Every week The Davis Academy transitions from the busyness of school to the restfulness of Shabbat with a Kabbalat Shabbat ceremony. It's invariably a joyful affair full of singing, skits, stories, and blessings. Our whole community looks forward to Kabbalat Shabbat and many students, teachers, and parents point to Kabbalat Shabbat as an example of the "Davis Spirit." Last week's Kabbalat Shabbat made a huge impression on me, so I'll share my "takeaway" from the experience.
Lately we've experienced a palpable surge in student and teacher creativity when it comes to planning and leading Kabbalat Shabbat. A few months ago our 3rd grade teachers and students choreographed a Micamocha flashmob. There's been an increase in student iyyunim, supplementary songs, and themed services. Kabbalat Shabbat is no longer just about the 45 minutes of communal togetherness. It's being integrated into class meeting time, technology lessons, recess, and other areas of the school as students and teachers are coming to expect creativity, innovation, and inspiration from one another. It's spilling over from school into the home, where kids are rehearsing their lines, sewing their costumes, and invited grandparents and cousins to attend. Writing now, I'm stuck again by how remarkably vibrant it has become.
Which brings me to last week. A visitor to our school could have made the statement: 'There's a lot of talent at The Davis Academy.' This last week the 2nd grade class that led Kabbalat Shabbat prepared a series of riddles on Jewish heroes and leaders and came dressed in full costume. A group of 5th grade students called the "Musical Mentsches" songlead most of the prayers with their guitars and drums. We enjoyed a Tubishevat skit written and directed by a 3rd grader and 'starring' her entire class. Additionally we heard an inspiring Dvar Torah by an 8th grader. Lastly, we were treated to a special 'mini-concert' by The Davis Decibelles, our middle school female vocal ensemble. You could call that a lot of talent, but I think it's something different and better.
Talent is a tricky thing. Embedded in the notion of talent is the idea that it's either something you're blessed with or something you lack. While talent can be cultivated and discovered, there's something elusive and decidedly undemocratic about talent.
What I and others experienced at Kabbalat Shabbat last week is something better than talent. We experienced creativity, imagination, passion, joy, team work, empowerment, engagement, and spirituality. Unlike talent, I believe that these capacities are precisely the kinds of things that can and should be among the most important aims of Jewish education.
Lately a few of us at Davis have been revisiting the question of what it means to be a Reform Jewish Day School (after all, there aren't that many out there). Last Friday I was convinced that The Davis Academy is a school that inspires students to take ownership of the Jewish story-- through skits, song leading, costuming, and interpreting Torah. Our students and teachers have assumed the responsibility for keeping Judaism fresh, vibrant, honest, and relevant. They've assumed the responsibility not only for transmitting, but for teaching, reinterpreting, and reinvigorating the broader Jewish community. While this isn't the only answer to the question of what it means to be a Reform JDS I think it's a key component.
Showing posts with label Jewish Education. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jewish Education. Show all posts
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Howdy Neighbor!
Two brief interconnected anecdotes that will ultimately relate to Jewish Ed:
1) Last night I, and 30 other people in my neighborhood, attended our annual Home Owner's Association meeting. "Annual" though it was the first such meeting held since I moved into our small subdivision in 2009. Looking around I was struck by how many faces I'd never seen. While I know most of the people who live immediately next door to me, there are folks just across the cul-de-sac that I'm pretty sure I've never seen. In essence, I was sitting with a group of strangers who share a small piece of planet earth and are collectively responsible for caring for and watching over it. While last night was hopeful, it was also sad. Clearly people care. But caring isn't enough. There needs to be trust, communication, mutual respect, and motivation in order to tend to the few minor details that our HOA needs to address. This morning I woke up with the words of Rabbi Joachim Prinz in my mind, "Neighbor isn't a geographic term, it's a moral term." If one of my neighbors breaks their leg, I should care. If there's a new baby on the block, I should care. If there's an ice storm and an elderly lady living alone, someone should check in on her to make sure she's okay. The fact that we live on the same street doesn't make us neighbors. Our neighborliness is linked to our having an ethic of care and to our feeling morally obligated to the people who we want to call us if a tree falls on our house.
2) Over the weekend I was part of a conversation about Thomas Friedman's book "That Used to Be Us." The presenter expressed Friedman's point that we live in an interconnected world where, 'Boston, Bangalore, and Sirsi' are all neighbors. Again, Joachim Prinz's suggestion that 'neighbor' is a moral term came to mind. But in this context I found myself asking, 'How can Boston, Bangalore, and Sirsi' be neighbors when my subdivision can't?
In terms of Jewish Ed I'd simply suggest something that most of us already know, believe, and aspire toward: integration. The challenge with integration is that it's an abstract noun. Others have suggested that we activate the noun by focusing not on an integrated curriculum but on cultivating integrating students-- critical thinkers who draw connections between different aspects of their learning, both in school and in life. I agree with this idea of cultivating integrating students.
I believe that Jewish Ed requires our schools to be neighborhoods where an ethic of care pervades. The rabbi should care about the athletic program and want to know how students bodies are being nourished. The gym coach should care about the guidance curriculum. 7th grade should care about 6th grade and so on. Practicing an ethic of care, being good neighbors, is something that all Jewish educators should hold as a value, aspiration, and expectation. We should expect this of ourselves and our students. Being a caring and ethical neighbor should be part of our profile of the ideal Jewish Ed grad. While care is important, it's not sufficient-- we need to get better at communicating, trusting, sharing, and inspiring one another!
The good news is that, in spite of the many factors that can detract from the neighborliness of our neighborhoods, schools, and ultimately, our world, every person longs to be cared for and to care for others. This basic human need, fulfilled on the basis of meaningful relationships with 'neighbors' near and far, can animate us to create more integrated Jewish ed communities within our schools, among our schools, and in all of our choods.
