They Made a Difference

Teachers from K-12

This is Teacher Appreciation Week, and I've been thinking a lot about the teachers I have had - particularly those who have made a positive difference.

The first teacher I remember being such an influence, was Sister M. Deborah, CSA.  I had Sr. Deborah for 3rd and 4th grade, at St. Joseph's - a four room Catholic grade school in Berlin, Wisconsin.  Sr. Deborah was young, maybe nineteen or twenty at the time.  Word had it that she was pulled out of the convent early because there was a teacher shortage and she had a gift for teaching.  I can't verify the first part of that statement, but I can attest to the second part.

Our classroom had approximately 40 students in it - half in third grade and half in fourth grade.  Each grade had its own curriculum for reading (4 separate reading groups in each grade!), math, and spelling.  We had religion, music, art and physical education all together in one group.  Long before the days of experiential education, I remember clearly two things I learned from Sister:  that learning was fun, and that if I finished my work before everyone else did, there was always a book from the "library shelves" I could explore.  My favorites?  The dictionary and the encyclopedia!  I learned that in some situations, I was responsible for my own learning.

The second teacher I remember "making a difference" was Sister Mary Patriciana, OP. Sister Mary Patriciana was tiny - even shorter than I was in 8th grade.  She was new to St. Dennis Catholic School in Madison, Wisconsin my 8th grade year.  St. Dennis was a much larger school - grades 3-8, in a twelve-room school.  She was not only the 8th grade teacher, she was also the principal, replacing a much-loved teacher/administrator.  Although I'd only been in the school for one year before she came, many of my classmates felt much closer to her predecessor.  We weren't particularly nice to her: we were respectful to her face, yes - but not nice. Behind her back, we called her "Mighty Mite."

At that time, I had volunteered to play the organ for weekday mass.  I wasn't particularly good - I could pick out a song on a piano keyboard, but not much more than that.  But we didn't have an organist and I was raised to volunteer to help when I could.  For reasons I won't go into, the parish priest chose to make negative comments about my "playing."  One day, he was particularly cruel in scolding me in front of the congregation.  After I finished playing that specific song, I closed the organ (without being told we were done) and tried to hide my tears.  Sr. Mary Pat came up to me, put her arm around me, and pulled me into a less public corner as I cried.  She wiped my tears and then said words I never thought I'd hear from a Catholic Sister: "Father was wrong to speak to you that way.  He should not have been mean to you. He was wrong."  With her support, I found it possible to walk into my class composed and not respond to my classmates' curiosity.

What I learned from Sister Mary Pat was that people in authority are not always right, and that no one has the right to humiliate someone else.  That was a brave message to teach me, back in those pre-questioning days.  She must have said something to the priest because he stopped picking on me in class as well.

I had some good teachers at Edgewood High School in Madison, too - Sister Alfred Marie, SND,  who taught 9th grade World History and was absolutely fanatical about how to write a research paper.  The first day of class, she informed us that our semester exam would be a research paper entitled, "The Causes and Effects of the French Revolution."  When we all panicked - she reassured us that she would teach us how to take notes, organize materials from multiple sources, make proper citations, and write a research paper.  She kept her word.  From Sister Alfred Marie, I learned that structure and organization have a critical role in education.

Sister Tobias, SND, taught Spanish, through immersion.  Our first day of class, she explained that would be the last day we could use English in her classroom - and that she would only speak in Spanish from then on.  She assured us that we knew more than we thought we did - and that we could figure out the rest from the cues she would give us.  I suspect she used a lot of pictures and movements - but we learned.  From Sr. Tobias, I learned that sometimes we just need to immerse ourselves completely in a new situation, even before we figure out all the answers. 

When I was a sophomore, we moved to Watertown High School.  I had a number of good teachers there - but two stick out in my mind:  Bruce Wittenwyler and Earl Hennessy.

Mr. Wittenwyler taught 10th grade English - American Lit.  He was enthusiastic and asked great questions.  Even though we weren't sure it was "relevant," we learned a lot about different eras of writing, how they differed from each other, and how they reflected the times in which they were written.  What I remember most about Mr. Witt, however, was how he made a new kid - who joined the class 2nd semester Sophomore year - feel a part of the classroom community.  Without making a big deal about it - he just included me and made me feel a part of his classroom community.  I was "one of the gang" - a fairly new experience for someone who at that point was attending her fifth school in 10 years.

Mr. Hennessy taught 12th grade Sociology (second semester, Senior year) - and by that time, I really had become "one of the gang." The group of us thought we were really something pretty special - and we discovered early on that we could distract Mr. Hennessy from book work by asking questions about current events.  And there were plenty of current events to ask questions about.  The Vietnam War was at its height - and some of my classmates would be drafted after graduation.  Campus unrest (including in Madison) was at an all-time high - we were just a year after Kent State.  We were seeing the effects of the Civil Rights Movement - not only in black/white relationships, but also in the use of some of the nonviolent protests for addressing other issues.  Finding an issue was easy - and so was getting Mr. Hennessy to facilitate our discussion of those topics.

We really thought we were quite clever, until one day, when he asked a question during our "diversion" and then cited six of us who were not allowed to respond - "to give someone else a chance to express themselves.  Discussion needs to have more than just a few people involved," he told us. From Mr. Hennessy, we learned how to disagree agreeably - how to disagree with someone's idea without attacking the individually personally.  The lesson may not have been in the text book, but it was a critical lesson for us to learn as we prepared to take our place in the adult world.

So those were some of the educators in my life who made a difference.  There were others during those twelve years, but these six were remarkable. The lessons I learned were not included in any curriculum, but they were life-lessons which helped shape the person (and teacher) I've become.

Thank you, Sister Deborah and Sister Mary Pat, Sister Alfred Marie and Sister Tobias, Mr. Witt and Mr. Hennessy.  You made a difference.

The Torah of Pete Seeger

With the death of Pete Seeger earlier this week, I’ve been reading a lot about his music, his practices, and his commitment to justice/tzedek and repair of the world/tikkun olam.  I’d like to share the Torah/teachings of Pete Seeger, as I understand them.

I.   Say what you believe, regardless of the consequences.  During the “Red Scare” of the 1950’s, Pete was called to testify before the House Un-American Activities Committee, and  refused to name personal and political associations on the grounds that this would violate his First Amendment rights: "I am not going to answer any questions as to my association, my philosophical or religious beliefs or my political beliefs, or how I voted in any election, or any of these private affairs. I think these are very improper questions for any American to be asked, especially under such compulsion as this.” (Wikipedia).  He was indicted and later convicted of contempt of Congress for refusing to “name names.” The conviction was ultimately overturned, so he didn’t have to serve any of the 10 years he was sentenced to.  In the meantime, his mobility was restricted, and he was blacklisted from appearing on television until the mid-60’s.  He was willing to pay the price for adhering to his First Amendment rights.

