#jed21 on tutors, teachers and coaches

A day or three of tweeting while working! My friend Robin Faintich tweeted in response to my last blog posting about an article in the New York Jewish Week on tutoring. More friends joined in: Josh Barkin, Peter Eckstein, Ellen Dietrick and Ruth Abusch-Magder. I am amazed, but not surprised, by the level of dialogue that can occur in 140-character chunks. The conversation began Monday morning. As I write this it is almost noon on Wednesday and Jonathan Woocher just jumped into the pool. As my wife’s accounting professor at the University of Michigan, Chip Klemstein, once said, “It’s not the miracle of birth, but it is pretty cool!

I am posting the conversation to date below in order to continue it with you. I am also posting it as a comment to David Bryfman’s blog about the potential value of twitter in Jewish education. David has some very interesting things to say (and he mentions me-check it out mom!). Please continue the conversation with us here on twitter!

(The left hand column is the speaker, the name in the right hand column is the person to whom they are responding or directing their words.)

@rabbigurevitz	Tutoring vs.Religious School redux - Al tifrosh? http://bit.ly/5hWxwM #jed21
@rfaintich	@IraJWise Tutoring vs.Religious School ... isn't it our job to figure out how to integrate them? #jed21
@barkinj	@rfaintich It’s our job, but Ira's right: we need to be wary of something that is educationally and ideologically problematic. #jed21
@rfaintich	@barkinj one challenge is that I am not sure that @IraJWise would agree that RS is educationally problematic-if that's what you mean #jed21
@IraJWise	@rfaintich Absolutely. It is also our job to bring them in at the beginning, which means offering something compelling & meaningful. #jed21
@redmenace56	@rfaintich RS as it exists might B problematic, but not necessarily. methinks tutoring CAN be integrated w/out leaving community #jed21
@IraJWise	@rfaintich I don;t think it is. It can be. We don;t always get right. But we do more than we get get credit for. #jed21
@rfaintich	I am the product of the tutor/RS integration,i KNOW it is possible. Know of a great model in OC-Mindy Davids special. #jed21
@rfaintich	@IraJWise i agree that some, incl. you, do more than you get credit for... and in a paradigm that i believe is systemically broken. #jed21
@barkinj	@rfaintich No. I meant that Jewish education through tutoring is educationally problematic. #jed21
@rfaintich	@barkinj why? #jed21
@barkinj	@rfaintich Tutoring is fine for cognitive learning. Good Jewish education should also be affective, emotional, spiritual, communal. #jed21
@rfaintich	@barkinj you falsely assume tutoring can't also be affective, emotional & spiritual and then integrated into communal #jed21
@redmenace56	@rfaintich yeah makes sense but challenge is finding resources & institutional will 2 create programs that R NOT 1 size fits all #jed21
@redmenace56	@rfaintich like prev post re: teens, creating mix of tutoring & communal learning needs resources that many of us don't have (more) #jed21
@redmenace56	@rfaintich we want change & know it's doable, but when lay leaders won't provide resources we r stuck with taking very small steps #jed21
@redmenace56	@rfaintich & small steps R not always enough 2 hold funders, parents & kids attention, even though we try. need something big.#jed21
@redmenace56	@rfaintich big change perceived as dangerous-small may not b enough. risk not always positive thing in many funders/parents eyes. #jed21
@barkinj	@rfaintich An observation, not an assumption. I've never seen tutoring do those things. #jed21
@redmenace56	@rfaintich we need mechanism to filter the innovations and drive 4 change down from big centers to the periphery. #jed21
@barkinj	@rfaintich Tutoring is generally used for "training", which by definition is not affective, emotional, spiritual, community-oriented. #jed21
@IraJWise	@rfaintich Not that tutoring can't be those things, but a communal setting can make them richer and deeper! No student is an island. #jed21
@barkinj	@IraJWise @rfaintich Yeah, Ira said it better. #jed21