1) Last night I, and 30 other people in my neighborhood, attended our annual Home Owner's Association meeting. "Annual" though it was the first such meeting held since I moved into our small subdivision in 2009. Looking around I was struck by how many faces I'd never seen. While I know most of the people who live immediately next door to me, there are folks just across the cul-de-sac that I'm pretty sure I've never seen. In essence, I was sitting with a group of strangers who share a small piece of planet earth and are collectively responsible for caring for and watching over it. While last night was hopeful, it was also sad. Clearly people care. But caring isn't enough. There needs to be trust, communication, mutual respect, and motivation in order to tend to the few minor details that our HOA needs to address. This morning I woke up with the words of Rabbi Joachim Prinz in my mind, "Neighbor isn't a geographic term, it's a moral term." If one of my neighbors breaks their leg, I should care. If there's a new baby on the block, I should care. If there's an ice storm and an elderly lady living alone, someone should check in on her to make sure she's okay. The fact that we live on the same street doesn't make us neighbors. Our neighborliness is linked to our having an ethic of care and to our feeling morally obligated to the people who we want to call us if a tree falls on our house.
2) Over the weekend I was part of a conversation about Thomas Friedman's book "That Used to Be Us." The presenter expressed Friedman's point that we live in an interconnected world where, 'Boston, Bangalore, and Sirsi' are all neighbors. Again, Joachim Prinz's suggestion that 'neighbor' is a moral term came to mind. But in this context I found myself asking, 'How can Boston, Bangalore, and Sirsi' be neighbors when my subdivision can't?
In terms of Jewish Ed I'd simply suggest something that most of us already know, believe, and aspire toward: integration. The challenge with integration is that it's an abstract noun. Others have suggested that we activate the noun by focusing not on an integrated curriculum but on cultivating integrating students-- critical thinkers who draw connections between different aspects of their learning, both in school and in life. I agree with this idea of cultivating integrating students.
I believe that Jewish Ed requires our schools to be neighborhoods where an ethic of care pervades. The rabbi should care about the athletic program and want to know how students bodies are being nourished. The gym coach should care about the guidance curriculum. 7th grade should care about 6th grade and so on. Practicing an ethic of care, being good neighbors, is something that all Jewish educators should hold as a value, aspiration, and expectation. We should expect this of ourselves and our students. Being a caring and ethical neighbor should be part of our profile of the ideal Jewish Ed grad. While care is important, it's not sufficient-- we need to get better at communicating, trusting, sharing, and inspiring one another!
The good news is that, in spite of the many factors that can detract from the neighborliness of our neighborhoods, schools, and ultimately, our world, every person longs to be cared for and to care for others. This basic human need, fulfilled on the basis of meaningful relationships with 'neighbors' near and far, can animate us to create more integrated Jewish ed communities within our schools, among our schools, and in all of our choods.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Holy Ground
The opening pages of the book of Exodus, which Jews worldwide are reading this week, recall the mystical moment when Moses encounters the Burning Bush. Among the many details conveyed in the passage is the following:
God said to Moses, "Do not come closer. Remove your sandals from your feet, for the place on which you stand is holy ground."
As I go about my days at The Davis Academy I am blessed to work with many amazing people of all ages. One of my colleagues, our 8th grade Jewish Studies teacher, has a spiritual practice that I truly admire: Whenever a student shares in a way that creates a feeling of holiness in the classroom, my colleague removes his shoes. This simple gesture acknowledges that mundane physical space can be transformed into sacred space through acts of sharing, connection, and vulnerability.
Imagine if we all removed our shoes whenever we felt that one of our students, children, friends, loved ones, or colleagues had either spoken or acted with kedusha (holiness). If we took this idea seriously many of us might end up spending most of the day in our socks-- not a terrible prospect! Surely it would deepen our appreciation of the immeasurable enrichment that exists when sharing our lives with others.
Recently I received an email from a parent. Another colleague had asked this parent to reflect on the question of diversity at a Jewish day school. The question was prompted by the recognition that many prospective parents question whether Jewish day schools can have true diversity and prepare children to live in our blessedly diverse world. Her response, which I quote below, left me contemplating my socks:
On the subject of diversity: every child is unique! This uniqueness is not established by skin color, religious beliefs or by clothing, but by what comes from inside them. Originally this was something that was said to me regarding uniforms. How can the kids express who they are if they all dress the same? Realizing that kids at Davis learn how to express themselves by words and actions, and cannot depend on an article of clothing to do so was very enlightening! Most people/children seek out others like themselves when forming relationships. At Davis, my children have found friends that are like them because of similarities in personality, not the fact that they are the same in a sea of external differences or diversity... If anyone is hesitant [to send their children to Davis] because of diversity or focus on religion, I would say then that is exactly why they should send their children. Where diversity is something the children create from within, without losing what connects them to each other, it prepares them for whatever challenges- academic or social- they may eventually encounter.
Each of us is daily inundated with emails, phone calls, and conversations; we're participants in an endless social process. Hopefully amidst the ever flowing current of communication that washes over us, we can all pause to acknowledge the moments when we receive something truly special and holy. Attuning ourselves to these daily glimpses of sacred light might even make our favorite pair of shoes last a little longer.
Shabbat Shalom!
God said to Moses, "Do not come closer. Remove your sandals from your feet, for the place on which you stand is holy ground."
As I go about my days at The Davis Academy I am blessed to work with many amazing people of all ages. One of my colleagues, our 8th grade Jewish Studies teacher, has a spiritual practice that I truly admire: Whenever a student shares in a way that creates a feeling of holiness in the classroom, my colleague removes his shoes. This simple gesture acknowledges that mundane physical space can be transformed into sacred space through acts of sharing, connection, and vulnerability.
Imagine if we all removed our shoes whenever we felt that one of our students, children, friends, loved ones, or colleagues had either spoken or acted with kedusha (holiness). If we took this idea seriously many of us might end up spending most of the day in our socks-- not a terrible prospect! Surely it would deepen our appreciation of the immeasurable enrichment that exists when sharing our lives with others.