II.  It’s not enough to “talk the talk,” we must be willing to “walk the walk.”  There was a solid consistency between the words that Pete sang, and the activism he engaged in.  Starting with his involvement in the labor movement of the 30’s and 40’s, through his protests against nuclear proliferation (1950’s), and his work on behalf of the civil rights movement of the 1960’s, Pete’s presence and his music spoke loudly on the behalf of the disenfranchised.  In the mid-1960’s, he began his work on environmental education and action, which continued up until the time of his death.  He was also heavily involved in the Jewish camping movement – specifically with the Surprise Lake Camp in New York.  The Camp’s mission statement says they "provide a high quality Jewish camping experience where children and young adults will be safe, have fun, and grow as they engage in programs and activities that enable them to learn values and skills that will help them lead fulfilling lives and be assets to their communities." [emphasis added]

III.  When one problem is “solved,” move on to the next.  We have not yet reached the point where we’ve brought repair to the entire world (tikkun olam).  By his words and actions, Pete exemplified the following quote from Pirke Avot (The Wisdom of the Fathers): "We are not obligated to complete the task, neither are we free to desist from it." (Pirke Avot, 2:16).  Or, put another way – in the language of the 1970’s – “We have to keep on keeping on.”

IV. We must use our gifts to try to bring repair to the world.  Pete dreamed of being a journalist and took courses in journalism and art, taught music, worked as a puppeteer, and an archivist for the Library of Congress’ Archive of American Folksong.  But it was his gift as a singer/performer and a song writer that changed the landscape of social justice.  “We Shall Overcome” has been the anthem of every group of people protesting for equality for over 50 years.  From “The Talking Union Blues” (early 1940’s) through his performance at Farm Aid in September 2013, Pete used his music and influence to bring attention to the issues of our times.

V.  To bring repair/tikkun, you must collaborate with others.   And Pete showed by example how critical this collaboration is.  Some of the finest songs he sang were in conjunction with other noted  musicians – the Weavers, Peter Paul and Mary, Woody Guthrie and – later  – Arlo Guthrie.  From the Musar Movement, we learn that one should occupy “no more than my place, no less than my space.” Pete wasn’t afraid to lead… but he also was willing to share the responsibility for leadership. Which leads to the next bit of teaching…

VI. Involve those who look to you for leadership. A Pete Seeger concert wasn’t a Pete Seeger concert, unless the audience sang along at full voice.  We weren’t passive observers, but active participants in this experience.

VII.  If they don’t know the words, coach them!  Pete never assumed people knew the lyrics to his songs.  As he encouraged us to sing along, he reminded us of the lyrics for the next time.  Let’s not be afraid to “coach” each other in this job of working for tzedek/justice.

VIII.  We’re never “too old” to be involved in the work of bringing justice to our world.  As late as 2013, at the age of 93, Pete was performing on behalf of Farm Aid.

IX.  Values are timeless.  The values Pete espoused through his music and the words of his songs are truly timeless – and resonate through the ages. As our words and actions should be.  

X.  In the tradition of prophetic Judaism, we are obligated to speak up when we see wrongs around us.  If we don’t, by our silence, we allow them to perpetuate.  His legacy will live in the words we sing and the actions we complete. As one Facebook poster wrote, “And thank you for showing us that we ALL have a hammer, a bell, and a song to sing...” 

In Pirke Avot 4:13, we read that Rabbi Shimon said: “There are three crowns--the crown of the Torah [learning], the crown of the priesthood [service to God], and the crown of royalty [leadership].  But,” said Rabbi Shimon, “the crown of a shem tov/good name surpasses them all.”

Pete Seeger, of blessed memory, wore the crown of a shem tov.

A Religion of TIme

Parshat Bo is a familiar one to many of us – it contains a recounting of the last three plagues before Pharaoh finally tells the Israelites to leave Egypt immediately.  But there’s an interesting insertion between the ninth and tenth plagues. 

We read: “The LORD said to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt: This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you.” (12:1-2). And then, even before the Israelites leave Egypt, the mitzvot associated with the observance of Passover are given. The narrative of the Exodus resumes at 12:21, with Moses instructing them how to prepare for the final plague: the death of the first-born of all Egyptian families.

Upon rereading these verses (12:1-20), several questions came to mind:  Why is the first mitzvah/commandment given the one that deals with the calendar and marking time? Why is this considered the “first month of the year for you” – what about Rosh Hashanah? Why are the mitzvot/commandments about how to observe Passover given before the event occurs?

On the surface, the response to the first question is very pragmatic:  in order to celebrate the exodus on the fifteenth of the month, one needs to know when the month begins.  But perhaps the establishment of a unique calendar including human responsibility for keeping time (declaring the new month after witnesses testify their viewing the moon at the Sanhedrin) is less a technical command and more a spiritual gift.

Rabbi Ari Kahn from Aish added another dimension to the discussion by saying, “Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, z’l, explained why this commandment was given here, and now. The Jews in Egypt were slaves, and therefore lacked a sense of time. They needed to acquire a sense of time in order to be truly liberated, transformed from objects to independent people.”

It is our ability to delineate time which gives us both the freedom AND the responsibility to carve out meaningful lives for ourselves.  

All joking about “Jewish time” aside, Jewish time is an interesting phenomenon: it’s both fixed and flexible.  It’s fixed in that it’s based on the cycles of the moon – the waxing and waning that occurs every month on a predictable pattern.  We know when Sukkot, Purim and Pesach are approaching, by the moon’s increasing fullness.  We know when Rosh Hashanah, a new year, is here – just as we see the new moon.  Chanukah’s end is announced by the sighting of the new moon, as well (plus one!).

It’s flexible in that the days begin and end at different times, depending on the season and the latitude at which one lives. And we must acknowledge that it’s just plain confusing to have our days begin at sundown the night before- confusing only because we spend much of our lives removed from the natural world in which we live.  Our lunar calendar also needs to be flexible so that our cherished marking of the harvest festivals, dependent on the solar cycle, will fall on the appropriate seasons. And so we get that quaint phenomenon of needing to ask if Passover is "early or late" each year.

Why is this considered the “first month of the year for you”? Our tradition lists four different “new years” – that of the civil year, the religious year, the beginning of the tax (tithing) year, and that of the trees.  A number of commentators make the distinction between Rosh Hashanah as the celebration of creation, which applies to all; while Passover is the celebration of OUR liberation (think of the difference between January 1st and July 4th for Americans).

Finally, why are such detailed instructions given for observing an event which hasn’t even occurred yet? A number of commentators make the point that the Israelites don’t automatically become a free people when they leave the land of Egypt.

Rabbi Lucy F.H. Dinner, in the Women’s Torah Commentary, reminds us that “To be truly free, individuals need faith in their identity as a free people and in their own unquestioned autonomy.  As much as liberation is about release from forced servitude, it is also about the psychological and spiritual strength required to act according to one’s own will.” Liberation then requires individuals to “act as if” they are liberated – even if they don’t quite feel it.

The great modern philosopher Abraham Joshua Heschel reminded us that Judaism is a religion of time, aiming at the sanctification of time.  It may be a fair contrast to note that the Egyptian civilization enslaved people to build storehouses, royal cities, and perhaps some pyramids.  It was a kingdom of sacred places.  The new Israelite nation had to escape the boundaries of space created by human technology and architecture, and learn to use what Heschel called "the architecture of time" in which to build lasting "palaces in time" like Shabbat and the festivals.

We send our children off to conquer the world with a list of instructions and reminders about those events and activities which are important to us and, hopefully in time, to them as well. We adults who manage home and office schedules, the balance between work and rest, know how critical time management is to our success.  And we can see how time challenged people find it difficult to prepare for, and celebrate with calm and joy, holiday and life cycle events. So we can surely appreciate the tradition that notes that the Israelites leave Egypt with a prescription for how to cope with time for physical and spiritual success in whatever circumstances they find themselves.  It is a gift worthy of study and transmission to our children and grandchildren.

