It was only one year ago that the United Synagogue finally removed the last barrier to allow women to stand as the organisation’s president — and it’s been eight years since we were trusted to become trustees.

So it feels like a gigantic leap for Jewish women that we now have a woman, the excellent Jo Grose, as the new chief executive of the United Synagogue.

Her job up until now has involved predicting the future: identifying geographical areas where the United Synagogue can build new communities or regenerate old ones. Now she’s pledged to “connect British Jews to each other, to their communities, to their heritage and to Jewish values” as well as “empowering young adults to build communities that meet their needs”.

This is all great stuff, and just in the nick of time. Because I have, in the last six months, had the same conversation again and again with friends of mine, all women, all in their fifties, mostly United Synagogue members.

We talk about the cost-of-living crisis and the need to trim expenses. And then they say it. “Oh, I’ve made a big saving. I’ve cancelled my synagogue membership.”

Am I shocked or surprised when they say this? Not at all. Every month I look at that £100 direct debit and think about letting it lapse. The reason I haven’t so far… “But what about burial?” I ask my friends.

Their reply depends on their personality and circumstances. I’ve had, “Not my problem, the kids can work it out,” and I’ve had, “It costs £15,000 for a US burial and I’ve put it in a high interest ISA for when the time comes.”

But we all tend to agree that burial costs are not the greatest reason to stay connected to an organisation that still — despite everything — seems a bit patchy in what it offers its members while they are still alive.

Take the shul events list that a friend forwarded to me.

It’s for a large, vibrant community, with something to offer young couples, small babies, children and pensioners. There was even a social gathering for “empty nesters”, middle-aged people whose children had left home.

But where were the networking events aimed at people whose children have not left home and yet are adults, not in school or university?

And where were the events aimed at those young adults?

How about support for my generation, trying to care for elderly parents while still housing grown-up children?

These gaps were the reason so many people I know feel unseen and unconnected.

The United Synagogue has historically been a little hazy when it comes to recognising that not everyone goes to university… or, if they do go, they may not get married the day after graduating. Some — shock, horror! — may never get married at all.

Many communities seem at a loss to know what to do for and with single people, seeing their brief as families in the narrowest sense. The growth of Jewish schools and the pull of aliyah have created challenges that not all synagogues have risen to.

Twenty-somethings — I have two of my own — have had a tough time. Their university years and the first steps in the workplace were blighted by Covid.

Their generation is expected to find partners through internet dating, which can be a horrible process of impersonal rejection. It is hard to make new friends in a city of home-workers, where rents are sky-high and home ownership a distant dream.

A generation of future community leaders is stuck at home in their bedrooms, and it would be nice if the Jewish community did a little more to coax them out.

There’s also the problem facing all religious organisations in this country, that the UK is increasingly a secular place, in which churches and synagogues are in danger of redundancy.

Yet the crumbling nature of the country’s infrastructure means there has never been a greater need for community centres to provide warmth, meals, study and work areas and — yes — places for spiritual growth and quiet reflection.

Synagogues have unique security concerns, sure, but as communal life returns to normal post-pandemic, it’s time to rethink how we use our buildings.

Jo Grose has a challenging job on her hands. But she brings to it a positive vision of connection and empowerment. Just her use of the words “young adults” (not “young couples” or “young families”) is encouraging.

She understands that if communities are to grow, they cannot remain complacent.

They need to look at the members who leave, as well as to those who have got out of the habit of communal prayer or never had it in the first place.

And I know that she will never see the United Synagogue in the way that so many of my friends describe it: as a “men’s club” run by men just for themselves.