The Foundation is pleased to share reflections from participants at its recent convening of directors of Jewish educator training programs.

Pulling up to The Publishing House Bed and Breakfast in what appeared to be an old, deserted part of Chicago’s near West Side did not particularly allay my trepidation about the upcoming couple of days with my fellow grantees of the Jim Joseph Foundation’s Professional Development Initiative (PDI).  I walked around the building trying to figure out how to enter, eventually found the B & B’s small door and went inside.  No one was in the small foyer to greet me and it took me a while to determine that I needed to call someone’s cell phone who would then come to take care of check-in.  As I waited, I couldn’t help but wonder what I had gotten myself into – an inauspicious beginning to be sure.

And then I met the inn keeper and climbed the stairs into a magnificent, refurbished space that embodied the elegance and beauty of 110 years ago while reflecting the comforts and innovations of 2018.  I soon learned (and experienced for myself) that the near West Side of Chicago is far from deserted.  Rather, it is a quickly growing hotspot for Gen Z and Millennials, with housing construction on every street, restaurants, fragrant coffee shops and more.

These initial impressions of The Publishing House are a fitting metaphor for the experience we shared.  The ten PDI project directors represented a broadly diverse group, both in terms of settings served, roles and ages.  When considered individually each one of these characteristics opens up a world of difference between the participants, whether it be in how we work, our independence within our respective organizations and our generational experience of the world around us.  Taken together, they might have led to an insurmountable stumbling block.

Thanks to outstanding framing by the event organizers from Rosov Consulting, early on in the proceedings I began to understand the import and power of the experience, both in building relationships with colleagues who are engaged in the same, yet different, work and in gaining insight into the nature of the field of Jewish education in 2018.  These two pieces are inextricably connected: the directors of the ten PDI projects are playing an important role in shaping the field in the image of their vision and aspirations for Jewish learning in our time and in the future.

As someone well into the second half of my career, I spend a great deal of time considering how the field is changing in response to our changing world and how I can best leverage my experience in service of the future (much like The Publishing House has seamlessly woven the past into the present and future).  Indeed, I often wonder how I might gain more understanding of and insight into the realities and dreams of the next generation.  And so, the gift of two days with colleagues from multiple generations and settings, allowed me (and all of us) to more deeply understand each other’s realities and the contours of the field of Jewish education as it is emerging. 

During the gathering, four project directors (myself included) presented their projects.  The presentations by Laynie Solomon of Svara: A Traditionally Radical Yeshiva and Dr. Josh Lambert of the Yiddish Book Center’s project crystalized in my mind the dramatic generational shifts in the field and the power of the learning and dialogue we were experiencing.  The PDI/Svara project seeks to raise up a generation of teachers who are “bold and courageous teachers, transformers, and transmitters of Jewish tradition.” while the Yiddish Book Center’s Great Books project uses 2018 technological capacities to bring literature of a very different time and place to a new generation of middle and high school teachers in Jewish day schools.  Robbie Gringras of Makom brought into focus in a particularly profound way the joys and challenges of marrying the ongoing work of Israel education with the world of Moishe House, serving young people in their 20’s.  Perhaps more than any project, Robbie is charged with adapting and shifting not only the nature of the learning to meet the needs of this age group but also the expectations of the fluid and often unpredictable engagement that typifies Millennials and Gen X.

As the director of HUC-JIR’s Executive MA program in Jewish education, a hybrid online/face-to-face learning experience for Jewish educators working in all aspects of the field, I, along with my HUC-JIR colleagues, am continuously trying to understand the evolving nature of the field, the people whom we educate and the leaders we prepare.  As I listened to and experienced the work of my colleagues and engaged in sustained conversations with other project directors not mentioned here, I felt a profound shift in my grasp of the world Jewish educators and learners inhabit today and will inhabit in the years ahead.  During the time of the gathering, our current HUC-JIR Executive MA students were beginning a sequence of courses entitled Educational Practices. The sequence begins by asking students to delve into the question of “who are our learners.”  The next set of questions they will be addressing ask, “What matters to our learners?” and “What does learning look like today?”  The PDI gathering in Chicago, without question, brought home for me just how dramatically our field is changing and the consequent demands made upon current and future leaders to respond to these changes while remaining firmly rooted in an ancient tradition and the successes of our past which in turn will have an impact on the content and framing of the course sequence.