Published by the Washington Jewish Week, January 2, 2014

May His Memory Be For a Blessing

Gregory Tyrone Walton 

His funeral was held today.

Gregory grew up in the District, attended DC Public Schools and studied Business Management at Federal City College.  As many of our generation did, he joined the Peace Corps, where he learned masonry.

I met him three years ago, when we opened Gan Shalom, the Jewish Cooperative Preschool, supported by the Hill Havurah, on Capitol Hill in the District.  We rent space in a rowhouse (aka "town house") owned by the Capitol Hill Seventh Day Adventist Church.  Gregory was a member of the Church, took care of their grounds and did custodial work for them.  He became our custodian, too... and in the three years we worked together, my respect for him increased on a regular basis. 

Gregory was unique. 

To quote a friend of his: 

• Gregory was humble, thoughtful and kind.
• Gregory had a beautiful singing voice.
• Gregory could speak French with an awesome French accent.
• Gregory asked questions when he didn't know something,  and introduced himself if he didn't know someone (or their dog).
• He never had a bad word to say about anyone and had a smile for EVERYONE.

When I first met him, I didn't quite know what to make of Gregory - this incredible bundle of energy, who smiled non-stop, greeted people by name, asked about each of my family members by name, and ended his conversations with a "God bless you, Mary."  I learned to ask about his family in return, and he always responded, "They're doing well, Praise the Lord.  And thank you for asking."  

This last year was more difficult for him.  He was having some health problems, which he chose not to discuss.  A number of us were worried, but we respected his right to privacy. This spring, he unexpectedly went into the hospital.  Upon discharge, he called me to let me know that he wouldn't be able to work for us any longer because of his health problems.  He apologized for inconveniencing us. 

Gregory died last Wednesday. 

I've been thinking a lot about the impact he had on my life, on our students' lives, on their families' lives, on the neighborhoods and the communities he interacted with.  In the shadow of the Capitol, where power and influence often make themselves known, Gregory was truly unique. Today, I stopped my busy-ness to reflect on that uniqueness.  

Here's what I realized: 

Gregory was one of the few truly happy people I've known.  His "Praise the Lord"s echoed the joy he found in every-day life: in cleaning, and mowing, and walking his dogs, riding his bike, and greeting the people who passed by. 

Many of us hold a bit of ourselves in reserve. We learn to hide behind the mask we wear in public.  Gregory wore no mask.  He was genuine - the same person no matter what the setting was. 

He taught me to slow down - his sincere questions about how my family members were doing, which needed to be addressed before we could "talk business" made me realize that, yes, it really is all about relationships.  And so I learned to listen when he talked, so that I could reciprocate the lovingkindness he demonstrated. 

His attention to detail was shown in the way he salted and sanded the icy metal steps of the rowhouse - without ever being asked - so we all could climb the steps safely in our erratic Washington winters.  He noticed when the entry-way throw rug was dirty and - without being asked - saw that it was washed and returned. 

In this day of politically-correct language, Gregory was an unabashed, absolutely joy-filled Christian, who proclaimed his faith on a regular basis.  And yet, his acceptance of our Jewish beliefs and practices was unequivocal.  

I learned a lot about Gregory today from a number of people in the filled-Church service - but we all seemed to agree on how our lives had been changed dramatically - for the good - by this humble man who encountered everyone as if he could see the spark of the Divine in them.  

And I was reminded by something a friend wrote in my yearbook from Edgewood High School in Madison, Wisconsin, when I was a sophomore: 

Our lives are shaped by those who love us... by those who refuse to love us.

May his memory be for a blessing.

Reflections of This High Holiday Season

Shortly before Rosh Hashanah, I had an email exchange with a dear friend and colleague. An organization to which we belong is preparing to engage in a discussion of guiding principles behind some of its practices. My friend articulated the specific steps that would guide this process of re-examination and asked for comments. I responded by sharing that I had once belonged to a 12-step group in which the discussion leader frequently used the phrase “the best of me connects with the best of you.” My friend's leadership in clearly articulating the respectful process to be used, I said, would allow the best in each of the participants in the discussions to rise to the occasion.

He responded by thanking me for my comments and then posed the following:

“I have to admit it sometimes feels harder to maintain my equanimity. Maybe I’m getting older and have been doing this too long??”

There have been several instances in the last year, where I’ve found myself asking the same question. The same – or similar – issues seem to recur in a variety of setting. The first time the situation comes up and I’m called upon to provide the guidance (generally in the form of establishing a process for the resolution of the issue), I’m able to do so with a sense of calmness and patience as we (the group and I) establish the ground rules for discourse, decision-making, resolution, whatever. By the fifth or sixth time a variation on the same theme occurs, a change in my response occurs:

• I find myself making certain basic assumptions about the process and group interactions – and assume that we’re all starting at the same place.
• I am less likely to explain the guiding principles that have informed and shaped the recommendations I’m making.
• My explanations become a little more clipped – my tone a little more abrupt.
• I feel a sense of weariness, frustration, sometimes futility - and I begin to wonder if it's worth it.

And, like my friend, I begin to wonder if the difficulty in retaining my sense of balance is because I’m getting older and have been doing this too long?

So, his question rang true.

Coming, as it did, right before the beginning of the ten days of introspection between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I’ve found myself reflecting on it frequently. I didn’t answer then, but here’s what I’d say now:

“Too long” is hard to define. I think there comes a point at which the guidance we’re being asked to provide is so second-nature to us that we forget that many of the people we work with have not reached that point of automaticity in their problem-solving responses. Especially when we end up working with the same group of people (or similar groups of people), we expect that because we’ve laid out the information before – they get it. They remember. They’ve seen it work. Our street “cred” is good. It hardly bears repeating.

What we forget is that even when the organizations are the same, the people we’re interacting with at this point are not. They may not have participated in earlier problem-solving opportunities – either because they weren’t part of the group then, or because it wasn’t “their” issue.

What we forget is that in many environments or cultures (workplace or volunteer), the goal is “winning” – not necessarily coming up with a solution that “everyone can live with.”

What we forget is that often the goal of so-called “discussions” is really to convince others of the rightness of our viewpoint, instead of encouraging individuals to really listen and hear what the other is saying.

Perhaps part of the solution might be to recognize what we forget. Another part might be to try and approach repeating situations as new. Yet a third part might involve finding someone safe to discretely vent to – without a safety valve, it’s hard to prevent frustration from seeping out. Another suggestion might be to remind ourselves that our approaches have resulted in positive outcomes in the past – and that the guidance we provide helps keep the discussion focused on the issues instead of deteriorating into personalities.

And part of it might be forgiving ourselves when we feel frustrated or impatient. And remembering that feeling impatient is different from acting impatiently.

May the year ahead be filled with blessings and growth for all of us.

If I Could Have One Wish

It was a wonderful trip, in many ways, and a different kind of a trip than I suspect many people think of when they talk of "going to Israel."

Many people decide to try and see as much of the land of Israel as possible - from the Golan to the Eilat, from the Dead Sea to Haifa, and all spots in between.

The first decision that Neal and I made was that this might be our first trip to Israel, but it wasn't going to be our last. Therefore, we didn't have to try and fit everything in during an 8-day period of time.

Simultaneously, we decided that we were going to focus a significant amount of our time getting to know some of the Mitzvah heroes that The Mitzvah Heroes Fund, Inc. supports. It was important to me to begin to put some of the names and faces together - to begin to breath life into the websites I've researched and the emails we've exchanged in the 15 months that the MHF has been in existance.