@rfaintich	@barkinj @IraJWise perhaps the problem is word/implication of "tutor" & not mentor, facilitator, role model, personal educator, etc #jed21
@ellen987	@rfaintich@barkinj @IraJWise On tutor discussion, I love the idea of Jewish life coaches instead of religious school teachers. #jed21
@rfaintich	@IraJWise my "tutor" is the one who brought me into Jewish camping & gave me a new community. I was in RS for judaics-she enhanced it #jed21
@IraJWise	AHA! So it was not JUST the tutor. Sounds like the kind of person we need doing lots of things. Not a Zero-sum game! #jed21
@lookstein	@rfaintich @irajwise @barkinj Abe Unger weighs in on the benefits of tutoring in the Jewish community in op-ed http://bit.ly/5M4csQ #jed21
@barkinj	@ellen987 Not sure what you mean by "life coach" in this context. #jed21
@barkinj	@ellen987 I call them "teachers", you call them "coaches." Good teachers know Jewish education is not about imparting info. #jed21
@ellen987	@barkinj I think there is a real difference between coach and teacher. Especially when you are inviting them into your home. #jed21
@ellen987	@barkinj By Jewish life coach I mean someone to help you figure out how to reach your family's goals for Jewish living and learning. #jed21
@barkinj	@ellen987 What if your family's goal is to have a bar mitzvah and then disengage from Jewish life? #jed21
@rabbiruth	What if the option is a tutor or nothing? that is quite common #jed21
@ellen987	@barkinj If your goal is to disengage aren't you going to do that even if your kid goes to RS? I'm talking people who want to engage. #jed21
@darimonline	@barkinj is it ever someone's REAL goal to disengage? Or an assumed path b/c lack of something compelling, inviting, worth change? #JED21
@rfaintich	@RabbiRuth I would say it is then the role of the "tutor" to try and bring the entire family into other entry points. #jed21
@barkinj	@DarimOnline You're right. Lots disengage because we don't offer anything engaging. But some disengage because that's what they want. #jed21
@barkinj	@ellen987 Religious schools need the disengagers (and their tuition/dues) to pay salaries, keep the lights on, etc. #jed21
@barkinj	@RabbiRuth Why? The vast majority could send their kids to relig. school. The people who choose tutoring usually do so as a choice. #jed21
@rfaintich	@barkinj @DarimOnline i think those who have chosen to disengage before they even see the product are those who are "in" out of guilt #jed21
@ellen987	@barkinj A coach working with entire family provides more avenues for engagement. Goal for enrolling kids in RS is not fundraising. #jed21
@redmenace56	@ellen987 ellen - i'd like 2 talk 2 U more abt this - i'm starting a lifecycle coach program @ my synagogue. how do we touch base? #jed21
@darimonline	@rfaintich @barkinj Can we re-cast the guilt paradigm? It's so not-compelling and will ultimately fail (is presently failing). #jed21
@barkinj	@ellen987 I totally agree. But too many congregations use BM as bait to get people in the door. #jed21
@IraJWise	@barkinj A bit cynical. For those only seeking BM, we meet a need. If we are good, we use their time here to help make more connects #jed21
@jwoocher	Need 2 real conversations w families: when they join, when BBM approaches. What will make this m'ningful 4 u? What must we do & u do? #Jed21
@barkinj	@IraJWise Yes. Playing the "cynic's advocate" here. But what would happen if all those BM-only folks left your school? #jed21
@IraJWise	@barkinj We would have to become a completely different kind of institution to afford serving those who want us the way we are. #jed21
@IraJWise	@barkinj And we still wouldn't reach those who left. #jed21

Conversation continues! Join in at #jed21.

If you don't understand how to follow a twitter hashtag (#jed21 is a hashtag!) go to Mashable's guide.

Here is the rest of the conversation:

@rfaintich @IraJWise what would you project would happen to your school if b/m were universally moved to 18 (or h.s. grad)? #jed21

@IraJWise @rfaintich Not sure. But you can't move it. People won't follow. That's how we got Confirmation in Reform. #jed21

@IraJWise Our conversation on tutors and schools through Josh's last post on line http://bit.ly/5RamqV #jed21 This is cool stuff!

