
The challenge of a donor with little educational background being so intimately
involved in the educational decision-making process is a reality in the world of Jewish
education today. The key question is whether this is a limitation for the educational
organization. This point was illustrated in the discussion during the interview on change
in educational institutions. Miriam said that she now understood that education change is
a difficult process:
If you said to me that it takes five years to make a change to a school, I would
never have known that. I work in a world that if you want change, it is done
tomorrow. The contrast is so drastic. When I hear people go and tell me how
overwhelmed they are, I can’t even understand it. It is a different mindset.
I asked whether as a donor with little background in education she believed she is
qualified to make educational decisions. Miriam did not perceive this to be an issue. She
told me that she could not write curriculum, but “I am informed enough that I know who
I should go to if I need an answer.” She used consultants to inform her.
I asked about what Miriam would teach the professional leader in an ideal
situation. She remarked that it is an “interesting question.” However, her answer reflected
her deep frustrations with aspects of the school. She told me that she would teach
“planning functions,” meaning school management functions like attention to detail since
the Heads of School really do not understand and get easily overwhelmed.
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Scheffler (1985) argued that both the volunteer leader and the professional can
benefit educationally from one another. I asked whether Miriam thought that she could
learn from the Head of School, too. She nodded in the affirmative: “But you have to be
there [physically at the school]. How many donors have that time? This is one of many
projects.”
Planning and Evaluation
One of the questions in this investigation is, if the donor and the educational
leader are members of a team, what processes are used to plan together and evaluate what
they have accomplished to determine success or failure.
I decided to probe this question from the time of the inception of the school and
asked about the process that was engaged in to create the high school. Miriam responded:
“Nothing in advance.” At this point I felt that the interview was running into a road
block. Miriam’s arms were still tightly folded and she admonished me for speaking too
loudly. My tactic was reassurance. I proceeded to explain that this is indeed the case in
other schools and that this is what the research is teasing out. However, it is clear that
Miriam was not comfortable with the interview, and there was some tension in the air;
perhaps, I noted in my journal, it is probably due to her own disappointments.
She nevertheless continued: “Everything we did, we did incorrectly. Because we
had the money to support [it], the school goes on, but had we not had that, it never could
have succeeded.” She added, “So we sort of fell into every decision that we made.” She
described the messy policy-making process of setting the tuition charged. At first parents
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were expected to pay tuition, then “after everyone was accepted, we then went back and
told parents that the tuition would be free.”
It is clear that there was no serious advance planning for this new school. I noted
in my journal that in a solo new business venture, few would be able to make hard and
fast plans as to whether the business will take off and thrive.
The discussion turned to strategic planning and her role in the process. A strategic
plan had been developed by the board in 2004. The goals of the plan included: student
enrollment, program, administration and faculty, the school community, finance,
development, facilities, and governance. Miriam was disappointed that the plan was not a
living document. However, given the leadership changes in the school in the years since
its inception, one can not be surprised.
I tried to establish the thought and planning processes in which the donor engaged
prior to making the decision to open a school. What research was undertaken? Did they
bring in an outside consultant?
Absolutely. We engaged someone to do a feasibility study and they came back to
us and said yes, we think that you can get the number of students necessary. But I
think that feasibility study was in the guise of—when speaking to donors about
the school—and saying OK we did it—and now fund it. It was not a true
feasibility study but an entree into the donor.
I felt quite uncomfortable for Miriam, I was concerned about pushing a sore point, and
asked whether she evaluated what was achieved. She responded that the school was
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currently undergoing an evaluation process with a company from Boston. The evaluation
firm was also conducting a longitudinal study of graduates of the school.
Accountability and Evaluation
The question of evaluating the success or failure of these ventures is another
concern of the investigation. Miriam conceded that the school did not want to be
accountable to the donors; yet “we demand accountability . . . we are a business in
business.” Indeed, Drucker (2001) stressed accountability as a crucial concept in
nonprofit organizations.
Miriam informed me that she relied on the board and the Head of School to
enforce the policies of the school to prevent a radical shift away from the mission. She
spoke about her role and emphasized the role of the donor in this work. She trusted the
founding board members to carry the vision through.
Our discussion then turned to evaluation of the curriculum. Miriam described the
different ways in which the Judaic studies curriculum was evaluated, as compared to
secular studies. She explained that once a year the foundation evaluated the Jewish
studies curriculum; however, she conceded that over the past three years it has been
difficult to do in the absence of a consistent Head of School. In the meantime, a
professional company was hired to evaluate the curriculum. Moreover, she has
endeavored to institute the standards and benchmarks evaluation that has been developed
nationally. Miriam was comfortable with hiring consultants who could provide her with
the expertise to measure success. I noted in my journal that this was not the case in the
other day school case study.

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For general studies, Miriam relied upon the State accreditation process as a litmus
test of the school’s performance. “The state has accredited us, so I know that in the
secular studies we are fine.” Miriam was confident that the curriculum evaluation will
reveal a sound curriculum, especially since, according to her, the schools’ graduates are
accepted to the best universities in the United States.
Miriam expressed disappointment that there was no formal evaluation process for
the staff. The teachers have not been evaluated since the school was established, and
Miriam was clearly frustrated by this. She asked for this to be done over a number of
years but the Heads of School ignored the request.
One would understand that it is the natural order of these things that one would
have the answers to these questions. It is the business aspect. How do you know
where you have to go, if you do not evaluate your teachers? How do you know
the increase in salary? How many sessions should each teacher teach? How many
kids in a classroom? Are there minimum sizes a class should have?
Closing
As we reach the end of the interview, I marveled at the time, energy, and
commitment Miriam had made to the school. At this stage of the interview, Miriam
seemed to be more relaxed; her arms were unfolded, and she laughed when referring to
her time constraints.
The problem for me is that I am not here. If I was here working every day at the
school it would probably be a different story, but I am not and I can’t. I am not
even sure it would be good for them.

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I asked Miriam whether she has anything else to add, and I emphasized that I am
trying to move the field with donors and Heads of School in the Jewish education setting
to a higher level. Miriam’s mission at the end of the interview was clearly articulated
again for me:
The whole model of Jewish day education is very challenging. It is too expensive
to send your kids to Jewish day schools. We are the only one of the great
countries in the world not funding Jewish education. It is problematic—it is not
good, Seymour. Young Jewish philanthropists, they want the opera, the ballet, and
symphony. We just have not figured out how to sell it. Maybe the big mistake is
not plucking out the successful Jewish day school graduates and putting them up
as an example of what we can achieve. Or using public relations and advertising
more to the benefit. I think to myself what an enormous waste of an investment of
all that money to 8th grade and then nothing? What an enormous waste of an
investment.
This was a profound and inspiring point. Miriam then told me, “You will be impressed
with the school” as we parted company. I certainly was!
Meeting the Head of School, Harold
The School Setting
Carmel College is located in one of the major cities in the United States. The
modern campus building is located on a shady avenue. It is an impressive building with a
beautiful and spacious outdoor courtyard constructed from Jerusalem stone. I parked my
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car in the three level concrete parking garage dedicated for visitor, student, and staff
parking.
I was warmly greeted at the reception desk. I noticed a number of students talking
and chatting in the spacious lobby. Large glass windows surrounded the area allowing the
sunny weather to penetrate into the building. Samantha, the Assistant to Head of School,
was notified that I was downstairs and she came down to meet me. During the process of
arranging the interview prior to my visit, she struck me as being super efficient and
organized, and I noticed that by the manner in which the staff deferred to her, that she
clearly commanded her own power in the school.
As the Head of School was delayed in a meeting, Rhona, the admissions
associate, took me on a tour of the school. She was bubbly and full of energy. I noted that
the school was impressively equipped. There were large classrooms, two language
laboratories (one for Hebrew and one for Spanish), and three science laboratories. In
addition, I noted specially equipped rooms that served as music, art, and dance studios.
The school had an arts theater and a well stocked library. I observed that even though it
was late afternoon, students were hard at work in the library.
I was finally ushered into the Head of School’s office. I knew Harold
professionally and he greeted me very warmly. He had a comfortable office overlooking
the large and magnificent school court yard with a sport/recreation section and a park like
area. We sat at a round table in the office and began the interview. Harold is both a
lawyer and rabbi by training, and this was his first Head of School appointment. I noted
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in my journal that Harold was very relaxed throughout the interview. This was the case
with all the professionals I interviewed.
Vision
I asked Harold about his vision for Jewish education. He told me that he
understood the day school to be a place where the “future of Jewish life lays its
foundation.” The high school is an “intimate environment where students can grow
spiritually and in terms of their sense of identity.” Harold’s vision of Jewish education
was that the school be a place where “students experience Judaism authentically.” This is
in Pekarsky’s (2007) terms an existentialist vision.
He argued that for this to occur, the school needed to provide a “wide variety of
experiences and opportunities for learning.” The implication is that “religiously there has
to be a very diverse faculty where students can experience that authenticity.” For Harold,
the consequence was that the school needed “to do things beyond the classroom to
provide [for] experiential learning.”
Pekarsky (2007) posited the concept of an existential vision as a conception of the
kind of person the educational institution is trying to cultivate, a conception of the ideal
graduate or community of graduates. I asked Harold to explain his existentialist vision.
He explained: “the school needs to cultivate self-actualizing Jews who can lead their
communities, and that self-actualization needs to come out of some wisdom and
knowledge, and the thirst to do something more.”
Senge et al. (1994) emphasized that vision needed to be shared. In the case of the
school organization it should be shared amongst the staff, parents, board, students, and
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donors. I asked Harold whether the same vision was shared between him and the mega-
donor. “Yes, but different.” He explained that, although the overall vision for the school
was to strengthen Jewish identity, the tension with the donor is over the high graduation
standards that have been set for the students’ Judaic studies track. Harold described it as
the donor’s intention “of ensuring the centrality of Jewish learning and that it not become
a ‘Jewish light’ experience or a Jewish cultural experience, but a real Jewish learning
experience.” Ultimately, Harold would prefer that the requirements for Judaic studies be
changed, given the differentiated nature of the students enrolled who cannot cope with
the pressure. In essence, this meant reducing the number of credits in Hebrew and Jewish
studies that the students needed to take. He sensed that this change could also positively
impact enrollment.
Harold said he was in the process of clarifying his vision for the school. He
eloquently described what he is trying to do: “The thing that I try to create space for is to
make the vision my own and speak about it in my own language with my own
metaphors.” He mentioned that Miriam was frustrated with this approach, but he had
insisted that the vision had to be “organic and personalized,” one that people “will be able
to resonate to, and not an “off-the-shelf vision.” I recorded in my journal that it is too
early in Harold’s tenure to judge whether his vision had been translated into the school’s
practice.
Power
I introduced the question relating to the power element of the donor. As noted an
assumption of this research is the golden rule of Pfeffer (1994) that the power essentially
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lies with the mega-donor. He suggested that I should think of Miriam in terms of a “meta-
donor,” since the financial muscle she brought was so pervasive in the school.
However, Harold did not agree that the donor had power in the traditional sense.
“Certainly, she does have the power to pull the plug and withdraw funding with the
ultimate closure of the school. However, for the school to operate, she was constrained by
a multitude of constituencies.” Schools by their nature are process orientated institutions
and, according to Harold, the process constrained the donor’s power. He was convinced
that few people in a school organization have ultimate power. He suggested to me that no
one had the ability to influence outcomes in the school. Schools are complex multi-
faceted organizations, and processes need to be created to influence these outcomes.
Another example of the donor’s power is over the budget process of the school, in
terms of the management of spending. Harold explained that in the past the focus was on
the micro aspects of the expenditure, and he was trying to move the donor and the
foundation to think about it in more “big picture” terms. In the past, the “tinkering”
process by the donor and the foundation had, according to Harold, disenfranchised and
frustrated the professionals. In my interview with Miriam, she confirmed she had felt that
she was inadequately consulted in the process.
Drucker (2001) suggested that the power of a board is limited. This applied to the
power of the donor in this case study. He argued that many:
Nonprofit CEO’s complain that their board “meddles.” The directors in turn
complain that management “usurps” the board’s function. This has forced an
increasing number of nonprofits to realize that neither the board nor CEO is the
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boss. They are all colleagues, working for the same goal but each having a
different task. (p. 45)
Other Constituencies
Given the powerful influence of Miriam and the foundation, I asked Harold how
he handled the other constituencies. Harold informed me that he has two boards, the
foundation staff and the school board. He suggested that both these constituencies
constrained one another. He gave an example of the Head of School Performance
Appraisal Committee. This group meets with the head to establish his priorities for the
year. On the other hand, the foundation had a different set of priorities for the Head of
School. His methodology to resolve this was to have all three parties “triangulate the
discussion” and develop a consensus.
The other issue, already discussed, in which the board was constrained was on
their lack of control in policy making on the finances and budget of the school. These
decisions were firmly in the hands of the foundation. The board only has an audit
function, and Harold acknowledged that the Board feels “disenfranchised.” He told me
that this impacted the recruitment of new board members.
Another example that highlighted the board’s decision-making process was the
change in the graduation requirement policy. According to Harold: “The school board
came to an affirmation before the foundation [did], and the foundation felt sabotaged,
ambushed.” I noted in my journal this is a no-win situation for all parties and a situation
that school heads should avoid.

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Harold also believed that parents have not taken ownership of the school.
“Because there is this meta donor, parents have abdicated. There is a more explicit
awareness that there is this donor in the background, so they do not have to activate to
benefit the school.” He informed me that fund raising from current parents was less than
at an independent school.
Relationships
I delved into the relationship issues between Miriam and Harold. His view was
that he needed “to prove to them [the donor, that] I can hear them.” Since he had limited
meeting time with her, he had met recently for an intensive period with Miriam and the
foundation leadership, at the foundation’s head office in another city, to work on building
a relationship. But he conceded there were tensions in the relationship.
I asked about how he intended to build upon the relationship. “My strategy is to
listen to them and prove that I can hear what they are saying and being responsive and
give them my best advice and counsel when I think it is not.” Kelly (1998) referred to this
as stewardship and relationship nurturing.
Process
A question at the forefront of this research is whether the donor and the
educational leader are true partners in the process of policy making (Fox, 2003). This
case study revealed that it is an uneven and unequal partnership in favor of the donor.
The interview uncovered numerous examples of how this engaged donor was
deeply involved in policy issues. Harold informed me that Miriam was concerned with
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reducing school expenditures and decreasing the reliance by the school on a single
funder. At a previous meeting, Miriam announced a five year spending plan to Harold.
He was concerned that they had not processed or discussed this with him beforehand.
This is an example of the challenge of working with major donors.
As the interview progressed the true complexity of the problem surfaced. Donors,
such as Miriam, meddled. Harold informed me that there are other issues, too, and
confirmed what Miriam had told me in the interview—that she wished to see a merit
based pay scale. He was naturally hesitant about it in the environment where he had only
recently assumed leadership. He described the tension of the business and educational
worlds eloquently: “They have an emotional attachment from a business perspective to a
merit based pay.” His strategy to deal with this was to tell them that “I am hearing them
and build credibility before I can effectively teach them.” Scheffler (1985) would have
regarded this as a teachable moment in the education of the volunteer by the professional.
A further example of meddling in policy issues was that Miriam had traditionally
vetted all communications from the school. Harold reported that he drew a line at this
request and stopped the practice. This is another example of the recurring theme of micro
management by some donors in this research.
Setting Priorities
As a professional leader, Harold knew that he had to create sound processes in
order to set boundaries. He revealed in the discussion that he was trying to prioritize the
issues with which Miriam was asking him to deal. These included the Jewish studies
curriculum, enrollment, and recruitment.

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My biggest problem is that they want everything done at the same time and all at
the same level of urgency and that persuaded me that I had to push back on the
priorities. So how do I assess the relationship? When I can encourage them to be
reflective about what they have mandated.
Drucker (2001) said boards must meddle, and this applied to Miriam. The
interviews confirmed that Miriam met teachers, albeit on an informal basis; she has
formal discussions with the CFO; and she meets with students. Harold also mentioned
that Miriam had a practice of walking into staff offices, asking questions, seeking
information and reports. Miriam denied this in our interview.
A question in this thesis is how was this processed? Was the donor a true partner
with the educational leader in the school? Did the educationalists have a right to isolate
the donor from the coal face of the work? According to the evidence in this case study,
the relentless push from the donor on merit pay, enrollment, the standard of the Judaic
curriculum, and class size is a result of a frustrated donor. As I reflected on the issues that
Miriam raised, I wrote in my journal that these are all legitimate questions.
Relationships: Emotional Intelligence—Feelings Between the Head and Donor
I delved into what Harold thought were the key elements in a relationship with a
donor. He responded: “Trust, candor, kindness, humor, shared passion.” I asked Harold
as to whether he ever thought about Miriam’s feelings. This question was based on the
concept of awareness and empathy of the other’s feelings as one of the key elements in
developing emotional intelligence (Boyatzis & McKee, 2005). He responded: “Yes,
because she is pretty transparent.” I then probed as to whether he believed she thought
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about his feelings? “No—I hope they don’t—they do in so far as it may impact my
performance at a gross level.” I noted in my journal that the hidden self behavior
(Goffman, 1959) on the part of the Head of School was a barrier to transparency and
building a solid resonating relationship.
The discussion turned to the issues of the stress of the position. I inquired what
Harold did when he lost heart in this demanding and difficult position. He admitted that
“you are very much on your own.” He did have an executive coach, as he knew he was
stepping into a very difficult personnel situation. I asked about what advice he could offer
to deal with the stress of the position. He responded, “As long as you are not talking
about existential issues—humor and humanity.”
With Miriam I am expressive about it—so I told her that I thought my
responsibility was to enable her to feel proud at the school, while enabling her to
work less hard at it. She deserves to be proud of the school.
I turned to the issue of the donor’s lack of skills in Jewish education yet noted that
they were so intimately involved in educational decision making. Harold responded that
Miriam is confident that she is building a state-of-art of Jewish education. For example,
she provided national grants for the development of a Hebrew language curriculum and
funding for other projects in the field. Fox (2003) confirmed that it was imperative for the
educational professional to partner and fully involve the policy maker in the educational
organization.
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I returned to the question of how the educational leader educated the donor.
Harold’s view was that these donors operate on a very sophisticated level; therefore
emotional and common sense appeals were not always persuasive. They needed hard
data.
I pushed Harold to what he would want to teach a donor. He replied, “patience
and process.” He mentioned that the donor asked good questions. “The challenge is that
they ask too many!” He did not have the capacity to deal with them all.
Finally, I asked whether there was anything in Harold’s professional training that
prepared him for this work with mega-donors. “No.” This was a constant response in all
the interviews. No one at university level had been teaching educational leaders to cope
with this. Harold added: “My . . . executive coach says there are no parallel models for
this. Most CEO’s are independent. [We are not.]”
The question raised in this research is whether the donor and the educational
leader are members of a team who plan and evaluate together. Harold and Miriam met
frequently, and he kept in touch with her by email, especially if she had to be alerted to
something.
I noted in my journal that Harold is too new in the position to have reached a
sophisticated level of planning and evaluation in this role. Moreover, the donor was using
consultants to evaluate some aspects of the school and using intuition to assess other
areas.
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Closing
A limitation in this interview was Harold’s relatively short time as Head of
School. Nevertheless, deep insights were gained in four of the five areas of the
investigation. I noted in my journal that I considered Harold a cerebral and thoughtful
educator.
A Sleeping Partner: Jim, the Disengaged Donor and Nathan, the Active Head of School
Meeting the Donor, Jim
The Setting
The Weizmann Jewish Day School is a K-8 school with an enrollment of 115
students and a budget of over $1.2 million. It draws enrollment from a small Midwest
Jewish community of less than 3,000 members.
Jim is a well known philanthropist especially committed to Jewish education
causes. I estimated that he has invested a minimum of $1 million in the school over the
past 10 years. He is also a past president of the school. I meet him at the Anglo company
headquarters situated in a large Midwest city. The building is a large impressive five
story structure. I passed through security and was handed a security badge that permitted
me to be taken to the executive offices. A personal assistant ushered me into a conference
room where I waited for my interview.
I had a sense from the building, the corporate space, the well furnished offices,
that, as Chair of the board, Jim was a very powerful person in this company. He wore a
white button-down shirt without a tie or jacket. I later noted in my journal that Jim was at
total ease in the interview and was engaged by the process and questions I posed. Jim
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also played an important national Jewish role and was currently president of one of the
largest national organizations in the United States.
I had known Jim for a number of years, and when he entered the room, he greeted
me warmly. He introduced a young gentleman to me as his son-in-law, who was spending
a few weeks shadowing Jim in the business. He joined us for the entire interview.
I showed Jim the Internal Review Board documentation, and he immediately
signed it and the interview began. As the interview occurred over a lunch time, the
executive assistant provided a vegetarian lunch.
The Vision
A question being addressed in this research is in what ways the vision of the
donor and the vision of the educational leader impact on an institution’s practice?
Background
I started the interview by asking Jim to tell me how he became involved in the
school. He explained:
I was a ‘60s hippy who wanted to be a universalist, and my uncle talked to me
into taking [my daughter] to the Jewish day school for kindergarten. I thought for
kindergarten it can not hurt to have a Jewish background, but it would not be my
preference long term.
Once he became involved in the school, he started to identify with the Jewish values that
were being taught to his daughter. At the same time, the school was in financial difficulty
and “obviously they call meetings. And I like problems. If there is a problem to be solved
I like . . . to get involved. And that’s how I got involved.”