We didn't expect our trip to necessarily be "fun" - because issues of hunger, PTSD, abuse, and destructively low self esteem aren't "fun." And we were right - much of our trip wasn't fun.

What was it?

Provocative.

Eye-opening.

Meaningful.

Significant.

And ultimately: Transformative.

Many of the individuals we met are in my thoughts when I wake up in the morning, and among the last people I think of at night.




The Rabbanit Bracha Kappach, who's been feeding hungry people for 45 years;

Karyn London from Atzum, and our host at the new JNF
"blue box" in S'derot

Avichai who runs the most amazing volunteer organization at the Chesed Center, providing food, clothing and parenting resources for hundreds. [ADDENDUM (Aug 9): Here's a link to a more complete description of the work Avichai does.]

Arnie Draiman, tour guide extraordinaire, who does the vetting MHF needs in order to ensure the groups we support are using their funds wisely



Caryn Green, from Crossroads, who provides a haven for teens who are lost and have difficulty find a purpose or a goal to strive for

If I had six wishes, I'd have you meet all the Mitzvah do-ers Neal and I met. It's a rare privilege to have the opportunity to talk with people who consistently make a significant difference in the lives of others.

But, if I had only one wish - this is what I'd wish for every person I know who works with kids - as a teacher, program/school director, youth worker, lay leader involved in congregational education, think-tank person who writes about educations... any one and every one who has a stake in "our kids."

A chance to spend one hour, listening to and talking with Menachem Gottesman, founder and director of the Meled School. Menachem's school is a school of last resort for many kids - teens who have dropped out or been kicked out of other schools and sometimes kicked out of their homes as well. Menachem talks about the type of school he runs: "It's a cardiac care unit," he explains. First, he adds, they fix the kids' hearts .... and then, (and only then) they work on the academics.

An hour with Menachem reminds us that all kids are only kids. That all kids have potential. That it's worth spending the time and energy to "invest" in our future - our kids.

For every teacher, every director, every youth worker who's burned out and tired of trying to fit square pegs into the round holes of our schools, an hour with Menachem would have them seriously considering how to make the holes square instead of the pegs round.

An hour with Menachem, with someone who honestly, sincerely believes that kids are worth the effort....

An hour with Menachem, who's realistic about the challenges involved in caring about kids who don't seem to want anyone to care about them....

That's what I wish for all of us.

A New State in an Ancient Land

The Palmach Museum, which Neal and I visited on Monday, July 21st, had been on several "must-see/do" lists we got from friends while planning our travels. Our son actually said, "If you don't do anything else, you have to go to the Palmach." Pretty high praise indeed.

So a few words of context:

The Palmach was one of the groups that formed during the British Mandate to begin to prepare an Army to fight for Israel's independence. (A couple of other names that might be familiar: the Irgun, the Hagannah, the Stern Gang). All of these organizations fell somewhere along the spectrum of independence fighters. Some were more radical than others and functioned along the lines of the Sons of Liberty (from America's pre-Independence War Days).

The Museum itself requires admission tickets for a specific time of day; the tour lasts for 90 minutes; group size is limited; and the visitors receive a recorded translation of the Hebrew keyed to the specific information at each given display or exhibit.

Much like the American Holocaust Memorial Museum's "Daniel's Story," the Palmach Museum uses a group of individuals to represent the living history of the time period under discussion. This story focuses on a group of approximately 8-10 older teens or 20-somethings who become a small unit in the late 1930's or early 40's. The exhibit traces their growth and development both as individuals and as a unit, representing the hundreds of young men and women who had similar experiences during these years.

Each display area included life-sized models, usually behind a black transparent curtain, arranged in a "typical" staging; with black and white videos of the characters shown either behind the scene or on an adjacent background. The area in which the museum visitors stand also has props and scenery which evoke the setting. One of the scenes actually has a model whose facial features (and mouth!) move in response to the audio recording.

The entry point and exit point are through the same room: a dimly lit room, with the names of all the Palmach soldiers who died in the fight for Israel's freedom etched into a glass counter-high display that is parallel to three of the four sides of the room. The counter is uplit in green. Each name is provided, without rank or other destinguishing feature, so that each individual's contribution (his/her life) is equal to every other individual's contribution.

On the wall, in white, lit-up Hebrew and English letters are the words of the Israeli poet, Nathan Alterman:

We
Are the silver platter
On which the Jews' state
Was presented today

It was a "nice, thematic, expression" as we walked into the exhibit area. As we came out, we read those words again, which had become more heavily charged with meaning as a result of what we had experienced.

===========

Reactions? Many, deeply felt; interwoven typically with my own experiential filters through which I (we all?) try to make sense of new information.

I am 56 years years old. Although we lived for a short time in Madison (from 9/65-2/69), most of my formative years were spent in the small towns and farmlands of midstate Wisconsin.

The Gulf of Tonkin Resolution was passed by Congress in August 1964, giving LBJ the authority to wage war in Vietnam. I was 11 and a half. A scant two years later, a family friend was on the front lines in DaNang and Hue. Although we were terrified for him, he was convinced that being an American meant being willing to be part of her armed services. Dennis was followed by Tim a few years later (in 1971).

Tim's unit was adopted by my dormitory floor -- and we wrote regularly to let them know of our support. Many of them, by that time, had questions about whether the US should be in Vietnam. Tim felt - more than anything - that we were blessed to have a country where freedom played such a primary role and that he had an individual responsibility to try to help straighten out the corruption in South Vietnam so that her people could have the same right to freedom that we have. We corresponded for the entire two years he was overseas and remained in touch until I moved east in 1976.

When I moved to the East Coast, I discovered that the pervasive expression on the War was that the US government was evil, that the soldiers that fought in her army were all baby-killers and that any American who was really patriotic should have rioted in protest or gone to Canada.

It seemed to me then, as it does now, that that's a far too simplistic response. Many of the young men I knew - Dennis, Tim, Chuck, Dan and others - had a deep and abiding love for this country: her physical land, the principles upon which she was built; and the freedoms they inherited as a result of sacrifices made by earlier Americans. They didn't necessarily agree with the politics or the implementation of the war. They were dehumanized by the protestors and paid a price for that demonization when they returned from their service.

What does that filter have to do with our experience at the Palmach Museum?

The young actors depicted in the exhibts were roughly the ages of my young friends who served in 'Nam roughly 40 years ago. The discussions they had about the "rightness" of what they were doing - the desire to establish a homeland where all Jews could be free to be Jewish - included echoes from the dialogues I participated in with my friends slightly more than a generation ago.

One of the exchanges from the movie that particularly resonnated with me was this one:

Soldier: Sir, we find ourselves in control of several hostages. What should we do with them?"
Commander (pauses, then says quietly): Whatever you think you should do.

Some of the activities shown in this exhibit include blowing up bridges and train tracks; bombing hotels; attacking villages to protect farmers living near by. I can't help but wonder whether the label "terrorist" depends in part on where one is sitting: some of these actions are similar to ones the Palestinians engage in these days.

As I was trying to sort through these memories and impressions, Neal helped me put some of it in perspective. He reminded me that every group, every country, every civilization has its own "creation story:" stories of heroism and decision that describe "how they came to be." In time, those stories become part of the shared memories and help bind the group together.

Ultimately, his comment made me realize how "detached" in many ways I am from our American experience of grasping freedom. The re-enactors at Williamsburg seem "quaint" to me. Our Israeli experience is so new, that it jars and has an immediacy that our American experience no longer has. Our "creation story" has already been codified. Israel's is still being written.

