Ahavas Sholom is in the News, Again 

 

At This Small Conservative New Jersey Synagogue, a Hebrew Israelite Rabbi Runs the Show

Rabbi Eliyahu Collins is breathing new life into the last active synagogue in Newark, New Jersey

Andrew Esensten
Haaretz
February 27, 2026

When Eliyahu Collins started his internship at Congregation Ahavas Sholom in the spring of 2022, the rabbinical student was nervous about how the congregants would receive him.

“There definitely were questions about my background. There were questions about my rabbinic training. There were questions about my minhagim, or certain cultural practices that I may have had,” Collins recalls.

The community quickly embraced him. By September, he was appointed associate rabbi of the small Conservative synagogue in Newark, New Jersey – becoming the first Hebrew Israelite hired to lead a mainstream synagogue in the United States.

Then came the backlash. The Conservative movement publicly condemned the hiring of Collins and another Israelite rabbinic intern, saying the move raised “serious concerns about the intersection between mainstream Judaism and Hebrew Israelites.” One of the synagogue’s funders threatened to withdraw her support because she believed, erroneously, that Collins emerged from a militant subset of Israelites.

Undeterred, the board of Ahavas Sholom promoted Collins to head rabbi in July 2023. Two and half years have passed – how is this experiment in American Judaism going?

“My experience at Ahavas Sholom thus far has been absolutely incredible and a dream come true,” Collins, 49, says in a video interview from his suburban New Jersey home, with photos of Rabbi Wentworth Arthur Matthew, Rabbi Hailu Paris and other influential Israelite rabbis hanging on the wall behind him. “There’s been a vibrant exchange between the congregation and my family.”

Hebrew Israelites are African Americans and other people of color who identify as descendants of the ancient Israelites and observe Biblical laws. There are dozens of communities in the United States, the Caribbean, Africa and Israel, including a well-known one based in Dimona. Beliefs and customs vary widely from group to group; Collins is affiliated with a century-old, non-messianic branch of the spiritual movement that gravitated toward Rabbinic Judaism.

I feel that the Israelites have been excluded from mainstream Judaism by white, Ashkenazi Jews, and that bothers the hell out of me. I wanted to see how my community responded to being led by a Black rabbi.    Eric Freedman, president of Ahavas Sholom

 

Many white Jews view Israelites with trepidation due to the inflammatory rhetoric and violent acts of those on the fringes of the movement. In 2019, for example, a man who professed some Israelite beliefs murdered four people at a kosher supermarket in Jersey City, just 10 miles from Ahavas Sholom.

Collins insists that the public perception of Israelites has been distorted by the media, and he wants to use his rabbinate and the visibility it affords him to change the narrative.

“When people think of Israelites, unfortunately that’s the image that comes to mind,” he says. “I hope that with exposure, people can get to know other individuals who identify as Israelites who do not represent themselves like that.”

‘Reversion’ to Judaism

Collins is tall, with a full beard that has mostly turned gray. The 49-year-old wears stylish black glasses and stud earrings, along with the large, kufi-like kippahs favored by many Israelites. In conversation, he chooses his words carefully and peppers his speech with Hebrew phrases such as baruch Hashem and hallelujah.

Technically, he is a part-time rabbi. For his day job, he works as the program director at a drug rehabilitation center in Manhattan. He is also raising three children with his wife, Shaaila.

With Ben Levy’s encouragement, Collins enrolled at the Israelite Academy, a rabbinical school in Queens run by the International Israelite Board of Rabbis (IIBR). He likely would have joined the clergy at Beth Shalom after his ordination. But in early 2022, Eric Freedman, Ahavas Sholom’s open-minded president, read about the Israelite Academy and got what he described as a “crazy idea” – what if he invited rabbinical students from the academy to intern at Ahavas Sholom?

“I feel that the Israelites have been excluded from mainstream Judaism by white, Ashkenazi Jews, and that bothers the hell out of me,” explains Freedman, a 67-year-old former Wall Street trader and stucco business owner. “I wanted to see how my community responded to being led by a Black rabbi.”

He ran the idea by Rabbi Capers Funnye, the IIBR’s chief rabbi, who gave his blessing and connected Freedman with Rabbi Baruch Yehudah, the dean of the Academy. Yehudah arranged for Collins and another rabbinical student, Azriel Devine, to spend several weeks at Ahavas Sholom.

Collins impressed congregants with his oratorical skills and knowledge of Torah – so much so that Freedman wanted to hire him as an associate rabbi. The congregation’s lead rabbi, Simon Rosenbach, was struggling with the language disorder aphasia, and Freedman thought Collins could assist him.

Before bringing this proposal to his board, however, Freedman grappled with the question of the Israelites’ halachic status as Jews. He called leaders at the Jewish Theological Seminary and the New York Board of Rabbis (NYBR) for guidance. “I tried to talk to people that I felt could not only shed more light on the matter, but had the authority to do so,” he says, adding, “I never threw halacha to the wind.”

