In eJewishPhilanthropy’s exclusive opinion column The 501(C) Suite, leading foundation executives share what they are working on and thinking about with the wider philanthropic field. 

“Describe your philanthropic journey.” 

Influential funders are often asked to narrate their giving arc for others. These stories describe people or institutions recognizing what matters to them and setting a course toward the change they hope to see. I think of this as nostos-shaped philanthropy. 

Nostos is an ancient Greek word meaning “homecoming” or “return home.” One of the most famous nostos stories was brought to life on the big screen this summer in Christopher Nolan’s “The Odyssey.” Odysseus’s destination — his wife, his son, his throne — is clear at the outset of his journey. His path to get there, however, is anything but direct. He faces many obstacles, of his own and others’ making; there are diversions and disasters, short-term pleasures and false homes along the way. 

Strategic plans, theories of change, landscape analyses and capacity building initiatives are among the tools we use as funders to navigate toward our goals. But, like Odysseus, we encounter distractions and stumbling blocks. Short-term gains can pull our attention from longer-term goals. Emergencies demand immediate response, and limited funding or organizational capacity constrain what is possible. We often remain attached to unsuccessful strategies and can be unwilling to take risks. Our challenge is determining whether an obstacle requires a change in route, tempts us to avoid a more difficult approach or demands that we redouble our efforts. 

Nostos-shaped philanthropy asks us to keep our destination in view. Are the decisions we make getting us closer to the impact we seek? When circumstances force us to change course, are we still moving toward our target? 

Another kind of homecoming 

This summer, I read Rabbi Alan Lew’s classic work, This is Real and You are Completely Unprepared, which traces the spiritual journey from Tisha B’Av through the High Holy Days. At its heart is the process of teshuva. Although commonly translated as repentance, teshuva’s Hebrew root, shuv, means to turn or return. Rabbi Lew’s insight is that each of us is always in some state of having left home and striving to return. Unlike Odysseus’s Ithaca, however, this home is not a physical destination but the condition of being fully and undividedly oneself. 

We drift from our core selves into roles, habits and self-protective stories shaped by fear, pain or circumstance rather than by who we understand ourselves to be. Returning home does not mean going backward; it means recovering our values and bringing them forward. 

Teshuva is continuous: we leave home, return and leave again.

When Odysseus finally reaches Ithaca, he goes unrecognized. He has returned, but he has also changed. His homecoming requires recognition of the person he has become and proof of the person he has always been. Sharing his tale with his wife, Penelope, demonstrates his newly acquired self-awareness, while his scar and his ability to string his bow offer external evidence of his identity. 

At first reading, Lew’s idea of an undivided true self might suggest an unchanging core to which we simply return. Yet the self does not remain static. As in a hero’s odyssey, the process changes us. Our self is transformed each time we confront the anxieties and behaviors that impede our growth and keep us from fully realizing who we are.

Teshuva-shaped philanthropy

Teshuva, tefilla (prayer) and tzedakah (charity) are woven together in the High Holy Day liturgy as mechanisms for divine forgiveness. Lew’s introspective and cyclical view of teshuva offers a framework for philanthropic realignment. 

As philanthropists and foundations, we begin with good intentions – mission statements, values and focus areas – that define the essence of who we are and what we want to be. Over time, however, we accumulate habits, procedures and ways of working that may no longer serve those intentions. Our behaviors can produce consequences different from the ones we sought. 

A teshuva-shaped philanthropy demands that we notice the distance between our intent and our impact. It requires an ongoing practice of self-examination — considering how we work, what we ask of our grantees and whether the habits of our giving reflect our values. What power dynamics are embedded in our expectations? Where are our institutional blind spots? Are we respecting relationships with longtime grantees and championing new leaders? Are we learning and reassessing when our ways of working no longer serve our commitments? 

Nostos + teshuva

Nostos and teshuva explore the difference between losing our path and losing sight of ourselves. Nostos helps us examine whether our choices are moving us toward our intended destination. Teshuva asks whether we, as philanthropists or foundation are making choices that are true to our own values and identity. Done well, both pathways generate growth and change. 

The Russell Berrie Foundation’s philanthropic journey has always had a fixed end date. For us, the journey toward our “sunrise” (the expression we use to describe the optimistic vision for what we leave behind) is its own form of homecoming, combining elements of both nostos and teshuva. 

Much like the Ithaca to which Odysseus returned, the world in which we apply Russell Berrie’s values does not exist as he knew it. In the 40 years since he established the foundation and the 24 years since he died, circumstances have changed, requiring different solutions. 

Berrie anticipated this. In an early letter to the trustees of the foundation, he asked them to fulfill his vision, guided by the foundation’s mission, and by his ideals and interests. But, he continued: 

“…in a rapidly changing world, the Foundation should be flexible enough to respond to unique challenges, ideas and projects…” 

That flexibility has allowed us to pursue our destination while continually examining whether our choices reflect our values. Even as our trajectory toward impact is guided by strategies and measured through outcomes, we also need the cyclical work of testing ideas, taking risks, assessing ourselves and recalibrating. 

Our task over the coming years is to hold both forms of return at once and appreciate that when we arrive at our sunrise, “home” will not look exactly as it did when the journey began. Neither will we.

When we reach 2033, we will ask ourselves whether we accomplished what we set out to do, trusting that Russ would recognize himself in the legacy we leave in his name.

Idana Goldberg is the CEO of the Russell Berrie Foundation.