Sometimes I think we forget that although eretz Israel / the land of Israel is an ancient one, Medinat Israel / the State of Israel is still in the process of becoming.

Postscript: I just discovered this summer, while home for my mother's funeral, that Tim committed suicide within the last several years. He never quite "got over" his Vietnam experiences. Had his service been more recent, I think he might have been able to get treatment for his PTSD. May his memory be for a blessing.

Shabbat - A Time for Reflection

We slept in Saturday morning (and loved every minute of it). Having decided to participate in the Reconstructionist minyan meeting at HUC (Hebrew Union College) just a block away from our hotel (the Eldan), we got up in time for a quick breakfast here at the hotel before we left.

As we entered the gate at HUC, we could hear the singing wafting out into the entrance courtyard. A gentleman noticed our hesitation as we tried to figure out where the sound was coming from and asked if we were looking for the services. We answered affirmatively and he directed us in through a door and up a flight of steps.

As we approached, the sound of voices raised in song and joy swelled. We were greeted at the door and quickly found two adjacent seats on the right in the almost-filled room. As we settled in, I looked around and discovered - much to my delight - that a rabbi I'd worked with in the Washington area was davening just a couple of rows ahead! Ever since we'd planned this trip, friends had said to us - "You'll run into people you know, even if you don't think you'll know anyone in Jerusalem." Last night, it was Mark - today it was Rabbi Steve. It is truly a small world we live in!

In short order, I realized that the service was not the Reconstructionist one we'd hoped to attend, but rather a Reform one. Although initially disappointed (we'd hoped to connect with Charlie and Marilyn and a couple of others we thought might be there), we found ourselves absolutely uplifted by the singing, the communal participation and interaction, and the drash/words of Torah.

The drash was given by someone who's name we never quite caught. Obviously knowledgeable, he also had the gift of being a magnificent speaker. In short, his message for the day was threefold: 1) Don't look for the short cuts in your journeys (metaphorical or actual); 2) Stuff happens when you don't expect it to; and 3) It's not all about me.

Woven into his talk were references to the three weeks of mourning leading up to Tisha B'Av; Israeli current events [he cited the part from the Torah portion that delinates the Israelites' 42 stops from Egypt to Canaan and referenced the "pauses" to parking lots: a hot issue among the Haredi in Jerusalem these weeks]; some discussion of repetitions of specific words and inversions - and the interpretation he took from them; and allusions to the science fiction classic "The Fantastic Voyage" (made into a movie in 1966 starring Raquel Welch) to both begin and end his remarks.

Our experience with this community was absolutely what we needed this morning - and a good example of the "stuff happens when you don't expect it to!"

We caught the tail end of our hotel's brunch for our lunch and then came up to the room. After a nap, Neal went out to explore some more - I decided to stay in (in the a/c) and process some of the thoughts rolling around in my head after our visit to the Old City yesterday.

============

It's taken me a bit of time to be able to articulate some of the thoughts and feelings rolling around in my head as we walked through parts of the Old City yesterday - especially our visit to the Kotel.

When Neal and Arnie joined me near the women's section, Arnie mentioned that he's observed over time that the impact of being in the Old City and at the Kotel doesn't always arrive instantaneously - and it's not always a religious impact. For some, he said, the impact is historical; for some it's religious; for some it's a sense of connection among people. I appreciated his comments immensely, because

[Deep breath here]

being at the Kotel left me cold.

My ability to participate fully in our people's "people-ness" is denied to me by the ultra-Orthodox who refuse to accept the signatures on my conversion papers.

Despite my attempts to undergo an "acceptable conversion," one of the rabbis who partipated in my bet din did not sign my papers before he left the mikvah that day. My papers instead include two "acceptable" signatures and the third is of my converting rabbi, Rabbi Eugene J. Lipman, z"l. I knew the instant I saw the papers, that my conversion would not be accepted. Neal and I subsequently arranged for our children to undergo a ritual immersion and conversion with acceptable signatores. I was proud that Gene's signature is on my certificate, but at the same time I didn't want to deprive my children of their Right of Return.

So here we are, 28 years later. Without boasting, I think I can honestly own that I've made signification contributions to our Jewish communal life, through my work as an educator, an administrator, a Jewish parent, a role model and a participant in the work of trying to bring repair to the world around us.

As I participated in the IEI (Israel Educators Institute) program these past 15 months, I've struggled with how I am perceived by segments of our people. It makes me angry. It makes me sad. It hurts.

But most of all, I don't understand why "the rest of us" - Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist, Renewal - and all other Jews who don't choose to affilitate - allow a numerically small number of people to define who we are and how we are.

When did we cede the right to self-identification?

Or do we subconsciously agree that we "are not Jewish enough" -- allowing others to define the "enough?"

Prejudice and bigotry are ugly - even more so when practiced by one group of Jews against others and done in the name of the Eternal.

Oseh shalom bimromav, hu ya-aseh shalom. Aleinu v'al kol Israel. V'imru: Amen.

STW: Professional Implications

So, aside from the personal vindication I’ve felt since reading Supplementary Schools That Work, does this study have any relevance for us professionally?

I believe it does.

But not necessarily in the way that most of us seem to be connecting with initially.

It is absolutely a delight to see that A) there are schools that are successful; B) there are specific characteristics that can be attributed to successful schools; C) that those characteristics are not automatically outside our grasp; and D) that *all* schools, including successful ones, struggle to overcome the same barriers to success.

Those are important factors to consider as we look to objectively assess our programs, to build on the successes we’ve had, and to continually strive to improve.

But they’re not enough to ensure success…. Unless the foundational pieces are in place. Wertheimer calls these the “enabling factors.”

The report cites four conditions that need to exist if a school is to move into the “successful” category. In brief, they are as follows:

• Vision
• Collaborative Culture
• Communal support
• Lay involvement

As I’ve turned this report over and over during the past month, and examined it from multiple angles, it occurs to me that there are at least two levels on which these enabling factors can be examined: on the congregational level and on the school level. Ideally, the school is a subset of the congregation, so we visualize them as concentric circles, as below:

Let’s start with the outside circle and work our way to inner circle.

Congregational building pieces: Questions to answer
Does the congregation have a vision or mission statement? Does it include a description of the type of culture the organization hopes to create? What types of diversity are included in this description? What work will the community become involved with? Is the word “community” even used? How frequently are the vision statement and the goals of the congregation re-examined?

What evidence can one see to support the cultural goal of collaboration within the congregational community? [NOTE: to me, the word “collaboration” connotes a respectful exchange of ideas, mutual support for the tasks of individuals, and a willingness to establish a safe environment in which disagreement about ideas/practices/etc doesn’t become “disagreeable.”] Does that collaboration cross the lay-professional line? Does it occur within each constituency: lay leaders, professional staff, parents, etc? Is there evidence of reflective practice – individually and collectively – without blaming or finger pointing?

Is there a sense of being part of a “larger whole?” Does the congregation connect with others outside its walls? Is it affiliated with a movement? Does it engage in local and national Jewish communal work (ie, of the Federation, Jewish agencies, educational programs, youth groups)? How is it involved with Israel? Is it part of the local scene on both a Jewish and a secular level? Do the individual committees and affiliates act as if they understand how their involvement intermeshes with the goals and activities of the entire congregation? How are potential resources (internal and external) identified? Is this an ongoing endeavor process?

