"During
our conversation this morning, we both challenged the relevance of
"Jewish affiliation", which has been used in every Jewish demographic
study as a measure of community success in modern America. The problem
is, and has always been, that the operational definition of
"affiliation" is often "pays dues to a synagogue". Even those who expand
the definition someone, rarely get beyond handing money to an
organization (JCC, Federation, Hillel) as the operational definition."
He
explores several problems with using affiliation as a metric, including
leaving our serious Jews who are "not religious," those for whom
membership is of little if any value, and that it does not include
significant numbers of Jews who relate to their Jewishness
independently, including growing numbers who use social media to express
their Jewishness.
He (with a nod to Beth Finger)
suggests changing the metric to "Jewish Connectedness." He would like
Jewish sociologists to take into account the many ways of relating
meaningfully to being Jewish. He wants to find a way to include serious
Jewish paths that may not lead through a synagogue, federation or JCC.
He includes summer camping and independent minyanim as well as those
"who are doing Jewish in non-institutional spaces or in secular spaces,
Jews connecting online in meaningful ways
folks and who participate in Beth's Jewish Without Walls, in havurot
and in other groupings that are not (yet) dues-based groups."
I
think Arnie has the beginnings of an interesting framing of the
conversation that we have all been having for a while. And while those
who would overturn existing institutional frameworks might see this as
invitation Occupy Organized Judaism, I see it as a refreshing way to
begin talk about the apples and oranges in the same conversation. After
all, Apple Jews and Orange Jews are still all Jews!
I would press the idea a bit further:
How
can we in the synagogue world change the way we operate to increase the
CI - Connectedness Index - for each member family and individual?
While we in this world often do a lot to attract affiliation, we don't
always (or even often) do a good enough job of connecting them to other
adults in our congregations. We get them when they feel they need us
(religious school, nursery school, Bar/Bat Mitzvah) but we don't always
connect the adults in the family. So when the kids are ready to move on,
the adults do as well.
Using the CI as a way to
measure and improve what we do is as important as using it to find a
meaningful category for non-Congregational connecting.
I still like the word "affiliate" though. It makes me feel like we can
use it to affirm that we obeying Hillel's dictum not to separate
ourselves from the community.
Like Arnie, I am not the
statistician to figure out how to count these things in the larger
picture. I do know that in our synagogue and religious school, we have
begun to focus on connecting parents. Our room parents now focus on
getting parents together rather than doing the shopping or helping with
the seder. (See article on page 6 Torah at the Center).
I challenge you to share more ways of connecting the people who ARE
affiliated! Because we need to raise the CI of all of our people!
If you have been following this blog for a while you know that one of my favorite teachers is Seth Godin. I have never learned from him face to face. I began reading him in Fast Company Magazine. Then I read the Idea Virus and The Purple Cow. A few webinars, YouTube and some TED talks. And most recently Linchpin - which has helped me to crystallize a lot of my thoughts about synagogue education. And I follow his blog.This is what he posted today:
All you've got, all your brand has got, all any of us have are the memories and expectations and changes we've left with others.
It's so easy to get hung up on the itinerary, the features and the specs, but that's not real, it's actually pretty fuzzy stuff. The concrete impact of our lives and our work is the mark you make on other people. It might be a product you make or the way you look someone in the eye. It might be a powerful experience you have on a trip with your dad, or the way you keep a promise.
The experiences you create are the moments that define you. We'll miss you when you're gone, because we will always remember the mark you made on us.
There's a sign on most squash courts encouraging players to wear only sneakers with non-marking soles. I'm not sure there's such a thing. If you've going to do anything worthy, you're going to leave a mark.
Tonight the chairs of my religious school committee - Gayle Szuchman and Cindy Becker - gave a report to the board of our synagogue about the work of the committee. They were asked to do so because the committee has become a shining example of a group of people coming together around a shared vision and working to make it real. That vision is all about relationships.
We changed some of the focus of the committee from the classroom to the parents. We decided that the most important factor in determining whether a child grows up to be a Jewishly functionally literate adult connected to the community are his or her parents. And our focus is not initially on improving parents Jewish knowledge or even expanding the range of their Jewish practice. It has been on developing and deepening relationships between adults.