In the years ahead, as Jim Joseph Foundation PDI program directors continue to collaborate and learn from one another, and as the world around us continues to change at what some would say is a breakneck pace, my hope is that we will not only understand but also be able to articulate with greater clarity the nature and concrete work entailed in ensuring a vibrant and ever-evolving field of Jewish education

Dr. Lesley Litman is the Director of the Executive MA program in Jewish Education at Hebrew Union College – Jewish Institute of Religion

The Jim Joseph Foundation is pleased to share a series of reflections from beneficiaries of some of its newly-supported programs in leadership development and educator training. Rabbi Jeff Amshalem reflects on his experience working with educators as part of Ayeka’s Soulful Education program.

What will you be trying to do teshuvah for this year? Raise your hand if it is the same as last year. Raise the other hand if it was the same as the year before that. Raise the other hand if…

I don’t know about you, but I’ve got all my hands up. But was there anything you have succeeded in changing? Based on my own experience and my time as a teacher, I would guess that when real change happened, some combination of the following things was present for you: an emotional investment in changing, a deep and sustained process of reflection, and/or a personal model of the way you wanted to be.

Ayeka Soulful Education tries to provide these things for educators and the students they serve, so that education becomes not only about information but transformation. Most educators already share this goal; sometimes, however, our educational environments can do more to support this work as well. “Covering material,” for example, can take precedent over transformation. Reminiscent of Ramban’s famous claim that one can be “a scoundrel within the limits of the law,” a student can be a star without ever actually becoming one bit more of a mensch. Worse, they may not even realize that Jewish learning was supposed to be so much more. Is such a student really a success? Were his or her teachers?

At Ayeka, we like to think of our methodology as a paradigm shift. To achieve that shift, we began by offering intensive workshops for schools to help teachers create a classroom culture and facilitate lessons that would use the content being taught to inspire personal reflection and growth. We were moderately successful – teachers reported increased student engagement, more supportive student culture, and satisfaction in everyone knowing that the purpose of learning was to change and grow – but we did not achieve the paradigm shift we were looking for. Ayeka still felt like a technique, like something teachers did, not an approach, not something they were becoming.

We realized that we had skipped the most important step – the teacher’s own learning for growth. Like most (if not all) day school educators, our teachers were pressed for time, spent much of their development and teaching time alone, and approached the material by immediately asking what the students would take from it (which was usually answered in the form of content and skills). So now, when we partner with schools, whether in 18 month or 3 year programs, we devote our first three-day retreat and the entire first semester to helping the teachers reconnect to Torah themselves, as learners, as Jews with souls of their own that need nourishing, and not teachers. We build an intimate cohort of teachers and administrators from all the partner schools and create an environment built on honesty, openness, and room for failure. We stress seeing ourselves as works in progress, with Torah as a guide, and each other as fellows on the way. We give the gift of time and a supportive space that teachers generally lack, to reinvest in the kind of learning that attracted so many teachers to Jewish education in the first place. We learn together, asking just one simple question – what does this have to say to you, right now? It is staggering to hear teachers say, time and again, “Wow, I never get to learn like this anymore” (or even “I’ve never learned like this before”).

It’s only in the second semester that we begin bringing this methodology into the classroom, and only gradually, because the teachers have to be authentic models themselves of this kind of soulful learning if they hope to inspire their students to learn in the same way. The focus is still on the teacher, though, as we try to cultivate the necessary dispositions for this kind of teaching, such as humility, being a generous listener, and the willingness to be vulnerable. We also work on creating classroom environments that mirror the learning culture we create in our cohorts, so that students can feel supported, heard, and accepted. Only then do we move on to teaching techniques that will help move the learning from the brain down into the heart and out into students’ lives.

This is the place for me to stress that that learning is a key part of the Ayeka approach. Ayeka is not an add-on to content learning, and it certainly does not come to replace the learning of content and skills; as an approach to Jewish education that comes from lives spent in the beit midrash and that is based first and foremost on the teachings of Rav Kook, it would be heresy to suggest such a thing. On the contrary, we find that the more integrated the affective and content learning are, the more the learning spurs growth.

Perhaps I can best illustrate this with an example. Let’s return to teshuvah. How do you teach it? That’s easy, right? You could teach Rambam’s Four Steps. You could teach the story of King David, or Moses’ plea after Het haEigel. So far, though, we’re only talking about content – no matter how well the students learn this material, nothing is likely to change. So let’s make it relevant. We could ask them to identify something in their life they need to do teshuvah for; we could look for parallels between ourselves and King David, or ask what the big sin of today is. All good ideas, except that…still, nothing is likely to change, because it hasn’t moved out of their heads and into their hearts. And here’s where Ayeka comes in. We believe that if a young person is going to open up his or her heart to allow the Torah learning in, they have to feel emotionally safe and supported by their teacher and their classmates, they have to be given the time and the tools to reflect personally on what the learning has to say to them, and they need a model of what being a work in progress looks like. Providing these things is the real hard work of an Ayeka educator, and its what we educate towards in our own training. It takes a long time; it takes commitment; it takes guts. But we’ve seen, time and again, that when mentors, administrators, and teachers work together to provide them, the results are truly transformative.