@rfaintich @IraJWise if everyone agreed to move it (not like that will happen) then ppl choice - follow or nothing? #jed21 just hypothesizing

@lookstein thought of #edchat (see http://bit.ly/4Gt48i) when read @IraJWise compilation of tweets (http://bit.ly/5RamqV) maybe need jedchat 4 #jed21

@barkinj @rfaintich @IraJWise What are the implications of this conversation (tutoring) on the larger conversation about post BM dropout? #jed21

@barkinj @rfaintich @IraJWise My hypothesis: Schools that heavily integrate 1-on-1 tutoring have higher rate of post BM dropout. #jed21

@barkinj @rfaintich @IraJWise My reasoning: Maybe families/kids that don't heavily value community have less reason to stay after BM. #jed21

@rfaintich @barkinj one thought- does "drop out" only apply to weekly RS or the community/congregation on the macro? #jed21

@barkinj @rfaintich I say macro. Because I'm not so narrow-minded as to believe that RS is the only way to engage w Jewish education. ;) #jed21

@barkinj @rfaintich But even on the macro level, I would still make that hypothesis. #jed21

@rfaintich @barkinj going with the macro, if done well, I respectfully disagree with you #jed21

@barkinj @rfaintich "If done well" is a big if. My read of the trend (as described in JWeek story) is that it prob isn't usually done well. #jed21

@rfaintich @barkinj so let's find a way to fix it :) #jed21

@rfaintich @remilder or it means that part of the "tutors" job is to be a role model and work to bring them in to J community opportunities #jed21

@rfaintich article http://tinyurl.com/yfrzw36& quote "[judaism] is learning-based, not rite-based." based on discussion about b/m do we agree? #jed21

@barkinj @rfaintich Right. So do we try to improve tutoring (because it's a trend like it or not), or do we try to fix the underlying problem? #jed21

@rfaintich @barkinj i think it's more than a trend & is actually educationally sound (again if done right)...so I think we should improve it #jed21

@RabbiRuth I think that there is much that could be done to support organizations like Milestones in SF that make this work well #jed21

@FlorenceBernard Welcome To The Next Level: #jed21 on tutors, teachers and coaches http://bit.ly/6gTHhl

@rfaintich @jwoocher beyond what makes it meaningful is WHY are you engaging in this? What is motivating your choice for joining & for BBM? #jed21

Al tifrosh min hatzibur - Do Not Separate Yourself From The Community

This article was just published in the latest issue of the New York Jewish Week. I think the questions Jo Kay is struggling with cut to the core of one of the biggest challenges we face. BTW, I think Jo is one of the outstanding educators in our world.

How do we help people internalize Hillel's injunction - Al tifrosh min hatzibur - do not separate yourself from the community - in a world that is all about personalized service, and tending to individual needs?

I am less interested in how we think Jo should respond to the requests for private tutoring than I am in the question of how do better learn about people's needs, how do we meet them AND help them to be a part of our synagogue communities? I want my cake and I want to eat it! Thoughts?

Tutoring Trend Tests
Jewish Values

by Julie Wiener, Associate Editor

Several times a year, Jo Kay, the director of the New York campus of Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion’s education school, finds herself in a tricky position.

She has to decide how best to respond to unaffiliated families who — seeking an alternative to synagogue Hebrew schools — ask her if she can help them find a private tutor.

Kay ran Congregation Rodeph Sholom’s religious school on the Upper West Side immediately before assuming her current role, and her graduate school, a division of the Reform seminary, trains educators to work primarily in synagogues and day schools. A strong believer in Judaism as a communal, rather than do-it-yourself endeavor, she is not a big fan of home tutoring, even though she recognizes that many families have “extenuating circumstances” that make it necessary.

Nonetheless, due to her relationship with graduate students — many eager for extra part-time income — she’s seen as a source for tutor referrals. And, while she wishes the families who call her would instead find a place for themselves in a synagogue, she is reluctant to turn away anyone seeking a Jewish experience.

“The more families are turned away the less likely they are to connect ever,” she notes. “When I get a call from a family, I want to extend a hand, I don’t want to be just another person that they can say wasn’t interested in them.”

