Continuing Education

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Last fall, I wrote about going back to school, taking a Judaism 101 class with friends, taught by the award-winning Rabbi Michele Faudem. In truth, I had started a more formal continuing education journey earlier in 2025, when I went through the 2164 Approach Training for Philanthropic Advising. 

That training, and my subsequent 2164 training on Facilitation, whet my appetite for an even more intense learning around the established but as-yet unregulated field of philanthropic advising. Tina Sula was the first to introduce me to Daylight and their Impact Philanthropic Advisor certification, and after a quick intro to the program, I signed up.

The curriculum was serious and expansive. Unlike my weekly class with Rabbi Faudem, where we show up, learn, and discuss together without any homework, or my 2164 trainings, which are much more compacted over a 3-4 day learning journey, the Daylight program includes twelve modules, each taking a few hours to really study and digest. The self-paced program includes a bi-weekly one-hour session with a cohort, where the assigned module is discussed, but more importantly, a case study based on the curriculum is played out. The program continues for almost six months. 

I learned so very much from my time with Daylight, from a basic understanding of charitable tax planning, and impact investment tools (both topics I knew little about formally), to approaching conversations with different generations, to learning about foundations and giving circles (where I felt like I could really contribute and shine!).  There were a handful of other learners who were consistently present with our group discussions, and we built a good rapport and enjoyed learning and discussing together. We are all from very different backgrounds, places in the country, and roles. Some work at banks; others at community foundations. A few are in fundraising roles, and others, like me, are independent philanthropic advisors. All of us benefited from the curriculum. 

There is something energizing about learning, as we know. While I learned so much from my Impact Philanthropy Advisor certification (IPA – not the beer!) I also remembered that I am best at the personal side of philanthropy – having the conversations around motivation, legacy, interest, and understanding organizations and their fit, need, and leadership in response to that individual donor’s desires. I’m good at seeing patterns, and often think of myself as a mirror for my clients – one that reflects back a more whole picture, rather than the fractional parts they may not realize are connected. 

I often think of philanthropic giving as a kaleidoscope of the donor. If you shift the lens one way, you see a commitment to, perhaps, access to higher education. Another slight turn, and you see an interest in arts and culture. A quick move the other way sees a commitment to their religious or ethnic community. It often takes an outsider (like me) to make sense of those different interests, and call them out.   

Each of my continuing education experiences makes me a stronger professional, and I like to believe, a more interesting person. What should I tackle next? What certification or education matters to you when hiring a philanthropic advisor?

And importantly, what are you learning? What classes are you taking? What is one thing you’re curious about but don’t know enough? 

Let’s keep the conversation – and the learning–  going. 

Best, and Shabbat Shalom,

Kari Alterman

Kari

IPA January 2026 Graduate Certificate_Kari Alterman

Who (or What) is on First?

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With graduation season here and wedding season underway, we hear a lot about firsts. First real paycheck. First time hosting a dinner party (maybe Shabbat through OneTable!) — or the first big decision without asking your parents for advice. It has me thinking about another kind of first that doesn’t get nearly as much airtime: the first time you made a philanthropic commitment that was truly, consciously yours.

LIke many American Jews, there were plenty of blue boxes in my youth. The familiar weight of them, the clink of coins dropping in before Shabbat or at Hebrew school each week. The bearded men coming by to say hello, empty the box, thank us, and hand it back to be filled again. Like many, giving tzedakah or charity was in the ethos of our home — from volunteering with my mom at the NCJW Thrift Stores to learning about people in need and how best to support them. Those early experiences shaped me in ways I’m still discovering. But I was along for the ride, definitely not the driver.

My own first intentional gift? I remember it clearly. It was the summer of 1998, and I had just started out in my career, staffing the Singles Mission to Israel for the Jewish Federation. One of our roles as staff was to encourage attendees to support the Federation with a minimum gift of $500. These were my peers. My friends. And as I watched them step up, I remember thinking: if that’s what they’re giving, that’s what I should be giving, too. Nobody asked me. But all that talk of giving — the conversations, the asks, the reasons why — created a sense of responsibility and connection I couldn’t ignore. So I gave. It was a stretch. And it mattered.

In previous posts, I’ve written about doing things before you feel fully ready — and that’s often true with philanthropy, too. The paralysis is real: How much? To whom? In what form? As the late Bill Davidson z’l was known to say: Just Start.