Rabbi Jeff Amshalem is a Senior Ayeka Educator

The Jim Joseph Foundation is pleased to share a series of reflections from beneficiaries of some of its newly-supported programs in leadership development and educator training. Leili Davari reflects on her experience in the Selah Leadership Program for Jews of Color who are social justice leaders working in Jewish and secular organizations.

I’ve lost count to how many times people make assumptions about my ethnicity and what type of Jew I am. This is usually how it starts off: “Leili, that’s an interesting name, are you Hawaiian?”  “No, my name is Persian, my father is Iranian.” “Oh, that’s interesting. So he must be Jewish?” “Nope, he was born Muslim.” “Oh, so is your mother Jewish? “Nope, she is a Mexican Catholic.” “I converted to Judaism in my late 20s.”

Additionally, I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve been introduced as, “Leili, the Mexican/Iranian Jew,” which is not correct at all. I am not a Mexican Jew, I am not an Iranian Jew. I am all those truths: Mexican, Iranian and Jewish. And it has become exhausting to have to always educate people on what this means.

From there, the responses to me being Mexican, Iranian, and Jewish range from disbelief, to being exoticized. “Wow, you are so exotic – you’ve got a little bit of everything in you!”

Not to mention the countless questions I get about converting, particularly from Jews.  I am shocked at how much I have had to educate other Jews on conversion — answering the million dollar question, “What made you decide to be Jewish?” Some days I just want to respond, “None of your business!” But what kind of person would I be if I responded that way? So instead, with a smile, I answer all the questions about how I am Jewish, my parents, and finally, my personal identity politics.

Being the target of so many questions at Shabbat dinners stifles my willingness to participate fully in Jewish life. I’ve wondered to myself: If I were White, would I receive the same interrogation? Or would it be easier to pass as a White Ashkenazi Jew? The isolation I feel is painful and holds me back from reaching my full potential as a confident Jewish Woman of Color. This isolation stops me at times from building community within Jewish spaces. And without a doubt, this isolation shows up in my public life as a Jewish professional working in a particular Jewish community that is almost entirely White. I convinced myself that this isolation was my reality and nothing would change.

An opportunity that would turn out to be a life changing experience appeared in late 2017, when I was selected to be in Cohort 15 of the Selah Leadership Program, a cohort specifically for Jews of Color who are social justice leaders working in Jewish and secular organizations. I was excited to be a part of this community and unsure of what I would get out of this experience. This excitement I felt was rooted in the possibility of building relationships with fellow Jewish People of Color and finding support as I navigated difficult life and work circumstances.

Our opening retreat in January proved to be a transformative event. Meeting my fellow JOC ‘family’ was more than I anticipated. I can still remember our opening retreat activity — our facilitator, Yavilah McCoy, had us raise our arms in the air and say “I am powerful!” My arm was halfway up, my voice just barely over a whisper. I had a long way to go before I came fully into my power as a Jewish Woman of Color,  but I knew Selah was a step in the right direction.

Meeting and building relationships with other JOCs with both similar and different lived experiences was instrumental to my growth. I was able to share my stories of pain and challenges and receive comfort and validation from fellow JOCs. This validation was mind-blowing for me. It was the first time I could be fully vulnerable about both personal and work challenges in the majority White Jewish community. At our opening retreat, I realized that I had been holding myself back in my work because of my fear of not wanting to be the employee who causes conflict in the workplace. This realization of how much I was holding back at work, and how much my work was affected by this fear, led to me make a crucial decision. As we say in Spanish, “¡Basta!” Enough. Knowing that I had the support and validation from my JOC family was what I needed to lean into my full potential as a Jewish organizer and woman. Once I made this decision, “la vida dio muchas vueltas” — life took many turns.

After Selah’s opening retreat, it was clear that in order to come into my full-power Jewish Woman of Color self in my professional life, I actually needed to start with my personal life. This required that I take a deep look into my personal relationships and end those that were not emotionally nourishing to my development and growth. As heartbreaking as it has been, this was necessary in order for me to prioritize my livelihood and emotional well-being. Since then, I have learned how to live my life in a way that prioritizes myself and what it means to not only survive, but thrive as a Jewish Woman of Color. And thrive I have!