Kay, who hopes her tutoring students will inspire the families to get involved in congregational life, is hardly alone in her ambivalence about tutoring.

As seemingly growing numbers of families in New York and other major metropolitan areas eschew Hebrew schools for the convenience and intimacy of private tutors, many in the organized Jewish world — particularly those active in synagogues — worry that tutoring’s individualized approach, part of a larger trend in modern American culture, poses a threat not just to synagogues, but to the very ideals of Jewish community.

“There’s such a notion of privatization in the city,” observes Rabbi Felicia Sol of the Upper West Side’s Congregation B’nai Jeshurun. “We want to combat the notion that Judaism is all about hiring someone to meet my needs, on my schedule and not necessarily being as interested in the community at large. ... Jewish life has always been centered around the community.”

Yet at the same time, those who criticize tutoring recognize that part of the reason it remains attractive is because a number — though far from all — of Hebrew schools leave much to be desired.

And, like Kay, they understand that for many families the choice is not between Hebrew school and a tutor, but between a tutor and no Jewish education at all.

The most frequently leveled criticism against privatized Jewish education — whether with a one-on-one tutor or in a small group environment — is that it fails to teach about, or expose children to, the broader Jewish community.

Rabbi Laurie Phillips, director of education at Congregation Habonim, on the Upper West Side, likens Jewish studies tutoring to private sports lessons.

“You can learn to play soccer with a tutor, but it’s a different experience if you’re learning one-on-one versus being part of a soccer team. You’ll know how to play, but won’t know how to be part of a team.”

Jack Wertheimer, a Jewish history professor at the Jewish Theological Seminary and editor of “Learning and Community: Jewish Supplementary Schools in the Twenty-first Century” (Brandeis University Press, 2009) wonders “how well” private programs “can socialize young Jews to feel part of a congregation.

“One of the great advantages of Jewish children being educated in schools is that they are exposed to different types of Jewish role models,” he says. “They see the rabbi, they see their teachers, they see other adults engaged in Jewish living. The private route limits the exposure of young people.”

In addition to exposing children to congregational life and, ideally, instilling in them a sense of belonging to a community, Hebrew schools, unlike tutoring, offer students a chance to socialize with other Jewish children — including ones who come from different backgrounds.

While one-on-one tutoring, by definition, cannot expose students to Jewish diversity, even small groups of kids learning together with a private tutor — such as the model Rabbi Reuben Modek offers in his Rockland-based Hebrew Learning Circles program — tend to “end up with very homogenous groupings,” notes Saul Kaiserman, director of lifelong learning at the Upper East Side’s Temple Emanuel.

“When synagogues are doing their best work, you have public and private school kids from all over the city that are having to deal with their different backgrounds and different levels of observance,” he says.

Says Rabbi Sol: “We really believe that having relationships and experiences together, and growing up with the same group of kids, instills something in our children that ‘it’s not just all about me.’”

At B’nai Jeshurun even the bar/bat mitzvah ceremony — and, while an exception is made for special-needs children, privately tutored children cannot have a BJ rabbi officiate, nor can they have the ceremony on Shabbat morning or a community mincha —teaches about community, Rabbi Sol says.

“B’nai mitzvah don’t lead the whole service, because it’s not only about them. The ultimate expression of bar mitzvah is actually becoming a functioning participant in the community at large — not that everyone suspends their own spiritual needs to have a concert or performance by a 13-year-old kid.”

Even if Hebrew schools do a better job than tutoring when it comes to fostering community, some leaders believe that synagogues would do well to adapt some of the practices of private tutoring — such as offering students more flexibility, more options and one-on-one attention.

“The organized Jewish community should adapt this model within its institutions so people don’t have to seek it outside,” says Rabbi Kerry Olitzky, executive director of the Jewish Outreach Institute, which often gets calls from people seeking recommendations for a private tutor.

“If the goal is to provide Jewish education, then we should provide as many opportunities to get there as possible,” he says.

Some Hebrew schools offer some of these features, particularly opportunities for one-on-one attention.