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Referring to the present day, Jim explained that whereas the school’s enrollment
is small, 115 students, the school is unique, in that it attracts the highest market share of
students than in any other community in the U.S. The school was also faced with some
stark realities, since it is located in a small, declining Jewish community.
Vision and Jewish Education
Jim reminisced about his vision when he became president of the school. “It was
28 years ago. I had a narrow vision, which was [that] I wanted the kids to have some
basic Jewish skills for later in life.” Tobin’s (2001) theory of Jewish philanthropists
investing in order to educate for future generations reinforced this point.
I asked Jim what excited him about Jewish education. He responded that:
[You] need certain life skills in order to get through life. You get them from
culture and value systems. At the level of the Weizmann School you get the tools:
Hebrew, an understanding of core [Judaic] documents, and the works of Judaism.
As I probed further to establish whether this was a religious or nationalistic identity, Jim
informed me that for him it was purely “values based” Jewish identity. He described an
early recollection that is pertinent here:
I remember the point when I got involved in the school. I am riding with my
daughter. She is in kindergarten and she said, I learned that when the Jews
celebrated the freedom of the Egyptians at Sinai, God told them not to celebrate
because they [the Egyptians] were God’s children, too. So I connected it to a
values system. I said maybe that is where I got my values, so I will go and find
out.
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He told me that when he began looking at his daughter’s school texts, he decided
to obtain the teacher’s edition of the books. “I started reading them and said: that’s who I
am! I just did not know it. For me it is all values based.” Jim’s body language was most
telling. He is very excited and passionate about Jewish education. He waved his large
hands in the air and became even more animated. He demonstrated the element of
passion and commitment element that is exhibited amongst most donors, particularly
mega-donors. I recorded in my journal that the challenge, according to Burnett (2002), is
for the professional to nurture a relationship with the donor to kindle this passion.
I asked whether he thought this vision was shared by other constituents, including
the head of school (Senge et al., 1994). Jim said that Nathan’s (the Head of School)
vision is “more traditional [in terms of religious practice] . . . one of his ideas was a
[curriculum] for tolerance in the upper grades.” He added, “We are pragmatic here.
You’ve got to be pragmatic if you are a small boat, and not [have] a lot of provisions!”
Jim used this metaphor to illustrate the lack of resources in the school. He continued:
“Most parents and board members have never thought about the vision.” I noted in my
journal that night, that this is an insightful comment. I also postulated that the lack of
understanding of the vision on the part of board members and parents in a Jewish day
school will distinguish the school culture from the culture of central agencies I
interviewed. He continued:
A lot of people are desperate for a meaning in their life and to give their kids
something. They feel pretty lost themselves [since] most of the synagogue
experiences in the non-Orthodox world are not very satisfying. They . . . are
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hoping that by giving their kids a Jewish education, their kids will ‘get it.’ If they
are second generation in Jewish day school, they may have found something in
their life, but they do not think heavily about it.
The literature supported the theory of a search for meaning in terms of reasons motivating
involvement in nonprofits (Drucker, 1990).
Making a Difference
I asked Jim whether he thought he could make a difference by getting involved in
the school. He nodded in the affirmative.
I did, but that is my personality. I was already running a decent size company. I
was president of everything I ever did, so if . . . this needs to be fixed, [I say] OK
I will go fix it.
Schervish’s (2005) research supported the contention that philanthropists believed they
could make a significant contribution to an organization.
The Vision and Its Translation Into the School’s Practice
I later confirmed with the Head of School, Nathan, and from the school’s website
that values education indeed played a dominant role in the Jewish studies curriculum.
Weizmann Day School integrates Torah teachings and values into the curriculum
in a way that allows students to find personal meaning within the text. Jewish
holidays, history, values, and texts are integrated into various aspects of the
curriculum and school calendar. Students learn Modern Hebrew, as a living
language. Hebrew comes alive through art, plays, and musical activities
complementing their educational path. (Internal school document)

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I noted in my journal that the stakeholders and the educational leaders were in synch with
the vision.
Power
I turned to the power element in policy making that is an implicit assumption in
this research, based on the proposition of Pfeffer (1994). Jim, as the major funder of the
school, told me that he did not see this as an issue in the school. Nevertheless, he made it
clear that he held the power, since he was willing to pay. “You figure it out outside the
board level, and you come with the money, and they say yes!” I noted in my journal that
this precisely reflected the power theory.
Jim believed that it is preferable for the board to own the school. He added: “And
if you have any power it is better . . . to get out of the way. Let other people do.” He had
an interesting definition of the intellectual capacity of a donor. “It is much harder to do
[it] without the money, [since] you have to be smart and charismatic. With money you do
not have to be so smart.”
Jim also told me that many volunteers in schools are inexperienced in playing the
volunteer role. Joining a school board is their first opportunity to have power, yet they do
not know how to be a good volunteer. He referred to his experience in the national Jewish
community, and said: “It is not easy to be a volunteer. By the same token, a volunteer
can’t let themselves, let their ego and every thing else get involved, and I see that happen
often.” I recorded in my journal that although Scheffler (1985) called for the education of
the volunteer policy maker, it is a challenge to train donors.

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Jim acknowledged his family’s power and that it “has driven the school in a lot of
ways, but we actually stay away.” However, although he was a donor who is investing at
an arms-length basis, this did not mean that he had a distant relationship to the school. He
provided several examples of his close relationship with the school. First, his wife taught
at the school, so Jim was able to keep a finger on the pulse of what was happening on the
ground. He mentioned that she “sort of knows what is going on, and when she makes a
suggestion, everybody listens. She is very low key person, so I sort of know it is OK.” He
added:
I feel that, in a couple of ways, you are right. I had four kids in the school, and my
wife is there every day. So for me, I know it is not in big trouble. When it is, she
would know, and I would know.
Second, three or four times a year, Nathan visited with Jim and updated him on the
progress and challenges at the school. Third, Jim said that, regarding the board president,
“they check in with me to make sure that what they are doing is pretty much alright.” In
my interview with the head of school, Nathan conceded that the board is disempowered
by the presence of the mega-donor. I noted in my journal that this is a unique situation,
and one needed to be cognizant that this was in a small school. It was a major challenge
for Nathan to deal with.
Limitations on a Donor’s Power
I shared with Jim my view that schools are risk-averse institutions. Jim agreed and
suggested to me that a board was always trying to develop a form of consensus, and it
was rare to get consensus. He agreed that, when one worked with a consensus model, the
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negatives always weighed down the more progressive and innovative ideas. The
“consensus model slows down innovation. Innovative companies will tell you that if you
have really innovative divisions—spin them out—do not even put them under the same
roof, because you will bog them down with bureaucracy.” For Jim, the consensus model
was a constraint. It was a limitation on the donor’s power, and it limited the Jewish
educational agenda.
Jim posited yet another limitation on the donor’s power, by the donor doing too
much himself. “Every time you do anything too much yourself, other people do not own
it.” He continued: “If I said this is how I want Weizmann to go forward and I will fund it,
they will do it, but that would be terrible!” The implication, I wrote in my journal, is that
the donor had to be cautious in pushing his own agenda. I was not convinced in the
instance of the rollback policy—that is considered in the next section, where tuition
charged was significantly reduced—whether Jim heeded his own advice.
Jim had already acknowledged his family’s influence on policy-making at the
school. I noted in my journal that this could be described in terms of constructive
disengagement. In terms of his direct relationship with the school, he was uninvolved.
His engagement was through third parties—his wife, his daughter, the Head of School,
and the board chair. At the same time, he positively championed the school by supporting
it financially.
Given the relatively small size of the school, Jim said there was an absence of
tension on the board level. He added: “I have never felt it.” The major challenge that the
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board had was keeping the school open with a balanced budget. He mentioned that the
traditional religious factions and tensions that typified Jewish day schools in North
America did not surface in this school.
Jim described the relationship-building process he engaged in when he first
floated the concept of erecting a new physical plant for the school.
When I built the school, no one in [this city] wanted to build a Jewish day school.
So I had 15 breakfasts individually. The board was happy to build it, but they
didn’t have the capacity [to do so.] So I went to the guy running the Jewish Center
and told him I wanted to build it on the Center property.
The point Jim drove home to me was the importance of building the constituency. He
said:
They [then] own it more. I do not like donors who go and push their way [in.] I
think they should be smart enough to work hard to build the constituency. Most of
them do not take time, and I have been guilty of that too. But I have learned that
you get much better long-range results by building a constituency, if you work to
build a constituency.
However, in spite of Jim’s intentions, I noted in my journal that it did not seem that the
Head of School was ever involved in these discussions. It needed greater collaboration.
Hornstein’s (2003) theory of power as a collaborative effort supported the idea of the
partnership as a vehicle to achieve mutually desired goals.

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Relationships and Resolving Tensions
In spite of the apparent absence of tensions, Jim informed me that the school
treasurer (a volunteer position) once objected to the tuition rollback program. Jim said
that he spoke to him and allayed his fears on the new policy. This is reminiscent of
Pfeffer’s (1994) view of the power of the mega-donor who wants to drive a policy
decision in the face of opposition. Jim simply dealt with the individual’s objections.
I asked about the relationship he had with Nathan, the professional Head of
School, and about their respective roles. In Jim’s opinion, the professional needed to
design the strategy, based on adequate data. “It is really hard to be a lay leader without a
good professional.” In turn, the donor needed to ask hard questions of the professional
and make sure that the board did not lose strategic focus. He explained:
The best way to do it, since a school is like a business, is through a business plan.
That [plan] should have a purpose, a vision, a strategy. What I call core
documents. If you do not have core documents, you do not know which mitzvoth
[precepts] to follow.
He intimated that much of the decision-making by donors at the school was ad hoc. “It is
usually what is on someone’s mind at a critical juncture.” Jim said that this could be
avoided if the professional developed a strategic plan and then depersonalized the plan.
[The head of school needs to say] here is the plan for the school. Here’s what we
are doing and talk about it in depersonalized terms. So it is not about what I want.
And they still want to be visionary enough and, if they are not good at that
themselves, they need somebody behind them.

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Another question Jim raised appertaining to a small school is how the institution
developed sophisticated management tools, given the constraints on time of the donor
and the Head of School. This is a similar question raised in the previous case study.
I asked whether Jim ever thought about the professional’s feelings. He responded:
“I do that all the time, because I made it a profession of being a volunteer.” Jim said he
had a keen understanding of the tensions that a Head of School faced: “It is hard to fight
the alligators every day, but truthfully that is what a good professional does . . . he puts
time into doing those things.” After he reflected for a moment, he acknowledged:
It is hard [for me] to have that much empathy. It is easy to give money and walk
away and expect results . . . Nathan did a great job. I rarely called him, but every
couple of months he is going to call me. If there is a problem in the school, he is
going to call me and talk about it. I learned to stay away.
I recorded in my journal that Jim did not really think about the feelings of the
professional. In Goleman et al.’s (2002) terms, this is far removed from the ideal
resonating relationships that they recommended. This was an important issue considered
in the next chapter.
I asked Jim about his disappointments in this work. He responded that he could
rarely get people to help him fund infrastructure. I asked about the use of outside
consultants in helping make decisions in Jewish education. Jim thought this was a good
idea, except schools did not have the money to pay for consultants, unless there were
donors who could assist. Consultants also support the decision-making process, as the
advice originated from an impartial source.

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Jim informed me that, since Nathan had resigned, he believed it was time for a
reexamination of the school and its viability. “We will not have a real emotional process
like some would have. We have an existential question, school or no school. Not what
kind of school. So we need consultants, and there is so much wisdom out there.” He
confirmed that he hired a consultant to manage the process.
The discussion turned to the lack of background of the donor in Jewish education,
and the impact that has on policy making by donors. Jim agreed that he has little
expertise on an issue such as curriculum, but he uses the “network effect” in the school
and community to determine answers to issues about which he had no expertise. He
explained that he would know who to go to in order to find the answers. I noted in my
journal that he certainly had the national connections in Jewish education to do this. He
informed me that he relied on his personal experience to make judgments. He
admonished himself: “I don’t have much knowledge—shameful!” Fox (2003) would
agree with Jim that he needed to use experts to inform him on the areas where he lacked
expertise, so that he could make more informed decisions.
As our discussion continued, Jim agreed that donors and most volunteer leaders
do not know or understand the substantive issues in Jewish education. “I probably know
them better [due to his involvement over so many years]—but I do not believe that the
average board member knows what to choose from [in order to make decisions].” He
suggested we must continue to ask the hard questions such as: “What are the approaches?
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Are we using a more affective approach? What is this about? We do not answer these
questions often enough.”
He gave the example of how teachers in Jewish education are generally underpaid
and tuition is over priced. “No one takes a step back to be reflective. And if we were
reflective, we would have better teachers and keep people in the field.” He projected that
the next generation of donors will be that much more sophisticated than he was.
We moved into the issue of educating the professional leader. Jim’s view was that
some of the professional leaders are good leaders, others are good managers, and some
are good with parents. However, he noted one rarely finds all three components in one
leader. He did not delve into any of the coaching that he has done on an informal basis
with Nathan, as it was confidential. Jim said that he had much experience in coaching in
his own business. I asked whether he ever thought of including Nathan in the training
sessions he did in the business. He acknowledged that he had never thought of that.
Tuition Rollback
The interview focused on one major policy change in the school that Jim had been
instrumental in initiating. This was the tuition rollback program. The concept was to
increase enrollment by lowering the tuition charged in the school. Tuition was
subsequently lowered by $2,200 to $3,550 for K-3 and $4,550 for grades 4-8.
Jim informed me that the idea to reduce tuition emanated from his wife, and from
a philanthropist who he had met at a national conference for Jewish education. I probed
on the policy making process for the rollback in tuition.

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Jim emphasized that the school could not have remained open if it were not for
the rollback in tuition. His theory regarding increasing enrollment in day schools was not
about providing scholarships for parents who could not afford the tuition, but rather it
was about making the price low enough for those parents who were not committed to
Jewish education to make them engage. Jim saw this as being congruent with his vision
for Jewish education.
He then revealed to me his innermost feelings as to his motivations as a mega-
donor, and referred to his own upbringing.
We had a demographic ‘sword of Damocles’ over our heads. It made sense, and it
fit in with my mental model of what ought to be provided by a Jewish community,
which is Jewish education. I grew up as a scholarship kid to attend the Jewish
Center in Canton. I did not know it at the time, but I can look back now and say
my parents could not afford for me to belong to the Jewish Center. I was able to,
so I appreciate that the community owes that to its community members.
Burnett (2002) stated that donors will often contribute to a cause when it mirrors their
own personal experiences. This was equally true in this instance. Moreover, for Jim the
cost of the new program was not an issue: “Take the cost out of it [for parents], [and]
worry about that later. I think the Jewish community should pay for Jewish education, but
easy to say [in this city] where we can afford to do it.”
I inquired as to how Jim brought other people to the table for this tuition rollback.
He referred again to the other donor who had agreed to partner with him. In addition,
there was one other donor, a parent at the school, who was not comfortable with the
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concept. “He was a little taken back that some people were getting away with not paying,
but he wanted his kids to have a school. Now he is involved in another school.”
Studying the Field
I asked Jim whether he had carefully studied the field before he implemented the
tuition rollback. He responded that he had data from a mega-donor in Springfield, a
foundation in Seattle, and the Jewish Education Services of North America (JESNA).
There were a number of meetings in order to undertake “due diligence” but he pointed
out to me that, at the end of the day, he has always funded the school, and “I will always
be there if they are in trouble.”
Processing the Policy
I asked about how the policy was processed with the stakeholders including the
Head of School. It was Nathan’s first year as Head of School, and he did not play a major
role in the decision making. Nathan told me in our interview that he was a little surprised
by the move, but supported it. He also mentioned that he was struck by the ingenuity of
the concept.
Jim reported that a board member, the school treasurer, objected to the reduction.
However, it is clear that, since Jim was the major philanthropist to the community and the
school, the rollback policy went ahead, since he wanted it implemented. Jim emphasized
to me that the community, due to its very small size, did not require the complicated
policy machinations of larger communities to secure agreements.
I asked about the mistakes that were made in the tuition rollback policy. Jim
stated:
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We really have not built a coalition of committed parents to it. If I had to do it
over again . . . we could have got more ownership, and then it would have been a
culture. Parents would have said: “Aha! If you do this [reduce tuition] we will do
that [enroll our children].”
Lobman and Bachetti (2007) reported this as a common cause of failure in K-12 grants to
schools.
I asked Jim whether he ever attended board meetings to guide them in this or any
other discussion. He responded that he had not been to a board meeting in 15 years. I
noted in my journal that it was the challenge for the Head of School to keep mega-donors
current and engaged.
Evaluating the tuition rollback. The conversation turned towards the evaluation of
the tuition rollback. Jim conceded that the evaluation process was superficial. He had “no
excuse for not doing it.” Jim then distilled the question into hard data on enrollment
statistics:
40% of non-Orthodox kids are in the day school. [That] is way more than
anybody, and that was enough for me. One of the parts of the evaluation was, is
the school still open? Do we have enough critical mass? Are we getting a big
enough share of the kids?
Jim felt that other mega-donors also did not value the evaluation process. They tended to
look at enrollment numbers as the key measure. I noted in my journal that, in the other
case studies, similar angst regarding enrollment numbers were reflected.

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He also suggested that the mindset among donors was challenging: “We are going
through a period of life when there are a lot of entrepreneurial donors. My daughter, who
now chairs our family foundation, is much more plan-full than I am.” He explained that
she would want to see the outcomes and the measures for the outcomes. It is a challenge
to do this, but Jim believed that one delivered a “lot better product.”
Jim was also realistic about the models for evaluation in a school of this size. He
said to me:
You can’t put in big organization tools. It is a challenge of elegant simplicity in
strategy. Have a few measures, not a lot of measures. Measure the professionals
on that and make sure there is a strategy, and don’t let people get personalities in
the way . . . There should be formal simple evaluations that are done in non-
threatening ways [such as] benchmarking for standards.
Fox (2003) stated that monitoring and evaluation of programs are “essential” (p. 285). I
recorded in my journal that the lack of appropriate and deliberate evaluation was a lacuna
uncovered by the research.
The Future
Jim was intensely concerned with the future of the school and was re-engaging in
a planning process.
We are going to go through a re-look at the strategy because the standard strategy
may not work. It may be a very creative strategy, but it would be a different
strategy if we were in Chicago or Boston with a waiting list.