The next step I needed to take was to apply what I learned from Selah, my coming into my full power, into my professional life. This meant that I had to lean into difficult conversations with colleagues and other staff in positions of power. It meant that I needed to face my fears of being the dissenting voice in some conversations, and most importantly, of not allowing race and positions of power to intimidate me. While I can not say that I have yet fully reached the level of confidence to be the Jewish Professional I aspire to be, I know I have made significant progress and more lies ahead in my future.

In closing, the Selah Leadership Program proved to be a turning point both in my personal as well as professional life. I look back at the Leili I was two years ago when I first started working at Bend the Arc, and I don’t recognize that woman at all. After Selah, I feel more prepared at Shabbat dinners to call out when I feel I am being scrutinized with inappropriate “How are you Jewish?” questions. I feel better equipped with tools to handle challenges at work when my colleagues’ race and power dynamics are having negative impacts on me. And not to mention the confidence I feel at calling out White Jews who exoticize me for being Mexican and Iranian. The relationships I’ve made through Selah are ones that will last a lifetime — our commitment  to one another’s resilience and success as Jewish People of Color did not end at our closing retreat, but will continue throughout our lives. I am eternally grateful for the opportunity to have participated in Selah and look forward to the continuation of Jewish programs, including Selah, dedicating cohorts that are exclusive to Jewish People of Color. No doubt there are many more Jewish People of Color who want and need this fellowship in their lives. I know I did.

Leili Davari is the Bay Area Regional Organizer of Bend the Arc. 

The Jim Joseph Foundation is pleased to share a series of reflections from beneficiaries of some of its newly-supported programs in leadership development and educator training. Rabbi Elie Weinstock offers reflections from earlier this year on his experience in the American Jewish World Service Global Justice Fellowship.

I’m writing from 7,640 feet above sea level in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala. Yes, you read correctly. Here’s my hotel.

I’m here participating in the American Jewish World Service Global Justice Fellowship. I’m one of 13 rabbis in Guatemala to meet with and support advocates fighting for legal protections for human rights activists at risk of violence; midwives providing maternal health support for indigenous women; and members of an independent journalism collective seeking to expose abuses and corruption through a more open press.

It’s been quite an experience as I have encountered people, places, and issues that I really could never have imagined.

Presenting a certificate of appreciation to Bufete legal organization that represents victims of human rights violations.

Meeting in the home of a midwife in a very rural village on the outskirts of Salcaja. (It was up a steep hill in the middle of nowhere!)

We had the opportunity to discuss the state of affairs in Guatemala with a very receptive US Ambassador, Luis Arreaga. He noted that Americans, religious leaders, visiting Guatemala to encourage and support those trying to improve their own country represented what America is all about: sharing American values to improve the lives of those in need.

While spending hours on buses traversing winding mountainous roads, I’ve had the chance to ask myself, “Is there a Jewish lesson in all of this?”

In a word: Justice.

Justice is critical to society. As Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” We intuitively understand that society needs justice to function. Judaism also values justice. The Torah teaches (Devarim 16:20): “Tzedek tzedek tirdofe – Justice, justice shall you pursue.” This verse is often invoked as a call for Jewish participation in trying to address all sorts of injustice.

But what is justice and what is our role in pursuing it?

I believe the Torah repeats the word justice because there are many types of injustice that require our attention. Pick an issue, any issue. It may be something that challenges the Jewish community. Maybe it’s how Israel is treated at the UN. It may be the issue of racial or socioeconomic inequality or immigration in America. Or it may be corruption in Guatemala. There are, alas, many examples from which to choose.

There is a lot of tzedek needed today.

In addition to repeating the word “justice,” the Torah uses the word “tirdofe,” which literally means to run. The pursuit of a solution to injustice is a race we each need to run.

When it comes to running, people run at different paces and can run for different distances. The pursuit of justice is a different “race” for each issue and each person.

As long as everyone gets in the race.

Running isn’t always easy. It is strenuous, and it is sometimes cold outside. As the saying goes, “No pain, no gain.” There will be no justice unless WE run after it. It’s OK if it is hard or sometimes hurts. In a 1965 speech at Temple Israel in Hollywood, CA, Dr. King said, “We must always maintain a kind of divine discontent.”

There is justice to pursue everywhere. Whether in Guatemala or New York City, we need to be on the lookout for what is wrong and what we can do to make it right. The Torah doesn’t tell us to catch justice; we are commanded to pursue it and seek it even if we cannot achieve it.

It’s time for each of us to open our eyes, our minds, and our hearts, put on our justice shoes, and get in the race. The race for justice.

Rabbi Elie Weinstock is Rabbi of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun (KJ) in New York, NY. He was a AJWS Global Justice Fellow in 2017-2018.