News Beth Sholom will raze, then rebuild its sanctuary Facebook Twitter Email SMS WhatsApp Share By J. Correspondent | May 16, 1997 Sign up for Weekday J and get the latest on what's happening in the Jewish Bay Area. In an unprecedented move for a San Francisco synagogue, Congregation Beth Sholom plans to demolish its aging sanctuary and social hall. The two adjacent buildings will be replaced by one larger structure designed to hold more worshippers, enhance spirituality and offer modern space for social events. The board of directors at the city's largest and still growing Conservative congregation unanimously approved the multimillion dollar project last month. "This is a real chance for us to have a state-of-the-art sacred space," Rabbi Alan Lew said. The cost of the entire project currently is estimated at $8.2 million. That figure includes razing and rebuilding the 62-year-old sanctuary and 37-year-old social hall. It also includes renovating the site's third and newest structure, the 32-year-old religious school. The price tag would not include the cost of renting space for religious services and events for at least two years during demolition and construction. If the plan moves ahead as expected, it will be the first new synagogue built in San Francisco since 1963, when Congregation Beth Israel-Judea opened its doors. Beth Sholom moved to its current site at the corner of 14th Avenue and Clement Street in the 1930s after leaving its Fourth Avenue building, where Magain David Sephardim Congregation is now located. Under the synagogue bylaws, the project isn't required to go before the entire 500-household congregation for a vote. Bob White, the board's executive vice president and its president-elect, said the board has the authority to manage the congregation's property and finances. Regardless of the legalities, lay leaders believe the congregation informally has reached consensus on the matter because the inadequacy of the current buildings has been discussed for many years. "I can't believe the congregational sentiment would be against doing this," said Alan R. Rothstein, Beth Sholom's board president. Congregants will get a chance to openly discuss the project at the annual membership meeting in early June and other congregation forums. The synagogue's next steps include hiring an architect, kicking off a fund-raising drive and searching for a temporary dwelling. Beth Sholom leaders estimate that demolition wouldn't take place before the year 2000. Construction would require at least another two years. With preliminary floor plans in hand, congregant and developer Sandy Gallanter said that replacing the two buildings with a new one would increase the synagogue's usable space by more than 50 percent. The L-shaped property takes up less than one-eighth of a city block, he estimated. The need for extra space has been amplified since Lew arrived nearly six years ago. At that time, the congregation had shrunk from 450 households in the late 1960s to about 350. Today it stands at 500, which translates into about 1,700 women, men and children. Though congregation leaders offer a long list of reasons for tearing down the buildings, they also acknowledge that memories cram every nook of the current space. Burton Meyer, who heads the committee that oversees building upkeep, said he understands the sense of nostalgia. He grew up in Beth Sholom during the 1950s. But "the institution is more important than the building for me," Meyer said. "You just have to accept that the most important use of the building is to fit the current use and not think about how it used to be." Leaders have faced some opposition to the planned demolition. "We've heard a few rumblings. Most are very excited. A few are angry and upset. We understand that," Lew said. "We need to encourage the congregation, and especially those with such deep memories, to grieve for the loss of the space. And then they'll be ready to let go." For those surprised at the decision to raze the stately two-story buildings in the Inner Richmond District, Rothstein and others offered a long list of gripes and maintenance headaches. A lack of ventilation means the sanctuary gets hot and stuffy, particularly at High Holy Days services. The buildings, which rode out the 1989 earthquake, are considered safe. But synagogue officials said the buildings don't meet current seismic codes. They worry about the sanctuary's balcony holding out in another disaster. One wall in the sanctuary, on the verge of failing, has required reinforcement. Another one leaks. The boilers have given out. And the electrical wiring is antiquated. The social hall, known as the Friedman Center, has what Rothstein dubs a "substandard kitchen." More than half the families who use the sanctuary for simchas, such as b'nai mitzvah and weddings, go elsewhere for the reception because they want a more "glamorous" space, he said. Synagogue leaders also envision a new sanctuary that will enhance spirituality for worshippers. The current one, with its elevated bimah sitting at the far end of a long rectangular room, reflects a mentality about God and Judaism that no longer resonates for all Jews. "I think most synagogues that exist now, including our own, express the spiritual vision of another time, a time when God was seen as a distant, hierarchical figure," Lew said. He wants a space that will create more intimacy, and encourage more participation. The sanctuary's bimah could sit toward the center of the room, he said, so it wouldn't feel so much like a stage. The sanctuary itself would have moveable walls that could alter the space to comfortably fit 300 for Shabbat, 600 for a bat mitzvah or 1,500 for Yom Kippur. The current sanctuary, with its balcony, holds about 800. During High Holy Days services, the synagogue has been forced to double up services, with many worshippers ending up in the social hall, which holds another 500. "We've kind of been making do," Rothstein said. Lew, who is among those who practice and teach meditation, would also like the new building to contain quiet spaces or a meditation room for worshippers. Due to city requirements, a newly built Beth Sholom must also add parking spaces — a rarity for any San Francisco congregation. A 28-space parking garage would sit underground, which Rothstein said will help employees but acknowledged won't do much for congregants. Despite the floor plans and ideas, Rothstein and others cautioned that nothing is set in stone. Since the 1980s, other plans calling for renovations failed to materialize in the end. Before deciding on demolition this time, board members considered other options such as renovating, buying adjacent properties or moving to a new site. But those involved with the project concluded that demolition is the only feasible and logical idea. The leaders found that adjacent lots weren't available or were too expensive. They couldn't find another site in the city. Renovation or partial reconstruction would have been less expensive, requiring $2.2 million to $5.7 million. But synagogue leaders said they believed it would be more difficult to raise a smaller amount of money for a renovation than a larger sum for a new building. Though the congregation has been grappling with the current space since the 1980s, Rothstein said, the project is finally getting off the ground because he made a promise to himself when he became president last summer. He vowed to leave the congregation with a plan in place that would take it into the next century. Rothstein believes the project will fly this time, though he recognizes that "we'll have a tough time raising the money," and that some funds will have to come from sources outside the congregation. In addition, Beth Sholom will be competing with other multimillion dollar construction projects in San Francisco's Jewish community. Those include the new Jewish Museum San Francisco, Scott Street Senior Housing and Social Services Complex and, potentially, a new Jewish Community Center. Beth Sholom's leaders are aware of the rival projects. "It's definitely a concern of ours. But we believe we have congregants who will be committed to this project as a priority over all others," Rothstein said. "For congregants, this is their second home, their spiritual home." J. Correspondent Also On J. 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