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He was pushing the school to rethink its strategic direction and had hired a
consultant to process it with the school stakeholders. He sensed that the school should
provide opportunities for any child who wanted to receive a Jewish education. Once at
the school, these students must receive some basic Jewish skills, including an affinity to
Jewish identity and an understanding of Israel’s place in Jewish history.
Closing
Jim has very warm feelings toward the school. As we ended the interview, he
said: “The school is part of the family. We named it after our family. I met my wife there.
She was my daughter’s kindergarten teacher!”
I could do better. I feel more arms length [than] with the other things I give to. I
am actually tougher on other things, even though this may be important in an
emotional way. At Weizmann it’s like—my kid and I have to give to it if they do
a good job or do not do a good job. You are going to make me go back [and think
about it]; they will be sorry that you interviewed me!
Jim’s commitment to Jewish education was unwavering. He smiled at me and summed it
up rather eloquently: “I spend 40–50 hours a week on Jewish causes. So for me, Jewish
life is a vocation.”
Meeting the Head of School, Nathan
The School Setting
The Weizmann Jewish Day School has an impressive well-equipped building that
has a bright, warm, and welcoming feel, in spite of the snowy cold day outside. There are
additional facilities, such as a gymnasium and a pool, that are shared with the local
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Jewish Community Center. The school provides an innovative secular and Judaics
program for the students. The focus in Jewish education is on Modern Hebrew, Bible
teaching, and Jewish values that are integrated into all facets of the curriculum.
I was politely greeted by a faculty member who was in the waiting area. The
secretary asked me to wait since Nathan, the Head of School, was still busy with his
previous meeting and was behind in his schedule. I was most interested to observe Jim’s
wife, who teaches at the school, leave Nathan’s office before I was ushered in. Nathan
knows me, and he greeted me in a friendly manner. He is in his early 30s and has an
infectious enthusiasm for the work. His spacious office was lined with books on
education and Jewish texts. He is a trained rabbi and has a doctorate in education. The
large glass windows revealed the day’s inclement snowy weather. He was wearing a
white shirt with a blue logo of the school. Nathan had been with the school for five years,
and this was his last year as school head, since he had taken a Head of School position in
another larger school in a different state.
The Vision
I began the interview by trying to understand how Nathan became involved in
Jewish education. He told me his personal story:
I call myself an accidental educationalist. I never saw myself as a Jewish
educator. Then one day, I realized that if I wanted there to be a Jewish community
for my grandchildren’s grandchildren, all being well, I could not leave it up to
others. So for me, it was putting my work where my mouth is and where my
desire is. If I have to make sure that there will be a Jewish community, I have got
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to do it myself. I wish it were more altruistic, but it is personal, and I have to
make sure that my kids grow up in a Jewish community.
I noted in my journal that all the professionals and donors I have interviewed revealed the
same strong and deep commitment to the mission of Jewish education. Nathan told me
that he believed that he can make a real difference in children’s lives by being Head of
School. “I would never have accepted the job if I never believed that I could make a
difference.”
We began to talk about his vision for Jewish education. Nathan emphasized that it
is all about the quality of Jewish education. When he assumed the Head of School
position, the school was in decline, especially when measured by enrollment numbers.
However, he added that “there is so much good stuff going on here [that] we can let other
people know about this.”
Nathan explained that, when he took over the school, he did not have a clear
understanding of the vision. He instituted a visioning process and established a
committee called Blue Ribbon Task Force Visioning Committee to deal with it, and this
committee produced a report. The report described the vision in the following terms: The
school will be the first choice of school amongst members of the community; will
provide for instruction in Hebrew language and Jewish tradition and encourage the
observance of Jewish practice; will educate positive, independent individuals capable of
applying their knowledge and experience in the community; and will instill a love of
learning and academic excellence for future leaders of the Jewish and general
community.
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I asked about whether the donors have internalized the vision of the school. He
agreed that it was shared by the major donors. My interview with Jim confirmed this.
Power
In attempting to understand power issues in the school, I used the tuition rollback
policy as the start off point to delve into power relationships. I asked Nathan about the
role he played in the rollback policy. He told me that it was his first year at the school,
and he “walked into it.” He mentioned that even one of the mega-donors resisted the
rollback, but was persuaded by Jim into accepting it. As he reflected back on it, he
informed me that today he would have resisted the way it was done, since there were two
missing areas in the rollback. First, it was never made clear to the families that this was a
gift from the community to them. Second, there should have been an expectation that
families who have financial resources would be asked to make a donation back to the
school. He commented that these changes were instituted in the second phase of the
rollback. I noted in my journal that Nathan’s current assessment is based upon hindsight.
His inability to publicly resist the policy when it was instituted signaled to me his lack of
power to resist the pressure of the mega-donor, Jim.
At the end of the day, Jim was contributing more than 10% of the operating cost
of the school, and Nathan’s power was limited by this. One also needed to factor in the
role and power of Jim’s wife, a teacher in the school. Jim had mentioned to me that the
concept of the rollback was partially her idea.
Given these circumstances, I probed into the question of how comfortable Nathan
felt when disagreeing with a donor. Nathan referred to the concept of social capital from
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the work of Covey (1989), and he explained the metaphor that Covey used. In every
relationship:
One can put credit into the account, so [when] you have to make a withdrawal you
have to make darn sure that there are enough credits in there that you do not
overdraw. I have had moments where I think I have had donors where I have
overdrawn.
So, according to Nathan, one can push back, but there are limits. Moreover, some donors
think that “they understand the job better than a professional.” He also mentioned that
this is equally true when communicating with donors.
Some donors give you a suggestion and the expectation is that you must
implement the policy. While, for other donors, they are just suggestions. You
must just walk the minefield and get to know the donors. In my personality, I am
pretty straight forward, so if [I] have a disagreement with a donor, I have a
relationship where I can say, “I respectfully disagree with you. Is this going to be
an issue in terms of your support of the school?”
In my journal I penned that he raised legitimate issues. The power issue essentially
revolved around the relationship, or as Nathan termed it, the social capital the
professional deposited with a donor.
I explored Nathan’s view of the motivation of Jim and other mega-donors to
Jewish education. Do these people invest for recognition and honor? Nathan disagreed.
His view was that these donors do not invest for personal motivations, but rather to
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“leave their mark on the world. These are donors who have plenty of opportunities to put
their names on buildings.” However, he continued, “For them it was can we make Jewish
day school education available for everyone else?” During the member checking process,
he also remarked to me that another one of Jim’s motivations in the school was for his
grandchildren to attend the school.
I asked Nathan whether Jim really ever thought about the board’s reaction to a
policy, such as the tuition rollback policy. He thought not. His view was that these mega-
donors did not want to be involved with the minutiae occurring in school board meetings.
He noted Jim’s absence from board meetings, too. I made a note in my journal that one
should not expect board attendance from mega-donors. The chief educational
professional should create other forums to keep these donors engaged in the school.
I probed on donor involvement with the school. Nathan responded that he did not
want passive donors. “I want donors who have opinions and who are passionate. I need a
donor who will stand up in front and say this school is a great place and . . . say I gave
$100,000 to the school.” In my journal entry, I reflected that this is a reasonable approach
to forge partnerships and plan together with passionate and involved donors.
Whereas Nathan wished that there were “no strings attached” from a mega-donor
gift, he was realistic about it, and understood that there were clear obligations to meet the
donors’ intentions, especially if the school wanted to have the ability to attract future
contributions.
I asked Nathan how he dealt with his own emotions. He told me that he relied
upon a ‘kitchen cabinet’ of leadership. It was comprised of key individuals, “to walk me
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off the edge if I need that.” He had therefore developed a support system. In my journal, I
pointed out that this school is totally dependent on enrollment numbers to maintain its
viability; and this was one of the major pressures for the professional Head of School.
Moreover due to the demographics, he had limited opportunity to control it. The same
was the case in the previous case study. I asked myself in my journal what remedies there
were for these Heads of School.
Nathan informed me that he met with Jim three to four times a year. For the past
two years he had also met separately with Jim’s daughter, and he had Jim’s wife on his
staff. So Nathan was fully occupied with managing key donor relationships in the family.
Kelly (1998) referred to this as stewardship since Nathan was consciously nurturing the
relationship. Although these interviews focused on the role that Jim played as a mega-
donor in the school, some of the work with Jim’s family foundation had recently been
passed over to Jim’s daughter. This aspect was excluded from the investigation in this
case study.
I explored the relationship that Nathan had with Jim. Nathan had an interesting
theory. He postulated that the first 100 days of a relationship are critical in terms of the
professional demonstrating his leadership skills to the mega-donor.
I never thought of it in terms of the presidency, but you do need to have some
clear low hanging fruit that demonstrates your leadership, your knowledge, and
that you know what is going on. They have to see your leadership occurring on
day one.
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I raised with Nathan the question relating to the lack of Jewish education
expertise of donors and their involvement in policy decision making. He responded that
he thought of it in terms of the skills or lack of skills that he has as a parent of two
children.
I justify it in the same way as the decisions I have to make as a parent. I was not
trained in it. I did not get a degree in it, but there is a certain level of instinct and
belief that, when I make a decision, I make it in the belief that it is in the best
interests of my child.
Nathan applied this to the world of the donor, who made a decision that was not
grounded in practice, but who cared about the enterprise. He also told me that Jim was
much more knowledgeable than the average community donor leader. He was more
involved and was influenced by the journals he read and the people to whom he talked.
I inquired as to whether these donors’ lack of Jewish education hampered their
work as donors to the school. Nathan explained that the more literate and Jewishly
knowledgeable the donors were, the better it would be for Jewish education. The donors
with whom he worked all valued personal Jewish growth and acknowledged that they
have more to learn.
I asked Nathan if he ever thought about educating a donor such as Jim. He
responded: “I do not go out of my way to educate them, [but] I look for the teachable
moments; I look for opportunities during the dance to have the discussion.” I raised the
question of what skills Nathan would teach to Jim, if he would be appointed as his
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executive coach. He responded that the donor should: “Set clear expectations and
guidelines for the donation and that takes out the personal.” This is an articulated case for
limiting donor interference.
I probed on the role that Nathan thought he needed to play in educating the mega-
donor. He described his job as a professional as “being paid to share my thoughts—not sit
back and let them do whatever they want. I have to share to the best of my knowledge the
potential outcomes and what exists out in the world.”
I queried Nathan as to whether he received any training in his graduate studies for
dealing with mega-donors. He responded that he had received no formal training.
The discussion turned to what Nathan did if a donor such as Jim disagreed with a
policy decision. Nathan’s response reflected the enormous respect that he has for his
donors.
For the most part, most of our donors got that way because they are smart. So it is
very possible that they are seeing something that we are not seeing, and I would
encourage them to share what they see, because at the end of the day people will
respond. I am a very transparent person, [and] the mind of the collective group is
better than any individual. If you have the individual sharing their thoughts than it
can only get better instead of leaving that person on their own.
He related an instance when a donor wanted to give $20,000 for a staff position. He had
to prevent it from occurring, since it was for a particular staff member and, as Head of
School, he could not allow it to happen. He said that he processed it with the board, and
they turned the request down. I noted in my journal that a number of the professionals
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used the board as a buffer on difficult decisions. I also wrote that the professional
educational leader can learn from this lesson. It is not merely an issue of co-opting
donors, but it is using their shared wisdom for the benefit of all.
Planning and Evaluating
The Tuition Rollback
I inquired about the tuition rollback especially the tuition pricing and the planning
process of this donor driven decision. He explained that a Millennium Fund was set up to
support the reduction in the tuition. The donors argued that the school needed to take the
cost of tuition out of the decision-making equation in a family’s decision whether to send
their children to a Jewish day school. He continued: “They felt that the Catholic and
Christian community can provide religious education for their children at a reasonable
cost, so why could not a Jewish day school [do the same]?”
He continued: “When I first heard about it, I thought that it was ingenious. It was
a great way to make Jewish day school affordable for families.” He had regrets about the
process and the thinking. He explained that the school was not in competition with
private schools, but rather with public schools. The rollback attracted a public school
population who had special needs issues, and the school had to provide it at extra cost.
This was not factored in the planning.
In response to whether there was adequate data available to make this decision,
Nathan told me that it was based upon the gut instinct of three philanthropists sitting
together, with Jim being the leader. He noted that all three are at total opposite ends of
the religious spectrum as to the way they live their lives and their attitudes towards
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Jewish practice. In his view, it was quite remarkable that they can have a discussion
together and develop a consensus on what is best for the Jewish community. I noted in
my journal that this is what distinguished mega-donors from other donors, in the work
they do, and the unique situation of a small town.
He mentioned that on philosophical grounds one of the donors significantly
resisted the tuition rollback, but eventually participated in the program. In the second
iteration of the tuition rollback, Nathan said he had better data. Bacchetti and Ehrlich
(2007) suggested that inadequately analyzed problems, insufficient grounding in relevant
research, and prior work were reasons for failure in the field.
Evaluating the tuition rollback. Nathan conceded that the evaluation of the project
was “more arbitrary than scientific. Our numbers grew.” He contrasted this against a
philanthropic foundation grant, which requires a proposal and process. In the case of
dealing directly with mega-donors, this process did not exist. Nathan thought that, if there
had been a proposal and a process, he would have been held to a different standard of
accountability to the donors, which I recorded in my journal was in the donor’s interest.
Evaluating enrollment numbers. Nathan explained to me that the major issue for
the school and for the mega-donor Jim revolved around enrollment numbers. He
expressed it in the following terms:
Unfortunately, in the Jewish day school movement numbers are the be all and end
all. There are two ways to balance the budget: increase revenue or decrease
expenses. In a school, you have a limited ability to decrease expenses. I need

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teachers in the classroom, and I need resources. So the reality is that I need to
increase revenue. You either fundraise or bring new students into the school.
He reported to me that when he was first employed at the school, it had an enrollment of
86 students whereas current enrollment was now at 115. He regarded this as a success.
“Unbelievable numbers!” I noted in my journal that this is another instance of a
discernable pattern in this research, and of the pressure a professional is under in these
circumstances. It is interesting that in the parallel school case studies, Harold and Nathan
were under precisely the same pressures.
I asked about how Nathan had kept the donors abreast of the enrollment data. He
explained that he emailed spreadsheets to them and occasionally met with them. He
remarked, “They are always giving ideas and suggestions.”
He added that they also wanted to follow the dollars that they were investing,
which led again to the question of evaluation. It was established in the interview that
there was no formal evaluation process on either of the visioning or tuition rollback
initiatives. The donors seemed to be content with receiving reports on enrollment and
retention.
Planning the Blue Ribbon visioning process. Nathan focused our discussion on
the visioning process he engaged in at the school. Initially, the mega-donor, Jim, did not
want to engage in a discussion with general community members. It was not his level of
engagement; however, eventually Jim took part in the process. “The large donors got
together in a room, [and] they decided how they wanted to these things happen. And
[they] made those decisions which really devalued and disempowered the volunteers,
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teachers on the front lines.” I wrote in my journal that it is clear that mega-donors find it
challenging to be part of a team.
In the visioning process, Nathan said he told the committee that they were going
to create a four meeting intensive process. They had invited a broad range of participants,
including parents whose children had left the school, donors, current parents, prospective
parents, and other stakeholders. I noted from the source documents that Jim was not part
of the committee, but was included in the process and attended the meetings. Nathan
found that, by engaging Jim and two other mega-donors in the four meeting process, they
became more involved. The first meeting was a ‘brain dump’ where everyone needed to
put information down. During that meeting, he noted that “the mega-donors did not speak
as much nor share opinions, which left the perception that they were not engaged.” He
explained that for them it was “asking questions, and gathering information . . . they were
there interested to hear what the other people were saying, because they are so
disconnected.” By the final meeting, they were fully involved in the discussion and were
open to it.
He also mentioned that one of the challenges he faced was to “do something to
bring them down to the level of every one else in the room, so that they would be
speaking as individuals, and not as the money behind the institution.” He added: “They
realized that, as major donors, if they shared their opinion, sometimes it ends the
discussion.”
In my journal, I wrote that these are two interesting dilemmas with regard to
mega-donors. How did the professional expose them to the other lower level volunteer
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leadership, in terms of their giving, and on what level? And secondly, how did one
protect the remainder of the volunteer leadership from being disempowered by the mega-
donor?
A major issue in these visioning discussions was the question of the future of the
middle school. The kernel of the issue was that the middle school had a strong academic
program, but the configuration of grades 5-8 made it very small. The decision was to
compact the middle school to only include grades 6-8, make it a more unified group, and
invest $90,000 over a period of three years “to make the middle school the best it could
possibly be” and thereby improve student retention. The school was now in the third year
of the grant, and they have been able to sustain the middle school enrollment figures.
Process issues. Nathan mentioned that some mega-donors did not like the idea of
a process, as they do not want other volunteer leadership to influence how their money is
going to be spent. This point tied into the comments that Jim made to me, that process
can negatively impact innovation and creativity. Nathan’s view was that the donors have
a “certain level of fear and anxiety” regarding where their monies were being disbursed.
In addition to comfort level, donors also want to have control, and do not want to allow a
committee to make decisions on their resources. Lumarda (2003) in the theory of the
hierarchy of donor needs alluded to the importance of the management of confidence
with donors.
I noted in my journal that this is a delicate balancing act that required the
professional to carefully manage in order to keep the mega-donors at the table, along with
the volunteer leadership, board, and staff.

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Closing
Nathan was obviously passionately connected into Jewish education. These
concluding sentiments painted the portrait rather powerfully:
Asking a donor to give money is believing in what you do. I could never be a
lobbyist to raise money for causes [I do not believe in.] It is not who I am. I
deeply believe that the future of the Jewish community is about what’s happening
in these four walls, which makes it easy to have that discussion with a donor and
help them see it. . . . My parents taught me to pursue something I love. My hobby
and my profession married. I have the best opportunity in the world. When I meet
with friends, I love talking education. It is not shop; it is Jewish education. It is
what I do.
A Turbulent Relationship: Estee, the Micro Managing Donor, and
Simon, the Executive Director
The Setting
The Bureau for Jewish Education is a central agency for Jewish education,
serving a local Jewish community of 120,000. It is located in the southern part of the
United States and has a budget of $1.8 million. It provides two broad areas of service:
Direct education services to children, families, adolescents, and young adults of all ages;
and secondly, services for schools, such as consultations, a university-style adult
education, and a full range of professional development courses for professional teachers
in Jewish day schools and supplementary schools.

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Meeting the Donor, Estee
I made my way to Estee’s home on a wintry afternoon. The clouds were
darkening and the news bulletin on the car radio informed me of an impending heavy
thunderstorm and gale force winds. Estee, whom I had met before, welcomed me warmly
to her home. As we entered, I noted that it was a most impressive house. To my left was
the library, where her husband was talking on the phone, whereas on my right was the
dining area. Estee guided me to a small open plan section of the house, where we sat
around an antique table that had a full panoramic view of the sea.
By now the storm had unleashed its full fury, and Estee was carrying a small
puppy, that screeched during each thunder crack. Estee offered me tea, and I graciously
accepted. She was in her 60s, had a doctorate in psychology, and practiced as a part-time
therapist.
While I waited for her to prepare the tea, I looked out over the sea and the settling
dusk. It was going to be a rough night. I noticed the windswept palm trees and the
swimming pool in the front of the house. The hedges swayed from side to side in the
storm. The outside furniture seemed to be withstanding the gale force winds, but the sea
was spraying liberally into the bottom of the garden.
I explained to Estee the procedure for the interview, and she signed the Internal
Review Board documentation. Estee is a major donor to the Bureau of Jewish Education,
and is its past president. She was relaxed in the interview, and it was apparent that Estee
was both a skilled interviewee and interviewer.

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Vision
Background
I asked Estee how she became involved in Jewish education. She explained that
the first Jewish organization she became involved in was the Federation. (This is the
umbrella Jewish community organization for fundraising and community planning.) She
also served on the Federation Executive Committee and participated in some of the
campaigns.
After a few years as an active volunteer leader, she was then asked to chair the
Federation Education Committee, which she did for a number of years. Subsequently, the
Education Committee decided to set up a task force to consider the establishment of a
central agency for Jewish education in the area.
Estee mentioned that this committee was comprised of an influential and powerful
group of professionals and volunteer leaders drawn from the community. Consultants
were hired and, after a planning process of over two years, The Bureau for Jewish
Education was established. She recalled that there was an intense debate as to whether the
proposed Bureau should be an independent entity or part of the Federation. She informed
me: “It was concluded to establish it separately, and I became the President.” Some years
later, after she had completed her term, the Bureau was experiencing difficulties, and she
was invited once again, to become President.
The Vision
I asked her what excited her about Jewish education. She remarked, with a great
deal of enthusiasm, that she had recently discussed this with another mega-donor. “We
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have incredible resources here that, to a large extent are untapped, and I feel that we can
potentially create models” for Jewish education. She considered this as a Jewish
communal responsibility.
Estee continued: “I think that Judaism is a tremendous wisdom tradition, and the
demographics are screaming at us.” She explained that the geographical area, over which
the Bureau has jurisdiction, has a population of 120,000 Jews and is an extremely
wealthy community. However, the rates of attendance at institutions of Jewish learning
such as day schools, supplementary schools, adult education forums, and informal
settings of Jewish education were relatively low. She added: “And we have dollars, [and]
that excites me.”
Estee’s vision is not only in the forum of formal Jewish education for young
students, but for adults, too, such as herself. “Now we have [to] begin and not talk about
our children, but rather talk about ourselves.” She asked: “How can we excite ourselves
so much, that we are going to prioritize study?”
Estee regarded adult education as having the potential to be transformative in the
community. She bemoaned the negativity that she encountered amongst elements of the
Jewish community. “I do not fit into that. I am someone who feels very excited that we
are being forced to create.”
I asked Estee whether she considered Jewish identity as religious, spiritual, or
ethnic. She informed me that she had a different approach to this. Her view was that the
education system needed to go to where the community was, and rather not begin with
preconceived conceptions.
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For her, the target market was an individual who had never set foot in a Jewish
setting. She expressed passion on this point and emphasized the crucial importance in the
partnership between volunteers and professionals that “we need to do it together because
you do not know what my appetite is, and I do not know what my lack of knowledge is.”
As we talked, the thunder increased in intensity and so did the screeching of the
dog. Then the teething dog, who was sitting on her lap, began to bite on the antique table.
Estee brushed the dog’s snout away from the table. I noted in my journal that I was not
sure whether I was amused or just plain horrified! I focused again in on the interview.
Sharing the Vision
I asked whether the vision was shared by the stakeholders. She agreed that the
vision of both the Bureau’s board and the Federation was for the Bureau to be a strong
and viable organization. I wrote in my journal that this was a superficial vision by the
donor. She said there had been challenges along the way and that at one stage, there was
a discussion by the Federation to consider reabsorbing the Bureau as part of the
Federation. “The Federation was thrilled to see the Bureau become stronger and the
relationship re-cemented.” She added that Simon, the Executive Director, “totally got it
[too].” I wrote in my journal that many communities have grappled with the dilemma of
incorporating the bureau for education into the Federation or leaving it as an independent
institution with its own fundraising responsibilities.

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Power
An Understanding of Power and its Limitations
Estee understood power in broad terms and saw it as an important factor in
advancing the educational agenda. For her, it is not only about the question of the
exercise of power in the Bureau, but it is also about the exercise of power in the
community.
In Estee’s weltanschauung, power was seen as a corollary of collaborations with
the community, especially the Federation. She explained: “I told the Federation I would
only chair the Education Planning Task Force [on condition] that every agency executive
director in the community and every president would agree to serve.” She informed me
that the leadership of the community all subsequently agreed. I noted in my journal that
Miriam and Jim had these challenges, too, but Estee used her interpersonal skills to
influence key stakeholders to benefit the cause of Jewish education. For Schlechty
(2005), influence was built upon the social networking processes within the setting of an
organization or a school.
I explored the question of her use of power in her interactions. Estee told me that
she used her professional skills, training, and experience to exercise her power. “Simple,
I am a group therapist. One of my fortes is group therapy and I do what I do. I talk to
people individually. I find out what makes them tick [and] why they are objecting.” She
added that she invests significant time preparing for a meeting: “I do my homework, so
[when] I get to that meeting, I have spent hours . . . to know where I am heading.” Simon
confirmed this in our interview.

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She also told me that she had finely tuned her listening skills. “I am listening very
carefully, because maybe I am wrong.” I noted in my journal that there would be few
volunteer leaders who would openly admit to that.
She also said that she tried to be respectful of other people’s views:
I believe that we each have a piece of the divine spark that nobody else has, and if
I am talking to you, I better listen carefully because you have something I can
never have. And I really respect each person. I don’t care how much power they
have.
Estee was obviously a consummate consensus builder, and this added to her
power. “I think we do ourselves a disservice to cut people out who disagree with us.” She
articulated the advantages of building a consensus. “Even though the train might go more
slowly, I believe there are ways to integrate these people [and avoid] backlash and
splintering.” I explored with her how she accomplished this. She responded:
Give them dignity and a position so that you can not be accused of trying to
railroad things through. And there is no substitute for genuinely being interested
in what that person has to say. I have people like that on the Board. I sought them
out between meetings.
She said that this, too, is the responsibility of the professional, and added the caveat that
the size of the board is critical here since a large board cannot be sufficiently involved
and adequately process decisions.

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I moved the discussion to the period when Estee began working with Simon when
he was appointed the Executive Director. She explained that the Bureau was going
through a very challenging time, especially in terms of the relationship with the
Federation. The personal relationship between the previous executive director and the
Federation chief professional had all but broken down. She understood the role of the
Executive Director as being able to attract top professional staff, being able to support the
staff, and being answerable to a volunteer board.
I probed her working relationship with Simon. She responded that they were in
synch 98% of the time. However, when there was a divergence of opinion: “We were
able to talk about it, respect it, [and] we would joke that each of us was doing something
that was out of synch with one another.” She noted that they did not always share the
same timetable, implying that Simon was often late on deadlines, or on how to get there.
Emotional Intelligence Issues
Estee acknowledged frankly that she was a difficult President:
There are not a whole lot of Jewish educational professionals who could have
worked with me. Unfortunately, I had to be extremely heavy handed. Simon said I
was a volunteer professional. And it is true; I was a volunteer professional with a
lot of power and clout. And that is a nightmare for a professional.
This comment demonstrated an extremely high level of self-awareness (Goleman
et al., 2002). I noted in my journal that Estee understood power and was an effective
volunteer leader who could make things happen.

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During the time Estee was President of the Bureau, she admitted to some “tough
days.” She thought that the relationship with Simon “not only survived but thrived.” I
noted in my journal that this is largely due to his unique qualities. She continued:
I so respect Simon. And I was honest where I thought there were strengths and
weaknesses, and trust[ed], that we would protect and cherish our working
relationship. If I needed to be on the Internet at one in the morning, working on
something, I sent him an email. The odds were that he was responding to me . . .
because we were both losing sleep the same night.
Estee respected Simon’s skills and admired his “fabulous personality and knowledge
base.” I also noted in my journal that Estee’s strong and directive management style as a
donor enabled her to introduce innovative programs and drive the professional to
implement them.
Working as a Team
Estee demonstrated discernment in her management of tension with Simon. She
“first takes his temperature,” before engaging him. During the Women’s Writers’ project,
Simon was under pressure with other school projects, and she did not think that he had
adequately involved lay leadership in the program’s planning. She thought that this
would have future consequences, but that Simon “wanted to put this together [and] to do
this the way he was doing it.” Estee said that she used caution, “since I was all over him
in so many ways.” So she stayed uninvolved.
Ultimately Estee felt that the volunteer leader needed to be able to protect the
professional. Maintaining the working relationship with the professional was, in her view,
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“more important at moments than the immediate success of the program, or the
immediate results for the organization as a whole. And I think that lay leadership needs to
be coached in that.”
I asked Estee what she did when she lost heart in this pursuit. She explained that
she had a positive approach to this: “I do not lose heart. If something fails my response is
[to ask] what do we need to learn?”
The investigation focused upon the complementary skills of donors and
professionals. Estee conceded that she micro managed Simon. Indeed, on a prior visit to
the Bureau, I noted that she was stuffing envelopes with the staff. She told me that she is
trying to do things differently now.
Complementary Skills—The Donor and Professional
Estee claimed that there was “a real appreciation for what the other could bring to
the table. We had very different skills that we were bringing. There was very little
overlapping, and the organization desperately needed what we both had.” I wrote in my
journal that I noticed Estee had become quite emotional at this point. Her voice was soft
and her eyes moistened. I wondered what was behind the rhetoric that led to this
emotional response. I noted too that this investigation was focused on extremely sensitive
and delicate issues. I was constantly amazed how open people were to me, and kept
thinking how I could write up what I had uncovered. There was an important trust issue,
since I had promised to maintain their confidentiality, and I was very concerned that
people in the field would be able to identify the players and organizations in the study.
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As she thought about her relationship with Simon, the quiver in her voice
continued. I noticed that she was clearly pained, as she explained to me: “There was this
honesty, and depending on the feedback I would back off. I am sure he did the same with
me.” She recalled a particularly difficult moment when she:
Felt real frustration and tension in [Simon’s] voice that I had not heard before. He
said I can’t. I said “Simon what exactly do you want me to do? Do you want me
to back off, to shut up, do you want me to move in” . . . and his response—I love
that man—and he said “I don’t know.”
As Estee reflected on the episode she laughed.
I probed the justification for a donor, such as Estee, who was so intensely
involved in Jewish education policy making, but did not have expertise in the area.
Estee’s view was that her educational decision-making was dependent and incumbent
upon the skills of the professional who was advising her. This was why it is important to
choose the right professional. She added that, once she has chosen the professional, she
developed a trust:
I listen very carefully, with tremendous humility. From humility comes
confidence. So, I am listening and listening. I am absorbing and absorbing. And I
am talking to people who know better than I do. I am trying to put it all together. I
look at where my vulnerability is as best as I can, and then I put it out to my
board.
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Educating the Professional
Estee saw Simon’s weakness as being on the administrative level. She had
expectations for certain standards that were not being met in the Bureau. I noted in my
journal that the lack of administration skills amongst professionals is a constant theme in
donors’ responses in these two school case studies. She said that she had attempted to
intervene, but with limited success.
I decided the best thing to do was to leave him alone as he had enough on his
plate for the first few years. It was not until this year [that] I said, “Simon, it is
time for you to go out and solicit. . . . You can have your own style [but] let me
tell you what I learned about solicitation. And I don’t like it [soliciting].”
Educating the Donor
Estee had a high regard for Simon as her teacher. She pointed to some low points
in her own personal life experience, and described how she would ask Simon for
assistance.
He is so brilliant, so educated. He pulls something out, and he knows me so well;
he serves the purpose of a very special Rabbi in that way. Give me something
from the Torah (Bible), the Talmud, and he will pull it out.
To improve her knowledge base, she would ask for suggestions for further study, and
then used her intuition. “Then my confidence comes from intuition—but that is my
personal style. Others do it differently.”