Our room parents no longer focus on who is bringing snack or shopping for the model Seder we no longer hold. Instead they have been charged with bringing the parents in their children's classrooms together. Teams of parents in the middle grades come together to create and implement relationship-building games among their children during school hours - getting the teams together is as important as the socialization among the kids. And the committee spent part of the summer identifying and reaching out to parents who were asked to step up and take a role in the life of our school.
They have spent this year creating experiences that have brought people together. Those folks have begun to develop relationships. They have become Facebook friends. And their kids are getting together too! I think Seth is right, worthwhile things we do leave a mark. And that is what this group is doing. And that mark is making people more connected to the synagogue, and valuing their membership in new ways.
How will you leave a mark? Please offer your suggestions or experiences. I am hoping we can all learn from one another!
I am currently in Tel Aviv at the final meeting of the Jim Joseph Foundation Fellows at the Lookstein Center for Jewish Education in the Diaspora at Bar Ilan University. Stuart Zweiter is the director of the Lookstein Center and coincidentally (to our being here) posted this observation to the Lookjed listServ (an e-mailed forum for Jewish Educators facilitated by Shalom Burger, director of the JJF Fellowship) on December 7. I think he asks some vital questions that I hope you will join me in discussing in the coming weeks. The original posting is archived here. You can reply there or here. I will copy comments here to the Lookjed list. If you would like to subscribe to Lookjed - and I recommend that you do, go to the on-line form at http://www.lookstein.org/register.htm.
This past Friday night Natan Scharansky told a few of us sitting around the Shabbat table with him that he had found in his travels to North American college campuses that Jewish students were uninformed as well as scared to speak up for Israel, scared that if they were to actively defend or speak positively about Israel it would impact negatively on their academic career as well as their future professional career.
This morning in a discussion I had with the head of a major Jewish Foundation I was told that during a visit she recently had at a very large Jewish high school, she found the students preparing for an internal school debate on the topic, Israel: Is it an apartheid state? In an informal discussion she had with several students at the same school, she was told by them that they love Israelis but do not like Israel.
This evening I read a piece in the JTA concerning the vote taking place this week at Princeton University on whether to ask the university's dining services to provide an alternative brand of hummus. Why? Because the current brand being offered is Sabra, which is half-owned by The Strauss Group, which has publicly supported the IDF and provides care packages and sports equipment to Israeli soldiers.
We all know of many similar examples. I am mentioning these because they all occurred in just the past few days.
This post is not an invitation to debate political issues related to Israel. Rather, we are very interested in learning how Jewish high schools and junior high schools of all stripes are educating their students regarding Israel. It seems particularly important during this period in which there is increasing de-legitimization of Israel. How much time do schools invest in this critical issue that all of their graduates will face on college campuses? Is it dealt with in a serious and systematic way through formal and informal educational programs? Where does it fit into your school program?
What does your school do? We are hoping that through the Lookjed list the Center can raise consciousness of and attentiveness to this issue and that the thousands of subscribers to the Lookjed list can learn about the different efforts and programs that are being implemented in schools.
This question, of course, touches on how we prioritize what is included in our school programs and how schools allocate and divide up the time that is available. That itself is an important question for reflection and deliberation by school principals and teachers. All schools make choices regarding what is in and what is out? Where does this issue fit in?
I just got back from a Confirmation class retreat for a synagogue school. I have been teaching off and on at this school for the past 5 years, but I wasn’t originally signed up to teach this year (I have little kids at home and wanted some extra time with them). About halfway through the year, however, the Confirmation class was going very poorly: the teacher was having such a hard time connecting with the class, the teens were not engaged or participating, the whole bit. So the principal asked me to come back and co-teach the class. When things had hit bottom, the school had held a class meeting – with parents and teens – where they all vented their frustrations and talked about what they thought it would take to make the class functional and a positive experience. The parents talked about positive experiences, not too much content, giving lots of time for the kids to socialize.
In short, they wanted a youth group.
The teens admitted that they were a large part of the problem. They weren’t trying, didn’t answer questions that were asked, and had largely checked out. Let us have more fun, they said, give us activities and games that will let us get to know each other. Don’t be too strict or go too heavy on the content and we’ll try to engage some more.