How are lay leaders groomed? Is there a “leadership track?” Is leadership training available? Are new members actively encouraged to become involve in leadership positions? Are their comments, observations, questions solicited and addressed respectfully? Do they understand the scope of the “job” they are being encouraged to undertake? Are they provided with the necessary supports as they begin to assume their responsibilities? Are lay leaders empowered to take ownership of the challenges involved in running a nonprofit organization? Are they empowered to actively search for solutions along with professional staff? Are there accountability measures in place?

School building pieces: Questions to answer

(many of the questions cited above also apply to schools within the congregational framework. Here are some additional ones to consider.)

Does the school have a vision or mission statement of its own? Does it refer back to the congregational statement? Are they aligned? Does it include desired outcomes? Methodology?

Is there a culture of collaboration among teaching staff? Professional staff and the education committee? Among professional staff and parents? Among classes? Among students within individual grades or rooms? Are individuals vested in the success of the entire school, and not just their particular students, grades, courses, etc? Is there opportunity for regular reflective practice by administrators, teachers, students, committee members, parents? Is the environment a “safe” one in which to ask questions or express a difference of opinion?

Is the school connected to congregational life? In ways that go beyond participation in services or consecration and b’nei mitzvah? Is there a congregational board liaison? Does that liaison have credibility with the larger board or is he/she seen primarily or exclusively as someone whose focus is limited to the school only, without being able to see the bigger, congregational, picture? Is the school connected to other religious schools – locally, nationally, within the movement or outside? Is it connected to other youth activity endeavors (youth group, etc)? Do teachers and administrators engage in regular professional development, both on-site and off? Are resources – specifically time and money – allocated to professional development?

Most lay leaders (although not all) initially get involved with the school because of a specific issue related to their child. However, are they eventually able to widen their focus on what’s beneficial for the entire community? Are they willing to offer specific talents and skills to support the educational program? Are they able to comment on the positives they/their children see or experience as well as address issues that need improvement? Are they in tune with the mission goals and objectives of the school? When a problem arises, are they willing to help search for solutions?

What happens if the congregation and school are not in harmony?

Then, I would suggest, there’s a mismatch.

Not every educator will work well in every congregational setting.

Not every congregation will remain consistent in its answers to these questions.

The guiding principle, I believe, must be a shared vision about what’s best for the kids: What kind of Jewish adults do we want them to grow into – and what do we believe is the best way to get there, given the constraints of time, energy, money, personnel?

STW: Personal Reaction - Part 2

As I shared last time, my adamant negation of the belief that “all-kids-hate-religious-school” was my introduction to formal Jewish education. In the period between the time we removed our kids from one religious school and enrolled them the following year in a different school, we made the decision that I would homeschool them. My purpose was to ensure that they understood that our dissention was with the individual institution, not with Jewish education or supplemental schools. Learning would take place regardless of the venue.

As I’d prepare each week for the next week’s lessons, I met a wonderfully helpful person at the local Board of Jewish Ed, who pointed me in the right direction for resources, answered questions I had, and was extremely supportive. As time went on, we got to know each other. In addition to her job at the BJE, she was also the part-time director of a religious school. After some time passed, she asked if I’d be interested in teaching in her school, explaining that she thought I’d be a good teacher because I was willing to ask questions, search for information and try to pull things together in an age-appropriate manner. After several conversations, much thought, and a visit to her school, I decided to accept her offer.

That was the beginning of my involvement as a Jewish communal worker.

Over the course of time, I became an even better teacher. It was Elissa who taught me about educational objectives and how to measure them; about reflective practice; and – most importantly – that it’s our work that should be taken seriously, not ourselves.

I tried to integrate the lessons I’d learned from my own children:

• that kids learn best by doing instead of sitting;
• that variety spices things up again;
• that transitions are difficult;
• that a classroom should be a safe place;
• that for most of us, hearing alone isn’t enough – we need to see, smell, touch, and taste, too!

Along the way, I continued to learn as much from my students (probably more) than they learned from me. There were transitional issues, to be sure (the “I don’t want to GO to religious school…”). However, once they crossed our threshold, for the most part, they were active and engaged (“but I don’t mind BEING there.”) In reviewing the list of characteristics that Wertheimer cites as indicative of successful schools, I see that all six of them were present in our classroom over the years: Together, my students and I

1. developed a community
2. took Jewish learning seriously
3. engaged in experiential Jewish education
4. aligned all of our efforts with our goals for the year
5. valued ourselves
6. regarded our families as allies (and, on my part, as clients – I was always conscious that their parents could have taken them to another school, but chose to enroll them in ours)

How do I know we were those things? Because each year, it was our practice at the end of the year to dissect what we had done, piece by piece. Because our classroom was a safe place, my students felt secure in offering honest feedback that, in turn, helped form my plans for the class following them. I still have the notes from those evaluation sessions. In reviewing them recently, I was struck anew by how many of them helped address the areas listed above.
I subsequently became a director of two different schools. At each school, we had a strong level of lay involvement and input. One program evolved into a successful one, by Wertheimer’s definition, while I was there; the other did not. What made the difference?

In one environment, the “enabling factors” – those foundation pieces that need to be in place in order for a school to be successful -- were firmed embedded in the practices of the organization. Those factors, again, are as follows:

• a clear vision and a path on how to achieve that vision
• a culture of collaboration and self-reflection
• the school and the synagogue worked together – neither was isolated or detached from the other
• lay leaders were involved cooperatively with the school and worked collaboratively with their professional staff to refine the objectives of the school.

Defining the characteristics of a successful school is important in being able to articulate why an institution is successful.

However, in my mind, the most critical part of Schools That Work is the identification of the foundation necessary in order for a program to be successful.

It answers some very basic questions about why a once-successful program sometimes becomes less successful over time or when there’s a change in leadership. It points out the difficulty of systemic change when two groups of key players (the lay leaders, and the parents) are frequently in flux. I believe that when these enabling factors are weakened or disappear, the likelihood of a school being able to maintain its innovative zest for learning becomes compromised. The school tends to slip back towards the more familiar middle-of-the-road because that’s a more comfortable place to be – for the administrators, teachers, lay leaders, and parents. I doubt that it’s more comfortable for the kids.

Next: professional implications for our schools/communities.

Schools That Work: Personal Reaction

My first reaction to Wertheimer’s Schools That Work was a delighted “YES” (accompanied by a pumped fist). “Finally,” I told a colleague, “SOMEone thinks that we’re not all failing.”

I had become thoroughly sick and tired of articles about supplemental schools being awful and behind the times; of discussions in which the main theme was “Everyone knows that religious schools are a dismal failure;” and of matter-of-fact statements to the tune of, “Well of course my kid hates religious school: all kids do.”

I first discovered this “of-course-all-kids-hate-religious-school” when our now-27 year old son entered fourth grade at our local synagogue school. He had been an eager participant until that time. He'd get into the car eagerly and come home to enthusiastically share stories about what they had learned and classroom antics. He liked playing soccer and climbing on the geodesic dome in the back yard better, but then recess was his favorite part of his secular school day, too.

In fourth grade, things began to change: classroom demographics changed; his teacher had difficulty with classroom management issues (kids were allowed to tease each other, because “that’s how kids are”); and he was beginning to struggle with some significant but-as-yet unidentified learning disabilities. In less than a year, he went from an eager Judaics and Hebrew student to one who tried to run away when it was time for religious school. He’d scream, “You can’t make me go.” I could and I did – but it was a painful experience.