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In addition to the issue of whether the donor and the professional are truly
members of a team, another focus of this investigation was on the planning and
evaluation processes used to implement program goals. For the purposes of this particular
case study, the focus was on two major projects of the Bureau: the Women Writers
program and the Philanthropy for Teens.
Women Writers
Women Writers was an adult education program for women to meet and discuss
books with renowned writers. The program was first introduced by Estee who said she
had given careful consideration as to whether it fit into the agenda of the Bureau. She
added that, since the Bureau was in deep trouble, “I saw opportunities that I felt would
enrich the potential targets of students . . . and also enrich the Bureau in terms of
leadership and possibly standing in the community.” I wrote in my journal that she was a
very savvy donor and President who understood the need for the visibility of the Bureau
in the community and the importance of cultivating future leadership.
I asked how the concept was initiated. Estee related a rather personal and amusing
anecdote:
The motivation for a program on Jewish women writers was partly selfish. [I was]
walking on the bike path [with a friend], and saying: I am dying here. I love my
friends, but I am dying. I just cannot keep going to dinner and talking about the
weather.
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It is noteworthy that Estee was open about her motives to promote the writers group. She
hoped to engage “people in regular study, including myself. I am motivated.”
Estee co-chaired the project and leveraged a local foundation that provided the
funding. She told me she had “informed” the previous Bureau’s director about the
initiative, but shouldered the responsibility for the initiative herself. She then handed over
the implementation to the committee planning the program to make the book and author
choices. Simon, while working at the Bureau at the time, had not yet been appointed
director.
I noted in my journal that I was most interested that so many of the donors
interviewed in these case studies had a ‘hands-on’ involvement and played a role similar
to that of the professional. Estee was aware of this weakness and said: “[It] should be
much more professionally-driven than it has been. We did not really have proper staff for
that.” She further informed me that one needs the “right [professional] staffing” for
initiatives such as these to succeed.
Evaluating the Initiative
The evaluation of the initiative was based on the demographics. The enrollment
was 50 participants, which Estee thought was a success. Her concern was that this year
enrollment was very low. I wrote in my journal that donors need to be more sophisticated
in analyzing success and failures in programs.
I asked Estee about the lessons learned. She told me that for these kinds of
programs one should develop clear goals with structured baselines to be able to measure
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outcomes. However, she agreed that this type of evaluation had not been seriously taken
in the Bureau. “I think we are very sloppy about that.”
The Philanthropy for Teens Innovation
This Philanthropy for Teens innovation was created to engage teens in the
community in philanthropic activities. Estee’s motivation for initiating the Philanthropy
for Teens project was based on her view that the community was not doing enough for
teens.
I asked about the data Estee had before she embarked on the program. She
responded that she had discussions with a major foundation that had originally developed
the initiative. “So I knew from data in the general community that the odds were that it
would succeed. I knew that it had a lot of pizzazz.”
Estee recruited another volunteer leader to chair this initiative. This volunteer
eventually contributed to the program together with a $10,000 grant from the foundation.
Estee reported that she managed to leverage three other donors to support the initiative.
It was a very successful program. In the first year the Bureau had 30 teens
engaged, and by the third year it was up to 120 teens. The model has since been
replicated in other Jewish communities. I made a comment in my journal that the
numbers of participants are again the only outcome for evaluation. The recurring focus is
on outputs rather than outcomes.
The Planning Process
Responding to my question on how to avoid risks in the planning process, Estee
identified one major danger and that was: “To ignore the constituency.” She emphasized
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the importance of engaging in a transparent and “genuine process whereby the naysayer
in the room has the opportunity to voice their opinions and objections.” The role of
leadership was to listen very carefully since “the chances are there are some very
important kernels of truth!” Planning, therefore, needed to be collaborative and inclusive
of all the stakeholders. I noted in my journal that from my interview with Simon, it was
the professionals who felt marginalized in the planning process.
Implementing the Vision
I probed how she implemented her vision for the work. She told me she aimed to
“talk to the potential target population in a very respectful way, and then figure out how
we can present the richness of our teachings, our traditions, and our value system in ways
that will be exciting, enticing and compelling.”
Estee reiterated the need to have a strong professional team in place to implement
a vision, and she could assist with the fundraising. In the final analysis, for Estee, the
Bureau “is a catalyst for the community. It is not about us [The Bureau]. It is about the
[community].”
Closing
Estee’s aspirations were to move the volunteer leadership at the Bureau up to the
next level.
I said to Simon from the beginning, I am waiting for you to get this organization
in such a place so I can bring in some fabulously successful businessmen who do
not know a hoot about Jewish education. But once they can understand the
agenda, can move that process forward.

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Meeting the Executive Director of the Bureau, Simon
The Bureau’s offices are situated in a modern building attached to the local
Jewish day school in the southern United States. There are 15 professional staff members.
Simon, the executive director, had been the head for four years. He was a trained social
worker and a Jewish educator. After being ushered into the offices, I stopped off to greet
a member of his staff with whom I was previously acquainted. I was familiar with the
Bureau offices and had been there previously. When stepping out of her office, I saw
Simon in the corridor. He gave me a friendly welcome greeting and invited me into his
office.
Simon was dressed in a yellow shirt and a patterned tie. He had a spacious office
with a coffee table and couch for meetings. I preferred to sit at his desk where I could
operate the tape recorder. His desk was a busy place, piled with papers. He took a seat in
his chair on the other side of the desk. I noticed a picture of his two children and a
photograph from one of the Israel wars. He signed the Internal Review Board
documentation without ceremony and indicated that he was ready to begin the interview.
Vision
I started off the interview by exploring Simon’s Jewish education philosophy.
Judaism for Simon is a meeting point of religion, culture, and history. He reflected and
said:
I am excited by the idea that we are a link in a very long chain that has existed
long before us, and [will exist] long after us. I am excited by the historical aspects
of Judaism. That there is this prophetic vision of a people that is very ancient, but
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parts of it fulfilled in our time that we are living through. Lastly, that there is a
very rich cultural aspect of being Jewish particularly in North America. It is a
very hip thing to be Jewish, and it is exciting to live in a time when Judaism is
competing in the market place of ideas.
I asked about his tactics for making a difference in the Bureau. He believed that his
contribution was his creativity, his vision, “an openness to trial and error, and a
willingness to admit to mistakes.” Above all, his aim was for the Bureau to be transparent
and, in his “tinkering” with programs, he informed me that “not everything is a success.
We are prepared to use the word failure in some of our work.” The conversation turned to
the vision that he had for the Bureau. His vision was:
To maximize the number of Jews in the community who will be receiving high
quality levels of Jewish education. Tied into this is having talented educators and
volunteer leaders to support and implement the vision.
He emphasized that he needed to build partnerships with the local educational
institutions and the Federation, which contributed a large proportion of the budget. He
also informed me that two years ago he would have been unable to articulate that vision.
I probed his understanding of what excellence would look like in the Bureau. He
said that it was an interesting question, and responded that the answer revolved around
the issue of having high quality people, both professional and volunteer, in the Bureau.
His view was that the volunteer leadership needed to have a broader role in the general
politics of the Jewish community, especially in the Federation, which had a very healthy
$30 million annual budget. These people could then influence and “define the
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community’s educational agenda” and, ultimately, the flow of funds from the Federation,
which is already a major funder of the Bureau.
I asked whether he felt that the vision was shared amongst the stakeholders
(Senge et al., 1994). He responded that the vision was not totally shared, since the Bureau
was developing a new strategic plan and a new vision with the stakeholders.
Power
The discussion then turned to the question of power between donors and
professionals, more particularly to the question of Estee’s power and her relationship to
Simon during her term as President.
Background
Simon told me that Estee’s power in the Bureau was due to her role as a donor
and her deep involvement in the creation of the Bureau. According to Simon:
She was very much connected to the historical connections and underpinnings of
the Bureau. She was the person who chaired the committee that founded the
Bureau, so she places tremendous emphasis on that. I tend not to, since the
reasons for creating the Bureau then, do not exist today. . . . She will talk about
the Bureau in sacred terms, and I do not share that sense with her. If the Bureau
cannot justify its existence, it should not exist.
He acknowledged that Estee was a strong personality and a persuasive force.
During her leadership, Estee also overpowered the board. Simon related that she was
always well prepared, and the board did not stand up to her. They trusted that she was
steering everyone in the right direction.

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Simon was candid with me on the question of his lack of power and provided a
forthright answer. “I was not in a position of power.” He spoke softly, and continued that
a key element of his work “was acceding to her expectations, meeting her expectations,
and following her recommendations.” Simon described the relationship as boundary-less.
We would send emails back and forth until midnight, and there would be calls late
at night. There was no such thing as a weekend. I joke about it. Estee was in the
office two full days a week and I really needed to work every Sunday to try and
keep up.
He estimated that during the two years of Estee’s Presidency he spent 12-15 hours each
week in conversation with her. Simon conceded that he was being micro-managed, but
did not think it made sense “to push back. But I will say that, while she was in her
Presidency, I was reflecting back [to her] about how unhealthy the process was.” I noted
in my journal that Goleman et al. (2002) would acknowledge high levels of the personal
self-awareness competency.
He said that when he took over as executive director there was a total crisis in the
organization. First, the Bureau was understaffed and under funded. Second, the
professionals and volunteer leadership were not certain as to whether the Bureau was
viable as an organization.
In Simon’s words: “[We were] a low priority in the community. We did not have
a clear direction, so there were a multitude of decisions that were made on a trial and
error basis.” He noted that the power dimension had now shifted and said that there is no
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lay leader who can act like Estee in the Bureau, “including myself.” I recorded in my
journal that Simon was certainly now feeling more empowered.
Simon was also aware of the limitations he had as a professional when he
assumed the executive directorship of the Bureau.
I didn’t have experience in development. My background was in program and
community organization. There were key gaps in my knowledge, and Estee really
filled in the development piece and the governance piece. I don’t buy into her
governance style now, [but] it was a wonderful learning opportunity. I am
eternally grateful to have had her as my first President, because someone else
could have just let me go. She really invested in me.
I probed into the partnership that Simon has had with Estee. He said that Estee
came from a school of thought amongst volunteer leadership that micro managed the
professional’s work. When she was President of the Bureau she was “in many ways the
director of development.” He added: “And in some ways, you could make the argument
that she was also the acting executive director,” since all major decisions had to be passed
by her.
He clarified again that currently the situation was different and the volunteer
leadership now placed greater responsibility on him. For Simon, the ultimate partnership
was for the volunteer leadership to be making policy and strategic decisions alongside the
executive director.
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I raised the sensitive topic of confidentiality with a donor such as Estee. I pointed
out that he worked so closely with her, and questioned whether he filtered confidential
and sensitive information away from her. He responded that, “at times I think I
overstepped boundaries because I was being pushed against the wall.” He was referring
to his training and the ethics of his social work profession that set a code of conduct for
him. He added: “I would ask people what can I tell Estee and have that defined into what
I would be sharing with her. And she would at times press me for more than I was
sharing.” I wrote in my journal that this was a sensitive point, and Simon was clearly
personally conflicted by it.
In response to my question about whether Simon was aware of the donor’s
feelings, he said that he sensed he was very much “in tune” with how Estee was feeling.
My interview with her confirmed this. Simon also ascribed this to his training in social
work. He mentioned that he had “no personal animosity or antagonism” towards Estee.
I probed how, during this period of turbulence, he managed his own emotions. He
responded: “I think it was important to remain calm. I remember once when I was losing
my calm, and I let her know that she crossed a boundary.” He added that he often used
humor to deal with a potentially difficult situation. “We laughed about it, and we had a
tag line that said a year from now we are going to look back and boy, are we going to
laugh about it.” I wrote in my journal that humor was a tool that Harold also used.
Another tactic that Simon believed was important for building relationships with
donors was thorough communication. He thought that he did not do enough of this. He
informed me that he mailed “feel good” stories to update the donors. He also had sent out
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issue oriented documents and program updates to the board and donors. Lastly, he
communicated with major donors on the programs in which they were interested. This
was to keep them informed and engaged (Sawyer, 1995). He returned to the theme of
transparency that he had raised previously: “It is not only good news, but honest news. [I]
let them know where we are having our challenges and what we are trying to amend to
move things forward.”
I asked Simon to outline his view of an ideal partnership with a donor such as
Estee. He believed that with a particular challenge, one should present the donor with the
information and then provide “your recommendation as a quality professional . . . Then
you accept the answer, whatever it is.” I noted in my journal that the power factor is
clearly defined in this relationship.
Simon reported that he had built relationships with donors by sharing problems
with them, and “I find real interest out there in just talking about it. The more people who
understand the mystery, the more you know they are right or not right. Someone who
thinks they have it solved is not right.”
A challenge that he raised with me is that the culture of the Jewish community is
not one of cooperation. He saw it as his role in the community to bring people around the
table and unify them.
I asked him what he did when he lost heart with a program. He said that he was
open to criticism, and “one of the criticisms I accept is that I could be wrong.” I noted in
my journal that Simon is open to admit to mistakes, but I have the suspicion that if I
probed his hidden self, these criticisms hurt him badly inside.
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I inquired about the justification for a donor such as Estee to be so involved in
making educational decisions. Simon said that he thought it was an “excellent question.”
He suggested that he brought in donors to deal with questions in which they have no
expertise. On the other hand, he has on occasion failed to involve them in those decisions
where they have a broader knowledge base.
Moreover, he said that many policy decisions that are being made in Jewish
education are not solely educational decisions. There are broader issues and included the
charter school movement, location of new institutions, and demographic issues. He noted
that many donors and volunteer leadership have real expertise in these areas.
Simon’s view was that a donor such as Estee can contribute in many ways to the
work of a Jewish educational organization, such as the Bureau. “She is a well informed
person and turns to her professionals for tremendous amount of consultation, and then she
believes she has more than enough capacity [to make decisions].”
Educating the Donor
I asked about the education of donors such as Estee in the field of Jewish
education. Simon interpreted this question in broad terms: “I have come to understand
that the role of a bureau director is akin to being very much a teacher and being a spiritual
leader.” He continued: “I constantly sell myself as Estee’s teacher. It is the one place I
can assert expertise within Jewish knowledge, and it is something I constantly did.”
The follow-up question explored what Simon would want to teach Estee in an
ideal situation. He responded: “I would like to teach the issue of boundaries.” In other
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words, he would carefully want to define those decisions that should be in the hands of
the donor, those that should be the province of the professional, and those that would be
shared. I noted in my journal that he clearly had issues with Estee’s interference and
power, and this is not a unique situation, as demonstrated by the other two case studies.
However, in this case study the situation may be exaggerated because Estee was
“boundary-less.” In addition, Simon acknowledged that there have been items on the
agenda for volunteer leadership decisions that did not appertain to their domain.
I raised the issue of whether there was anything in Simon’s education training that
prepared him to work with a mega-donor. He conceded that there was nothing in his
professional career to prepare him for this. He also was cognizant of his own weaknesses
as an administrator in this field. Nevertheless, he did recognize that, in his professional
career, he had some strong mentors who had prepared him for this position.
The discussion then turned to the question of whether he and Estee worked
together as a team, and how they went about planning. He explained: “We saw ourselves
as members of a team. And we had common enemies. I understood that her wishes were
good intentioned and in the best interests of the Bureau.” Two processes were used as the
lens to understand the dimensions of the question of teamwork.
Women Writers
First, Simon referred to the Women Writers’ project as an example of a project
where Estee took charge. She was responsible for the fundraising and program
implementation. Although he was not director of the Bureau at the time, he recalled that
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the program was not properly processed in the Bureau. “There was none. It was handed
to me as a program that the Bureau was now doing.”
He nevertheless supported its vision for serious learning for women in the
community. However, he did mention that the program was in competition with other
adult learning offerings from the Bureau, and that it also diverted staff resources. He was
clearly ambivalent about this donor driven initiative.
Philanthropy for Teens
I asked about other programs he initiated with Estee. He mentioned the
Philanthropy for Teens project that was started with a grant from a foundation in
Massachusetts. He said that Estee was instrumental in raising the initial funds for it.
However, referring to the vision for the teen program, Simon told me, that “was much
more my vision and my interest and [it provided a] way to hire a full time youth worker
for adolescent education. It was a necessity and an important project.”
Data Driven Decisions
I asked about whether there was a careful study of the field before he embarked
on these initiatives. Simon acknowledged that there were no serious data gathered for the
women’s project. On the Philanthropy for Teens, he informed me that a national
foundation had gathered national data; however, there had been no local data beyond
“some major success in this community in adolescent education planning.” His
understanding therefore stemmed from his own expertise in teen programming.

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Evaluation
On the issue of evaluation, the Bureau had not as yet developed a strategy to
approach it. Simon remarked that the Bureau had been on “life support so we were not in
a position to do reflective thought.”
He told me that most of the programmatic evaluation was not rigorous and
revolved around numbers of people attending programs. He said: “We had conversations”
as various committees reviewed programs. I noted in my journal the paucity of financial
resources to assess the quality of programming. This is a pattern in this investigation.
Closing
Simon told me in the interview that he and Estee were members of a team. I wrote
in my journal that he would like to be a team member, but the evidence is that it is an
uneven partnership with the donor, and they are not part of a team. This is explored in the
next chapter.
CADS – A Professional Partnership Between Dawn, the Savvy Philanthropist, and
Jonathan, the Consummate Professional Executive Director
The Setting
The Central Agency for Day Schools (CADS) is a national organization of Jewish
philanthropists established to seek vibrant and sustainable Jewish future through
strengthening the Jewish day school movement in North America. It makes grants,
provides expertise, and advocates for the Jewish day school movement. Over the past 10
years, CADS has invested a total of over $20 million in the field of Jewish day schools,
and has contributed to the opening of over 60 new Jewish day schools.
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CADS’s mission is to create a more active, committed, literate, and sustainable
Jewish community through strengthening and growing enrollment in the Jewish day
school movement. In 2006 it had annual expenses of over $4 million and a staff of 38.
Meeting the Donor, Dawn
I met Dawn at the head office of CADS in a large metropolitan city. The office
was located on the sixth floor in a downtown building. Our meeting took place in the
boardroom. The office furnishings were very ordinary, practical, and inexpensive. The
organization had just completed its national conference, so most of the staff had been
given the morning off. Dawn was in her 40s and had a master’s degree in education from
Harvard University. She was the second President of the board. She and her family were
mega-donors to Jewish education and to CADS. Dawn signed the documentation from
the Internal Review Board after a careful reading of the contents. She declined the
opportunity to review the tapes and see the transcripts. The interview was conducted in a
relaxed atmosphere.
Dawn was soft spoken and, as I concluded at the end of the interview, self-
effacing. I previously met her the night before at a cocktail party in the city for a well-
known visiting Israeli politician. She was very thoughtful and analyzed the questions
posed carefully. I was grateful that she agreed to come into the CADS office to be
interviewed. I had interviewed the Executive Director Jonathan off-site, and I thought
that it was important to interview at least one of the interviewees in each of the case
studies at the physical site of the organization (Merriam, 1998, p. 110).

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Background
I probed what excited Dawn about Jewish education. She told me that it began
when she enrolled her children in the local Jewish day school, and she had volunteered as
a parent. The head of the school at the time knew about her educational background and
asked her to serve on a special committee examining the question of the creation of a
middle school.
The Vision
Dawn told me that she always had an interest in education, and the Jewish aspect
became more powerful as we “were becoming more observant [religiously].” She noted
that both she and her husband had received an independent school education.
Although I already had the passion of thinking about education at 40,000 feet, it
became a very different experience when you are consuming it for your children
. . . I thought how the experience helped transform our family. Because neither
[my husband] nor I had a Jewish day school education, even though we strongly
identified as Jews, and although we were connected to a shul [synagogue], there
was something about the community and growing we did through the community
of the school. It was a catalyst for a lot of things for us in terms of thinking about
Jewish communal life.
Dawn posited that many volunteer leaders become involved in Jewish education when
their children were enrolled in Jewish day schools. Subsequently, she became chair of the
school board.
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I asked Dawn whether her involvement in CADS met her desire to make a
difference in the organization. She responded that initially she had a rather narrow
parochial view of Jewish education in the city, and had not thought about it in national
terms. Now, due to her involvement at CADS, she understood the national agenda and
the strategic role for CADS. “What I like about CADS is that it is so high up in the
atmosphere.”
Referring to the governance issues and CADS as an organization, Dawn did not
think of herself as a visionary, but rather as “[an] editor of things, as a process person.”
Her fundamental belief is that the organization has still to achieve bigger and grander
ideas. “That is how I felt that I would have a role.” The board is constituted by
individualistic donors from across North America. She viewed this as one of the
challenges she had to work on. She did not elaborate on this.
The Translation of Vision Into Practice
The evidence in this case study is that the CADS’ donors originally had one
specific goal in mind, and that was to establish new Jewish day schools. CADS’ original
assumption was that, if one built Jewish day schools, parents would enroll their children.
However, for Dawn, schools also needed to be quality institutions. If they “are
phenomenal schools and you have wonderful leaders, they will attract the money, attract
good teachers, and attract the students. The school will grow with visionary capable
leadership. To me that is the highest order.” I noted in my journal that there is currently a
lack of clarity in CADS on the vision.

