Vilnius synagogue dispute lays bare tensions over leadership

A dispute over access to Vilnius’s only functioning synagogue has escalated beyond a local religious disagreement, raising questions about leadership, authority, and the use of Holocaust restitution funds in Lithuania’s Jewish community. 

At the centre of the conflict are Rabbi Sholom Ber Krinsky, a Chabad emissary who has led religious programming in Vilnius for decades, and Faina Kukliansky, chairperson of the Lithuanian Jewish Community, the country’s main representative Jewish body. 

The dispute came to a head over Purim this year when the Choral Synagogue was closed, forcing organisers to relocate celebrations at short notice. 

Krinsky says the closure reflects a broader pattern in which access to the synagogue has been restricted during major Jewish holidays, disrupting communal life and placing strain on congregants. “Basically, every holiday, she locks it,” he said, referring to Kukliansky, describing how organisers are left scrambling for alternative venues on the day of events. 

In response, Kukliansky said the closures were not arbitrary, but the result of safety and regulatory concerns. Anyone organising events in the synagogue is required to comply with fire safety, hygiene, and kashrut regulations, she said, but these requirements were not met at Purim. “Mr Krinsky’s actions more closely resembled an attempt to raid the synagogue than a desire to conduct Jewish life there,” she said, adding that the closure was intended to prevent “a major disaster”. 

At issue isn’t only access to a building, but who has the authority to define and lead religious life in the community. Kukliansky has emphasised that there is currently no officially appointed rabbi of the synagogue, and that formal roles must be determined through established procedures. She said, “Mr Krinsky doesn’t hold an official position and is not the appointed rabbi of the Vilnius Choral Synagogue”, and participates “on the same basis as any other Jew who attends prayers”. 

Krinsky rejects that characterisation. “I’m the only one in the synagogue for years, bringing people there, doing programming, making celebrations, teaching Torah,” he said, suggesting that the refusal to recognise him formally, such as referring to him by the title of Mr rather than Rabbi, reflects an attempt to marginalise his role. 

The dispute is also tied to the allocation of restitution funds, distributed through Lithuania’s Good Will Foundation (GWF), established under a 2011 law to compensate for communal Jewish property lost during the Holocaust and Soviet periods. These funds support religious, cultural, and social life, including synagogue activities. Kukliansky confirmed that “every year, the synagogue receives funding from the Good Will Fund”. 

The World Jewish Restitution Organization, which is represented in the GWF, said it had not found any misappropriation of funds, noting that the foundation operates under government reporting requirements and that its allocations are publicly available. 

However, the situation in Vilnius highlights tensions over how these funds are distributed and who determines their use. Krinsky argues that control over restitution funding is central to the conflict, alleging that efforts to limit his role are connected to broader decisions about how resources are allocated for religious life. 

He described a previous attempt to reach an agreement that would have formalised his position in exchange for funding support, saying the amount offered wasn’t sufficient and that tensions resumed after a brief period of cooperation. 

But Kukliansky rejects the suggestion that funding decisions are being used to exclude any individual. 

The dispute has also involved disagreements over the use of synagogue space and resources. 

Kukliansky disputed Krinsky’s claim that items left in the synagogue for Pesach last year, including a commercial refrigerator, were removed, saying, “This information is untrue.” She added that items and food had been brought into the synagogue without permission, including some that had expired or were of “questionable quality and kosher”, and that requests to remove them were ignored. 

Her response further alleged that Krinsky had borrowed furniture and not returned it, stating that he had been given a final warning and the matter could be referred to police if unresolved. Krinsky, in turn, maintains that restrictions placed on him have gone beyond administrative concerns and have interfered with normal religious activity. 

The conflict is unfolding in a small community still rebuilding after near-total destruction during the Holocaust. Today, the Lithuanian Jewish Community’s priorities include social welfare support for Holocaust survivors, cultural and educational programming, and strengthening religious awareness and participation. 

Restitution funds play a central role in financing these activities, covering infrastructure, programming, and staffing. This makes disputes over control and access particularly sensitive, as they directly affect both communal services and the direction of Jewish life in the country. While both sides say they are open to cooperation, there is little indication of a resolution. 

Kukliansky said the primary concern was safety and proper governance, adding that “there is only one constructive solution for anyone who wants to do something in the synagogue: respect the place and the people who are there, observe the rules of Judaism, the laws of the Republic of Lithuania, and seek compromises”. 

Krinsky continues to call for recognition of his work and for fair access to communal resources, warning that the current situation is undermining the community’s ability to function. 

For congregants, the consequences are immediate. The disruption of Purim celebrations, relocated at short notice, has become a visible example of how institutional disputes are affecting everyday religious life. 

More broadly, the situation reflects ongoing challenges in post-Soviet Jewish communities. 

As the dispute continues, the outcome may have implications beyond Vilnius, raising wider questions about governance, accountability, and the future of Jewish communal life in Lithuania.