The NYBR, the largest interdenominational rabbinic body in the world, had accepted both Funnye and Yehudah into its ranks in 2021. Freedman spoke with the board’s executive vice president, Rabbi Joseph Potasnik, and it was that conversation that ultimately gave him the confidence to move forward.

“He told me, ‘There’s a trust factor, and I trust Rabbi Funnye,'” Freedman recalls. “I interpreted that to mean that Rabbi Funnye isn’t going to ordain someone who is blatantly not Jewish.” (Potasnik confirmed speaking with Freedman, and reiterated that Funnye is a “highly respected figure.”)

Freedman went back to his board and asked them: “If the New York Board of Rabbis deems the Israelite community to be Jewish, that’s not good enough for our congregation?” The board voted 12-3 to hire Collins, with one abstention.

Backlash from Conservative leaders

Newark was once home to more than 60,000 Jews who attended some 40 synagogues. One of its most vibrant neighborhoods, Weequahic, was immortalized in the novels of Philip Roth.

Jews began moving to the suburbs in the 1950s, an exodus that was accelerated by the July 1967 nationwide race riots. Ahavas Sholom, founded in 1905 by immigrants from Eastern Europe, is the city’s last functioning synagogue. It has around 90 member families but only about 20 people who attend regularly, according to Freedman.

The board chose to affiliate with United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism more than two decades ago, yet board members insist that their decision to hire a non-Conservative rabbi like Collins was not out of character. Rosenbach was a second-career rabbi who was ordained by the transdenominational Academy for Jewish Religion. The rabbi before him, Arthur Vernon, graduated from Hebrew Union College, the Reform seminary.

“I wouldn’t call Ahavas Sholom a mainstream synagogue,” says April Modlinger, a member of both the executive committee and the board. “I think we are an outlier in many ways.”

For example, she says, the congregation has long embraced cultural diversity, with some Black, Latino and Persian members, in addition to those with Eastern European roots. The dress code is relaxed. There are no tickets for High Holiday services, and membership dues are relatively cheap – just $375 per year for a family, compared to thousands of dollars at larger suburban synagogues.

Modlinger, 79, was incensed when leaders of the Conservative movement publicly criticized Ahavas Sholom for hiring Collins and the intern Devine in a February 2023 op-ed published in the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

“Hebrew Israelites, even those whose rituals mirror normative Jewish ones, are not Jews according to halacha, Jewish law as understood and followed by the Conservative movement and indeed most Jewish denominations,” three movement leaders wrote in the op-ed. “By the same token, Israelite clergy – who are called rabbis according to the seminaries that ordain them – are not appropriate to lead a Jewish congregation.”

Three years later, Modlinger is still seething. “We are the last functioning synagogue in Newark, and that’s how they slammed us,” she says. “It was rude.”

Collins says he did not feel personally attacked by the Conservative leaders. “They clearly weren’t talking about me – I’m a Jew,” he asserts. “The Talmud tells you that if someone acknowledges themselves as a Jew, you cannot question their Judaism.”

But Funnye – who was raised in the African Methodist Episcopal Church, reverted, and later converted to Conservative Judaism to facilitate his cross-cultural work – and Yehudah, who was raised in an Israelite family, were offended by the assertion that they belong to a different religion. They maintain that they practice a distinct yet legitimate denomination of Judaism.

“If you look at the spectrum of Jewish life, every denomination has made up their own rules,” Yehudah says. “This one accepts patrilineal [descent], this one doesn’t. It’s all morphed over time, so the idea that there is only one way that you can be Jewish is ridiculous.”

After the op-ed was published, Funnye and Yehudah confronted Rabbi Jacob Blumenthal, the CEO of USCJ and the Rabbinical Assembly, on a video call. Yehudah accused Blumenthal of ignoring information about the IIBR that he had shared with USCJ staff prior to publication. Blumenthal apologized to the Israelite rabbis, according to Freedman, who also joined the call.

Members of the International Israelite Board of Rabbis, wearing red ties, in October 2025, from left: Rabbi Baruch Yehudah; Chief Rabbi Capers Funnye, Rabbi Shalem Yeshurun, and Rabbi Yeshurun Ben Levi. Credit: Michael Eldridge

In an email, Blumenthal described his conversations with Funnye and Yehudah as “warm,” but reiterated that the Conservative movement draws a distinction between Israelites and Jews of color.

“Many of our communities also have warm relationships with Hebrew Israelite leaders, and we approach those interactions with respect while maintaining the halakhic standards that define Jewish lineage,” he wrote. “The Conservative Movement continues to affirm both those standards and our commitment to welcoming Jews of color.”

USCJ has occasionally suspended congregations for violating its rules, mostly for non-payment of dues, but Freedman was never worried about any disciplinary action. “We don’t need their affirmation that we’re good Jews,” he says. A spokesperson for USCJ confirmed that Ahavas Sholom’s membership is still active.