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For Dawn the mission of CADS was to convey Jewish values by setting “the tone
[that Jewish values] permeate everything that we do. It is also a reflection of the
collaboration between Jonathan and me.”
Power
This issue of power was a difficult concept for all interviewees, both donors and
professionals, to discuss. I wrote in my journal that this topic made most of them feel
very uncomfortable. Dawn understood power in terms of consensus building. “In my
leadership style, I am not about power. I am about consensus, and there is real power in
trying to lead from consensus.” This statement met Hornstein’s (2003) definition of
power being a true partnership, as “we are in it together.”
She said that donors had two typical constructs on power. One was a dogmatic
approach. A donor would say: “I am throwing money at this problem” and then insist on
compliance with the decision they proposed. The other construct was a collaborative
approach to problem solving, such as strategizing and moving forward. She preferred the
latter approach.
Accommodating Other Donors’ Power
Since the CADS board was comprised of major philanthropists who were
accustomed to having their own way, I asked about how she dealt with these power
issues. Dawn said she adopted an open democratic approach. She allowed “different
views” to surface and encouraged debate, moving towards consensus.
Furthermore, while she typecast herself as being a super optimist, Dawn said she
was prepared to cut the organization’s relationship with a donor who did not accept
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consensus decisions. These donors could “take their partnership money and say I am
moving along.” On the other hand, there will always be donors who were enthused by an
idea and say: “I am going to invest more in this initiative because I so believe in it.”
Dawn conceded that she is not comfortable with “vituperative and hostile dissent” from
the other donors, but rather looks for “respectful dissent.”
She expressed concern that volunteer leaders and professionals in the field of
Jewish education tended to be over-accommodating with some donors. Her solution was
to develop a strategic plan for the organization, with a focus on a small number of
components or goals that needed to be achieved. The response to a donor-driven idea
was, therefore, that although this might be a brilliant idea, CADS cannot adopt it, as it
was outside the parameters of the plan. Dawn advocated for using the strategic plan to
drive decision-making in the organization.
Disenfranchised Professionals
Dawn was acutely aware that there were some donors for whom the size of their
checkbook was very much their “engine and ego.” Consequently, professionals walked a
narrow line between pleasing the donor and the strategic needs of the organization.
She raised the question of how a chief professional reacted when a mega-donor
walked in and said “this is what I believe in, and this is what I want you to do. And how
you as professional, say no.” Her advice was to then sit down with the donor and have a
conversation to establish clear parameters through probe questions.
What do you want to accomplish? Can we fit it in the structure we have got? Is
this going to take us away from the core work we have already been doing? [Is
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this] going to derail us, and is that appropriate? Do we need to commit to it? And
there are a lot of questions that we have not thought about.
I raised the issue of the treatment of professionals by some of the mega-donors,
and questioned whether some mega-donors really value these professionals. She
acknowledged that, in some cases, donors have treated professionals badly. It confounded
Dawn: “It is just astonishing to me. Just to first treat anyone that way. It blows my mind.
There are just people who are boors.” She referred to an experience where she witnessed
an interaction between a mega-donor and one of the most senior and respected
professionals in the community, and said: “I have seen people treat him like dirt.” Heifetz
and Linsky (2002) argued that leadership is dangerous, since the leader was rarely
authorized to lead and often will encounter resistance.
I asked how a professional or volunteer leader can, in good conscience, refuse a
multi-million dollar gift from a philanthropist and send them to another organization,
rather than take advantage of the opportunity. She conceded that it takes a very strong
professional and volunteer leader to do that. However, she was prepared for that
eventuality: “There are times you can go on the path together and other times you have to
sever your ties.”
Partnerships
A central theme in this investigation is the partnership between donors and
professionals. Dawn was convinced that the rubric for success was through collaboration.
She was strongly opposed to any form of dogmatic role played by a donor. “I would not
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come in and say, ‘here is what I am going to do.’ It would emerge as a discussion from
addressing an issue or a challenge and asking what can we do about this.” For her,
building consensus is “a matter of articulating it and making the case for it.”
I asked about the process of building an agenda for the board meeting to test the
strength of the partnership. She explained that she and Jonathan do it together, and it is a
distillation of ideas from a discussion: “I can’t tell if it was Jonathan’s idea or it was my
idea, but there was sort of this awareness that developed . . . I think that it is part of the
relationship between Jonathan and me.” I noted in my journal that this essentially is the
ultimate relationship that one strived to build between a door and the chief professional.
She said that Mitchell, the previous chair, had a totally different approach, was
not hands on, and certainly did not engage in any process. The source documentation
indicated that Mitchell was a philanthropist who drove the agenda on his own terms.
Relationships
She intimated that she regarded Jonathan as an “outstanding professional leader.”
I noted in my journal that no other donor interviewed had made such a statement about
the chief professional in the organization. I asked what Dawn identified as the key
elements in this relationship. She responded that it is essential to have high emotional
intelligence and respect. She added that in her role as a donor for other organizations, she
found some nonprofit professional leaders to be a “little obsequious.” This reinforced
Tobin’s (1995) point that donors are often ambivalent about their relationship with the
fundraiser whom they expect to be both professional and personable. “If they are too
emotional, then they may seem unprofessional” (p. 72).

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As I probed the subject of relationships, she offered the following comment:
“Build a genuine relationship with the professional.” She regarded this person as her
“counterpart.” She added, “the emotionally intelligent donor builds a relationship with
the chief professionals and develops loyalty with them.” I asked myself in my journal
whether there could be a gender difference here, since it seems that men (such as Mitchell
and Jim in the previous case study) were not as engaged as the women donors. Dawn
perceived that Jonathan is very appreciative of their relationship, and said that he felt
“valued and supported.”
She believed that much of the nonprofit work is “relational,” with the success of
the relationships dependent upon the personalities of individuals. “There is no distinct
formula” to address these issues. I noted in my journal that the professional had to foster
these relationships in order to succeed.
I raised the issue of the relationship between the donor and chief professional. She
advised that if a donor was “stepping on your toes,” there were two possible responses.
First, one could engage and gently inform him of the problem. Second, in some cases the
professional would have to merely sublimate his or her own feelings and “lie.” Ultimately
it depended upon the relationship you have with the person.
She surfaced an interesting dilemma regarding her role as a donor in a
relationship to the chief professional. Donors who were very involved tended to build
close relationships with the chief professional, and she wondered aloud whether her
loyalty was to the chief professional or to the organization. She concluded that it was to
the organization, and that could become “very challenging” especially in light of a close
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social relationship with the chief professional. I noted in my journal that I have witnessed
professionals who became too close socially with mega-donors, failed to maintain a
professional distance, and when serious issues arose, these relationships broke down
rapidly. The reason for this in most cases was that the donors’ ultimate loyalty was to the
organization.
Professional Feelings
I probed the subject of walking “a fine line” in the dance of not alienating other
donors. Dawn warned that the professional needed to be cautious in terms of his or her
own self-esteem since the professional’s “own sense of worth can be devalued when you
are around people [who are bullies].” She said that whereas the professional may not
want to jeopardize the relationship and lose a donor, he needed to nevertheless ask the
question as to what lengths he would go in suppressing his own ego. I noted in my
journal that the professional must define the line that should not be crossed by the donor.
Moreover, a donor with a destructive agenda could potentially compromise the
organization’s own mission.
Being Part of a Team
I unpacked with Dawn the process she used to build a partnership with Jonathan.
She valued the importance of working closely with the chief professional. They met
every other week and had regular email contact. If necessary, they would meet more
often. Communication for Dawn was on a:
Planned and on a needed basis. If you did not have a habit of being in touch with
one another even if there aren’t issues, when the issues come up, you would not
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have the language or the pathways created to address those real challenging
issues.
Boyatzis and McKee (2005) would have determined that this was a “resonating
relationship.” I wrote in my journal that this is the ideal and ultimate partnership between
a professional and donor.
Dawn thought that it was important to formally structure the relationship between
the donor and the professional. Parameters needed to be established with a “formal
review process, formal communication, and formal meeting time.” She described this as
an intentional relationship. When conflicts arose, they “can be put in a context and be
safe because you already have had the opportunity to have a conversation about other
things.” I wrote in my journal that it is about defining the situation, setting parameters
and boundaries, and not overstepping them (Hargreaves, 1972).
She added that another element in building a partnership with a donor is to keep
them engaged, preferably within the governance structure of the organization. I noted in
my journal this was not always easily accomplished.
Risks
Dawn agreed there are risk elements in these relationships, but added there are
risks in all relationships. Before assuming the chair of CADS she assessed her personal
risk. She added that, if she had not felt comfortable and trusted Jonathan, she would not
have assumed this level of responsibility.

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Relationships and Losing Heart
I asked about what she did as a donor when she encountered turbulence. To
illustrate the point, Dawn outlined a painful episode in another organization where she
was the chair and a donor. Her advice was that:
You have to know where your safety bases are and who is in your corner. It is
really important to get your fuel tank refilled by those people, because it gets
depleted regularly by everybody else. You need those people and the people you
do not expect to who can help you feel that you are doing the right thing.
I noted in my journal that she was a savvy donor!
Educating the Donor Policy Maker
The interview turned to focus upon the skills of the donor in the discipline of
Jewish education and the role of the donor in making Jewish educational decisions. For
Dawn, decision making in the field of Jewish education was the responsibility of the
chief professional and the staff. However, she argued, most decisions at CADS are
strategic organizational decisions distinct from educational decisions in a Jewish day
school. Therefore, she believed that the donors at CADS functioned at the strategic level
and were not making Jewish educational decisions.
I asked about her comfort level with the field of Jewish education. Dawn
responded that she had awareness, but agreed that many of the donors around the table
were very distant to the field of Jewish education. However, these donors could provide
“counsel and advice on strategic processes and thinking,” and not on the education
decision itself.
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I asked about the possibilities of educating ill tempered donors. She did not think
it was possible to educate a donor who behaved in an offensive manner. I noted in my
journal that I agreed with her.
This investigation attempted to explore the process of planning and the role of
both the mega-donor and chief professional. I turned to examine the new visioning
process that will be unfolding at CADS to understand the question of the process used
and where the ideas would germinate.
Dawn saw the planning process in terms of its design and management of
outcomes as being the responsibility of the Executive Director. Indeed for Drucker
(2001) this was what leaders needed to do. They set goals, set priorities, and maintained
the standards (p. 270). Dawn said,
It should not be me saying this is what we should be doing. It does not mean that
we do not engage in conversation, nor does it mean that I can’t say to him . . . I
have noticed this and what do you think will be a good way to address that?
I noted in my journal that she was nondirective in her approach in dealing with the chief
professional and built a collaborative partnership with the professional taking the lead.
This was probably an effective approach for planning.
Since the CADS board was comprised of donors, she surfaced the challenge of
having a donor board, since a donor may “articulate a particular vision, but that vision
was often nuanced.” She implied that an individual donor’s vision may not correlate with
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the overall consensus vision she was trying to build. I recorded in my journal that this
was a typical dilemma for nonprofits.
For the new visioning process, the board had agreed, at the initiative of Dawn and
Jonathan, to hire consultants who would do “a lot of listening with the other mega-donors
who are both smart and committed.” Ultimately, for Dawn, the visioning process was
about building a consensus and not to “steam roller ahead.” She described the role of
leadership in Collins’s (2001) terms for “getting as many people on the bus before it
leaves the bus station.”
Dawn shared an interesting insight on the role of a consultant in these processes.
She drew a parallel to the world of individual therapy where the client is in a growth
process with the therapist. She saw complex processes at work “that can be fraught with
conflict and that has to address serious issues.” She continued that the aim is to go
through the process and emerge on the other side with a vision and a plan, as well as with
every other donor’s ego intact. I noted in my journal that this is rarely achievable.
She mentioned that there was often resistance from the other donors as to the high
costs of engaging consultants.
They all think we can do this ourselves. And you know some of them can. With
real leadership capabilities, they can create vision, they can reach consensus, they
can get to a point of action, consensus in action. But more often than not, it ends
with an iteration of what they did before. Not that I am a big proponent of
consultants. I believe in a process, and sometimes people take things more
seriously when they pay a lot for it.

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The previous chair of CADS had vented his concerns in the press regarding the
mission of CADS, and I asked Dawn how she would deal with disagreements in public.
Dawn suggested that it was important to avoid a public confrontation with other donors
or professionals. She would ask for time to think about a problem and then talk to the
individual. She also advocated for “being genuine human,” and if one erred, one needed
to be able to make a retraction through refection such as: “I have thought about this.” She
suggested that many donors are unable to retract.
I asked Dawn what tactics she used to disarm and overcome objections from other
donors on the board. Dawn then unpacked for me her view on problem solving with the
other donors. She saw the issue in terms of not having to “run with what someone’s idea
is,” but to rather internalize whether the problem as perceived by the donor actually
exists, and then devise the strategies to remediate and address it. Moreover, she added
that one has to be able to assess the intervention and be prepared to “shift course in the
middle if it is not having the impact you thought it would have.”
Evaluation
I probed Dawn’s views on evaluation. She considered it a key element in the
work; otherwise, “you do not know if it worked, and [whether] you should spend your
money on something different.” Dawn said that an important aspect of the organization
was to “constantly check in and give feedback to one another.”
I asked about having adequate data in making decisions. She outlined the debate
that they have between those who argued for data and those who are comfortable making
decisions without data. She described two typical types of donors and professionals.
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Firstly, there are donors who recognize a problem and rush in to solve it by investing
money. They have no desire to collect data. Secondly, there are the professionals who see
data gathering as the core in making decisions, and then set baselines to evaluate the
impact of the decision. Dawn placed herself somewhere in between these two models.
Data Gathering as Inputs for Decisions
I asked Dawn how open she was to data gathering from other similar
organizations in the planning process at CADS. This question was based on the premise
that, in the business world, extensive research is conducted to inform planning decisions.
Her view was that it is part of the business of a professional organization such as CADS.
She provided numerous examples of other models within the Jewish community and in
the professional education community that are most applicable. She indicated that this
data gathering has taken place on a deep level with CADS.
Dawn reported that she recently attended a series of meetings on building
leadership capacity with another professional institution to inform the CADS planning
process. She reported that she came away energized and excited: “It was
transformational, phenomenal, because there is so much cutting edge stuff happening.”
These inputs are then taken and applied to the planning work of CADS. I later confirmed
this with Jonathan in our interview.
Closing
After an hour and a half, I thanked Dawn for her time and valuable input. She
asked to see the final version when it is published. I found Dawn to be a warm and
engaging personality.
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Meeting the Executive Director, Jonathan
I interviewed Jonathan in New York one late afternoon in February at the office
of a major Jewish organization in New York. Jonathan was currently the Executive
Director of CADS. Prior to this position, he was a head of a large Jewish day school for
20 years. He had a doctorate in education and was an ordained rabbi. I had known
Jonathan for many years, and he was highly regarded professionally in educational circles
in North America. Jonathan signed the Internal Review Board documentation and asked
to see a final copy of the section before the final submission. I readily agreed, since this
assisted in the member checking process.
Background
Jonathan told me he was approached to be the head of CADS in 1996. He thought
that it was a risky personal decision since the organization was still in its infancy, and
only four donors had committed to it. Mitchell, a mega-donor who was the main initiator
behind CADS, was the chairman at the time. Mitchell’s concept for creating CADS was
to leverage money to seed new Jewish day schools around the country. Although Mitchell
had relinquished the chair of CADS, he was still committed and planned to invest $1.5
million over the next five years.
Jonathan saw the position at CADS as an opportunity to take his learning
experiences in the day school and to grow his own learning for the benefit of the field. He
regarded day schools as a critical element in the Jewish community. The idea of helping
new schools open and share the experiences that he had learned was very appealing to
him. In particular he wanted to help day schools avoid the common pitfalls, such as
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dysfunctional boards and excessively involved parents. Lee and King (2001) related
vision to leadership. In their terms Jonathan illustrated both personal and leadership
vision. His leadership vision was a subset of his personal vision.
CADS’s board is constituted by the donors. Board meetings are held several times
a year where policy decisions and future initiatives are made, guided by the CADS’s
staff.
Some of these donors were advised by their own professional staff in their
foundations. There were also interactions between CADS and these professional staffers,
who advised CADS on donor intentions. Jonathan took advantage of this talent in the
planning process and convened these professionals as an advisory group to CADS. He
also successfully used this group to deal with what he termed as a “drive-by-shooter.” He
was referring to donors who come to board meetings, shoot ideas, and then moved on
without ever thinking again about what they suggested. He suggested that it was the
professional’s responsibility to distill through all the ideas suggested and only focus upon
the most strategic ones. I noted in the journal that this was the instance in one other case
study, too.
Vision
CADS has had three visions in its 10 year history. Jonathan told me that the initial
vision was that no North American Jewish community over 5,000 members should be
without a Jewish day school. That became the operational goal for the first six years. The
next phase was a vision of creating a larger day school movement with increased
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enrollment and a focus on capacity building. They are currently working on creating the
third vision.
I asked Jonathan whether it mattered to him that the previous board President did
not completely share in that vision? He said to me that “we could live with that
ambiguity.” At the end of the day, he was not involved in the organization and it was
driven “95 percent by the professionals.” He added that “they trusted me” to implement
it.
There was very little involvement of the funders who would swoop in for a
meeting, say a few things, but not really expecting to influence things in any
significant way. Nonetheless, many creative ideas were [implemented] that were
suggested by the donors.
Other donors began to put pressure on CADS to shift its focus away from increasing day
school enrollment in favor of greater emphasis on the quality of the day schools, such as
leadership and governance.
Power Issues
The issue of power is a complex matter in this research. In the case of CADS, the
board is comprised of donors who were accustomed to having their own way, took risks,
and expected success. I inquired about how Jonathan dealt with objections from mega-
donors to new ideas. He said that he initially discussed new initiatives with the
professional staff of the donors, and if they concurred with what was being suggested, he
relied upon them to brief the mega-donors.

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To accommodate the challenge of individualistic donors, Jonathan said that the
organization functioned on a consensus model and generally did not take formal votes. In
this way, the donors could not feel disenfranchised. Moreover, he avoided taking on
issues that would be divisive and contentious for the donors. “There are certain questions
you may choose not to bring forward and leave them unsaid in some cases. There are
certain policies where there were strong objections [and] we would back off from.”
I raised the issue of saying “no” to donor-initiated ideas. Jonathan said he “trusts
the process.” He informed me that he brought those donor ideas to the forum of the board
and allowed the board to make a decision. The key, in his view, is to depersonalize the
matter and “not to go head to head yourself but use other voices to help defuse the idea.”
I asked about the question of risk taking in these partnerships. I made the point
that Jewish educators are risk adverse. Jonathan acknowledged that it was a “good
question.” He continued:
My experience tells me that we are all creatures of habit and we gravitate to the
known and to the secure . . . The feeling [amongst the donors] is that if you do not
take risks, then you crimp your capacity for growth.
He pointed out that the donors on his board who have in their careers taken enormous
risks. He said: “Failure comes with the territory, but they [donors] do not like failure.”
According to Jonathan, organizations need to be innovative, and innovation
maximizes learning capacities and learning opportunities. He described CADS as
epitomizing a learning organization (Senge et al., 1994). “It does not mean that you go
into preposterous initiatives but instead [take] calculated risks.”

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I asked about the issue of maintaining confidentiality amongst donors. Jonathan
felt that he had been able to create a culture of confidentiality. It was also based on the
kinds of people the donors are. “They are accustomed to keep confidence, [since] their
whole business is based upon keeping confidence.”
The self-selected board of CADS is constituted by the donors, who are not
necessarily the best fit for a board. Moreover, these donors are scattered across the
country. Jonathan described his donor board as a “hands-off board.”
Lose Heart
In Jonathan’s opinion, it is inevitable that at times the chief professional becomes
despondent. He added: “I know that I [am] working towards something I believe in, is
worthwhile, and is sustainable.” In addition, he said that the chief professional needed to
take care of himself on basic levels of health and fitness. The professional also must
develop a sounding board, someone you can turn to “when you are in those valleys to get
a perspective.”
He said that he has a real partnership with Dawn, the board chair. It is clear from
my interview with her that the feelings were reciprocal. He considered that the role of the
board chair was to assist him with dealing with the donors, “so that I am not carrying it
myself.”
Moreover, Dawn played the role of a buffer with other donors, as a professional
was often too exposed to do it on his own. She could meet with a fellow donor and offer
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an opinion. I noted in my journal that she was at the present time both a board chair and
the mega-donor.
Regarding interactions with the donors on the board who are passive, Jonathan
explained that he visited these donors, spoke to them on the phone, and sent
communications to them, and often enclosed a personal note or memorandum. “It is an
open line to me and [I] will be on a plane if they have an issue.” He acknowledged that
the “active get heard more.”
I discussed the lack of skills of donors in making Jewish educational decisions.
Jonathan agreed that this was “challenging.” Firstly, he thought that the donor needed to
be open to being educated and noted that “not all donors are.” Secondly, he suggested
that donors need to dedicate time to the issues. Thirdly, there was the element of trust that
needed to exist between the donor and the professional. The donor must have “the trust
and the belief that the professional is going to give you honest feedback.” He noted that
donors are accustomed to being “yessed” all the time. The professional, however, needed
to give the truth of what is really happening on the ground. When the professional gave
them the realities, you are “educating them [by] telling them what is going on.”
When it came to making decisions, most donors would trust the professionals.
Others will say that they do not know, and some would not be prepared to be bothered
with the issue. In the latter cases the donors will then leave the decision to the
professional.
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I asked about what advice he would give to an executive coach to teach to a
donor. Jonathan thought that was “really a good question.” He would teach them:
What it is to work in an under-resourced environment. To care for the
professional. To be sensitive to the demands on the professional. To encourage
them to be learners and grow in their knowledge to be better listeners to latch on
to and cultivate big ideas.
Some of the donors have told Jonathan that they have learned a tremendous
amount by sitting around the CADS table. They have learned from the professional staff
and from one another. However, for these donors their real expertise is in philanthropy,
not in Jewish education, and they relied heavily on their own professional foundation
staff to advise them. I noted in my journal that this relationship between the professionals
and the donors within their own foundations would be an interesting area of research.
I asked Jonathan about the training he received in working with donors. He said
that although he was trained on capital campaigns in the 1990s, he had no formal training
for dealing with mega-donors.
Planning the Vision
I asked Jonathan how he engaged the donors in the visioning for the organization.
Primarily, he used outside consultants to facilitate a process. He told me that, when he
joined the organization, he had predicted for the board that the number of new school
applications would begin to saturate. This indeed occurred and then CADS needed to
determine where it would re-position itself for the next phase.

