away from a grassroots or-
ganization and towards a
high-powered fund-raising
organization, they're not
sufficiently utilizing local
leadership skills."
At the same time, the fund
still is viewed suspiciously
by critics who charge that it
o has a left-wing, Israel-
bashing agenda. They worry
that, at a time when Israel is
being criticized by the Bush
> administration and U.S.
Jews feel under siege, the
fund's strong support for
liberal, civil-rights work in
Israel highlights Israel's
negative side, particularly
its treatment of Palestin-
> fans.
"I'm just uncomfortable
with them," complains
Abraham Foxman, national
.
• director of the Anti-Defama-
tion League.
No one personifies the
fund's changes more than
Norman Rosenberg, the glib
and talkative 45-year-old
lawyer who became execu-
tive director about two
_ years ago. "I'm different
' from the typical Jewish-
commitment type," he says.
"This is my first job in Jew-
ish communal life." Indeed,
the walls of his corner office
display his diplomas and en-
vironmental and law post-
ers, but little evidence of an
interest in Israel.
Such a commitment, he
says, came comparatively
recently. In 1989, when Mr.
Rosenberg was director of
the D.C.-based Mental
Health Law Project, he vis-
ited Israel and suddenly was
overwhelmed with "a feeling
about a need to play some
role in Israel's health and
well-being and survival."
Now, he wants to combine
that with his fund-raising
know-how.
While it continues to sup-
port civil rights, political
pluralism and democracy in
Israel — established values
here that often put the fund
in the midst of controversy
when applied there — the
New Israel Fund recently
has begun focusing on the
problems accompanying the
massive emigration of Sovi-
et Jews. As United Jewish
Appeal and other giant or-
ganizations concentrate on
raising massive funds to
support Israeli infrastruc-
ture, the tiny New Israel
Fund is targeting on nar-
rower efforts.
For instance, it is funding
"Shiloh," a pregnancy-
Members of the U.S.-Israel Civil Liberties Law Program.
counseling service for Soviet
women, who know little
about birth control and are
finding that the abortions
that were free in the Soviet
Union aren't very accessible
in Israel. It also is suppor-
ting Bayit Rishon Bemode-
det, or First Home in the
Homeland, which helps settle
new arrivals on a kibbutz,
where there is an effort to
teach them about civic
responsibility and
democractic values.
_
_ _
Such projects are the kind
of activities that were envi-
sioned for the fund when it
was founded in 1979 in the
Mill Valley, California home
of Jonathan Cohen and his
wife, Eleanor Friedman, an
heir to Levi Strauss.
Critics assert that
the fund's
"ultimate mission"
is an ultra-left
agenda that is
anti-Israel and
pro-Palestinian.
Mr. Cohen, a transplanted
South African, had worked
for the Vanguard Founda-
tion, which raised money for
grassroots, community-
based organizations in San
Francisco. In the late 1970s
neither he nor his wife were
emotionally engaged with
Israel. But a 1978 trip there
changed that and they real-
ized that the kind of work
the Vanguard Foundation
was doing in San Francisco
could be applied to the Jew-
ish state.
Mr. Cohen returned to Is-
rael about three months
later with $75,000 raised
mostly from family and the
couple's wealthy friends and
began funding groups prev-
iously ignored by main-
stream American-Jewish
philanthropy, such as shel-
ters for battered women and
Israel's nascent civil rights
movement.
They had tapped a vein of
discontent among their con-
temporaries —wealthy lib-
erals of the 1960s activist
generation who were in-
creasingly disturbed by
what they saw in Israel.
Most had deep philosophical
differences with the Likud
government that won power
in 1977 and they had grown
increasingly alienated by a
series of events that fol-
lowed, including growing re-
ligious intolerance, the 1982
invasion of Lebanon and Is-
rael's response to the Pales-
tinian uprising, or intifada.
"Most givers (to Israel)
were concerned about build-
ing physical infrastruc-
ture...what attracted me was
the effort to focus on ad-
dressing the internal prob-
lems," recalls David Arnow,
a wealthy 41-year-old New
York businessman who now
is the fund's North America
Chair.
At the same time, mirror-
ing an overall rise in U.S.
consumer activism, there
was a growing call for more
accountability from main-
stream philanthropic
groups. "People want a
more hands-on relationship
with their funds, or a more
defined sense of where their
funds are going. UJA hasn't
been able to offer that," says
Steven Cohen, a sociologist
at New York's Queens col-
lege.
A select number of U.S.
Jews saw the New Israel
Fund as a way to meet these
needs, and the fund began
doubling its modest budget
each year. This year, it is
expected to reach $7.2 mil-
lion. "It's sad, but we bene-
fit when things are bad in
Israel," says Mr.
Rosenberg. "But if these
people hear about us, we're
going to keep them in the
community."
As the New Israel Fund
gears up for the future,
though, it is leaving some of
the old, 1960s grassroots
types behind. Paul Scham, a
Washington lawyer, was one
of the founders of the fund's
D.C. chapter in 1988. He
helped organize local events,
David Arnow of The New Israel Fund.
such as small parties at pri-
vate homes where about a
dozen people who each had
donated several hundred
dollars to the fund would
convene to hear a speaker.
"Here was an organization I
could get really interested
in," says Mr. Scham, who
still considers himself a
1960s-style liberal.
He is turned off, however,
by Mr. Rosenberg's high-
tech fund-raising ideas.
"Now, they're less inter-
ested in pulling people in
who want to do things. I
would rather do things than
give." He adds that, "I'm
not criticizing that. It's im-
portant to get the money to
Israel. But there's a net loss
in the fact that there seems
to be less outreach to make
American Jews aware of the
activities of the fund and the
things it supports."
Indeed, Mr. Rosenberg is
brimming with new fund-
raising ideas. He notes that
the fund used to ask people
for money once a year, and
says that he has learned that
"if you ask people to give
more than once a year, many
will give more than once."
Now, solicitations are made
up to three times annually
through' professional direct
mail programs working from
computerized lists; only the
biggest donors still get the
personal touch.
Other changes are under
way. Finance and adminis-
tration is now run by a staff-
er with a master's degree in
business administration,
who is computerizing the
operation. Previously, ac-
knowledgements of dona-
tions often weren't sent out
for weeks; now a letter is
sent within four days. Com-
puters also are being used to
develop business-like pro-
jections of the growth of the
organizations supported in
order to plan better for how
much money the fund needs
to raise. Mr. Rosenberg
plans to hire a director of
media relations and to in-
crease the fund's publica-
tions.
"A Mom and Pop store
has a special feeling," ac-
knowledges Mr. Arnow, the
fund's North American
Chair. "It's difficult to du-
plicate that on a large scale.
But we couldn't be true to
our ultimate mission and
remain a Mom and Pop
store."
Meanwhile, other critics
assert that the fund's
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