A Graduation Proclamation

OK, I admit it. I’m Scrooge.

For years, every June, I would listen to the “Graduation Kiddush” sponsors list announced in my synagogue. Family X, in honor of their son graduating pre-nursery. Family Y, in honor of their daughter graduating nursery. And so on, up through high school, college, and the occasional person who just passed the bar.

And I would just be irritated.

But not by the rattling off of the names, per se, or the lengthier announcements. Pay your $36 and you get to hear your name. That’s cool with me. And when they would get to the 8th grade graduations, I would even nod my head and give the congratulatory shul mumble. High school graduations, I would even say Mazel Tov. College graduation, hearty Mazel Tov. Grad school? Even heartier.

It was the nursery school “graduations” I had a problem with.

Yep, I’m Scrooge. Or old school, at least.

To be clear, I think early childhood education is critically important. The practical skills children learn, the social-emotional development, the understanding of how to be part of a group, and not least of all the self-esteem and joy they feel each day, are all wonderful. And in a Jewish context, they also get a love for Jewish life built on a foundation of both knowledge and emotional connection. I love that my daughter is off and running when I drop her off each day, ready to jump in to a world of play, friendships, and learning.

But I think words and terms have value, and I don’t like cheapening them. To me—and I think, to most people—graduation carries a special connotation, the idea of completing an education over a number of years, and building toward a higher goal that can only be achieved cumulatively. And it’s precisely because you have to work hard for it, stick it out, and keep the end goal in sight, even when it seems so far away you can barely see it, that it’s all the more worthwhile. Underlying that premise is that you’re old enough to understand all of that.

Which is why I was glad to see that my four-year-old daughter’s pre-nursery closing program last week was called just that—a closing program. Not graduation.

But her 3-year-old program the year before? She wore a graduation cap with a mortarboard. Made out of construction paper, but you get the idea.

And I was a proud papa at both programs, of course. (Especially when she took a bow and went down the slide at last year's; that's the moment of truth.)

But one day, when she’s older, I’ll sit her down and teach her that words have meaning, sometimes on multiple levels. Those meanings should be appreciated, even celebrated. And sometimes, they should be reserved for special, even exclusive, occasions.

Perhaps we’ll have that talk at her 8th grade graduation party.

And then afterward we’ll talk about why it’s called commencement.

From Camp To Kazakhstan to Central Park: The Strong Bond of Jewish Camping

As you can imagine, the days leading up to 9 weeks of camp (staff week plus eight weeks) are exciting and action packed. I am entering my 10th year as the director of the 40 year old Tikvah Program, which offers overnight camping opportunities for nearly 50 children and young adults with a wide range of special needs. Our winter office is based in Boston and the camp itself is in Palmer, Massachusetts; and I have the distinction of being the only year round staff member who doesn't work out of the camp office. For me, there is no period of “packing up the office and moving to Palmer.” So, when the office is in transition, my computer is still on and with me. And I receive many calls from Tikvah (and even non-Tikvah) families—seeking information from an actual person about bus departures, luggage tags, etc. But, for the most part, I am sitting at home, working hard to put the finishing touches on the Tikvah Program and the Inclusion Programs for Kayitz, 2010. It is crunch time!

This week alone, I met with our rosh edah, sent out Tikvah bunking, interviewed an out of state Tikvah family (at an NYC kosher bagel and pizza store!), spoke with counselors, a newspaper reporter and a funder, did tons of paper work, and wrote and answered hundreds of emails. You know it is countdown time when emails sent to my camp colleagues—the director, assistant director, programming director, bsiness manager and development director are routinely answered—even when sent at 11 pm!

Yet, sometimes the best way to prepare for camp is to take a break from camp!

Today, it is a hot, sunny day in Manhattan. After a few hours of doing camp work and staring out at the beautiful weather, I decided to get away from camp by getting on my bike and heading over to Central Park. The park is closed to car traffic starting at 10 am. So, at 11:30 or so, I put on my biking clothes, grabbed my helmet, pumped up my tires and hit the park. The “loop” is six miles, and the runner and biker lanes were packed with others who had the same idea. The park was packed with school kids having picnics, color wars and attending the marionette show. And there were readers, tennis players and sunbathers galore.