Recently I received an email from a parent. Another colleague had asked this parent to reflect on the question of diversity at a Jewish day school. The question was prompted by the recognition that many prospective parents question whether Jewish day schools can have true diversity and prepare children to live in our blessedly diverse world. Her response, which I quote below, left me contemplating my socks:
On the subject of diversity: every child is unique! This uniqueness is not established by skin color, religious beliefs or by clothing, but by what comes from inside them. Originally this was something that was said to me regarding uniforms. How can the kids express who they are if they all dress the same? Realizing that kids at Davis learn how to express themselves by words and actions, and cannot depend on an article of clothing to do so was very enlightening! Most people/children seek out others like themselves when forming relationships. At Davis, my children have found friends that are like them because of similarities in personality, not the fact that they are the same in a sea of external differences or diversity... If anyone is hesitant [to send their children to Davis] because of diversity or focus on religion, I would say then that is exactly why they should send their children. Where diversity is something the children create from within, without losing what connects them to each other, it prepares them for whatever challenges- academic or social- they may eventually encounter.
Each of us is daily inundated with emails, phone calls, and conversations; we're participants in an endless social process. Hopefully amidst the ever flowing current of communication that washes over us, we can all pause to acknowledge the moments when we receive something truly special and holy. Attuning ourselves to these daily glimpses of sacred light might even make our favorite pair of shoes last a little longer.
Shabbat Shalom!
Monday, January 2, 2012
10 New Year's Resolutions for Jewish Ed
"Arriving at one goal is the starting point to another."
- John Dewey
1. In 2012 I will model authentic learning for my students by learning alongside them.
2. In 2012 I will do my best to treat the questions, ideas, and insights of my students with the respect they deserve.
3. In 2012 I will open my heart to receiving feedback from students, parents, colleagues, and supervisors.
4. In 2012 I will demand of myself that I go the extra step(s) helping my students and peers mature and grow.
5. In 2012 I will break down the walls of my classroom so that the outside world can infiltrate with the hopes that my classroom will then transform the outside world.
6. In 2012 I will partner with students, parents, and fellow educators in a covenant of learning with the individual student at the center.
7. In 2012 I will champion the cause of Jewish education by demanding that Jewish studies be relevant, inspiring, nourishing, engaging, and joyful.
8. In 2012 I will sing, laugh, play, dance, and chill with my students.
9. In 2012 I will view the Jewish holidays through new eyes and with renewed energy.
10. In 2012 I will bring the fullness of my humanity into my work as a Jewish educator so that I might be more fully human (loving, caring, aware, thoughtful, passionate, intentional, reflective, kind) through my work as a Jewish educator.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Chanukkah: The Educator's Holiday
Chanukkah is an educator's holiday. How so? It's been noted many times that the Hebrew word "Chanukkah" is derived from the same Hebrew "root" as the word for education: "Chinuch" (apologies for the abysmal transliteration). The three letter Hebrew shoresh of chet-- nun-- chaf has a double meaning: "dedication" and "education." Here are a couple of ways that Jewish educators might make the link between dedication and education in honor of Chanukkah.
1. Facilitate a conversation with our students by asking them "Why do we dedicate so much time and energy to studying Hebrew and Judaism?" While it's a simple question many of us will agree with the simple truth that many of our students haven't actually thought this one through. For those of us who are meshugah l'davar for Jewish education, the answers to this question might be so obvious that we've skipped the critical step of having the conversation with our students. "I don't know" isn't an acceptable answer to the question of: "Why do we dedicate ourselves to studying Hebrew?" Every student should be able to answer this question authentically and compellingly. Moreover, their answers should mature as they grow into their Jewish identities. If we fail to make this an explicit conversation with our students then we run the risk of having students who don't ever confront the importance of their Judaic and Hebraic education and end up going through the motions without understanding why.
2. Let's facilitate the same conversation with our colleagues and fellow educators. While it might seem unnecessary, it can be invigorating for a group of educators to revisit the basic conversation of motives and aims in our teaching. Why do we have a burning passion for teaching Hebrew? Why have we spent years training to be a Jewish educator? Why are we living out our teaching careers at Jewish schools even if we're teaching general studies rather than Jewish studies? Hearing what inspires others to dedicate their lives to Jewish education strengthen our ties with our colleagues. It's a safe way of moving beyond the small talk that often fills the pockets of our days. Also, we may have colleagues who honestly don't have compelling answers to this question, or may be looking for new ways of expressing long held commitments. Like our students, some of our colleagues may not have had the chance to really reflect on their commitment to Jewish education. Many of us work in schools that have a wide spectrum of Jewish knowledge and observance. Engaging our diverse faculty in the conversation can be truly educational and promote synergy among the faculty.
3. Go for gelt. At our weekly Jewish and Hebrew studies department meeting today we stumbled upon the fact that each of the educators at the table had a different explanation of where the tradition of Chanukkah gelt comes from. We laughed as we shared our varying interpretations. Rather than pretending that we knew the absolutely correct answer to what seemed like a simple question, we got on the computer and did some research. Laughing, we realized that, to a certain extent, we were all correct. What I'm calling "going for gelt" refers to the fact that, in spite of the many years of accumulated wisdom and knowledge at the table, there's always the possibility of learning something new. It's a wonderful feeling to be thrust into a place of uncertainty. It is great to realize that "I don't know" can lead to new knowledge. Everyone at the table today felt comfortable exploring the gelt question together. It was a simple reminder that learning is fun and that being a part of a learning community is rich and rewarding.
So there you have it. My 1/2 shekel on some of the many possible intersections of dedication and education that Chanukkah begs us to consider as Jewish educators.
Chag Sameach!
1. Facilitate a conversation with our students by asking them "Why do we dedicate so much time and energy to studying Hebrew and Judaism?" While it's a simple question many of us will agree with the simple truth that many of our students haven't actually thought this one through. For those of us who are meshugah l'davar for Jewish education, the answers to this question might be so obvious that we've skipped the critical step of having the conversation with our students. "I don't know" isn't an acceptable answer to the question of: "Why do we dedicate ourselves to studying Hebrew?" Every student should be able to answer this question authentically and compellingly. Moreover, their answers should mature as they grow into their Jewish identities. If we fail to make this an explicit conversation with our students then we run the risk of having students who don't ever confront the importance of their Judaic and Hebraic education and end up going through the motions without understanding why.