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At that time, there was an openness by the donors, who formed the board, to
consider refocusing the work of CADS. A strategic planner was hired, and Jonathan
recalled the previous chair telling him before the board voted on engaging in a planning
process, “I don’t believe in strategic planning, but if you think it’s important, I’ll do it.” I
wrote in my journal that this is a typical response from some mega-donors who do not
feel the need for processes and planning. Indeed, in their business world, planning is
often contrary to their intuitive instinct .
The planner chosen had expertise in capacity building for nonprofit organizations
and, coincidentally, that was chosen as the next strategic direction for CADS. CADS then
reshaped the organization and structure around core interventions that were “deemed to
be most impactful in non-profit capacity building.” In the planning and the policy making
process, Jonathan noted that ideas are generated through a “dialogical process, one on
one and in groups, and a lot of it happens with the interaction with the field and being
open to learning.”
The New Visioning Process
CADS is now poised to develop a new vision. The board again, on the advice of
Jonathan and Dawn, hired two organizational consultants who will spearhead a new
planning process.
It is unclear exactly where we will be in a year from now. My suspicion is some
of the things we’re doing we’ll still be doing, and some of them we will have
dropped or we’ll be in the process of phasing out, and there will be new things
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that will be getting launched that will be more in line with a tightened vision and
mission.
At the end of the day, it was the role of the consultants to align the vision with
practice. I noted in my journal that the use of an outside consultant with expertise is very
useful in planning. I also admired the zero based budgeting approach that Jonathan as a
leader adopted. He was open to jettison those ideas and programs in the organization that
did not fit into its plan. This also ensured that the vision aligned itself keenly with
organizational practice.
Hiring Consultants in Planning
Jonathan admitted that, in a sophisticated organization such as CADS, any shift in
strategic direction was going to foster dissonance amongst the board, donors, and
professional staff. He suggested that experienced consultants will be able to manage this
process and develop a “coalescence of consensus to go forward.”
Gathering Data to Make Decisions
The organization, under Jonathan’s leadership, has used extensive research from
the field to make strategic decisions in funding new Jewish day schools. In the second
strategic planning cycle, the consultants conducted a 360 degree analysis of the state of
the field, and that was important input for the new plan. The field demonstrated the need
for assistance in governance, planning, and recruiting.
Jonathan had also successfully imported ideas from other institutions for CADS’s
work in the day schools. He referred to the work at the Jewish Funders Network, Grant
Makers for Effective Organization, New Leaders for New Schools, the Wallace
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Foundation, the Kipp Foundation, the National Association of Independent Schools, and
the New Israel Fund.
I noted in my journal that he was very thoughtful, and used expertise, resources,
and research from the general education community. CADS’s strategic planning
decisions on building capacity and other areas were made from these inputs. I concluded
that that this was a sophisticated, professionally driven organization.
Although data are important, Jonathan made the point that there was also a place
“for bold new ideas, vision, and intuition that are not antithetical to data, but maybe grow
out of data or do not grow out of data.” This included intuition and creativity arising from
leadership. Mintzberg (1980) too regarded planning as intuitive and a craft.
Evaluation of Success
Jonathan explained that some of the donors, especially Mitchell when he was
chair, wanted to use enrollment numbers as a baseline for measuring success. The staff
advocated including the quality of the school as a co-goal.
Closing
In contrast to the other interviews, Jonathan did not open up to me about sensitive
inner issues that I would have hoped for. I sensed that he was not being forthcoming with
his insights, despite his outstanding reputation in the field as a thoughtful, reflective
professional. I noted in my journal that night, that in any research process one would
have to report the evidence as it unfolded—without embellishment, and this is what I
have done. I interpret it in the next chapter, and acknowledge this as a caveat and a
limitation in the research.

CHAPTER V
DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSIONS
Introduction
In the preceding chapter four case studies were presented of donors and
educational leaders in educational institutions. Each case study was analyzed through the
lenses of vision, power, partnerships, educating the donor and the educational leader, and
planning and evaluation. The assumption underlying the research is that both donors and
educational leaders play a crucial role in policy-making in Jewish education, and that a
successful partnership is dependent upon the relationships that are developed.
This chapter synthesizes rather than summarizes the findings by examining the
relationship intersections, commonalities, and differences between donors and
educational leaders in policy making both within and between the case studies. This
synthesis is followed by a discussion on conclusions and implications for future research.
In Weber’s terms, the role of the researcher is not to discover laws but rather to engage in
a verstehen or a deep seated understanding of the topic at hand (Patton, 1990).
The goal of the investigation is to deepen the readers’ understanding of the
relationship between the educational leader and the donor.
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219
Profiles
Profile of Donors
Tables 3-8 display fingerprints of the results against the categories in the
narrative. Table 2 displays the keys to Tables 3-8. They provide a succinct description of
the commonalities and differences between the educational leaders and the donors.
The four donors interviewed were all in the high upper income economic bracket;
three were females and one male. All were between 40-70 years of age, and one was
working full time. Three had commitments of over $1,000,000 to the institutions and one
at over $250,000. All the donors had college degrees, and one had a doctorate. None of
them had expertise in Jewish education (see Table 3).
Table 2
Key to Tables 3-8
Symbol Description
1. √ The circumstance or criteria applies to this interviewee.
2. X The circumstance or criteria is not met by this interviewee.
3. N/A The circumstance or criteria is not applicable to this interviewee.
4. ? No determination could be made.
5. This was not discussed with the interviewee.

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Table 3
Profiles
Jonathan
Miriam
Nathan
Harold
Simon
Dawn
Estee
Jim
Donor/educational leader profile
Accepted IRB without qualification X √ √ √ √ √ √ X
Full time employment X √ X X
Invested › $1million √ √ X √
Interview
Comfort level with interview X √ √ √ √ √ √ √
Openness to share in interview √ √ √ √ √ √ √ X
Direct hands on involvement with agency √ X √ √
With the exception of Jim, all the donors were heavily involved in the
organization with a major personal time commitment. This differential may be explained
by the gender difference and/or outside time constraints, as women were not in full time
business positions. All were influenced by either personal or family considerations to
invest in Jewish education. Except for Miriam, the donors had a high comfort level with
the interview.
Discussion on Profile of Educational Leaders
The educational leaders interviewed were all male, with ages ranging between 35
and 60 years. Three were ordained rabbis, and all four were qualified as Jewish
educators, three of them with a specialization in general education. The educational

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leaders seemed to have a high comfort level with the interview; however, Jonathan was
the only interviewee who was more reticent to share openly.
Discussion: Differences and Similarities in Vision Conceptions
Preamble
The visioning process (see Table 4) in these educational institutions had the
ability to develop a common language between donors and professionals in the
educational organization. In addition, it focused their efforts within the organization to
build success. According to Fox (2003):
Table 4
Differences and Similarities in Vision Conceptions
Jonathan
Miriam
Nathan
Harold
Simon
Dawn
Estee
Jim
Vision
Shared vision X X √ √ √ √ √ √
Clear vision of goals √ √ √ √ X √ √ √
Influenced by personal/family considerations √ √ √ √
Strengthening Jewish identity √ √ √ √ X √ √ √
Religious philosophy √ √ X √ N/A √ √ N/A
Making a difference √ √ √ √ ? √ √ √
Vision translated into practice √ √ √ √ √ √ √ √

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Vision, as we understand it, is not simply ideological preference. It implies both a
comprehensive understanding and guiding purpose . . . it is an invitation . . . to
create through reflection, a desired and meaningful tomorrow. (p. 8)
Donors
Three of the donors had a clear sense of a guiding vision. Miriam, Jim, and Dawn
wanted to improve day school effectiveness within the settings in which they were
involved. The exception was Estee, who was looking for a vision to hold on to, and she
found this from a discussion with her friend. Tobin (1995) noted the characteristic that
donors are not always certain what they really believe in. It needs to be pointed out that
the Bureau was the only organization that did not work with Jewish day schools, and this
finding may be influenced by that reality.
All the educational leaders were in synch with the donors’ visions, except for
Harold, who had a different interpretation on the vision of the school to that of Miriam;
this dissonance in vision may account for some of the tension in their relationship.
In most cases, the donors’ family background and connections played a role in
their personal vision. For three of them it was either their grandchildren or children who
connected them to Jewish education (Lee & King, 2001). Estee is the outlier, since she
described her vision in terms of volunteerism and the Jewish community. All four donors
believed that they were making a difference in Jewish education through their
involvement and investment.
Religion. Three of the donors clearly interpreted the vision in religious terms.
Miriam, although not explicit in her religious vision, required that the school included
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prayer in the program; and this was made explicit in a legal contract. For Dawn, religious
identity played an important role in her involvement. For Jim, it was nuanced, but it was
broadly interpreted since it was not only about religion, but more about Jewish values
(which in itself has a religious basis). The role of religion in Estee’s vision was unclear,
although she did study Jewish religious text.
Identity strengthening. Three of the donors, with the exception of Estee, saw their
work as building on Jewish identity and ensuring the continuity of the Jewish community
in North America.
The link of the donors to the cause of Jewish education was apparent in three
cases. For Jim, it was based upon his gratitude for having been given the opportunity to
have a Jewish education, even though his own family could not afford to pay for it. He
was very grateful and fit into Prince and File’s (1994) paradigm of the repayer. For
Dawn, the connection to Jewish identity was the enrollment of her children in a Jewish
day school, whereas for Miriam, it is probably translating the Jewish heritage to the next
generation, particularly to her grandchildren. Estee’s link to Jewish education could not
be classified.
Translating vision into practice. In all the cases, donors believed the vision was
being implemented in the educational settings where they had involvement. It was
beyond the scope of this investigation to test the application of the vision in practice.
Educational Leaders
All the educational leaders had a clear vision for their organization. Moreover,
except for Jonathan (where the interview did not specifically raise the religiosity
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question), the religious commitment and identity strengthening underlying the vision was
explicit in the educational leaders’ conceptions.
Two of the educational leaders experienced tension around their differing vision
interpretations with the donor. Harold and Miriam had a divergence of opinion on vision,
whereas Jonathan’s vision was partially at odds with the vision of one other donor who
was not interviewed.
Discussion: Differences and Similarities in Power
Preamble
Power is important for influencing people within and outside of the organization
(Pfeffer, 1994). In French and Raven’s (1959) terms, Miriam, Jim, Dawn, and Estee had
legitimate power, since as the donor, and/or a current or past president of the institution,
they occupied a position of ultimate authority (see Table 5). In addition, as a social net
worker, Estee had connectional power, based on influence with people she knew. The
educational leaders interviewed had expert power, based on their specialization and
knowledge of the field of Jewish education. I found that power was a difficult concept for
all interviewees, both donors and educational leaders, to discuss. It made most of the
donors feel uncomfortable.
Donors
Not only did all the donors interviewed wield an immense amount of power in the
educational organization, they were also highly cognizant of their power. These donors
were sophisticated and calculating in their use of their power; and each one had tactics
and strategies to achieve their goals. Miriam recognized that the school would like her to
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Table 5
Differences and Similarities in Power
Jonathan
Miriam
Nathan
Harold
Simon
Dawn
Estee
Jim
Power
Educational leader awareness of lack of power √ √ √ √
Donor awareness of own power √ √ √ √
Tension in relationship √ √ X X √ √ X X
Donor use of power to overcome roadblocks √ √ √ √
Limitations on power √ √ X √ ? √ √ √
Limits on ability to make decisions √ √ X √ √ √ √ √
write a check and leave them alone. That is not an attainable strategy for a school or
educational institution with a mega-donor. In response, she placed very specific
conditions on her philanthropy.
For Jim, his power was as the ‘banker of last resort’ for the school, but he was
disengaged. When he wanted to exercise power, he processed his ideas outside the board,
and then was prepared to pay for the implementation. This reflected the “Golden Rule”
theory of Pfeffer (1994), since it secured agreement. Estee’s power was that she could
mobilize resources from other donors for the Bureau, whereas Dawn’s power was backed
by the strength of her family foundation.
However, there are also clear limitations on donors’ power and this made change
complex. Harold noted that the school had its own internal processes which constrained
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the donors’ power. These limitations of power are a source of frustration for some of the
donors. Miriam wanted certain policies implemented and was disappointed by the lack of
progress, and Estee pushed Simon to accomplish goals. Although educational leaders can
utilize formal processes to mitigate donors’ directives, naturally, this did not apply to the
major decision, the ultimate and frightening threat from a donor to withdraw their
support.
Moreover, the donors’ power can be limited by the educational leader’s resistance
to implementing a decision. In one example, Simon did not implement what Estee wanted
him to do, so she gave up and backed off. Miriam continued to mount demands on
Harold. She asked for an evaluation, a curriculum review, and budget controls, and
resorted to hiring outside consultants to provide the information she required.
In contrast, Jim was not sufficiently engaged to create a power struggle, whereas
Dawn and Jonathan’s relationship was the most sophisticated; the power between them
was shared. Hornstein’s (2003) theory of power as a collaborative effort supported this
idea of a partnership to achieve mutually desired goals.
Ability to resolve roadblocks. In all these institutions, there existed an outside
constituency, or the milieu of the community, that needed to be negotiated for decisions
to be implemented. This also applied to managing interference against the educational
leader. Jim was a powerful donor in the community and could mobilize community
resources (the community center and the Federation) to his cause. Dawn had the backing
of her family foundation.

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This was not apparent in the other two cases. Miriam cannot even engage the
community stakeholders around the table to discuss the school. Furthermore, she did not
live in the city and may lack a social network of influential community members. Estee
was an influential player at the Federation, but has limited ability to leverage Federation
resources for the Bureau, since the other donors limit their support to Jewish education.
Educational Leaders
A question raised in this investigation is whether the system was constrained by
the power of the donor. The educational leaders, except for Jonathan, were all severely
constrained by the donor’s power, to the point of feeling disenfranchised. Harold saw this
as a limitation in his effectiveness. Nathan argued that policies were introduced with
which he did not agree in both their conception and implementation. Simon was pushed
by the donor to carry out the programs. Jonathan had similar issues with his previous
chair, but with Dawn, power is now more evenly shared.
All the educational leaders attempted tactically to manage the power issue with
the donors. Jonathan and Simon both used the board to make decisions on donor driven
ideas that they did not want to decide upon or take responsibility for. Jonathan also kept
contentious issues off the agenda. Simon, at times acquiesced to Estee whereas Harold
pushed back, since he believed some of the policies to be inappropriate for the students’
capacities. Finally, Nathan tried to build up credits in his “social bank account.”
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Discussion: Differences and Similarities in Partnership and Relationships
Preamble
Fox (2003) said that:
Lay leaders [or donors] must be full participants in any serious attempt to infuse
the field with visions. If they are deeply emerged in the discussions from the start,
they can become eloquent negotiators for change and improvement and have the
ability to make the case for the vision on behalf of their peers. (p. 282)
The assumption implicit here is that in the nonprofit organization, the donors and
educational leaders are in Hornstein’s terms—“all in it together.” This research tested the
assumption.
Donors
Partners. It is significant that all the mega-donors were current or past presidents
of the organization. Their involvement, understanding, and commitment were
strengthened by their years of service (see Table 6).
For the most part, there was a lack of partnership between the donors and the
educational leaders. Only Dawn was a true partner with the educational leader, Jonathan.
Miriam said that the school did not view her as a partner, Jim was disengaged, and Estee
was operating mainly on her own. In the cases of Miriam, Jim, and Estee, the initial ideas
for major new programs were generated without the guidance of an educational leader.
This is a further indicator of the lack of true partnership.
The lack of partnership resulted in frustration for both Miriam and Estee. On the
other hand, the true feelings of partnership between Dawn and Jonathan probably
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Table 6
Differences and Similarities in Partnership and Relationships
Jonathan
Miriam
Nathan
Harold
Simon
Dawn
Estee
Jim
Partnerships & relationships
Positive relationship with educational

leader/donor X ? √ X X √ √ √
Team relationship between educational

leader/donor X X X X √ √ √ √
Works closely with educational leader X X √ √
High level of frustration √ √ X X √ √ X X
High level of trust with educational

leader/donor X X ? ? ? ? √ √
Awareness with educational

leader/donor’s feelings X √ X √ √ √ √ √
Existence of conflict and tension in

relationship √ √ X X √ √ X X
Self-awareness of tensions √ √ X ? √ √ √ √
Regular contact, meetings, email √ √ X X √ √ √ √
Impatient donor √ √ √ X
Non directive relationship with

educational leader X X X √
Micro managing donor √ X √ X
Community support X √ √ N/A
Builds consensus ? ? X √ √ ? √ √
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reflected the ultimate educational leader-donor relationship. This, in Boyatzis and
McKee’s (2005) terms, is a resonating relationship. They acted in a true partnership and
as a team.
The research also indicated that these donors were impatient with implementation
and in their expectations for results. Miriam, Estee, Jim, and Dawn demanded success
quickly. This question of impatience has been an issue for educational institutions for
decades. Hutchins (1946), the president of the Chicago University, put it rather well:
The minimum qualifications of an administrator in his dealings with means are
four. They are courage, fortitude, justice, and prudence and practical wisdom. I do
not include patience, which, we are told, President Eliot came to look upon as the
chief requirement of an administrator. For reasons which will appear later, I
regard patience as a delusion and a snare and think that administrators have far
too much of it rather than far too little. (p. 396)
His warning was that the educational leader cannot afford to be patient. In this
investigation the administrators’ patience will not be tolerated by the donor; Hutchins’s
advice should be well heeded.
Relationships. The relationship issues between donors and the educational leaders
were also interesting. Dawn and Estee had acute sensory antennae to the feelings of the
educational leader and high levels of “social awareness” (Goleman, 2006). Dawn called it
“self-worth,” whereas Estee put it in terms of “her real feelings.” Estee also told me that
she had finely tuned her listening skills. “I am listening very carefully, because maybe I
am wrong.” There would be few donors who would openly admit to that. In contrast
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Miriam had the sense that she understood the feelings of the educational leaders, but I
was not that convinced. Jim did not think about the issue.
It was interesting to note that many of the donors interviewed in these case studies
had a ‘hands-on’ involvement and played a role similar to that of the educational leader.
This micro management and involvement of the donor in line functions can be very
disruptive to the functioning of the school or central agency.
Educational Leaders
Three of the educational leaders concurred that they did not have a true
partnership relationship with the donors. Harold struggled to address the myriad of issues
that were being asked of him by the donor. Jim was not involved with Nathan, and
although Estee was probably too critical to be a partner with Simon, they claimed a
partnership.
Relationships. In the relationships between the educational leaders and the donors,
all the educational leaders had a high level of self-awareness about the impact their
actions would have on the donor relationship. For example, Harold stamped his authority
by taking responsibility for communications. Simon was forthright with Estee on his
feelings. “I was reflecting back [to her] about how unhealthy the process was.” Goleman
et al. (2002) would note high levels of the personal self-awareness competency. Jonathan
carefully plotted the next board agenda, and used Dawn as the buffer between him and
the other donors. Finally, Nathan attempted to carefully manage the relationship with the
family.
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The interviews revealed that sophisticated, calculated strategies and tactics were
utilized by the educational leaders. I was struck by the parallels that chess masters
employ in a sophisticated chess game, where each is playing a move, while anticipating
other moves later in the game. The strategies that were being used were not only
thoughtful, but deliberate.
Mutual self-reflection. Referring to the head-board relationship in schools, Urbas,
Powell and Aczel (2007) described it in terms of “mutual self reflection. They talk all the
time to think about each others’ roles” (p. 60). This applied equally in the case of a
donor-educational leader relationship. Urbas et al. suggested that to improve the
partnership, both parties needed to put things down on paper in order to keep the donor
and the professional in synch with one another.
The investigation revealed that the educational leaders would like to be part of a
team with the donor. However, the evidence is that it is an uneven partnership, and power
resided unevenly in the hands of the donor.
In all the interviews, the question of what strategies were adopted when the donor
or educational leader became disillusioned with the program or process was raised.
Losing heart is a serious obstacle for nonprofit organizations and for Jewish education.
Donors may be accustomed to failure and risk taking in their business careers, but for the
educational leaders, this is much more difficult. Harold had a coach, Nathan had an
advisory team, and Jonathan and Simon made use of consultants. According to Fox
(2003), it is important for policy makers to “include in their planning the training of
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qualified people to help work directly with teachers and to be available to help them
resolve their dilemmas” (p. 284).
Discussion: Differences and Similarities in Educating Policy Makers
Preamble
Donors are not experts in Jewish education. They must rely upon the educational
leader or other experts to make critical decisions. However, the research has shown that
this did not preclude donors from making major decisions in Jewish education,
sometimes without consulting professionals (see Table 7).
Fox (2003) provided a number of reasons to justify non experts, such as donors, to
make educational decisions. First, there are moral reasons as they personally, or their
children and grandchildren, benefited from the investment. This investigation confirmed
that in all four cases. Second, policy makers have power in education, and they will use
it. It is therefore important for them to be thoughtful in its exercise. Finally, he suggested
that policy makers have wisdom and expertise that educators did not have (p. 285). This
is potentially beneficial in a learning community.
Donors
All the donors interviewed had a wealth of skills gained from their professional
work and life experience. There was enormous potential in using their wisdom for the
benefit of the institutions. In many cases, they may use their business acumen to
compensate for what was lacked by the educational leader.
Three donors identified major gaps in the educational leader’s administration or
organizational skill level. Miriam said she would teach Harold planning and
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Table 7
Differences and Similarities in Educating Policy Makers
Jonathan
Miriam
Nathan
Harold
Simon
Dawn
Estee
Jim
Educating policy makers
Consciously open to being educated as a ? ? ? √ √ √ √ √

educational leader/donor
Expertise in Jewish education X √ X √ X X X √
Donor negative perceptions of √ √ √ X

administrative skills of educational leader
Consciously educate the educational X √ √ √ √ X √

leader/donor
College course in donor relations for X X X X

educational leader
administrative skills. Estee noted similar weaknesses, but suggested that when she
worked with Simon they “complemented” one another’s skills. Jim also noted gaps in the
skills of the educational leader, but failed to do anything about it. It is interesting because
his company is very focused on training and leadership development for employees. This
finding tied in with an earlier assumption that the donor may not have a high regard for
the professional status of the educational leader.
On the donors’ openness to learn from the educational leaders, Dawn, Estee, and
Miriam all indicated and demonstrated that they were open to learn from the educational
leaders. Finally, all the donors indicated an awareness of the field of Jewish education
and the research that was taking place.

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Educational Leaders
All the educational leaders reported that they were sharing their Jewish
educational expertise with the donor. Harold pointed out that the way to educate donors
was by sharing hard data. Nathan thought that he should rather be teaching the donor
Jewish knowledge.
I asked all the educational leaders what they would teach donors if they were an
executive coach. Nathan would teach them to be Jewishly knowledgeable, whereas
Jonathan would teach them to care for educational leaders and explain what it is really
like to work in an under-resourced environment. Simon would like to teach them
boundaries. All the responses reflected the particularities of the situation that the
educational leader finds himself in with the donor.
Jonathan reported from his experience that the donors learned not only from the
educational leaders, but also from one another by interacting with other donors and
professionals in the organization. In addition, there are organizations such as the Jewish
Funders network dedicated to advancing the quality and growth of philanthropy by
educating on a variety of topics.
Discussion: Differences and Similarities in Planning and Evaluation
Preamble
Fox (2003) suggested that to answer the question, “Why this proposed idea is a
good idea? . . . policy makers would learn that research is indispensable.” This enabled
the policy maker to check assumptions, to discover whether it had been previously
attempted and whether it worked (p. 284).