So in I came, armed with team-building activities, very light on the content, but high on the personal. We built cubes out of straws and did silent introductions. We talked about Jewish values, but not for more than 20 minutes at a stretch. And we muddled through – the class certainly wasn’t a raving success, but it wasn’t on the brink of anarchy either.We were stymied by the never ending series of dramatic weather that hit the mid-Atlantic and missed several weeks of school. I tried to continue the class bonding and conversations through a class wiki-page, but never managed to get more than half the parents or students to sign onto the site. I felt the same frustration as my co-teacher and my principal had felt all year: we’re giving them exactly what they wanted, and yet they’re still not engaging or participating.
Then two things happened to shine some light. First, as we were casually chatting before class one morning, one teen asked what we were going to do that day. “No more games, I hope!” chimed in another one. “Yeah, no more games! We already know each other and we are tired of the silly games!”
Tired of the games? Really?
Then the next week we took our teens on our annual Confirmation trip to Philadelphia. It’s not usually terribly high in content, but this year was lighter than most. Our tour guide was very nice, but talked about things the teens couldn’t relate to, and kept pointing out where things used to be (see that corner there? That used to be a Yiddish theater! And that store there? That used to be a café where radicals met.). We were debriefing on the bus back to D.C. and the teens were all saying the same thing: We didn’t learn anything. It wasn’t connected to Confirmation. We wish we could have gotten more out of the experience.
So last weekend we tried something new. We taught. We had such a tight lesson plan that we hardly gave the kids a break in the middle - - let alone the multiple breaks the parents had requested. We had the teens out teaching the younger grades about the Holocaust and encouraging them to come to that evening’s Yom Hashoah program. We used text, we challenged them to state their own beliefs and then we set them a challenging assignment to tackle: figuring out how to explain the Yom Hashoah program in a way that was compelling, interesting, and related to 7th or 8th graders.
It was the best class of the year.
Then came the Spring Retreat. I always dread this retreat, sure that it will fail miserably. We spend almost the entire weekend writing - - the teens do half a dozen introspective writings, both wrapping up the year and also writing the material that creates the Confirmation service. Despite my fears, it always seems to work – maybe it’s just school-like enough that the kids don’t fight back? – but I was sure that this time it wouldn’t. These kids couldn’t possibly handle the hours and hours of writing, the editing and critiquing to get their first drafts into things worth sharing with the congregation. And, to top it all off – we just load up the weekend off with content! We read and analyze the book of Ruth. We talk about the Reform movement’s statement of principles, about God, Torah, and evolution, we think about the purpose of Judaism in our lives.
And it worked. Beautifully. Absolutely beautifully. The teens engaged. They wrote. They thought. They shared and they processed. And in reading their writings, I see that many of them have really struggled with what their Judaism means to them - - but they are committing to have that struggle, something many couldn’t do at the beginning of the year.One teen in particular, who is an avowed atheist and came into the class not considering himself part of the Jewish community in anything other than an accident of birth, wrote a beautiful letter to his parents as one of his confirmation assignments. Dear Mom and Dad, he wrote (and I’m paraphrasing, but not much!), I did not want to go to Confirmation this year. I complained and argued, but you ignored me and sent me anyway. And I now understand why you did. I still don’t know what my place in Judaism is, but I now see the value in it. I understand the importance of Jewish values and I can commit to them. And I now understand the passage: v’shinantem l’vanecha – you shall teach them to your children. You have done that, and I will do the same for my children. Thank you.
What’s the moral of the story? I’m not sure. But I do think that there’s something to be learned here and I open it to this community to help me find the moral. Is it just that the class needed a fresh voice and a new approach? Was it really not as bad as it seemed? Were the parents (and the teens) just completely wrong on what they wanted? Was giving more content all of the solution? I look forward to your analysis, and for now, I’m just relieved that, for whatever reason, it worked!
This past fall many Jewish educators encountered a newish phenomenon. Some families in our religious schools were “taking a year off” from Religious School and in some cases synagogue membership. If these were families whose youngest child recently became Bar or Bat Mitzvah, we might wring our hands and say “Ri-i-i-ight. Taking the year off. We’ll look for you next fall.”
But most of these families in my synagogue and in those of colleagues who have told me they have encountered the same conversations have children who are much younger. They tend to be in Gan (K) through Kitah Gimel (3rd). In fact, our enrollment from Kitah Chet (8th) through Kitah Yud Bet (12th) is at an all time high. If pushed, some parents will say it is a temporary economic decision. They indicated the economic realities of the fall of 2010 and a belief that their child’s Jewish identity will not be irreparably damaged by a break in their studies. And they absolutely did not want to discuss financial aid – either they were too uncomfortable with the topic or they didn’t feel things were that bad. They promised to come back. And in some of the conversations I am beginning to have with these hiatus families, they are telling me that they are absolutely coming back. From their mouths…
Linchpin: Are You Indispensible?