2. Let's facilitate the same conversation with our colleagues and fellow educators. While it might seem unnecessary, it can be invigorating for a group of educators to revisit the basic conversation of motives and aims in our teaching. Why do we have a burning passion for teaching Hebrew? Why have we spent years training to be a Jewish educator? Why are we living out our teaching careers at Jewish schools even if we're teaching general studies rather than Jewish studies? Hearing what inspires others to dedicate their lives to Jewish education strengthen our ties with our colleagues. It's a safe way of moving beyond the small talk that often fills the pockets of our days. Also, we may have colleagues who honestly don't have compelling answers to this question, or may be looking for new ways of expressing long held commitments. Like our students, some of our colleagues may not have had the chance to really reflect on their commitment to Jewish education. Many of us work in schools that have a wide spectrum of Jewish knowledge and observance. Engaging our diverse faculty in the conversation can be truly educational and promote synergy among the faculty.
3. Go for gelt. At our weekly Jewish and Hebrew studies department meeting today we stumbled upon the fact that each of the educators at the table had a different explanation of where the tradition of Chanukkah gelt comes from. We laughed as we shared our varying interpretations. Rather than pretending that we knew the absolutely correct answer to what seemed like a simple question, we got on the computer and did some research. Laughing, we realized that, to a certain extent, we were all correct. What I'm calling "going for gelt" refers to the fact that, in spite of the many years of accumulated wisdom and knowledge at the table, there's always the possibility of learning something new. It's a wonderful feeling to be thrust into a place of uncertainty. It is great to realize that "I don't know" can lead to new knowledge. Everyone at the table today felt comfortable exploring the gelt question together. It was a simple reminder that learning is fun and that being a part of a learning community is rich and rewarding.
So there you have it. My 1/2 shekel on some of the many possible intersections of dedication and education that Chanukkah begs us to consider as Jewish educators.
Chag Sameach!
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
The Maker and the Finder
I recently "found" a book that's been on my bookshelf for years but that I've never "made" time to read. Forty pages into Richard Rorty's, Contingency, irony, and solidarity, my only regret is that I didn't read it years ago when I purchased it. I'm consoled by the profound joy of reading it now. As I read I carry with me the wonderful memory of studying with Rorty as an undergraduate. I can vividly picture his always purple button down shirt (worn to each class) and can hear the sound of change jingling in his pocket-- an unconscious habit that contrasted humorously with his intensely brilliant lecturing. This book is one of those books that, by the time I'm done with it, will be mostly highlighted. This means one of two things: 1) I don't know how to highlight or, 2) it's absolutely brilliant. Among the many highlighted passages there's one that stands out to me at this exact moment as I think about the nature of liberal Judaism in the world today.
In describing Nietzche's contribution to a postmodern understanding of the contingency of selfhood, Rorty writes, "They [certain philosophers that Rorty praises] accept Nietzche's identification of the strong poet, the maker, as humanity's hero-- rather than the scientist, who is traditionally pictured as a finder" (Rorty, 1989, p. 24).
The maker categorically rejects the temptation to inherit. She resists the temptation to define herself using someone else's language. She refuses to copy, to adopt, and to conform. She'd rather be a misunderstood or failed metaphor than an already dead metaphor. Novelty is her aspiration, redefinition and redescription are her aims. She strives, she smashes idols, and is relentless in her pursuit of new language to describe her selfhood and her place in the world. Unavailable to her are all previous attempts at articulating meaning-- religion, philosophy, theology, metaphysics, science. If it's been done then it cannot be made, only remade, remixed, reiterated. The maker's task is to do something new.
The finder seeks patterns, looks for evidence that will help evolve theory into law. She isn't necessarily a metaphysician, priest, or positivist, but she isn't emphatically opposed to the idea of inherited wisdom. She remains open to the possibility that meaning is "out there" and that wisdom can be sought, heard, and integrated into the tapestry of her life.
If liberal Judaism and Judaism generally is to survive then we need both makers and finders.
Judaism is fairly comfortable with finders. Our tradition teaches, hafoch bah d'chuleh bah ("turn the Torah over and over for everything is within it). Clearly the finder's orientation sits comfortably within the paramaters of the Jewish hermeneutical tradition. When it comes to makers Judaism is decidedly more ambivalent, even antagonistic. Hadash asur min ha-Torah ("innovation is prohibited by the Torah")-- a famous teaching of the Chatam Sofer (18th-19th century rabbi) the 18th-19th conveys this antagonism. Given Judaism's enduring commitment to Torah and the rich traditions associated with Jewish history and practice, the question of how to embrace "makers" is both sincere and significant.
The most obvious way of incorporating makers into the Jewish story is to point out that they've always been there. The three Moses'-- Moshe Rabbenu, Moses Maimonides (Rambam), and Moses Mendelssohn (the great Enlightenment philosopher) come to mind. More recently, the work of Jewish feminists such as Rachel Adler also come to mind, as does the work of GLBT oriented rabbis like Rabbi Josh Lesser of Congregation Bet Haverim in Atlanta, GA (where I live and work). I'd like to think that the album of original Jewish music I'm currently recording and producing is an example of "making." In other words, there's no shortage of "makers" in the context of Jewish history.
Another way of thinking about the role of "making" in Judaism stems from the traditional idea of Midrash. Midrash comes from the Hebrew root doresh which means "to seek." Finding and making are two different and complimentary ways of seeking, of doing midrash. The finders task is analytical-- she scrutinizes, reviews, deciphers, and unpacks. The makers task is constructive-- building, innovating, and creating. The finder uses a microscope and the maker uses a telescope. The finder understands that interpretation is a never ending process. The maker understands that vision and novelty are the guarantors that the Jewish future is even more vibrant than the past.
There's much more that could be said about makers and finders. We'll leave it here for now with the intent of returning to explore the dialectical relationship with fresh eyes sometime in the future.
In describing Nietzche's contribution to a postmodern understanding of the contingency of selfhood, Rorty writes, "They [certain philosophers that Rorty praises] accept Nietzche's identification of the strong poet, the maker, as humanity's hero-- rather than the scientist, who is traditionally pictured as a finder" (Rorty, 1989, p. 24).
The maker categorically rejects the temptation to inherit. She resists the temptation to define herself using someone else's language. She refuses to copy, to adopt, and to conform. She'd rather be a misunderstood or failed metaphor than an already dead metaphor. Novelty is her aspiration, redefinition and redescription are her aims. She strives, she smashes idols, and is relentless in her pursuit of new language to describe her selfhood and her place in the world. Unavailable to her are all previous attempts at articulating meaning-- religion, philosophy, theology, metaphysics, science. If it's been done then it cannot be made, only remade, remixed, reiterated. The maker's task is to do something new.