I spoke to relatives, friends, other parents, the principal. All of them assured me that “Of course, he hates religious school – all kids do.” Other parents said, “I suffered through it and was miserable. Now it’s my kid’s turn to be miserable.”

As a convert to Judaism, I was appalled. The more answers I tried to find, the more frustrated I became. The situation, which was already intolerable for my son, rapidly became unacceptable for me. And so we began to look for alternatives.

We tried first to work with the school…. And were met with a shrug of the shoulders and the implication that perhaps I was ambivalent about or deficient in my attitude towards Jewish education. If I “got with the program,” my son’s problems would probably go away.

Things were complicated by the fact that my husband had found a community in which he was comfortable and we decided that we were unwilling to leave the congregation. I ultimately met with our rabbi and asked him what alternatives were available. By that time, we had pulled both of our children out of the religious school and I was homeschooling them in Hebrew and Judaics while we searched for viable options. My request was simple: I wanted a solution that would be a better match for my kids and fulfill our synagogue’s requirements for bar and bat mitzvah.

There was a community school nearby that fit the bill. I met with the Education Director, and shared our experiences, concerns, and hopes. We made a plan to integrate both children into their program the following year. I continued to homeschool our kids for the remainder of that academic year as we planned for that transition.

It was a much better fit for our son – and not a bad fit for our daughter.

End of the story? Not quite.

A year or so later, the kids began to complain vociferously about the commute to religious school. I’d drive them to school three times a week, listening to moaning and complaining the whole trip (30 minutes, now, instead of 10 minutes the year before). My stomach would be in knots the entire time they were in school, and I’d dread their return home. Finally, they’d walk in with their dad – laughing and giggling and practically bouncing in excitement. “What’s for dinner, Mom?” they’d shout.

One day, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “What gives?” I demanded. “I get the tsoris/grief and Dad gets the nachas/joy. Not fair.”

My kids grinned at me. “Oh,” they admitted, “We don’t like GOING to religious school, but once we’re there, we don’t mind BEING there.” An important distinction – and one that I later used when I began to teach OPK – Other People’s Kids.

Next up - more personal reflections about my teaching and directing experiences.

Schools That Work: Enabling Factors Graphic

We began this series with a discussion of the factors that need to be in place in order for a school to be successful.



Here's the graphic that illustrates that discussion:




Reactions/reflections next time!

Challenges Faced By STW: The Graphic

And here's a picture of the challenges facing all supplementary schools, including Schools That Work:






Given all these stresses, it's a wonder that even the mediocre schools manage to do as well as they do.

Challenges Faced by Schools That Work

The following excerpts are taken verbatim from pages 5 and 6 of Schools That Work: What We Can Learn from Good Jewish Supplementary Schools, written by Jack Wertheimer and published in March 2009 by The Avi Chai Foundation. See earlier postings on 5/31/09, 6/2/09 and 6/3/09 for discussions of "enabling factors" and characteristics of successful schools, as described by Wertheimer and his team of researchers.

A number of intractable challenges are endemic to the field [of supplementary Jewish education], and even better schools are not immune to their impact.

• There is a scarcity of teachers well-versed in Hebrew and Judaica who have the skill to transmit their knowledge to students.

• [T]he real challenge lies in implementing them [curricular materials] properly in the classroom. Some schools are forced to rely upon teachers who lack content knowledge and/or pedagogical skills.

• Directing a school is a demanding job, which can lead to burn-out....Most schools have a shallow bench so that pinch hitters do not come to the aid of directors.

• With the large majority of students attending school for a handful of hours each week, whether once or twice a week, schools are severly constrained. Remaining mindful of the time constraints under which they operate, they do not promise more than they can deliver. The question is whether this hard-headed approach to time, results in too low a set of expectations.

• [S]upplementary programs find themselves in a heightened time-bind, creating a dilemma about what to emphasize and what to omit. Schools must make trade-offs between subject matter...and also between content knowledge and community building or other affective activities.

• A particularly difficult curricular choice relates to Hebrew language instruction. Many schools are unclear about what to teach and toward what end...

• There is little doubt that many parents and chuldren regard the end goal of supplementary school to be the bar/bat mitzvah....Effective schools...explicitly downplay their role in preparing children, and most try to retain students well beyond 7th grade.

• With a range of other activities beckoning to children, supplementary schools must compete for the attention of families. Jewish education, then, is merely one of many supplementary programs. Compared to the recent past, Jewish education now must compete with far more options -- and often loses out.

These circumstances encumber all supplementary schools. They are built into the current structure.

=====

Depressing to think about, isn't it? But it's a fairly realistic picture of the challenges facing supplementary schools -- the good schools as well as the mediocre ones and the poor ones. Oftentimes, we spend so much time focusing on the challenges facing us that it's easy to get lost along the way.

When I was growing up, my father kept a reminder on the wall in his office, which he could see when he sat at his desk. It read: "When you're up to your @*# in alligators, it's hard to remember that your objective was to drain the swamp." It was significant for two reasons: 1) We simply didn't use language like that in polite company when I was growing up; and 2) My Dad explained how difficult it was to avoid getting caught in a reactive mode, in which all one did was respond to the crisis du jour.

More reactions/reflections when this series is done.

Characteristics of STW: The Graphic

So, here's the graphic that shows what the words said in the last blog.

As a visual learner, this helped me see the whole picture at one time. Remember, Wertheimer says no one characteristic is more important that the other - all are necessary in a balanced way.








Next up? Challenges facing supplementary schools

Characteristics of Schools That Work

The following comments are taken verbatim from pages 4 and 5 of Schools That Work: What We Can Learn From Good Jewish Supplementary Schools, written by Jack Wertheimer and published in March 2009 by The Avi Chai Foundation. See the posting on 5/31/09 for a discussion of the "enabling factors" that Wertheimer and his team of researchers define as being necessary for Schools That Work.

Jack Wertheimer, with his team of 9 other researchers, has discovered that there are six Noteworthy Characteristics of the Schools:

1. Good schools intentionally work to develop a community among their students, staff and parents.... [T]he community fostered by the school not only is warm and hospitable, but also establishes norms explicitly identified as distinctly Jewish.
2. Good schools place an emphasis on taking Jewish study seriously....[R]egardless of the emphasis, good schools have developed a sophisticated curriculum that goes beyond rote learning, examining Jewish content so that it "sticks."
3. Moreover, good schools create opportunities for students to engage in experiential Jewish education....This experiential component, in tandem with formal learning, is vital, as it provides students with the opportunity to live their Judaism and not only to learn about it.
4. Good schools understand the need to align all their efforts with school goals. School directors, clergy and lay leaders often play a critical role in clarifying the school's goals and working with teaching staff to align what goes on in the classroom with the broader objectives of the school.
5. Good schools value themselves and their students. In most of the schools under study, discipline was achieved primarily by attending closely to the needs of individual children and engaging them with compelling materials.
6. Good schools regard families as allies and also clients. Involved parents can become important models for their children and will encourage children to take maximal advantage of their Jewish educational experiences.

The work of building an effective supplementary school is not only to actualize each of these aspirations so that they become real, but also to hold them in balance. No single one alone will insure a strong program. It is the combination of traits that forges a strong school.
======
Plenty of food for thought. Reflections/reactions at the end of this series.