I was at peace, almost in a dream state, as I neared Tavern on the Green on the West Side, in the 60s. All of a sudden, I thought I saw a t-shirt, identical to one I have and actually wear quite often—a gray staff t-shirt with RAMAH in big orange letters on the front, and “Tzevet (Staff) 2008” on the back. But I was relaxed and pedaling 22 miles an hour. Couldn’t be. Why would a pedicab (bike cab) driver in Central Park in New York City be wearing a shirt from my camp?! My curiosity got the better of me. I slowed and stopped in front of the “cab” and asked the driver where he got the shirt. Well, “Ilya, the pedicab driver, was “Ilya the kitchen worker” two years ago at Camp Ramah in New England! “Where are you from?” I asked. “Kazakhstan,” he replied. He still eyed me a bit suspiciously. I asked, “Oh, you worked with Meital and Randy?” He smiled. I invited him to come visit. I reached in to my pouch and forked over the one piece of identification I had on me—my Camp Ramah in New England-Tikvah Director business card. “Call me if I can be of help,” I said. His smile got bigger. I got back on my bike and went back to dreaming—this time of bike rides, in just a few weeks, with my many camp friends—including my kitchen staff friends--to Quabbin Reservoir.

How to share news?

The "Sandwich Method" for sharing critical/potentially negative news is a simple concept of starting with the first layer of "bread".  Here one provides an initial positive remark, compliment, or other warm and fuzzy so as to set the stage and begin building the sandwich by showing that "feeding someone" is as much about the care being taken in the information's delivery as it is about the information itself.


The "meat" of the sandwich can then be shared.  This is often the negative feedback, constructive criticism, and/or critical information that often leaves the recipient a little taken aback by the impact of the information.  And then, finally, one closes the sandwich with a positive comment about the future, how the information may help someone grow, or general optimistic statement.


So why do I share this methodology on a Jewish education blog?  Well, besides the fact that we are most certainly a gastronomic faith, I actually believe that this sandwich method is a very Jewish and ancient method for sharing difficult news and can be observed in the events of this week's Torah portion.


It is this week, in Parashat Shelach (Numbers 13:1-15:41), where Moses sends out a group of representatives of all the Tribes to scout the land of Canaan.  What we know is that this group returns from their travels and they share terrifying information about the "giants" who live there.  These stories in turn cause panic and hysteria amongst the Children of Israel and ultimately brings about a punishment for this generation of never being able to enter the land.


Similarly, the consequences for the scouts is death... for all that is but Joshua and Caleb.  Why not these two?  Common understanding tells us that these two scouts did not share the negatives and fear-inducing stories of what they saw.  Rather, these two were optimists and wanted to only focus on the good.


My conjecture, however, is that these two were saved for the way they shared the information. Not because of what they actually said (or did not say).


In Numbers 13:27 we read that the scouts (the collective group) describe the land as "flowing with milk and honey" (laying the first piece of "bread") they then share the "meat" of what they saw which is a land with numerous enemies, "huge and fortified" cities, and even descendants of the giants (13:28).  Nobody suggests that they are embellishing their story, or worse outright lying!


No, what happens here is that for the majority of the scouts their report of what they saw ends on this note of fear and anxiety.  In fact, this scary focal point becomes the focus of what they go on to share with the other Hebrews in the encampment.  Not Caleb and Joshua however.  Their report continues and ends with the closing slice of bread.  For Caleb and Joshua there is still optimism and potential fulfillment of their destiny as we read in 13:30 where Caleb says, "We should go up at once, and possess it; for we are well able to overcome it."  So even with the fearful news of what they saw; even with this incredibly scary report, the fact is that what Caleb and Joshua know about what they could do still outweighed what they saw on their trail. They didn't want/try to leave anyone paralyzed by the news.


When it comes to sharing information, and as educators we share, recommend, advise, counsel, and talk to people all day long; it is wise for us to always keep the sandwich method in mind.  Remember, how one says something is just as important as what one says!