The finder seeks patterns, looks for evidence that will help evolve theory into law. She isn't necessarily a metaphysician, priest, or positivist, but she isn't emphatically opposed to the idea of inherited wisdom. She remains open to the possibility that meaning is "out there" and that wisdom can be sought, heard, and integrated into the tapestry of her life.
If liberal Judaism and Judaism generally is to survive then we need both makers and finders.
Judaism is fairly comfortable with finders. Our tradition teaches, hafoch bah d'chuleh bah ("turn the Torah over and over for everything is within it). Clearly the finder's orientation sits comfortably within the paramaters of the Jewish hermeneutical tradition. When it comes to makers Judaism is decidedly more ambivalent, even antagonistic. Hadash asur min ha-Torah ("innovation is prohibited by the Torah")-- a famous teaching of the Chatam Sofer (18th-19th century rabbi) the 18th-19th conveys this antagonism. Given Judaism's enduring commitment to Torah and the rich traditions associated with Jewish history and practice, the question of how to embrace "makers" is both sincere and significant.
The most obvious way of incorporating makers into the Jewish story is to point out that they've always been there. The three Moses'-- Moshe Rabbenu, Moses Maimonides (Rambam), and Moses Mendelssohn (the great Enlightenment philosopher) come to mind. More recently, the work of Jewish feminists such as Rachel Adler also come to mind, as does the work of GLBT oriented rabbis like Rabbi Josh Lesser of Congregation Bet Haverim in Atlanta, GA (where I live and work). I'd like to think that the album of original Jewish music I'm currently recording and producing is an example of "making." In other words, there's no shortage of "makers" in the context of Jewish history.
Another way of thinking about the role of "making" in Judaism stems from the traditional idea of Midrash. Midrash comes from the Hebrew root doresh which means "to seek." Finding and making are two different and complimentary ways of seeking, of doing midrash. The finders task is analytical-- she scrutinizes, reviews, deciphers, and unpacks. The makers task is constructive-- building, innovating, and creating. The finder uses a microscope and the maker uses a telescope. The finder understands that interpretation is a never ending process. The maker understands that vision and novelty are the guarantors that the Jewish future is even more vibrant than the past.
There's much more that could be said about makers and finders. We'll leave it here for now with the intent of returning to explore the dialectical relationship with fresh eyes sometime in the future.
Science Fiction Torah
"'Is it possible for me to understand?'
'Oh, yes. Many could understand it. What people do with understanding is a different matter.'
'Will you teach me what to do?'
'You already know.'"
-Frank Herbert, God Emperor of Dune
As a side note I must recommend the first four books of the Dune series to anyone who is even remotely what one might call a "sci-fi" buff. Of course if you read any science fiction then you already know what I'm talking about. For the uninitiated, there's nothing quite like reading Dune. The fourth book, which is quoted above, has as its protagonist (possibly villian, I'm not quite done reading it) none other than (a/the) God. I'm sitting here trying to think of any books besides Dune and the Bible for which this is the case. Forget science fiction, if you're interested in religion, theology, or philosophy it's a must read.
I'm not going to bother trying to contextualize the passage from the book. Instead, I want to appropriate it, as it's a useful frame for thinking about education in general and Jewish education in particular.
1. "Is it possible for me to understand?" The last thing I want to do is strip Judaism of its nuances, complexities, paradoxes, and mystery. At the same time, more of us need to embrace the Deuteronomic concept of lo bashamayim hee (lit: "it is not in heavens..."). Judaism is a here and now faith. It's a religion of "whatcha gonna do next." It's a "what are you waiting for" way of living each day. Judaism is all about empowerment. There's no limit to how much you can learn or how masterful your command of tradition can be-- and that's empowering. At the same time, there's a lot you can do with even the slightest motivation-- this too is empowering. And while there's a lot of levels of understanding it is emphatically, undeniably, 100% possible to understand.
2. "What people do with understanding is a different matter." The Hebrew word for understanding is havanah. The Hebrew word for intention is cavanah. While these words sound the same, and are transliterated into English using many of the same letters beware-- they are in fact different concepts. Havanah and canavah are not always mutually reinforcing concepts. There are many things that many people understand. However our actions are more less likely to be driven by our havanah than our cavanah. Understanding is critically important, especially given our unique nature as rational beings. But cavanah will always play a more fundamental role in determining how we live each moment. As Jews we are committed to havanah and cavanah. Let us pray for the wisdom to unite these two ways of knowing so that we may live lives of purposeful conduct.
3. "Will you teach me what to do?" There's a lot of wisdom floating around out there about the nature of education and how learning occurs. One area of profound consensus is that the openness to learning and the hunger to learn are preconditions for meaningful and transformative development to occur. As educators our role is twofold in this regard: 1) to kindle, or at least keep alive, the innate flame within every person that yearns to know, understand, learn and grow, and 2) to honor the student who comes to us with this question. If we can rise to the occasion of this question guiding our students beyond what they currently can do to that which they are capable of doing with our care, guidance, and teaching, then we're doing sacred work.
4. "You already know." While learning is about journeying into foreign lands, both literally and metaphorically, it's also about coming home. The wisdom we encounter in the world around us often resides within us as well. Creation is our mirror, showing us something that we can grasp because we are a part of it, and it is already within us, or least the capacity to grasp is already within us. While our students will surely grow weary if the response to every earnest question is "You already know" they will more quickly learn to draw on the vast resources that constitute their innate humanity if we lovingly throw the ball back into their court every now and again.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Cultivating a Spiritual Life
Lately I've been thinking and reading about spiritual growth. I've been thinking about it primarily in the context of my work as a Jewish educator with a focus on early adolescent spiritual growth. Thus far my thinking has been all about questions. What do people mean (what do I mean) by spiritual growth? What exactly is it that does the growing or developing? How does the spirit develop? Does the spirit develop in ways that can be assessed, studied, and replicated? What sociocultural "tools" (in the Marxist/Vygotskian/ Geertzian sense of the term) promote spiritual growth? What role do educators play in promoting spiritual growth for early adolescents? How can educators be most efficacious in terms of promoting spiritual growth for early adolescents? What kinds of educative experiences impact the spiritual lives of early adolescents? What milieus in the Jewish world today are most well-suited to support adolescent spiritual development? What specifically Jewish cultural tools can be resources for promoting spiritual growth in adolescents (i.e. tefilah, Hebrew language, Torah study, Israel experiences, summer camp, Jewish day school education, synagogues, youth groups, tikkun olam projects)?