Central Synagogue, one of the few Hebrew schools to employ full-time teachers, has a homework room, where children can go after class to receive extra help.

Scott Shay, who co-founded and helps run the Jewish Youth Connection, a Sunday school that is now sponsored by Kehillath Jeshurun, on the Upper East Side, says his program is a “hybrid” that provides the best of what Hebrew school and private tutoring have to offer.

All the JYC students spend part of Sunday morning working on Hebrew one-on-one with college students, called “big brothers and big sisters,” Shay says. The college students often check in on their charges during the week in order to see how they are managing their homework.

But the program also features regular classes, as well as parties and other group activities.

Where private tutoring wins hands-down, however, is convenience. With a teacher who comes to your home at a mutually convenient time, there is no commuting, no need to carve out one, two or even three afternoons a week — and for busy families struggling to balance an array of competing demands and activities, this is no small thing.

Nonetheless, argues Kaiserman, convenience isn’t everything.

“I suspect those parents wouldn’t have their kids study karate or ballet in their living room, but somehow manage to get them to class because they want a quality program, and value it.”

Hebrew schools, he says, need to offer high quality — to compete not only with tutors, but with “the marketplace of after-school activities.”

“We’re down the street from the [Metropolitan Museum of Art], so we have to offer something as good as an art class at the Met,” he adds.

And while “we try to make it not impossible or unbearable,” Kaiserman says, “I don’t think inconvenience is necessarily a negative. Jewish values, yeah, they’re inconvenient. That’s the whole point. If they weren’t we wouldn’t need to be learning about them.”

JYC’s Shay agrees that requiring a bit of effort from parents is not necessarily a bad thing.

“While for some tutoring is a good option, I think there’s tremendous value in the parent having to get up and bring the child to a place with other Jews and other parents and say ‘This is something we Jews do,’” Shay says. “As opposed to saying ‘Here’s Rabbi X who’s coming, and your piano teacher is coming an hour later.’”

Reports of the Hebrew School's Demise Have Been Greatly Exagerated

I have dedicated my professional life to supplementary, or complementary or afternoon Jewish Education. In other words, Hebrew School. I am committed to it be cause:

1. It worked for me and my friends. We all came through a wonderful experience at B'nai Jehoshua Beth Elohim in suburban Chicago, learning from Rabbi Mark Shapiro, educators Barbara Irlen, Bernice Waitsman and Marshall Wolf, and dozens of teachers including Sharon Steinhorn (arguably the first - and second - congregation based family educator ever), Sy Bierman, Sandee Holleb, Joan Goldberg and more than I can name right now. It led us to be campers at Olin Sang Ruby Union Institute, to participating in our Jr. and Sr. youth groups, to becoming camp staff and teachers, etc. over 25 of us grew up to go to HUC-JIR and become rabbis, cantors, educators and Jewish communal workers. Lots more became functional Jewish adults and leaders of our Jewish communities.
   
   
2. Something in the neighborhood of 85 - 90% of all Jewish children in North America will not be going to day school. Period. They need a place to learn about being Jewish and to love being Jewish. Waiting for Birthright is too little, too late. Summer camps are awesome, but it is extremely difficult to get the "unsynagogued" to go in many communities. (I know MIlwaukee is different! Please don't flame me from Eagle River you Interlaken folks!) Not much left of the non-Orthodox Zionist youth movements. I mourn Young Judaea's present state. I would like to back up the following statement with actual research (I recall it but can't cite, so therefore it is an opinion, not a fact): I believe that the majority of families with children in Hebrew schools would not choose to enroll their children in day schools if there was no tuition charged.
   
   The decision to enroll in day school or not is, I believe, based on much more than cost. Those who make the choice are either believers in the endeavor day school represents (a valid, meaningful choice), driven there by inadequate public options in their community (equally valid and meaningful, if unfortunate) or looking for something that a particular day school offers that they believe is more beneficial to their child(ren) than the public option (again, valid and meaningful). Cost does turn some away who would otherwise choose day school. I believe if it were free, most would continue to make the choice not to enroll in Day School, because the alternative is pleasing to them. It is not a last resort.
   
