The vanishing Stars of David

Growing up in Lancaster, Ohio, I often walked past a Star of David etched next to a cross on a war memorial in Zane Square Park downtown. It stood out to me. My hometown had no organized Jewish community. Who did this symbol represent?

Years later, as a college student researching local history, I discovered its story. The Star of David honors Victor Epstein, a Lancaster native who died in combat during World War II. His family had been part of B’nai Israel, a synagogue that closed in 1993 after serving the community for more than six decades. Lancaster’s Jewish community faded from existence, and soon many individuals in town forgot that a Jewish community ever existed locally. 

The story of Lancaster’s Jewish community is not unique. Jewish life in small-town America has steadily declined since 1970 as manufacturing jobs disappeared in many areas and other economic shifts reshaped rural and small-town life. In towns like Steubenville, Zanesville, and Chillicothe, thriving Jewish communities once shaped the fabric of local life, contributing to the economy, civic institutions, and cultural vibrancy. But as industries shuttered and younger generations left, these communities faced challenges too great to overcome.

As Rabbi Kenneth Milhander of Steubenville wrote in 1997, “Though today there is only one synagogue, and though most of the organizations founded have ceased to exist, there remains a strong, dedicated group of people who are proud of their past.” In 1970, Steubenville supported two synagogues, and a third existed in nearby Weirton, West Virginia. Yet despite this initial strength, Steubenville’s last synagogue closed in 2013, part of a series of closures across the eastern Ohio region.

Beginning in the mid-19th century, the presence of a Jewish community was often seen as a marker of an American town’s vitality. Some companies even financed the construction of synagogues to attract Jewish residents. One notable example of this is Congregation Beth Israel in Honesdale, Pennsylvania, one of the oldest synagogues in the United States, which was built by the Delaware and Hudson Canal Company to encourage Jews to settle in the growing town.

This sentiment is echoed in a 1939 column by Edwin Wenis in the Chillicothe Scioto Gazette. Writing in response to the resurgence of anti-Semitism in Europe, Wenis reflected on the contributions of Chillicothe’s Jewish residents: “No race of people who become citizens of Chillicothe have contributed more toward the success of the city… than these same Jewish people.”

But by the late 20th century, the forces that built these communities began to unravel them. Manufacturing job losses devastated towns like Mansfield, Steubenville and Zanesville, while the rise of big-box stores wiped out small, family-owned businesses. Many of these businesses, particularly in downtown districts, were Jewish-owned. As industries disappeared, so did opportunities, forcing younger generations to seek futures elsewhere. As a 1974 article in the Cleveland Jewish News noted of Mansfield, “A majority of the young people, it seems, have not returned to settle in the area.”

For small-town Jewish communities, the loss of just a few families often spelled the end for their institutions. Zanesville’s Beth Abraham synagogue, for instance, closed in 2017—not for lack of devotion, but because its membership dwindled below the critical threshold needed to sustain it.

Some communities, like Lancaster’s B’nai Israel, took proactive steps to preserve their histories. Endowments, like a book fund for the local library, ensured that the memory of Lancaster’s Jewish community endured in some form, but many others left few physical reminders behind. Many of the 21 communities I’ve documented risk fading from memory entirely.

The patterns seen in small-town America are echoed in other parts of the world, where economic and demographic shifts have similarly reshaped Jewish life. Across the United Kingdom, small-town Jewish communities are also vanishing due to similar economic circumstances. As in the United States, economic centralization has drawn younger Jews, along with individuals of many diverse backgrounds, to cities like London, leaving many smaller Jewish communities struggling to survive. Today, the majority of British Jews live in London. Economic factors have contributed to this trend in other European countries as well. This centralization not only reshapes Jewish communal identity but also limits opportunities for interfaith engagement in smaller towns.

What does it mean when Jewish life becomes concentrated in just a few places? Beyond the loss of cultural diversity, the disappearance of small-town Jewish communities erodes the interpersonal connections that once bridged divides between Jews and their neighbors. In many of these towns, synagogues were not just places of worship but also centers for education and interfaith dialogue. In Lancaster, for instance, B’nai Israel welcomed civic organizations and church youth groups, offering a rare opportunity to learn about Jewish culture and theology in a predominantly non-Jewish setting.

Such efforts fostered mutual understanding, creating bonds that extended beyond the Jewish community. With the closure of small-town synagogues, these unique opportunities for connection and collaboration have largely disappeared. The loss is not just for the Jewish community but for the broader society that benefited from these bridges of understanding. As studies have shown, knowing Jewish people and learning about Judaism can significantly reduce antisemitic attitudes. The physical absence of Jewish communities in these towns raises pressing questions about how their contributions to interfaith understanding can be sustained in their absence.

The disappearance of these communities leaves a void—not just in Jewish life but in the broader cultural and civic landscapes they enriched. Their presence signaled the health and growth of the towns they inhabited, and their decline reflects broader struggles facing small-town America.

At the same time, their histories offer lessons about resilience and the importance of legacy. In cities like Youngstown, where industries have waned and populations have dwindled, Jewish communities now face challenges once thought to only affect smaller towns. Ensuring the survival of Jewish life, and its memory, requires intentional efforts to preserve these stories before they fade completely. Preserving these stories is not just about honoring the past; it ensures that the lessons of resilience continue to inform and enrich our communities.

The decline of small-town Jewish communities is more than just a historical footnote—it is a story about the deep connections these communities forged and the lasting impact they had on the towns they called home. As Rabbi Milhander wrote of Steubenville, “We Jews are proud of our contributions and accomplishments.” Their legacies—as entrepreneurs, educators, and philanthropists—remain woven into the fabric of local life.

The historical struggles of many small-town Jewish communities echo in larger cities today, as shifting demographics and economic challenges threaten the viability of long-standing institutions in many cities. What can larger communities learn from the resilience and creativity of these small but vital centers of Jewish life? And how can their stories inspire us to build stronger, more inclusive communities?