Obviously I'm starting from the assumption that spiritual development is important-- for children, adolescents, and adults. I'm also assuming that spirituality is something that can be learned, transmitted, and acquired and that adults (educators in particular) have a responsibility to support and challenge young people to grow spiritually and not only cognitively, emotionally, and physically. In terms of Judaism I'm assuming that spiritual growth is part of living a vibrant Jewish life-- that is to say that Judaism condones and values spirituality and that spirituality can be achieved within the cultural framework of Judaism (as opposed to arguing that spirituality and religiosity are somehow at odds with one another).
I know that there are lots of great people out there who are working on the question of adolescent spirituality both within and beyond the Jewish community. I also know that a better understanding of this issue would help educators (would help me ) feel like I could assess whether my efforts and those of my colleagues are on the right track in terms of promoting spiritual growth for the young people that I have the honor and joy of educating in my capacity as a teacher and rabbi. If you've read this far and can think of people I should reach out to, please share their contact information or encourage them to reach out to mlapidus@davisacademy.org.
Obviously I'm starting from the assumption that spiritual development is important-- for children, adolescents, and adults. I'm also assuming that spirituality is something that can be learned, transmitted, and acquired and that adults (educators in particular) have a responsibility to support and challenge young people to grow spiritually and not only cognitively, emotionally, and physically. In terms of Judaism I'm assuming that spiritual growth is part of living a vibrant Jewish life-- that is to say that Judaism condones and values spirituality and that spirituality can be achieved within the cultural framework of Judaism (as opposed to arguing that spirituality and religiosity are somehow at odds with one another).
I know that there are lots of great people out there who are working on the question of adolescent spirituality both within and beyond the Jewish community. I also know that a better understanding of this issue would help educators (would help me ) feel like I could assess whether my efforts and those of my colleagues are on the right track in terms of promoting spiritual growth for the young people that I have the honor and joy of educating in my capacity as a teacher and rabbi. If you've read this far and can think of people I should reach out to, please share their contact information or encourage them to reach out to mlapidus@davisacademy.org.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Proust and Talmud
"How different they were! And neither told a lie. This was a marvel, that two souls, two such separated tonalities, so to speak, could between them describe the true map of life."
- Cynthia Ozick, The Cannibal Galaxy
I'm reading two books right now. One's a mystery/thriller called Christine Falls by Benjamin Black. The other is The Cannibal Galaxy by Cynthia Ozick. Sometimes I'm in the mood for Black, sometimes Ozick. Sometimes I'm in no mood for reading at all!
Every so often, when reading multiple books at the same time, an amazing thing happens. The two authors enter into a kind of dialogue with one another. Black meets Ozick for a cup of coffee. Of course this imagined cup of coffee doesn't take place in a local coffee shop, but rather in my mind: the mind of the reader. I'm fairly certain that Black doesn't actually know Ozick. More than likely I'm the first person in human history to be reading these two books simultaneously. The juxtaposition is even more unlikely because it's totally random and unplanned. It's no great feat, but it is interesting: different authors, different genres, different decades... And yet, somehow, Black and Ozick are in dialogue with one another because of me.
Lately I've been pondering the concept of "integration." In reading The Cannibal Galaxy, I stumbled upon an insight that resonates with me: if you put two thoughtful individuals in a room, each will have something to say to the other. Meaningful and transformative dialogue can occur without anyone compromising their own unique point of view or surrendering their subjective "truth." That's the realization that Joseph Brill, the protagonist of Ozick's book, uncovers.
Brill is a young man hiding from the Nazis in the basement of a Parisian convent. Surrounded by Christian and secular books, he passes his time by reading. For Brill, reading fills the void left by the deportation of his entire family. Clearly traumatized and alone, Brill eventually musters up the courage to turn to the one Jewish book that, by happenstance, he has brought with him: the Talmud, tractate Ta'anit. He opens to a random page, reads a random rabbinic tale, and then sets the Talmud down. For no apparent reason he then picks up a random book, written by Marcel Proust, opens to a random page, and reads a random section. As he reflects on his reading he remarks to himself: "How different they were! And neither told a lie. This was a marvel, that two souls, two such separated tonalities, so to speak, could between them describe the true map of life."
Integration is a process. It's the process of creating a meaningful dialogue between two different forms of knowledge. The process of integration can take place internally or in a social context. Integration can be the result of careful planning and deliberate curricular decisions, or it can emerge from the normal juxtapositions and tensions that exist from living in a complex and interconnected world as symbolized by Black and Ozick/ Talmud and Proust.
In the case of Joseph Brill, the integration of Talmud and Proust, was an integration that resulted in synthesis. For Brill, Talmud and Proust, though speaking in different "tonalities" played complimentary roles in helping Brill to further define the "true map of life." During a period of profound personal trauma, the awareness of an integrative possibility transforms Brill's mental and emotional reality.
But integration needn't always be smooth. The dialogue between different ideas can affirm difference and incompatibility as well as commonality and reconciliation. Black and Ozick might be a marriage made in heaven or oil and water. The process of integration doesn't dictate a certain outcome. Instead, habituation to the process of integration creates a cognitive and spiritual space that allows for the possibility of meaningful connections and juxtapositions.
As I've indicated elsewhere, integration is a paradigmatic human experience. It's a process that promotes spiritual and emotional health as well as intellectual creativity. The more accustomed we are to integrating different ideas, experiences, and other forms of "input," the more likely we are to figure out how the pieces of our or world fit together to form a "true map of life."