   
3. Finally, because I believe in Hebrew School, I have made it my life's wrok to make the experience as meaningful and impactful as I can. I owe it to those who helped me become who I am. I owe it to my sons. I owe it to my grandchildren who are merely dreams in my and my wife's heads (and not yet very vivid -- we have lot's of time!).

I believe Hebrew School can be great. Not for everyone. Certanily not for the kid whose parent says: "I hated it. You'll hate it. You gotta go." Fortunately, we don;t hear that much in our synagogue anymore. I think you can judge the strength of a school by how many B'nai Mitzvah keep coming. Nearly 70% of our B'nai Mitzvah become confirmed at the end of tenth grade. One or two of them choose not to continue to High School graduation. Fifteen years ago it was 29%. Our goal is 85%. We will get there. I don't think we are the best of the best or anywhere near alone. Some things become facts (like the failure of the supplemental school) just by repeating them loudly and frequently.

Why am I talking about this? My friend Robyn Faintich of the Florence Melton Communiteen High School (and fellow Jim Joseph Foundation Fellow at the Lookstein Institute) tweeted about the following blog from Benjamin Weiner on the Jewcy blog.

Jewcy is an online media outlet/blog, social network, and brand devoted to helping Jews and their peers expand the meaning of community by presenting a spectrum of voices, content, and discussion. JEWCY is a project of JDub Records, a non-profit organization dedicated to innovative Jewish content, community, and cross-cultural dialogue. Read it. Join the conversation.

Stop Blaming Hebrew School

by Benjamin Weiner,
January 7, 2010

My weekly unsolicited email from Shalom TV, "America's Jewish Television Cable Network," informs me that Michael Steinhardt, philanthropist provocateur, in a recent "rare, personal interview," launched into a tirade against non-Orthodox American Jewish education. Hebrew school, argued the hedge-fund tycoon and Taglit-BIrthright impressario, spitting the word out through clenched teeth (or so I imagine the scene), "has been, and continues to be, a shandah--an abysmal failure." In Steinhardt's estimation, the ineptitude of this warhorse of an educational model is responsible for skyrocketing rates of non-Orthodox intermarriage, and the plummeting percentage of Jewish philanthropic dollars actually going these days to Jewish causes. (He sets the figure at 15%). "Can there be a worse term in the American Jewish lexicon than 'Hebrew School?" he asks. "There were six kids in the 20th Century who liked it!"

I am still digesting the press release--the lack of a cable hookup means it will take me some effort to watch the actual interview. Other tidbits include Steinhardt inveighing against the use of "mythical" anti-Semitism as a "boogeyman" to "raise money" for Jewish organizations, and against an obsession with the Holocaust that hinders us from thinking "about what we want to accomplish and what we want to be in the 21st century." The "religion of Judaism," he says further, is "so deeply disappointing" in its "practice, its verbiage, its inability to reflect realistically upon our lives."

The only redemption he sees for the "moribund world" of the Diaspora is a relationship with Israel, "my Jewish miracle." He has no respect, mind you, for the political and business establishment of the country, which he described with adjectives such as "awful" and "less than glorious," and he does not seem to be in favor of living there all the time, either. "I have a wonderful house in the middle of Jerusalem," he says. "I love Israel. I love America. And," like Alec Baldwin in bed with Meryl Streep, "it's a complicated situation."

I admit again that I am only relying here on the sampling of quotes provided in the press release, so I don't feel justified launching a full critique of Steinhardt's performance. Instead, I'd like to focus on the first salvo, the oft repeated claim that synagogue Hebrew schools are responsible for the decline of the Jewish people--a claim that is more or less akin to stripping your parents' house of all viable woodwork, plumbing, and appliances and then wondering why they live in such a dump.

Firstly, it should be noted that Hebrew school has not been a failure, as it is largely responsible for the success of many who have spent time on the editorial board of Heeb, or in the Alpine fortress of Reboot, or the stables of the Foundation for Jewish Culture, or most likely, if you will pardon me, the inner sancta of Jewcy and JDub [Editor's note: I should just point out that I didn't go to Hebrew school, but several of my colleagues did].