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Furthermore, Fox (2003) suggested that evaluation would enhance the policy
makers’ understanding “of the relationship of a vision’s goals and the organizational
practice” (p. 283). He continued,
As members of a team—how can we, together, be able to evaluate what we have
done? How do we know if we are succeeding? Are we doing what we set out to
do – or have we inadvertently accomplished something else? . . . It is essential to
monitor and evaluate it. (pp. 284-285)
Donors
Except for Dawn, who relied heavily on processes and consultants to advise her
on the planning, the other donors had a sparse track record in applying planning to
decision making (see Table 8). Mitchell, a donor, who was a past chair at CADS made a
similar point with regard to strategic planning being unimportant.
Jim was clearly irritated with community processes. Miriam was presented with
the idea of a new high school, which grabbed her imagination, though she conceded that
the research undertaken was simplistic. However, it justified what she wanted to achieve.
More recently, Miriam was relying heavily on consultants to do serious evaluation on the
impact of Jewish education on the students, tracking post school academic performance
at college and evaluating curriculum at the school.
Jim, in the tuition rollback policy, undertook no dedicated planning, except for
speaking with fellow donors in two other cities. The program was implemented based
upon his understanding of the financial operation and the cost structure of the school. Jim
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Table 8
Differences and Similarities in Planning and Evaluation
Jonathan
Miriam
Nathan
Harold
Simon
Dawn
Estee
Jim
Planning & evaluation
Advanced planning X N/A X √ √ X √ √
Uses data in planning process X N/A X X X X √ √
Process orientated planning approach X N/A X √ √ √ √ √
Partners in decision making X N/A X X X X √ √
Strategic planning process √ N/A X X X √ √ √
Use of outside consultants √ √ X X √ √ √ √
Uses sophisticated evaluation tools √ N/A X X X X √ √
Concerns with recruitment/enrollment

issues √ √ √ √ √ √ √ √
viewed this as a gap, and hired a consultant to assist with the next strategic planning
process at the school.
Estee was probably the most creative in planning the Woman Writers Workshop
and the Philanthropy for Teens. She researched other communities’ experiences and
initiated her own ideas and concepts through a deliberate planning process. However,
there was no evaluation on the impact of the programs, beyond counting the numbers of
participants.
Dawn was the most thoughtful with regard to planning and evaluation, and she
used consultants extensively. Miriam, Jim, and Estee clearly believed that decisions
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would succeed if the educational leaders implemented the program initiatives
competently.
Educational Leaders
Since the major policy decisions are in the hands of the donors, the educational
leaders were relegated to an implementation role for policy decisions in the planning
process. Nathan and Simon reported haphazard planning in policy making. All confirmed
that no substantive evaluations were undertaken, except for peripheral number counts
around enrollment.
Jonathan was much more deliberate, and he used the consultant strategy to plan
carefully and build consensus with the other donors. He relied heavily on other
organizations in public and private education as models to emulate and, where
appropriate, he imported ideas from them. CADS’s strategic planning decisions on
building capacity and other areas were driven by input from other models. I concluded
that this was a sophisticated, professionally driven organization. In contrast, Harold was
too recent an appointee in his position to have input in this area.
Final Comments on Discussion
The findings between the case studies revealed far more similarities than
differences. The many areas of similarities across all four case studies have implications
for both the generalizability and transferability (Lincoln & Guba, 1985) of the
conclusions and recommendations.

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Conclusions and Recommendations
Introduction
The discussion that follows draws out conclusions, stated as propositions, based
upon the findings and insights of the researcher. More importantly, they all relate to the
sub questions posed in Chapter 1. Table 9 summarizes the conclusions for the ensuing
discussion.
Table 9
Conclusions
Propositions
1. Resonating The donor and the educational leader need to develop resonating relationships.
relationships Social intelligence competencies can help to leverage the interests and
personalities to create lasting long-term relationships between donors and
educational leaders (Goleman, 2006).
2. Vision Building clarity in the vision is an essential component in the successful

relationship between both donors and educational leaders.
3. Power While ultimate power lies firmly in the hands of the donor, the professional too
has some power.
4. Educating the The relationship between the donor and the educational leader is a pedagogical
policy makers relationship with potential for mutual learning.
5. Interpreting The donor and the educational leader need to interpret the milieu for one another,
the milieu to build an understanding of the issues with which they are contending.
6. Planning and The donor and the educational leader need to engage in dedicated planning and
evaluation evaluation in the policy-making process.
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Conclusion One: Resonating Relationships
Proposition
The donor and the educational leader need to develop resonating relationships.
In the world of spatial economics, theorists contended that successful property
development is dependent on three factors: location, location, and location. In this study,
the parallel could be that the three critical factors between donors and educational leaders
were relationships, relationships, and relationships. Developing a resonating relationship
between the educational leader and the donor is an underlying factor permeating the
literature review and the investigation. The traditional model of not treating the donor as
a partner and isolating them from the work is a recipe for failure. There needs to be
greater engagement.
Partnerships Versus Domination
Partnerships with donors are critical to enable educational leaders to implement
change and achieve the impact in Jewish education. The educational leaders cannot do
this alone, and donors and educational leaders need one another to accomplish goals. The
educational leader cannot isolate the donor from the issues in the organization; rather, he
has to find ways to create involvement, and through involvement2, there will be a higher
level of commitment from the donor and educational leader.
Another important factor in a healthy partnership is the element of trust. The
literature review in Chapter 2 dealt extensively with the work of Lumarda (2003) and
2
This point was made to me by another donor not interviewed in a private conversation.
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Prince and File (1994), and the conclusion was that without trust there can be no
relationship.
Relationships can be viewed on a continuum, ranging from complete domination
by the donor to a two fold partnership (Schervish, 2005). In the relationship, if either
party is a bully, it simply means they lack understanding of the position, and they can
never do superior work. Often if the donor is angry, it is symptomatic of something else,
such as a lack of information, too much micro information, or lack of clarity: ultimately,
it reflects a lack of understanding. It is the task of the chief educational leader to manage
this relationship.
It is posited that domination almost always destroys the relationship. The parties
must develop a willingness to share, in order to build the resonating relationships. It is
incumbent upon both donors and educational leaders to be proactive and share one
another’s wisdom, skills, and expertise. In the best of circumstances, they could
conceivably become mentors for one another, such as in the case of Jonathan and Dawn.
Boundaries
Creating resonating relationships also implied that there needed to be boundaries
in the relationship. Both the donor and the educational leader must define the line that
should not be crossed by either actor. To this end, educational leaders needed to ensure
that they maintain some social distance between themselves and the mega-donor, to avoid
becoming socially and personally enmeshed in the partnership. An educational leader
who failed to maintain an appropriate distance could potentially be compromised during

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times of turbulence in the relationship. This investigation demonstrated that the donors’
ultimate loyalty is to the organization, and not to the educational leader.
Recommendations
A number of strategies and tactics could be adopted to build a resonating
relationship. In the first instance both donors and educational leaders need to develop
emotional and social intelligence competencies in order to establish long-term
relationships between each other. This model can help transform the focus of fundraising
from simply raising money to a strategy where meaningful relationships between the
professionals and donors are established. The recommendations that follow are honed for
the professionals and donors.
Tools for the professional. Firstly, agenda setting in preparation for an interaction
with a mega-donor is in itself a skill and an art. Agenda items need to resonate with the
donor. Topics that could create dissonance and disaffection should be left in abeyance.
Jonathan used this technique very deliberately. The agenda should be about consensus
building. It is a policy-making device; and a crucial tool in controlling the relationship. A
principled, open hearted, deliberative, and collaborative model in constructing agendas is
an example of a consensus-building approach.
Secondly, donors’ ideas should also be processed, assimilated, and channeled in
the correct forums within the organization. Using the strategic plan as a map to accept or
discard donor driven ideas was an interesting and reportedly effective tool to manage
these “ideas.”
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Third, educational leaders need to learn to become comfortable with donor driven
ideas that may not fall within the weltanschauung of the educational leader. The
educational leader should maintain an open mind, and be prepared to accept advice and
guidance from a mega-donor. This is a key skill set for the relationship to thrive. Many of
the skills described are not intuitive to an educational leader, nor have the professionals
been trained in them, but these skills can be learned and honed with conscious practice.
Last, recognizing the work of the donor is another important step in the
relationship building process (Prince & File, 1994; Sawyer, 1995). This topic of
recognition was not covered in this investigation.
Ultimately it is about cultivating the relationship with the donor. In the words of
Burnett (2002),
Its overriding consideration is to care for and develop that bond and do nothing
that might damage or jeopardize it. Every activity is, therefore, geared towards
making sure donors know they are important, valued, and considered, which has
the effect of maximizing funds per donor in the long term. (p. 38)
Tools for the donor. The donor should create opportunities to network with the
educational leader to cement the relationship. Also finding time and being willing to meet
to discuss issues are important considerations for donors to develop these relationships.
Finally, the donor’s recognition of the accomplishments of the professional could be a
motivating factor for the professional. However, the donor should heed an earlier point
that they must still maintain a social boundary with the professional.
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Conclusion Two: Commitment to Vision
Proposition
Building clarity in the vision is an essential component in the relationship
between both donors and educational leaders.
Without a compelling vision, it is simply not possible for the educational leader to
energize a philanthropist. All the educational leaders and donors interviewed revealed the
same strong and deep commitment to the mission of Jewish education and the belief that,
through the investment, they can make a difference in the children’s lives.
In the ideal relationship, the educational leader and the donor will be in synch
with the vision of the organization. Conversely, tension will arise when there are
fundamental differences in the visions between the chief educational leader and the
donor. This has implications for the satisfaction of donors with their investments, and
also for the educational leaders, who would prefer to collaborate in a harmonious
environment.
Recommendations
For the donor and educational leader to be in synch with the vision, they both
need to develop a process whereby they initially negotiate the vision between themselves,
and then with the other stakeholders in the constituency. The suggestion in the literature
of developing a formal contract between the donor and the educational leader could be a
helpful tool in cementing a clear and common understanding of the vision.

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Conclusion Three: Power
Proposition
Whereas ultimate power lies firmly in the hands of the donor, the professional,
too, has some power.
Whereas the power of the purse may be an obvious conclusion, it does not mean
that donors were able to implement policy seamlessly. There were constraints on their
power. Conversely, the educational leader too has power in relationship with the donor. It
is not the ultimate power, but it is significant, in the sense that the professional has the
power to influence or impede the accomplishment of goals in the organization.
In the best case scenario, power can be used in a positive and contributing sense
to the fulfillment of vision and mission. This would be best achieved in a collaborative
framework between the donor and the educational leader. Hornstein’s (2003) psycho-
social approach in developing a collaborative relationship based upon the three principles
of “respect, rewards and recognition” is a useful strategy.
Donors and educational leaders need to therefore be cognizant of the power factor
and develop sophisticated and thoughtful strategies in their application of power to
achieve their goals.
A secondary conclusion is related to the donor’s role as the dominating party in
the relationship. Mindful of this state of affairs, the educational leader may at times try to
manipulate the donor to create a favorable impression of the investment. As Nathan
termed it, the educational leader tries to acquire “social credits.” Examples of such a
tactic could be that when a donor visited the school, the building had been cleaned, and
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the itinerary for the visit was carefully managed. Another possible tactic is when
educational leaders write speeches for donors, essentially telling them what they have to
say. However, use of these tactics negated developing a healthy resonating relationship
between the two parties.
Recommendations
Both donors and educational leaders need to realize as Pfeffer (1994) suggested
that power is an important social process required to get things accomplished in an
organization. Power is important for influencing subordinates, but it also allows donors to
influence professionals, and for professionals to influence donors. This can serve as a
basis to move the organization successfully forward in a positive, constructive, and
harmonious way.
Conclusion Four: Educating the Policy Makers
Proposition
The relationship between the donor and the educational leader is a pedagogical
relationship with potential for mutual learning.
According to Senge et al. (2000), “team learning is a discipline of practices
designed, over time, to get the people of a team thinking and acting together.” He noted
that this “does not mean that the team members need to think alike . . . rather that they
can learn to be effective in concert” (p. 73).
The conclusion drawn in this investigation is that, in an ideal learning community,
the donor and educational leader need to be open to educate one another. Perhaps the
educational leader needs to view educating the donor as part of the discipline of adult
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education. On the other hand, the donor’s contribution in the pedagogical relationship is
by sharing his skills, expertise, and experience with the professional. Scheffler (1985)
outlined the process of the education of the policy-maker (in this study both donors and
educational leaders) as being a multi-lingual process whereby the policy-maker learned to
be reflective.
Second, once the professional educational leader had entered into a pedagogical
dialogue with the donor, he needs to be able to effectively communicate his knowledge to
the donor. Knowledge and expertise cannot be conveyed in a dogmatic manner, nor may
the educational leader be judgmental of the donor, regardless of how much the donor
knew about Jewish education. This conclusion also relates to Hornstein’s (2003) concept
of respect.
Recommendations
Training for both professionals and educational leaders needs to be a formalized
process. Examples could include engaging in academic texts on a particular subject area.
It could be in the form of a retreat where a group of stakeholders including these key
professionals and donors create both space and time to reflect on the issues at hand. It
may even include attending conferences or site visits to similar educational institutions in
other cities, where other donors and professionals are engaged.
Conclusion Five: Interpreting the Milieu
Proposition
The donor and the educational leader need to interpret the milieu for one another,
to build an understanding of the issues with which they are contending.

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Schwab (1973), an educational philosopher, identified four commonplaces in
education: the student, the teacher, the subject matter, and the milieu. He contended that
ignoring a commonplace will weaken educational decision making. He defined the milieu
as the backdrop of the society where education occurs. This could include the student, the
family, the classroom, the administration, and the teacher. This is analogous to the work
of Bolman and Deal (2002) who identified four frames: the political, symbolic, social,
and cultural frames that are used as multiple lenses to provide an insight of what is
occurring in an educational institution.
This investigation revealed a gap in the understanding by both donors and
educational leaders of the milieu of the constituencies in which they wished to intervene.
Miriam did not really understand the social issues in graduation requirements; Jim was
removed from the board and the constituency; Jonathan needed to convey that the
environment is under resourced; and Estee found it difficult to understand the pressure
Simon was under.
In Schwab’s terms (1973), both the chief educational leader and the donor should
be able to mediate and interpret the milieu for one another. This could include the
student, the family, the classroom, the administration, and the teacher. The donor can
provide insights to the educational leader from the perspective of other donors, from his
experience in the business environment and even assist the educational leader with a
deeper understanding of the milieu of the broader Jewish community.
The educational leader could do likewise for the donor. By explaining issues
pertinent to the challenges of the learners, the parents, the community, and the teachers,
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the educational leader can educate the donor into a deeper and more meaningful
understanding of the constraints and opportunities in fulfilling the vision.
There are two interesting dilemmas for the professional to resolve arising from
this conclusion. First, how does the educational leader expose these philanthropists to the
milieu of the lower levels volunteer leadership and the board? Second, how does the
educational leader protect the board volunteer leadership from being disempowered by
the mega-donor? He needs to create a delicate balancing act to keep the mega-donors at
the table, along with the volunteer leadership, board, and staff.
Recommendations
The donor and educational leader therefore need to be alert to the issues of the
milieu. Bolman and Deal (2002) said that this could be accomplished by building
alliances with key stakeholders. It implies identifying the opposition, and engaging in
their perspectives. Above all, it provides an insight into the milieu and will allow both the
donor and the educational leader to interpret it to each other.
Conclusion Six: Planning and Evaluation
Proposition
The donor and the educational leader need to engage in dedicated planning and
evaluation in the policy-making process.
Except for CADS, the three other case studies demonstrated a lack of planning
and thoughtful evaluation. It is ironic, since whereas Jewish education is concerned with
the future of Jewish continuity over the longer term, the donors in these studies were
focused upon the immediate issues within the schools. Planning, by its very nature, is a
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developed long-term view, and does not address the immediate problems in the school.
Effective planning will ensure alignment between the donor and the professional on the
vision and direction of the institution. The process of planning can build a consensus. It
has the potential to cement the donor-educational leader relationship and bring other
constituencies into the process, and build a team. Planning helps focus the organization
and jettison those programs that no longer fit in with the organization’s goals.
A lacuna emanating from the findings is that in these four case studies,
performance was evaluated by merely assessing enrollment numbers. Donors and
professionals need to rather engage in more rigorous evaluation, focusing on the quality
of programs and their impact. The foundation grant making model is appropriate here, in
that many foundations demand rigorous evaluation as a condition of grant making. Most
of the mega-donors in this case did not implement such a process. This would, as Nathan
suggested, hold the professionals and the organization to a standard of accountability.
Recommendations
In the case of CADS a thoughtful planning process also engaged a wider range of
donors than the other institutions were able to attract. It is recommended that planning
and evaluation is critical to the future success of these educational organizations.
Once a formal plan has been developed and approved by the stakeholders, the
baselines for the future evaluation process can be created. The evaluation process can be
mapped out to answer questions of success or failure, and the impact on the field. In this
way, both the donor and educational leader could develop a common understanding of
the expectations.
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Implications for the Field
This research hopefully will be valuable to both donors and professionals in the
field of Jewish education. The recommendations provide suggestions to work
collaboratively on the issues of relationship, power, the milieu, and on planning and
evaluation to achieve a successful educational institution. This will cement trust and
confidence.
Equally, the propositions and recommendations are applicable to other
educational institutions, both public and private, schools and universities, where there is a
presence of significant donors.
Finally, schools of educational administration need to recognize the importance of
the role of donors in the school system, and provide training in this field for future
administrators.
Chapter 1 in this investigation referred to the work of Lindblom and Cohen
(1979) who argued that knowledge is not helpful for its own sake, but rather that
knowledge should be reinterpreted in ways that the field can benefit, and improve the
understanding of the work that is being done. In other words, knowledge for Lindblom
and Cohen must be usable. It is submitted that the discussion, recommendations, and
conclusions meet this criteria of usable knowledge.
Limitations in the Research: Revisiting the Limitations of the Study
In Chapter 1, the initial limitations to the study were outlined. It was anticipated
that both donors and educational leaders may be unwilling to grant an interview, and
even if they agreed to an interview, they may not cooperate with the direction of the
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research questions posed. There were indeed challenges in arranging the interviews.
However, I found that the donors were very open to the discussion, whereas some of the
educational leaders were not. For this reason, I did not include one of the case studies in
this research.
There were many challenges in researching this target population. There is an
intimacy in the interaction between educational leaders and donors; the research design
precluded witnessing the interaction between donors and educational leaders. This could
have added depth to the research. However, this is probably not achievable, since it
would be difficult to secure agreement from the two parties to be a witness to an
authentic interaction. The question is whether the quality of this research suffered from
the absence of observing these interactions. This should be acknowledged as a limitation
in the research.
The anticipated challenge that donors and educational leaders may be insensitive
to the questions posed was not confirmed. Donors in interviews remarked that they had
not thought of a number of questions, though they believed that they were important
questions to ask, and provided “food for further thought.”
The use of qualitative research methodology addressed this limitation since at
many points in the interviews with donors I had to clarify questions asked and provide
further elucidation. A quantitative research approach, through a questionnaire, would not
therefore have been able to do this.

253
The limitation that the educational leaders may not be open to admitting to painful
truths about their relationships with donors was confirmed in three out of the four case
studies.
Other Limitations
The quandary of the interplay between the board, staff, parents, schools, and
students was not addressed in the study. These factors could well influence the
relationship between the donor and educational leader.
All of the school case studies took place in non-denominational community
Jewish day schools. An orthodox Jewish day school may have a different donor
educational leader relationship due to the unique culture these schools have within the
orthodox framework. It is a limitation and also an area for further research.
The research did not aggressively pursue the interviewees’ lack of willingness to
answer certain questions. One example of an issue that was superficially addressed by
some interviewees was their own personal religious identity. In the case of the donors, the
question of whether they would be open to coaching was not always answered.
Another limitation in the research is that some of the interviewees were at
different phases in their relationship to the organization. Some had been associated as a
major donor for 30 years, others for a short period. In one case the educational leader had
been there for a relatively shorter period of time. This limitation was acknowledged in the
narrative.
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Future Research
Hess (2005) lamented the lack of research and critical appraisal of philanthropy in
K-12 education. This investigation attempted to remedy that situation and contribute
towards the debate. It tried to add to the knowledge and data base of the relationship. The
shortage of resources and the fragile economic future in both public and private education
in the United States can be resolved by educational leadership approaching mega-donors
to support education.
Fine (2006) estimated that by mid 2010, the transfer of wealth that will take place
from the World War II generation to the baby boomers will be in the region of $17
trillion. Future research should focus on how the educational agenda can influence the
thinking of donors to choose the field of education for their philanthropy, as opposed to
other areas for giving, such as a cultural arts or social services. The world of mega-
donors in education philanthropy is uncharted territory, and the results from this
investigation suggest further research is warranted in public school districts, private
schools, and other parochial religious schools.
The public school system has a major opportunity to leverage mega-donors
inform from either the local city that it is located in, or from alumni. As public coffers
shrink, public school budgets are under increasing pressure, and this could be remedied
by tapping into other funding sources besides foundations, such as mega-donors.
Furthermore, comparing the Jewish educational system to the Catholic school
system could be interesting. What is the influence of the Bishop on religious educational
policy in a Catholic setting, and how do the mega-donors differ in the terms of the criteria
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that have been isolated in this research. A similar question can be raised regarding public
education. Does the superintendent or board set the policy, or do the two collaborate
together?
Interesting Gleanings From the Data
It was interesting to hear Jim remark that, in the context of the day schools,
parents and board members had never thought about the vision. Whereas this was not
probed with Harold, it was an interesting observation and has implications for creating a
vision in Jewish education. In the central agencies, I surmised that the board members
were more sophisticated, experienced, and engaged in the deliberations to have a formed
vision.
The disempowerment of the boards in the Jewish day schools and the central
agencies by the power of the mega-donors with differing visions is an interesting finding.
The low standard of evaluation demanded by the donors and the educational
leaders was not only a surprise, but also a concern. Evaluation is a key element in
providing accountability for the philanthropic endeavor by monitoring the investment. To
be effective, it needs to be ongoing, embedded in the program, and rigorous. It was
absent on both the programmatic level and in the performance evaluations of the
educational leader.
None of the educational leaders received any formal training at their graduate
school for dealing with donors. Today, managing the relationship with donors is an
integral part of the role of an educational administrator.