As educators we can model the process of integration by habituating ourselves to creating coffee dates where "separated tonalities" can engage with one another through the process of integration. Whether the outcome is compatibility or difference we can be transparent about our integrating by sharing with our students and colleagues. If students see us, not as transmitters of content (sage on the stage) but as more mature learners (guide on the side), then they will be inclined to emulate and eventually internalize the processes of integration. If we want our students to be critical thinkers, imagineers, creators, and connection makers, then we need to show them how.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
8.2 Unsubstantiated Claims (and three questions) about the Meaning and Scope of "Integration" in Jewish and Non-denominational Educational Settings
Welcome! If you've made it past the unfortunate title of this post, then there's something wrong with you: you care. Caring is SO 1990!! Caring means responding, it means engaging in dialogue. It means lovingly denying the premise of the argument. It means sharing your thoughts with me or someone you like more.
Which brings me to the premise (AKA unsubstantiated claim #1):
(1) "Integration" is NOT about making cross curricular references between otherwise discrete and alienated academic disciplines. If that's the essence/ big idea of integration then "lame" on us!
(2) Integration is a noun and not a verb. It's not content specific. It's actually a "process" (really a series of processes).
(3) Integration is a series of processes that reflects a deep and natural human yearning: to be whole. The precondition for integration-- the thing that makes integration a necessary process-- is the fact that our world is fragmented and broken. The fact that teachers who share walls don't share goals is but one dim reflection of the shattered world which we are blessed to inhabit. Sadly it's not our biggest problem.
(4) God has many names: Truth, Good, Beauty, Love, Endlessness, Dwelling... Another name for God is "One." God is Indivisible Unity. God is Perfect and Seamless Integration. God is Process.
(5) The Divine image that resides within every human being remembers the experience of Oneness that we once self-consciously enjoyed (and still CAN enjoy) but more often than not fail to affirm. Healthy individuals integrate all the time and even have moments of joyful affirmation. Spiritually unhealthy individuals need to be guided back to an understanding of how to integrate. Healthy and unhealthy aren't meant to be judgments. I'm sorry that they sound like judgments and would love better vocab.
(6) Children know how to integrate IN SPITE of adults. Maybe it's because they're closer to the initial experience of Oneness. Maybe it's because they're children (but that would be a "tot"-ology). If we think that children are unable to integrate then we need to evaluate the conditions that we've imposed upon them that undermine this natural human process. I'm arguing that these conditions are generally unconscious, deeply embedded, and invariably lamentable and arbitrary.
(7) Two critical areas where the process of integration radically transforms social and educational experience (and therefore makes the world more integrated, whole, and healthy):
Home/School-- There is nothing more powerful than the integration of these two institutions. Nothing should be easier. Happens all the time right? Go figure.
Learning/Living-- The places where we learn and the places where we live (i.e. act, interact, impact) need to integrate. The school bell should never actually ring. Learning should be learning, learning should be living, living should be learning, living should be living, and this sentence should stop.
(8) Integration undermines the rigidity of roles and strips away the illusions that perpetuate the compartmentalization, departmentalization, Procrustian Bed-itization, Not In My Back Yard-itization, of the human experience. Teachers are students, students are teachers. We're all in this together. Kumbaya.
Three Questions:
If you've made it this far then let's ask:
(1) What identity markers am I so tied to that I can't experience the transcendent/grounded fullness of being a radically integrating, processing, striving, embracing creature of God?
(2) Why aren't more hugs initiated and received on any given day?
(3) Why do I say hello to some people I pass on the street and not others?
Sincerely,
Micah
Which brings me to the premise (AKA unsubstantiated claim #1):
(1) "Integration" is NOT about making cross curricular references between otherwise discrete and alienated academic disciplines. If that's the essence/ big idea of integration then "lame" on us!
(2) Integration is a noun and not a verb. It's not content specific. It's actually a "process" (really a series of processes).
(3) Integration is a series of processes that reflects a deep and natural human yearning: to be whole. The precondition for integration-- the thing that makes integration a necessary process-- is the fact that our world is fragmented and broken. The fact that teachers who share walls don't share goals is but one dim reflection of the shattered world which we are blessed to inhabit. Sadly it's not our biggest problem.
(4) God has many names: Truth, Good, Beauty, Love, Endlessness, Dwelling... Another name for God is "One." God is Indivisible Unity. God is Perfect and Seamless Integration. God is Process.
(5) The Divine image that resides within every human being remembers the experience of Oneness that we once self-consciously enjoyed (and still CAN enjoy) but more often than not fail to affirm. Healthy individuals integrate all the time and even have moments of joyful affirmation. Spiritually unhealthy individuals need to be guided back to an understanding of how to integrate. Healthy and unhealthy aren't meant to be judgments. I'm sorry that they sound like judgments and would love better vocab.
(6) Children know how to integrate IN SPITE of adults. Maybe it's because they're closer to the initial experience of Oneness. Maybe it's because they're children (but that would be a "tot"-ology). If we think that children are unable to integrate then we need to evaluate the conditions that we've imposed upon them that undermine this natural human process. I'm arguing that these conditions are generally unconscious, deeply embedded, and invariably lamentable and arbitrary.
(7) Two critical areas where the process of integration radically transforms social and educational experience (and therefore makes the world more integrated, whole, and healthy):
Home/School-- There is nothing more powerful than the integration of these two institutions. Nothing should be easier. Happens all the time right? Go figure.
Learning/Living-- The places where we learn and the places where we live (i.e. act, interact, impact) need to integrate. The school bell should never actually ring. Learning should be learning, learning should be living, living should be learning, living should be living, and this sentence should stop.
(8) Integration undermines the rigidity of roles and strips away the illusions that perpetuate the compartmentalization, departmentalization, Procrustian Bed-itization, Not In My Back Yard-itization, of the human experience. Teachers are students, students are teachers. We're all in this together. Kumbaya.
Three Questions:
If you've made it this far then let's ask:
(1) What identity markers am I so tied to that I can't experience the transcendent/grounded fullness of being a radically integrating, processing, striving, embracing creature of God?
(2) Why aren't more hugs initiated and received on any given day?
(3) Why do I say hello to some people I pass on the street and not others?
Sincerely,
Micah
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
4 Things Every Jewish Educator Can and Should Do
I've been reading a lot of educational philosophy: Dewey, Vygotsky, Bruner, and Noddings, to name a few (and how is that for name dropping!).