There’s also what I call aspirational giving — committing to more than feels entirely comfortable, or mapping out a path with an organization you love and deciding that one day, whether that’s a date on the calendar or simply “the future,” you’ll give at that level. My 1998 gift was both of those things at once. It was a stretch financially, and it was a statement to myself about the kind of giver I intended to become. It allowed me to ask for money not just as a professional, but as a donor (I talked about this in an earlier blog, too, where I referenced the Hair Club for Men 😂). Stretching your own finances in pursuit of a cause greater than yourself is an important recognition about community, self, and grace.

So here’s what I want to ask you: What was the first gift you made? Not one you participated in as part of your family, but one you chose — on your own, for your own reasons. Does that cause still resonate? Do you still support them?

I have a theory that we always find our way back to the place that first resonated with us, appreciated us, taught us what giving could feel like. The organizations that meet new donors with warmth and intention create something lasting — not just a transaction, but the beginning of a relationship. And the givers who were met that way? They remember. They return. They bring others.

Your first gift may have been small. It may have been impulsive. It may have been a $5 bill dropped in a bucket or a check written at a friend’s urging. But somewhere in that moment, something was set in motion. I’d love to know what it was.

Wishing you a peaceful Shabbat,

Kari Alterman

Kari

 

One Year On My Own

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For 29 years, I worked for other people. I had a fulfilling career supporting organizations through fundraising and leadership development, and then nearly a decade supporting a family philanthropy’s commitment to Jewish organizations — locally, nationally, and globally. But as of May 15, 2025, that changed. I started working for myself — under the banner of Good Name Advisors.

I could have looked for another job — and I was thrilled to be recruited for other positions. But that didn’t feel right.

Previous experiences in my personal and professional life gave me the confidence to go out on my own. From founding and running the Jewish Entrepreneurs Network through the Jewish Federation of Detroit in the 1990s (one group still meets!) to watching my dad and then my brother build businesses from scratch, to being engaged with multiple nonprofits and helping them identify roadblocks, brainstorm solutions, and execute on decisions — I thought I was ready. Well, that’s not entirely true. I wasn’t ready. But as I tell other people: make the decision before you’re fully ready, because when you’re ready, the “right” time has usually passed.

This past year has been equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. I won’t pretend the early months weren’t scary — they were. The absence of a steady paycheck, a built-in team, and an organizational structure you can lean on is more disorienting than I expected. I was coming out of a depression, but didn’t even realize it until the fog really lifted. I made mistakes, some big and some small. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I had countless meetings and conversations, zooms and walks. All leading me to understand that the fear I felt in those early months gave way to something I hadn’t anticipated: clarity.

I very much enjoy the opportunity to control my own time, to be present with family and friends, and to have the flexibility that always felt just out of reach. Most of all, I love the work itself — talking with people about philanthropy and helping them to discover their interests, to question their assumptions, and to make thoughtful decisions about the organizations they support.

With individual philanthropists, our conversations rarely start with an organization they support or are interested in supporting.  I’m more interested in the what — the values, the vision, the idea — and then the how and the where follow naturally from that. At the heart of it all is a simple belief: preserving your good name through philanthropy isn’t just a tagline. It’s a conviction that the way we give says something lasting about who we are.

Over this past year, my writing has been intentional in a different way. After decades representing other people’s voices — their missions, their visions, their words — I needed to find mine again. These posts have been as much about that rediscovery as anything else. I hope you’ve enjoyed getting to know how I think. One year in, I’m more convinced than ever that this was the right call. Not because it’s been easy, but because it’s been mine.

What’s next? You’ll still hear from me — but a little less often, and with a sharper focus. I’ll be writing more about philanthropy: the big questions donors wrestle with, the trends shaping the sector, and the conversations I think we should all be having. I’m sure some other off topic essays will sneak in, too. 

A few questions I’ll be exploring — and I’d love to know which ones resonate with you:

  • Does your giving reflect your values?
  • Who should be part of your philanthropic decisions?
  • Are you giving out of passion — or obligation?
  • What’s stopping you from doing more?
  • What does legacy mean to you?

What would you like me to write about? Reply, comment, or reach out — I’m listening.

L’chaim — To Life!

Fondly,

Kari Alterman

Kari