I am nearly finished with a book call Linchpin by Seth Godin.[1] I am a Godin Junkie. I first met Seth’s work in the pages of Fast Company, another of my addictions. Both are from the world of business, not Jewish education. Both have taught me so many things about how to make Jewish education happen. I cannot recommend them enough. I could write ten articles about this book, beginning with how it was marketed. I am reading it with a small moleskine notebook next to me so I can take notes. Yes, it is that engaging.
At the heart of the book is a redefining of the American Dream: “Be remarkable. Be generous. Create Art. Make Judgment Calls. Connect people and ideas. And we will have no choice but to reward you.” He challenges the reader, regardless of your field, to be an artist, which he defines as “someone who changes everything, who makes dreams come true…someone who can see the reality of today and describe a better tomorrow…a linchpin.”
A linchpin. The pshat or plain meaning is the piece of metal that slides through the axle that keeps the wheel from falling off the wagon, or through the arm and the hitch to keep the trailer attached. It is a simple device yet it keeps things together and makes their proper function possible. Godin suggests that in our work, each of us needs to be a linchpin, someone who is indispensable to their company. Not a line worker or a rule follower, but an artist – someone who stretches possibilities to allow growth and change. He gives great examples.
Al Tifrosh Min Hatzibur - Do Not Separate Yourself From the Community
So why am I bringing this up while talking about the interrupted life of our students? I believe we need to do a better job of making the school and the synagogue (and the Jewish educator) linchpins in the lives of our families. I think that twenty years ago, no one would have considered “taking a year off.” That generation might have considered the financial ramifications when joining a synagogue. Once in, though, I am convinced that like their predecessors, they would not consider leaving – at least not before the youngest child’s Bar/Bat Mitzvah. I think that we have witnessed evidence of a paradigm shift in the mind of some of our parents. And because the synagogue is no longer a linchpin for some, they are making choices we have not seen before.
Much has been written about what needs to happen to make the synagogue and formal Jewish education more relevant. And some of it may be right on target. But before we go exploding all of our existing institutions, I have a thought. We need to be linchpins. By “we” I mean the synagogue, the school, the clergy, the directors of education/lifelong learning/early childhood/family education/programming/fill-in-the-blank, the teachers and the lay leadership.
In 1989 United Airlines ran a television commercial showing a conference room. “A manager announces they have just lost a major long-time client, one too many. It's time for a "face-to-face" policy, in other words, not just call the customer, but also meet him. He starts handing out plane tickets to the other employees...” [2]
They had the idea exactly right. We need to focus our energy on each adult, one family at a time. It’s not an easy task, given the size of some of our congregations. It is not a one-person job. I intend to become an evangelist, recruiting those who already feel that being a part of a congregation – learning, praying and coming together for ma’asim tovim (good works) and for fun – is not something to be weighed against other household expenses and youth activities. We need to get them join us in reaching out, one family at a time, and helping those families come to the same conclusion. We have to lose the model whereby the educator focuses on the children and that leads to families becoming more connected.
Put Your Own Mask On First…
Finally, I want to share the teaching of Harlene Winnick Appelman, the director of the Covenant Foundation. Harlene was one of the first winners of the Covenant Award, and was one of the first people to take the idea of family education and develop it into something more comprehensive than a special program on a Sunday morning. Her sessions at CAJE conferences were a must-attend for those who wanted to be on the cutting edge.
She reminded us of the safety speech that flight attendants used to give before takeoff (now it is usually on a video). They would say that in case of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks would drop from the ceiling. After instructing us how to put it on and start the flow of oxygen, they would tell us that passengers traveling with young children should put their own mask on first and then help their children. Harlene taught us what should have been (and should still be) obvious: If you put the child’s mask on first, we might not be able to breathe well enough to take care of ourselves. And what if our children need us after getting the mask on?
We need to get the parents to put on their Jewish learning and living masks. Otherwise we will have a generation of adults with the Jewish identity and connection of at best a thirteen year old. We need to get them to understand that they need to belong to a synagogue and send their children to religious school (or day school) because that is something that is vitally important to them. And we can only do that through personal relationships. We need to be artists.