I've also been reading a lot of Jewish educational philosophy: Twersky, Rosenak, Fox, Meyer... (now you're really salivating!).
There's a spectrum of responses that people have when they find themselves doing this kind of reading for, say, a class in Jewish educational philosophy. At one end of the spectrum is fear, anxiety, boredom, and even anger. At the other end of the spectrum is the highlighter toting, read-two-lines and have to look something up, I love this stuff response. That's me. I love this stuff.
But rather than trying to infect you with my love of educational philosophy, I find myself wanting to jot down some notes on the age old topic: The Joy of Learning. So here's an utterly incomplete, philosophically irrelevant, mundane list of things Jewish educators can do that make kids love being Jewish and learning about Judaism. I'd love for folks to post comments and add ideas to the list.
1. Give them challah and grape juice. I've never met a gluten-tolerant Jew that didn't love challah and grape juice. When we break out the challah and juice at The Davis Academy, as we do each Friday, the energy is amazing. There's smiling and sharing, singing and blessing. Invariably kids are asking for more.
Now one might argue that sharing challah and juice isn't education. Wrong! Partaking in this simple ritual teaches countless lessons in a very profound way: community, fellowship, connection to Jewish history and tradition, the sweetness of Shabbat and others. Reciting blessings (in Hebrew, no less) is probably the most beautiful expression of theology there is. I firmly believe that if all we did at The Davis Academy was share challah and juice (and light candles) every Friday, we'd still be strengthening the Jewish future.
2. Ask big questions and have deep conversations. It's amazing what happens when you put a question box in a 2nd grade classroom. Explain to the kids that they can ask any question in the universe (as long as it's appropriate) and within a week even the wisest rabbi or educator will be stumped. Kids love to ask big questions and have deep conversations. The amazing thing is they do it without caffeine or existential angst. If all kids remember from their time at Jewish school is that they got to ask outrageous questions and have deep conversations with one another and an educator who actually took them seriously, dayeinu.
3. Tell stories. Stories are the bread and butter of Jewish tradition. While Halakhah (Jewish Law) has undoubtedly played a critical role in preserving Jewish identity through the ages, I'd argue that stories are even more important. Stories transmit the values and teachings we hold dearest. They introduce us to the heroes (and villains) that came before us. They remind us that there's magic in the mundane. They also remind us that we too have stories-- family stories, personal stories, fictional stories-- that only we can tell. Also, kids of all ages (and adults) love a good story. Throw in a floor rug, some bean bag chairs, and a few props, and kids will literally sit at your feet and give you their undivided attention.
4. Make them read Dewey's Democracy and Education, 1916 (and write a massive book report). During the summer.
5. Connect Judaism to life. Kids are inundated with information. News, sitcoms, music, movies, social media. It's constant. Kids are amazed when they learn that Judaism has something to say about the National Debt or when they realize that Jewish values are being taught through The Simpsons. They're intrigued when they discover biblical references in popular songs. We all know this. We also know that Judaism is a vast and dynamic body of wisdom that relates to virtually everything. When we make these connections eventually our students start to make them for themselves. Once this happens our students are engaging Jewishly no matter where they are or what they're doing.
I've also been reading a lot of Jewish educational philosophy: Twersky, Rosenak, Fox, Meyer... (now you're really salivating!).
There's a spectrum of responses that people have when they find themselves doing this kind of reading for, say, a class in Jewish educational philosophy. At one end of the spectrum is fear, anxiety, boredom, and even anger. At the other end of the spectrum is the highlighter toting, read-two-lines and have to look something up, I love this stuff response. That's me. I love this stuff.
But rather than trying to infect you with my love of educational philosophy, I find myself wanting to jot down some notes on the age old topic: The Joy of Learning. So here's an utterly incomplete, philosophically irrelevant, mundane list of things Jewish educators can do that make kids love being Jewish and learning about Judaism. I'd love for folks to post comments and add ideas to the list.
1. Give them challah and grape juice. I've never met a gluten-tolerant Jew that didn't love challah and grape juice. When we break out the challah and juice at The Davis Academy, as we do each Friday, the energy is amazing. There's smiling and sharing, singing and blessing. Invariably kids are asking for more.
Now one might argue that sharing challah and juice isn't education. Wrong! Partaking in this simple ritual teaches countless lessons in a very profound way: community, fellowship, connection to Jewish history and tradition, the sweetness of Shabbat and others. Reciting blessings (in Hebrew, no less) is probably the most beautiful expression of theology there is. I firmly believe that if all we did at The Davis Academy was share challah and juice (and light candles) every Friday, we'd still be strengthening the Jewish future.
2. Ask big questions and have deep conversations. It's amazing what happens when you put a question box in a 2nd grade classroom. Explain to the kids that they can ask any question in the universe (as long as it's appropriate) and within a week even the wisest rabbi or educator will be stumped. Kids love to ask big questions and have deep conversations. The amazing thing is they do it without caffeine or existential angst. If all kids remember from their time at Jewish school is that they got to ask outrageous questions and have deep conversations with one another and an educator who actually took them seriously, dayeinu.
3. Tell stories. Stories are the bread and butter of Jewish tradition. While Halakhah (Jewish Law) has undoubtedly played a critical role in preserving Jewish identity through the ages, I'd argue that stories are even more important. Stories transmit the values and teachings we hold dearest. They introduce us to the heroes (and villains) that came before us. They remind us that there's magic in the mundane. They also remind us that we too have stories-- family stories, personal stories, fictional stories-- that only we can tell. Also, kids of all ages (and adults) love a good story. Throw in a floor rug, some bean bag chairs, and a few props, and kids will literally sit at your feet and give you their undivided attention.
5. Connect Judaism to life. Kids are inundated with information. News, sitcoms, music, movies, social media. It's constant. Kids are amazed when they learn that Judaism has something to say about the National Debt or when they realize that Jewish values are being taught through The Simpsons. They're intrigued when they discover biblical references in popular songs. We all know this. We also know that Judaism is a vast and dynamic body of wisdom that relates to virtually everything. When we make these connections eventually our students start to make them for themselves. Once this happens our students are engaging Jewishly no matter where they are or what they're doing.
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