Schools That Work

“Schools That Work: What We Can Learn from Good Jewish Supplementary Schools” was written by Jack Wertheimer, and published by The Avi Chai Foundation just this past March. Wertheimer is a professor of American Jewish History at the Jewish Theological Seminary. The team of ten researchers (Isa Aron, Marion Gribetz, Billy Mencow, Nachama Skolnik Moskowitz, Randal F. Schnoor, Susan L. Shevitz, Serene Victor, Harold Wechsler, Cyd Beth Weisman, and Jack Wertheimer) set out to identify what characteristics could be found in successful Jewish supplemental schools.

From the Executive Summary:

In an effort to learn about the range and quality of programs, a team of ten researchers—five academics and five experienced educators with backgrounds in school administration—observed ten Jewish supplementary schools reputed to be effective, as defined by the quality of formal study and positive Jewish experiences they provide, the clarity and thoughtfulness of school objectives, the development of a community of practice to translate learning into Jewish living, and the coordination of key personnel in the pursuit of those goals.

Wertheimer goes on to articulate four “enabling factors” which must be present in order to have “Schools That Work.” Here's my summary of what he wrote:

• School communities must define a vision and articulate how they plan to accomplish their vision. These visions need to include learning goals, which most school vision statements do. But they also need to go beyond that: Schools need to provide students with opportunities to enact Jewish commitments and to engage in Jewish activities.
• School communities need to create a culture of collaboration among lay leaders, among professional staff, and among both groups. They also need to establish a culture of self-reflection.
• A congregational or communal base of support is necessary. School communities need to identify potential resources, both internally and externally. After they’ve done that, they need to plan to make maximal use of these resources; ie, it’s not sufficient just to identify the resources – they need to be implemented.
• Schools That Work involve lay leaders in both the life of the school and by cooperating with them to refine the objectives of the school.

Wow.

So simple…. and yet not.

Vision/Mission Statements: Generally speaking, when I begin working with schools as a consultant, one of the first things I ask for is a school mission statement.

I’m often surprised by the number of schools that don’t have one – or cases in which there’s one for the synagogue, but not a separate one for the school. Without a mission statement, I wonder how communities know whether they’re doing what they want to do – or how they can ascertain whether their efforts are successful.

Many mission statements focus on the skills that they hope the students will learn with the goal being to function effectively as a Jewish adult. Hicks, Glasgow and McNary report that [new] “teachers often see teaching as telling and learning as memorization.” (What Successful Mentors Do; Corwin Press, 2005, p. 39). “Learning” is considered separate from “doing.” Do our mission statements include “doing” that goes beyond the one-time performance of bar or bat mitzvah? What opportunities are there for students to engage in Jewish cultural activities? Deeds of g’milut hasadim /lovingkindness? Teaching others? Social justice activities?
I’m not surprised that this was first on Wertheimer’s list of “enabling factors” for Schools That Work.

Community Culture: Collaboration and self-reflection: they exist hand-in-hand.

Far too often, I’ve noticed that either schools are separate from the life of the congregation or there’s a territoriality that exists among the professional staff. In the former case, the school exists in isolation. There’s little or no cross-fertilization of ideas or practices. When communities collaborate, each segment of the community validates the work of the other. In the latter case, either there’s a competition among staff (who is better/more powerful/etc) or an inability to recognize that frequently staff functions overlap. “That’s *NOT* my job” can be as detrimental as “That’s *MY* job – keep your nose out.”
Teamwork – collaboration – recognizes the ebb and flow of work responsibilities and crunch times: people are able to pull together to benefit the whole.

If there’s no collaboration, it’s also difficult to engage in self-reflective practice. There’s little opportunity to get honest, caring feedback from colleagues. If the environment is competitive or segmented, self-reflection can be perceived of as a weakness.

Base of Support/Involvement of Lay Leaders: when a school is an involved, active, engaged part of congregational life – and the congregation is actively involved and engaged in all facets of the school – the base of support is more solid and lay leaders are involved in substantive and meaningful ways. Without that base of support (and the willingness to tap into it) and the involvement of all lay leaders, I don’t believe that schools can be successful at integrating students into the Jewish life of their community.

Next time: Characteristics of Schools that Work

How Important is a Sense of Belonging?

On Friday, May 8th, Michael Gerson, a columnist for the Washington Post, wrote an interesting op-ed piece quoting the findings of Robert Putnam. Putnam (with David Campbell) has written a book entitled "American Grace: How Religion Is Reshaping Our Civic and Political Lives,” which will be released next year. According to Gerson, the book is already making a splash. “…the book they haven't yet finished will make just about everyone constructively uncomfortable,” Gerson writes.

He goes on to describe Putnam and Campbell’s recent appearance at a conference.

At a recent conference of journalists organized by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, Putnam outlined the conclusions of "American Grace," based on research still being sifted and refined. Against the expectations of hard-core secularists, Putnam asserts, "religious Americans are nicer, happier and better citizens." They are more generous with their time and money, not only in giving to religious causes but to secular ones. They join more voluntary associations, attend more public meetings, even let people cut in line in front of them more readily. Religious Americans are three to four times more socially engaged than the unaffiliated. Ned Flanders is a better neighbor.

I’ll take a break here, so we can all give ourselves a pat on the back.

And, then (are you ready) comes the part that I suspect will make many of us uncomfortable:

Against the expectations of many religious believers, this dynamic has little to do with the content of belief. Theology is not the predictor of civic behavior; being part of a community is. People become social joiners and contributors when they have friends who pierce their isolation and invite their participation. And religious friends, says Putnam, are "more powerful, supercharged friends."

Let’s look at that second sentence again: Theology is not the predictor of civic behavior, being part of a community is.

Hmm....

If it's not theology that makes the difference (and I'm including values and commandments - middot v'mitzvot - in the broad topic of "theology).....

And if "being part of the community" IS what makes a difference.....

Maybe as Jewish educators we should spend more time building connections among our community members rather than worrying about skills acquisition, how much content we can cram in during the (hopefully) seven years we have students enrolled prior to their bar/bat mitzvah, and how well the kids will perform on that day.

Maybe we should deliberately, intentionally, mindfully use some of the scarce hours that we have students with us to spend time fostering that sense of community -

• helping kids get to know each other;
• helping students to be involved with the adults in the congregation's business of bringing repair to the world
• becoming a place where they can feel safe and secure as they explore what it means to them to BE Jewish and DO Jewish.

Maybe? Ya think?

One of my colleagues shared a document - and a philosophy - with a group of us gathered at the first RENA (Reconstructionist Educators of North America) Conference in Naperville, Illinois in 2005.

Deborah's belief was that Parent-teachers need to pro-actively design Shabbat School experiences that will help students build relationships and a sense of community. A sense of community, group cohesiveness, friendships do not necessarily “happen” naturally, especially given the paucity of time we are spending together each year.

At her school, Havurah Shalom of Portland, Oregon, they decided that One way to do this is to be sure that there are activities that build community in every session.

Build. Community. In. Every. Session

Not once a year - at the beginning of the year; or once a semester; or whenever there was a new teacher.... but ... In. Every. Session

I can hear it already - There's not enough time as it is.... now you want us to "waste" time playing games?!?

And - if I'm being honest - there's a time when my voice would have been protesting louder than anyone else's.

But.... if I've learned anything these last six years, it's that if we don't focus on building a sense of community within our classes and our schools - the learners* aren't connected. If they're not connected, the learning is irrelevant. If the learning is irrelevant.... that's when time is actually wasted!

Hmmmm.....

*applies to adult learners as well as kid-learners, I've found.