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Finally, although Lincoln and Guba (1985) do not see the goal of case study
research as being generalizable, the fingerprint of the charts reveal many more
similarities than differences between the cases than was anticipated. The implication is
that these case study findings may well be generalizable to other educational institutions.
Revisiting the Assumptions of the Study
Most of the assumptions set out in Chapter 1 were confirmed in the investigation.
The first assumption was that Jewish education was a key element in building Jewish
identity and continuity. Second, that policy-makers, both volunteers and educational
leaders collaborated together in an attempt to make a difference in the Jewish world.
Third, that the levers of power were primarily in the hands of the donor. Fourth, that there
was a rationale as to how non-educational leader donors were qualified to make these
educational decisions. Fifth, that decisions made were not based on careful study of the
state of the art of Jewish education. And finally, that policy-making between educational
leaders and donors in Jewish education was a complex calculus.
Revisiting the Literature Review
The literature review discussion in Chapter 2 was intended to set the stage for the
investigation, and the discussion was tilted towards the research questions. The key
concepts that were considered include the background to the nonprofit sector and Jewish
education; policy-making; the power element; philanthropy with a focus on the K-12
sector; and educational leadership with a focus on relationships.
Throughout, the ensuing narrative concepts that were raised in the literature
review were integrated into the research and discussion. Given the nature of the research
257
questions in the different case studies, the literature was woven carefully into the
discussion through the lenses of vision, power, partnerships, educating the donor and the
educational leader, and planning and evaluation, without being repetitive.
The major gap in the literature was the absence of a critical analysis of these
donor professional relationships. It is hoped that this investigation will contribute to the
debate.
Some Final Methodological Comments
Referring to the case study methodology, Ernst (1997) said:
A case is meant to be illustrative and generative. The particular is intended to
illustrate the general—not with the precision of the exact sciences, but
suggestively as an illustration of a more general and complex truth. The aim, is as
Blake wrote in his Auguries of Innocence, ‘to see a world in a grain of sand’—to
illuminate the general through the particular. (p. 34)
This research is a qualitative study to explain the world of donors and educational
leaders “through a grain of sand.” The attempt of the research was to explain the
behaviors and the patterns of behaviors through four case studies.
The sites were carefully balanced in that two schools were chosen, one
elementary and one high school. Of the two central agencies, one was national, whereas
the other served a local community. In each pair of schools and central agencies, one in
each set lacked sufficient financial resources, in spite of the power of the donor.
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Securing agreement from donors and educational leaders for the interviews
required an “adequate negiotiation of entry in the field setting” (Erickson, 1986, p. 141). I
had many challenges in arranging interviews, and these were outlined in Chapter 4.
All together, some 13 case study interviews were conducted for this research.
Two were pilot interviews in order to refine the instruments. One interview was not
recorded due to technical difficulties, and two interviews were discarded due to the lack
of depth of the answers. I attributed this to a lack of openness on the part of the
educational leader interviewed. In addition to the tape recordings that were transcribed, I
made extensive use of a journal and field notes. I made notes during the interviews and
also used the bracketing technique to highlight insights and comments.
On average, each case study’s interview notes were about 80 pages long, and the
interviews lasted approximately 80 minutes each. Thought was given to conducting two
interviews with each educational leader and donor. Based on the depth of these
interviews, I felt that the added value of a second interview would be marginal, and was
mindful of the difficulties and costs of arranging additional interviews.
The interview instrument was carefully designed for high level respondents. It
was non-directive, asked for particular examples to illustrate and demonstrate points, and
no judgments were offered. The inconsistent flow of the interviews made coding a
complex undertaking. Furthermore, the instrument was designed to reduce anxiety and a
threatening environment, by posing the questions on a theoretical rather than personal
basis.
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Beyond the interviews each institution provided source documentation, the
research accessed the web sites, as well as I 990 returns from the Internal Revenue
Service. I kept an audit trail of recordings, transcripts, letters, emails, documents, and
other appropriate supporting materials. I wrote detailed field notes in my fieldwork
journal after each visit and these were used to introduce the case study interviewees.
Where necessary, I also engaged in member checking within the institutions.
Miriam and Jonathan were each given full transcripts of their interview, per their request.
Neither of them had significant comments on the materials. I also checked back with
Simon and Nathan to clarify questions that I had. Harold had sent me voluminous source
documentation that answered my questions in that case study. I also employed the
technique of peer review, where I asked a senior colleague to read the manuscript. As
such, triangulation of the data sources with the day schools and central agencies were
integral to the research process. Where inferences could not be supported by the data, this
was identified in the write up: An example was in the case of Harold, who was relatively
new in his position.
Aside from the triangulation process, it was interesting to observe that there was
not one instance of interviewees contradicting one another in the separate interviews,
thus, there were no discrepancies in the findings. Not all documents requested were
available, such as the rollback planning at the Weizmann School. I do not believe that the
absence of this documentation negated the integrity of the research. For these reasons, I
have a high confidence level in the trustworthiness of the data.

260
The case study method presented itself as an excellent research methodology for
this research, as these educational institutions were complex social units consisting of
multiple variables, besides the professional and the donor. There was involvement by the
board, professional staff, the community, other donors, and foundation staff.
To keep the narrative flowing, I deliberately excluded minutia regarding the
triangulation process in each interview. Where appropriate, passing references were made
about critical factors in each of the case studies that, although not directly related to this
research focus, added to the overall understanding of the context. Examples included the
role of Mitchell at CADS, the involvement of other foundation staff with the mega-donor,
and previous school heads and educational leaders in the various settings.
Each case was bounded within a specific context of a school or central agency and
allowed the researcher to dig down into the relationships that were at the core of the
investigation (Miles & Huberman, 1994). Moreover, the descriptive analysis met
Geertz’s (1973) criteria of providing a “thick description” of the phenomenon under
study, in that it allowed the researcher to unpack complex conceptual structures.
Furthermore, the case study method confirmed current understandings and brought about
new discoveries and meanings that will be elaborated upon in the findings and
conclusions (Merriam, 1998). The interview methodology followed Rubin and Rubin’s
(1995) criteria for an in-depth interview. My expertise in the subject matter, and the use
of the probe tactics, added to the reliability of the interviews.
Bromley’s (1986) premise that case studies “get as close to the subject of interest
as they possibly can” (p. 23) was utterly confirmed. I was most surprised by the openness
261
of the interviewees to share their thoughts, feelings, and desires in the interviews. Linked
to this is the value of the research journal which provided the opportunity to surface my
own observations during the interviews. Peshkin (1988) wrote about the “insider outsider
status” in research. This idea resonated for me, as I felt I had similar status as I am an
insider in this investigation. I am both a director of a central agency and a Jewish
educator, yet, as one who has never worked in any of the institutions studied, I was also
aware of being an outsider. These case studies were multi layered and complex.
However, I also brought my own thoughts, feelings, and wishes to the discussion, and
these were reflected through the journal. I hope that these personal comments in the
narrative added to the sharpness, clarity, and richness of this investigation. Finally, the
research process I adopted reported the evidence as it unfolded, without embellishment.
A Personal Reflection
Stake (1995) suggested that: “Qualitative research is highly personal research.
Persons studied are studied in depth. Researchers are encouraged to include their own
perspectives in the interpretation” (p. 135). This research in Stake’s terms is “highly
personal.” I had noted in my journal on a number of occasions that I was very conflicted
by the challenge of the research topic. It is an exceedingly difficult area to probe, and at
times it dealt with personal and intimate matters, and this proved to be a personal
emotional challenge. I was constantly reminded by Yin’s (1994) warning that a case
study places more demands on the emotion of the researcher, than other methodologies
(p. 55). Moreover, I included my own interpretation in the investigation, and the narrative
articulates some significant criticisms “from my own perspective.”

262
At the same time I was grateful for the generosity of spirit of both the donors and
professionals interviewed. Had there not been that level of cooperation, this dissertation
could not have been written.
Hess’s (2005) comment on the absence of a critical appraisal of these donor
educational leader relationships is a well-founded reason, since no one would want to
jeopardize these relationships and funding. I also felt that I had an added loyalty to the
interviewees, as they had agreed to assist me with the dissertation. It made the research
that much more challenging.
I have spent most of my 30-year educational leader career working with mega-
donors across the Jewish world. This study brought further depth to my understandings of
the complexities in the relationships, as well as management strategies for continued
success in the relationship. The research was both an intellectual and interpretative
experience in applying the theory that I had learned to the practical world that I
discovered within each case study. I found it valuable to meet and interact with
passionate and involved donors and educational leaders in their own environments,
within the relative sterility of the research framework. Not only do I now have a deeper
understanding, but I have been able to enhance my own weltanschauung in this deeply
complex, yet equally fascinating field.
A Philosophical Observation
The findings and conclusions have focused upon the results of the qualitative
investigation. This chapter attempted to build a scaffolding of different levels of
complexity. The discussion section reported upon the patterns found in the investigation,
263
whereas the conclusions section attempted to provide a different and more insightful
contribution to the discussion with recommendations. It now seems appropriate to relate
the investigation’s conclusion to a philosophical dimension. This helps ground the
research and understand the problem in a different way.
The intersection of the relationship between the mega-donor and the educational
leader is a crucial factor for the ultimate success of these institutions. This idea relates in
a profound way to the work of Boyatzis and McKee (2005) in terms of their concept of
developing resonating relationships.
Martin Buber (1947), the well known philosopher, wrote on the concept of
developing an “I–Thou” relationship. Buber contended that this is the ultimate
relationship. He described it as a “begegnuung” or a significant encounter between two
persons. In Buber’s terms, the relationship is “one of pure dialogue” (p. 125), and is
characterized by mutual reciprocity and inclusion. “Inclusion . . . is the extension of one’s
own concreteness, the fulfillment of the actualization of life, the complete presence of the
reality in which one participates” (p. 124).
He added: “There is then a reality between them, since there is a mutuality” (p.
126). Buber (1947) warned that mutuality in some relationships can not be equalized. For
Buber this applied to the “giving and taking with which he is bound to his pupil,
inclusion cannot be mutual in this case. He experiences the pupil being educated, but the
pupil cannot experience the educating of the educator” (p. 126). This point is appropriate
in the unequal relationship between the donor and the professional in terms of the donors’
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overwhelming power, weighted in the donor’s favor in business experience, and weighted
in the educational leader’s favor in terms of skills and knowledge on Jewish education.
Buber (1947) contended that mutual reciprocity can be of benefit to each of the
parties in the relationship. In his terms, it can bring about self-realization since, in these
dramatic encounters, each person can experience growth and transcendence when the “I
meets the Thou.” According to Buber, these encounters enable us to become true
personalities.
Buber (1947) suggested that in an authentic “I–Thou” relationship there is also the
need for “Grace.” For Buber “Grace” is a synthesis between spontaneity and planning.
For Buber the seamless resonating relationship is created through dialogue. “Genuine
dialogue depends on an authentic relationship in which each is an individual himself.
Man must have the courage to be and not to seem” (p. 98).
Final word
This “I–Thou” relationship concept captures the spirit of the ideal portrait of the
donor-educational leader relationship that forms the basis for this investigation. In any
dialogue there needed to be inclusion, mutuality, and grace from each of the partners. The
dialogue must be reciprocal between the donor and the educational leader. Each has the
opportunity to grow in the relationship, so long as it is on the “I–Thou” level. In Buber’s
(1947) words the ultimate goal is termed “communion.”
The concept of “communion” is the key in the supposition underlying this
research. Both donors and educational leaders play a crucial role in policy-making in
265
Jewish education. A successful partnership is dependent upon the communion that is
developed in these relationships.

APPENDICES
APPENDIX A
CONTACT LETTER
I am undertaking research into the relationship between the role of the donor and that of
the education leader in policy making in Jewish education, in partial fulfillment of a
Doctorate in Philosophy at Kent State University. My research will be guided under the
supervision of Dr. Anita Varrati.
The research will be restricted to four prominent donors in North America and four
education leaders, two from a Jewish day school, and two from a central agency for
Jewish education.
The purpose of the investigation is to tease out those principles of a successful policy-
making process that can be developed into a model, and can then be applied to other
institutions of Jewish education. The issues that will be in the forefront of the research are
the creation of vision, the building of a partnership, the education of donors and
education leaders, the processes for policy implementation, and the resolution processes
used in the event of disagreements.
I would greatly appreciate it if you would be able to set aside two hours of your time in
order for me to meet with you. The interviews will be recorded on audio and a transcript
made available to you.
Both my supervisor and I are cognizant of the need to respect confidentiality to sensitive
matters, and as such would ensure that you have the opportunity to review any
information prior to submission. There are no risks involved in this study beyond those
encountered in every day life, and I will protect your anonymity. Pseudonyms will be
used in any writing about the project. Confidentiality will be maintained to the limits of
the law.
I am passionate about Jewish education and am deeply committed to improving the field
on all levels. I believe that this research will add significantly to the field.
I am hopeful that you will agree to be part of this research and I look forward to
discussing this with you. If you agree to take part, I will ask you to complete the content
statement below, before the interview begins. I will also furnish you with a copy of this
consent form.
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269
The project has been approved by Kent State University. If you have questions about Kent
State University’s rules for research, please call my advisor, Dr. Varrati (Tel. 330-672-
0630) or Dr. Peter Tandy, Vice President and Dean, Division of Research and Graduate
Studies (Tel. 330-672-2704).
Sincerely,
Seymour Kopelowitz
CONSENT STATEMENT
I agree to take part in this project. I know what I will have to do and that I can stop
at any time.
________________________________________________________________________
Signature Date
I agree to audio taping at________________________________________________________
on______________________________________________.
______________________________________________________________________
Signature Date
I have been told that I have the right to hear the audio tapes before they are used. I have
decided that I:
____want to hear the tapes ____do not want to hear the tapes
Sign now below if you do not want to hear the tapes. If you want to hear the tapes, you will be
asked to sign after hearing them.
Seymour Kopelowitz and other researchers approved by Kent State University may / may not
use the tapes made of me. The original tapes or copies may be used for:
__X__this research project ___teacher education ___presentation at professional meetings
______________________________________________________________________
Signature Date
______________________________________________________________________
Address:
APPENDIX B
INTERVIEW PROTOCOL
INTERVIEW PROTOCOL
Title of Study: The relationship between the role of the donor and that of the education
leader in policy making, in Jewish education.
Introduction
Explanation of the purpose of the study: As the researcher I will provide the
background to the study and provide an outline of the sequence of the interview. I will
then begin the dialogue with icebreaker, to create a bond and develop a relationship with
the interviewee, based upon a personal connection we might have in common. [The
world of Jewish education is fairly close knit, and I will have some connection to all the
interviewees.]
I will then formally introduce the rhythm of the interview by asking the respondent to
share with me their perceptions by asking a variety of questions.
The script:
I am researching policy making, donors, and educational leaders in Jewish education. I
am very appreciative that you have given me time. I will be asking you to talk to me
about a number of issues pertaining to this topic: vision, Jewish education, decision
making, partnerships, and educating professionals. If you have some planning documents
at hand that I may look through – that will also be useful.
Thanks.
May I record this interview? I will explain that the purpose of recording this interview
is so that we can talk freely without me having to take notes.
Disclaimer: I will not use your name or identify anything that would relate the reader to
you in my writing. If at any point you wish for me to not tape something you wish to say
privately, I will honor your request.
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272
INTERVIEW PROTOCOLS PROFESSIONALS
Warm up, history, and context

Tell me when, how, and why you became involved in this organization? [Name
organization.]
Prompts:
a. What excites and motivates you about Jewish education? Is it a religious,
spiritual, ethnic, social, nationalist motivation? Or all?
b. Why did you think you could make a difference in this organization?
Vision
What is your vision for this organization? Looking into the future, in other words, what
should the work of this organization be?
Is it a conception of what is at its best an institution is like – A learning community – a
caring community – is an institutional vision. Or an existentialist vision. The
organization?
Is a conception of the kind of person the educational institution is trying to cultivate, a
conception of the ideal graduate or community of graduates. Jewish continuity?
Prompts:
a. Describe the visioning process from your standpoint in this organization?
b. Describe how you perceive that your vision directly translates to this
institution’s practice? If so, how so? Where is it shared? Where is it not
shared?
c. Do other constituencies (the board, the staff, the donors, community
leadership) share this common vision?
d. Does it matter to you if the [donor/volunteer leader] does not share in a
common vision/mission with you? [Probe.]
Planning and evaluation

As the educational leader you make decisions about vision and budget that influence
Jewish education policy in this organization.
Prompts for discussion:
a. Give examples of major policies, or programs initiatives that you have
been associated with or introduced or implemented in this organization?
b. In your opinion in what ways do the policies/initiatives fit with the
mission and vision of the organization?
c. Where were the ideas generated?
d. What were the dynamics of the decision making process for this policy? In
other words – what processes took place to initiate the policy in this
setting?
e. Did you consider alternative policies? What data do you think was missing
in the decision-making process?
273
f. How did you operationalize the idea? How did you

follow/evaluate/process the dollars?
g. If this policy was the idea of the donor, is it one that you thought the staff
and institution can implement? Did you find the funding? Were you
successful?
h. What happens when you who are charged with turning the vision into
practice lose heart? Can you describe instances where this occurred?
i. Can you describe instances where you learned from your setbacks?
j. Can you describe instances where you kept the constituency informed?
Power relationships- between the donor and the professional; between the donor and
professional and the constituency (In the case of a school the staff; in the central agency
– others?
There is no doubt that to move an organization such as this forward, there is a power
element in these relationships with the constituency, in terms of decision making and the
implementation process that one needs to think about.
Prompts:
a. Take one or two examples of policies/programs. Describe how you had the
power to overcome objections from other constituencies (the board; the
volunteer leadership, the donor; or other key constituencies) to implement
this policy we discussed?
b. Explain how much do you think that the system is constrained by these
constituencies? [What was the quality of the process in managing these
opinions? How did you establish the priorities?]
c. In a policy-making process, were there different opinions with regard to
any of these decisions? How was this dealt with? Examples?
d. How do you deal with dissension by constituencies to these policies?
Partnerships
So, you need to work extremely closely with the volunteer leader, as well as other
constituencies. Focusing on the donor relationship:
Prompts:
a. What are the critical elements for you in this partnership relationship?
b. Do you ever think about the donor’s personal feelings? [Probe.]
c. When tension arises, how do you resolve tension in the relationship?
d. Do you see yourselves as members of a team? If so:
e. Thinking about the policies/programs: Is this particular donor passive or
active in decision making. Would you do things differently if this donor
were passive?
Educating donors and education leaders

Donors are not experts in Jewish education. They need to rely on the professional
educators or other experts to make critical decisions. How do you manage this?
Prompts:
274
a. How is this accomplished?

b. To what extent do donors know about the state of the art of Jewish
education?
c. What is the justification for allowing non experts – [donors] to be so
intimately involved in making educational decisions?
d. How do donors/volunteer leaders justify their knowledge (their role,
strengths and weaknesses they bring to the table?) to make decisions?
e. Donors have wisdom and experience, but not in the field of education.
How do you as the education leader educate them?
f. If you were an executive coach for donors what would you teach them?
g. People have a need to be donors – to make a difference in the world - how
does this interplay in your work?
h. How did your training assist you to deal with these issues of donors?
General
1. Is there anything else you would like to add?
2. Do you have any documentation that deals with these issues
discussed?
Thank you!
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INTERVIEW PROTOCOLS VOLUNTEER LEADERSHIP
Warm up, history, and context

Tell me when, how, and why you became involved in this organization? [Name
organization.]
Prompts:
a. What excites and motivates you about Jewish education? Is it a religious,
spiritual, ethnic, social, nationalist motivation? Or all?
b. Why did you think you could make a difference in this organization?
Vision
What is your vision for this organization? Looking into the future, in other words, what
should the work of this organization be?
Prompts:
a. Describe the visioning process from your standpoint in this organization?
b. Does your vision directly translate to this institution’s practice? If so, how
so?
c. In your opinion do other constituencies (the board, the staff, donors,
community leadership) share this common vision?
d. Does it matter to you if the professional leader does not share in a
common vision with you? [Probe.]
Decision-making and implementing policies

As a voluntary leader you make decisions about vision and budget that influence Jewish
education policy in this organization.
Prompts:
a. Policy makers in business will often involve consultants to justify,
interpret and criticize an idea before it is adopted. The process is then
evaluated. Do you see this happening in Jewish education?
b. Give me an example of a major policy that you have introduced and or
implemented in this organization?
c. In your opinion, does the policy fit with the mission and vision of the
organization?
d. Where was the idea generated?
e. What were the dynamics of the decision making process for this policy? In
other words – what processes took place to initiate the policy in this
setting?
f. Did you consider alternative policies? What data do you think was missing
in the decision-making process?
g. What happens when those who are charged with turning the vision into
practice lose heart?
276
Power relationships
There is no doubt that to move an organization such as this forward, there is a power
element in these relationships with the constituency, in terms of decision making and the
implementation process that one needs to think about.
Prompts:
a. Do you have the power to overcome objections from other constituencies
(the board; the educational leader; other key constituencies) to implement
the policy we discussed?
b. In any policy-making process, were there different opinions with regard to
a particular decision? What was the quality of the process in managing
these opinions? How did you establish the priorities?
c. How do you deal with dissension by constituencies to these policies?
d. How much do you think that the system is constrained by these
constituencies?
e. How do you perceive the educators professional leadership? Skills in
Education? Management? Planning? Finance?
Partnerships
So, for policy to be successfully implemented one must work extremely closely with the
educational leader, as well as other constituencies.
Prompts:
a. What are the critical elements for you in this partnership relationship?
b. Do you ever think about the professional’s feelings? [Probe.]
c. Have there been instances when your relationship has been tested?
d. When tension arises, how do you resolve tension in the relationship?
e. Do you see yourselves as members of a team? If so:
Educating donors and education leaders

As the donor you are not an expert in Jewish education, but you have expertise in other
areas. You need to therefore rely on the professional educators or other experts to make
critical decisions.
Prompts:
a. How is this accomplished?
b. Do you think that you know about the state of the art of Jewish education?
c. You have enormous expertise in your field – how do you mobilize this
resource to educate the education leader?
General
Is there anything else you would like to add?
Thank you!
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KOPELOWITZ, SEYMOUR B., PH.D.

, May, 2009 TEACHING, LEADERSHIP,

A MULTIPLE CASE STUDY INVESTIGATION INTO THE RELATIONSHIP

Director of Dissertation: Anita M. Varrati, Ph.D.

investigation focused on issues such as vision, exercise of power, building partnerships

planning and evaluation.

agencies, and how this relationship influenced policy-making.

relationship between these two parties?

intelligence competencies created lasting long-term relationships. Secondly, clarity in the

vision was identified as an essential component in successful relationships. Thirdly, it

engage in dedicated planning and develop substantive evaluation procedures to measure

The world of mega-donors in education philanthropy is uncharted territory in

A dissertation submitted to the

B.A., University of Cape Town, 1973

S.T.D., University of Cape Town, 1974

B.Ed., University of Natal, 1979

M.B.A., University of Cape Town, 1980

Ph.D., Kent State University, 2009

_____________________________________, Director, Doctoral Dissertation

_____________________________________, Co-Director, Doctoral Dissertation

_____________________________________, Member, Doctoral Dissertation

_____________________________________, Interim Chairperson, Department of

_____________________________________, Dean, College and Graduate School

Writing a dissertation is similar to writing a book. Winston Churchill captured it

rather well when he said:

Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with it is a toy and an amusement; then

him out to the public. (Vanderheyden, 2003, p.28)

engaged in an intensive intellectual dialogue on educational matters. He encouraged me

I am grateful to Stephen Hoffman of the Cleveland Jewish Community Federation

manuscript and for her thoughtful comments.

new window of thinking about qualitative anthropological work in schools. I became

consider alternatives not previously entertained.

gratitude. I have scrupulously tried to protect their confidentiality.

their intellectual curiosity, as their father has done.

potential to contribute significantly to the work in the field.

Background to the Study......................................................................................... 1

Philanthropy and Education in North America.................................................. 2

Purpose of the Study ............................................................................................... 4

Statement of the Problem and the Theoretical Orientation..................................... 5

The Research Question ........................................................................................... 6

The Literature Review ............................................................................................ 7

Significance of the Study ........................................................................................ 7

Assumptions of the Study ....................................................................................... 8

THE LITERATURE REVIEW......................................................................................... 13

Background to the Nonprofit Sector ..................................................................... 14

Jewish Identity ................................................................................................. 16

The Breadth of Jewish Education in North America ....................................... 16

Financing Jewish Education............................................................................. 21

Policy-Making in Education ............................................................................ 25

Sources of Power ............................................................................................. 27

Why Do Donors Give?..................................................................................... 32

Relationship Fundraising ................................................................................. 33

Motives of Donors ........................................................................................... 39

Donors in Context ............................................................................................ 40

Tension With Donors ....................................................................................... 44

Fundraising From Donors ................................................................................ 46

Cultivating Donors ........................................................................................... 46

Philanthropy and the Education Sector................................................................. 50

Challenges in K-12 Philanthropy ..................................................................... 51

Paucity of Research on Grant Making ............................................................. 53