Source of pride for Israelites

In just a few years, Collins has already left his mark on his congregation. He started a monthly Kabbalat Shabbat service, followed by a communal dinner with food prepared by Shaaila, his wife. He also launched a beginner’s Hebrew class and co-teaches a Torah study class over Zoom.

“A lot of our congregants are not ritually observant or knowledgeable,” Freedman says. “Eliyahu is changing that.”

Israelite Academy rabbinical students do not learn specific nusach (melodies) or te‘amim (trope). When Collins and his 19-year-old son, Shatemiyah, read Torah, they chant in the style used by the Israelites at Beth Shalom. Many find the style pleasing, but one board member was dissatisfied that Collins could not chant using Ashkenazi trope. (The board member ultimately left the synagogue, according to Freedman.)

With a nudge from Freedman, Collins has picked up some of the melodies that Ahavas Sholom members are accustomed to. “I told him you have to give the audience what they want,” Freedman says. “He’s made some good inroads into mastering some of the tunes from the Amidah.”

Beyond leading services and teaching Hebrew and Torah classes, Collins’ role at Ahavas Sholom has been somewhat limited due to the size and demographics of the congregation. He has officiated at one bar mitzvah – that of Freedman’s son, Akiva, in October 2023 – and a few funerals. But he has yet to be called upon to fulfill other standard pastoral duties, such as counseling young couples, performing weddings, teaching Hebrew school students and potential converts to Judaism, or sitting on rabbinic courts.

Meanwhile, he has embraced his role as a representative of the small Newark Jewish community. A week after the October 7, 2023 Hamas attack on Israel, he spoke at an interfaith peace service held at Ahavas Sholom. Several weeks later, he and Freedman attended the March for Israel on the National Mall in Washington, D.C.

“He has taken this very seriously from his first internship,” says Robert Steinbaum, Ahavas Sholom’s vice president. “He’s spiritual, and you can see that his belief in God is important to him – and that’s important as a leader.”

Walter Isaac, an Israelite rabbi and Afro-Jewish scholar living in Tennessee, calls Collins’ appointment at Ahavas Sholom “a positive step forward in human relations.”

“It’s important that our religious institutions emphasize the need for employing people who respect and appreciate our differences,” he adds.

Isaac, who teaches in the Africana studies department at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, says Collins is part of a long tradition of Black rabbis who have navigated between Israelite and predominantly white Jewish communities, building bridges between the two.

Unfortunately, Isaac says, “our contributions are often ignored because people are obsessed with our identity.”

Yehudah, the Israelite Academy dean, refers to Collins as “a feather in my cap – not because he’s in an Ashkenazi synagogue,” but because “he’s serving the Jewish community to the best of his ability.”

He adds, “I would be just as proud of him if he was in one of our own congregations because of who he is and what he does.”

‘We want this to be a successful story‘

Each February for the past four years, Collins has co-led a “Unity Shabbat” service that brings together the mostly white Jews at Ahavas Sholom and Israelites from across New York City to worship and break bread. Last year, Beth Shalom hosted the service, and dozens of Ahavas Sholom members traveled to Brooklyn by chartered bus.

“People are yelling out ‘Hallelujah!’ and there’s handclapping,” says Modlinger, the executive committee member. “It’s very celebratory, and that’s what Shabbat should be.”

Freedman says, “You cannot walk out of services with them and say they’re not really Jewish. The tunes are different, but there’s not one prayer that they do that’s different from us.”

Collins and Freedman are not the first to try to unify Israelites and white Jews with initiatives like “Unity Shabbat.” In the late 1960s and early 1970s, a multiracial organization in New York called Hatzaad Harishon (“The First Step”) attempted to integrate Israelites into mainstream Judaism. The organization ultimately folded because of internal disagreements, including over the issue of conversion.

When asked if he thinks Israelites should consider converting to a major denomination of Judaism in order to remove any doubt about their status as Jews, Collins responds, “If you’re talking about someone like myself who was born and raised in Christianity, of course, there needs to be a process of purification and induction into the community.

“But if you have someone who was born and raised in this way of life and this is all they know – for someone to then say, ‘Because you didn’t do this the way that I did, you’re not legitimate,’ of course that’s going to be a hard sell.”

Collins’ contract at Ahavas Sholom expires at the end of June. He and Freedman say it’s still too early to discuss his future at the shul, but they are proud of what they have accomplished together thus far.

“We want this, very much so, to be a successful story,” says Collins, who was accepted to the New York Board of Rabbis last year. “Whatever the outcome is, its impact will go far beyond me.”

Freedman would love for Collins to stay, but he also wants him to be able to spread his wings. “If Eliyahu’s experience at Ahavas Sholom catapults him to the point where he can lead a Manhattan Conservative shul,” he says, “I would feel I did my job.”