It is well known that many non-Jews support Israel. But far less attention has been paid to the non-Jews who, for centuries, have supported Jewish institutions in the Diaspora. This support has helped sustain Jewish institutions, especially as demographics have shifted.
Jewish communities have long relied on their own members to support synagogues, schools, and relief organizations. Yet history tells a more complex and hopeful story: In many places, non-Jews were instrumental partners in the development of Jewish communal life.
This pattern stretches back centuries. In 1788, when Congregation Mikveh Israel in Philadelphia solicited funds to pay off its debts, its supporters included Benjamin Franklin and other prominent non-Jews. With less than 3,000 Jews in the US at the time, this pattern continued as communities expanded.
Researching Jewish communities, I found that non-Jewish civic leaders often helped build Jewish institutions – not out of obligation but from shared values.
Yet this history remains largely unknown. While working for Jewish nonprofits, I often saw colleagues react with surprise when non-Jews contributed to Jewish causes as if it were an anomaly rather than a well-established tradition. Today, as Jewish institutions navigate shifting communal dynamics – including an interfaith marriage rate in the US above 50% since the 1990s – this forgotten history offers valuable lessons.
Consider Lima, Ohio, in the early 20th century. Its Jewish community, just 30 families strong, sought to build its first synagogue, Temple Beth Israel. Lacking sufficient funds, they turned to their non-Jewish neighbors. Local Christians contributed significantly, allowing the synagogue’s completion in 1915.
The building bore an inscription from Isaiah 56:7, “Mine House Is a House of Prayer for All People” – a reflection of the interfaith generosity that made it possible. A successor to this congregation, Temple Beth Israel-Shaare Zedek, continues to exist in Lima.
Portsmouth, Ohio, saw a similar story. In 1858, local Christians helped fund the city’s first synagogue, Beneh Abraham. When the synagogue was dedicated, so many non-Jews attended that the space was overwhelmed, forcing many to be turned away. Rabbi Isaac Mayer Wise, the leader of early American Reform Judaism, praised the Christian residents for their generosity and their engagement with Jewish life. Beneh Abraham remains one of Ohio’s oldest Jewish congregations.
Wales offers another striking example. In Pontypridd, where Jews had held services since 1865, the first purpose-built synagogue was dedicated in 1895, thanks, in part, to financial support from local Christians.
Chief Rabbi Hermann Adler presided over the dedication, and the town’s civic leaders celebrated the Jewish community’s contributions. Even in Tredegar, a town infamous for anti-Jewish riots in 1911, non-Jews had supported the Jewish community decades earlier, helping establish its synagogue and cemetery.
Canada, too, saw early interfaith philanthropy. In 1890, Winnipeg’s non-Jews donated $1,787 (over $60,000 today) toward the construction of Shaarey Zedek, the city’s new synagogue. Christian civic leaders, including the mayor, attended, and he was presented with a ceremonial key.
Establishing synagogues
In Ottawa in 1895, Christians were among those who helped establish the city’s first synagogue. To accommodate their guests and the Reform rabbi leading the dedication service, the Orthodox congregation made a rare exception – allowing mixed seating for the opening service. These acts of generosity remind us that Jewish institutions were not always built in isolation.
NON-JEWISH SUPPORT extended beyond physical buildings. During World War I, Jewish communities across Ohio joined nationwide efforts to raise money for the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, which provided relief to Jews suffering in Europe and Palestine. In towns like Bucyrus, Newark, and Steubenville, non-Jews actively participated in fundraising.
In Bucyrus, for instance, the Junior Order of United American Mechanics – a nativist fraternal organization that nationally was not known for its inclusivity – donated $25, a significant sum at the time, to Jewish relief efforts. The campaign also received media coverage, reinforcing Jewish causes as shared civic responsibilities.
These examples challenge assumptions about the nature of Jewish philanthropy and reveal a more intertwined history – one in which non-Jews consistently supported Jewish communal life.
So why has this history been forgotten?
Part of the answer lies in how Jewish collective memory has been shaped by trauma. Localized acts of persecution and antisemitism – such as Tredegar’s riot or General Grant’s 1862 expulsion order – are rightly remembered. But acts of interfaith generosity before World War II have often gone unrecorded. The 20th century, marked by rising antisemitism and the Holocaust, naturally shaped how Jews understood their place in society.
Additionally, these stories do not fit neatly into today’s polarized narratives or the popular assumption that interfaith tolerance in America, Canada, and the United Kingdom only developed after 1945. At a time when antisemitism is rising, it can be difficult to acknowledge that Jewish-Christian relations have for generations included moments of solidarity and cooperation.
Yet the legacy of interfaith generosity continues today. Jewish Community Centers across the United States welcome non-Jewish members, fostering interfaith engagement through fitness, education, and cultural programs.
Some Jewish day schools, like the Akiva Academy in Youngstown, Ohio, have a majority non-Jewish enrollment. Others, like the Ronald C. Wornick Jewish Day School in Foster City, California, have actively promoted Jewish education to both Jews and non-Jews for over a decade.
Jewish life thrives when it is distinct yet welcoming – a balance seen in Medieval Spain, the early Roman Empire, and Ptolemaic Alexandria.
Remembering non-Jewish philanthropy offers a fuller, more hopeful vision of Jewish history. These stories challenge the idea that Jewish life in the Diaspora has always been defined by persecution and inevitable catastrophe. Judaism has long benefited from non-Jewish support – at times making institutions possible.
As we look ahead, these lessons remain relevant. Jewish institutions flourish when they remain engaged with the broader world. By reclaiming these forgotten histories, we do more than celebrate the past – we set a foundation for the future.
The writer’s work uncovering the hidden histories of small-town Jewish communities and their broader social impact has been featured in The Jewish Telegraphic Agency, The Columbus Dispatch, and national historical societies.