Anyone who has jockeyed disaffection with the Jewish establishment into a successful career of personal expression on the American mass-media stage, including the Coen brothers (who, since "A Serious Man," I consider the patron saints of the genre), should reflect on the debt of gratitude he or she owes to this half-assed system of religio-ethno-cultural indoctrination. Things might have been far less interesting had the ingredients come out fully-baked.

But, snarkiness aside, the problem with blaming Hebrew School for the collapse of our millennia-old civilization is that such talk, to paraphrase Tevye, blames the cart for the inherent lameness of the horse; exonerates the many who fled the challenge of creating meaningful Jewish life for the sorry state of affairs they left behind, and ignores the implacability of the forces that made them flee in the first place.

For what created the supposition that two to six hours a week of afterschool guttarality could foment a firm commitment to the Jewish people? I don't think this paradigm was determined deliberately from the outset, by committee. At the turn of the last century, there were viable models of Jewish education, and there was a critical mass of Jewish community prepared to embody them. And then there was mass immigration, and genocide, and breakneck assimilation--from a flummoxed traditional culture into a post-War America that was primed with petroleum to give Jewish people the greatest thrill ride they had ever experienced in a Gentile world. And, at the end of the day, Hebrew School emerged because it was the best we were allowed to do. Speaking, gloves off, as a working rabbi and education director, trying hard to find ways to reflect the "verbiage" of the Jewish religion "realistically upon our lives," it is frustrating that, by consensus of the parents of my community, I can only educate their children for two hours a week with no homework, and that those hours come well after regular school hours, and that the expectations for behavior and attendance sometimes fall somewhere between a railway station and a monkey house--despite the fact that they are all, without exception, great kids. But this is roughly the extent of the concession that many American Jewish families are willing to make these days to their Jewish identities, and there should be a category of Nobel prize for whoever figures out how to put these parameters to the best use.

There is a lot of talk in circulation about "what we want to accomplish, and what we want to be in the 21st century;" what it will take to "get our groove back," whether that means summoning the "boogeyman," or replacing religion with spirituality, or pretending we're Jamaican, or humping each other at younger ages with fewer prophylactics, or giving "Jewish barbarians" (Steinhardt's term) free trips to an Israel whose only redeeming virtue seems to be that we only have to be there sporadically. Of course, it is the responsibility of those who care to come up with compelling answers to the question of why be Jewish. But these answers are getting shorter and shorter, and sounding more and more often like marketing slogans, and, at the end of the day, the lack of substance is less the fault of educators than it is the fault of Jewish consumers who don't want to buy, no matter how cheap the cost. Beyond that, it is the fault of history.

Things are complex...The End of the Exodus Era

This is from Daniel Gordis' regular e-mail of his blog, which also ran in the Jerusalem Post on New Year's Day. More of his work is available (and very worth reading) and comments can be posted at http://danielgordis.org/2010/01/02/the-end-of-the-exodus-era/. Jan 01, 2010 DANIEL GORDIS , THE JERUSALEM POST I no longer recall who told me to read Exodus when I was a kid. But I was transfixed by the book, and a few years later, when I saw the movie, I was enthralled. I probably saw it only once back then (this was long before VHS), but that was more than enough to form a lasting impression of Israel. As if it were lifted out of the Hanukka liturgy, Israel seemed a tale of the triumph of the weak over the mighty, the few over the many, the righteous over the wicked. It was a story imbued with moral clarity, a sense of purpose and mission. It was, quite simply, the Israel I deeply believed in before I ever saw it. Many years later, at the start of the decade now just ended, we'd moved to Israel. One day, two of our kids were home from school. The intifada was raging; they were young and confused, hurting and frightened. So I decided that renting Exoduswas just what they needed. But almost as soon as we started the film, I could tell that my planned educational moment had failed. They were bored silly by the movie, appalled by its primitive technology. The story line seemed saccharine, insipid. But even more damning, the movie didn't reflect the complexity of the conflict in which they were living. I made a feeble attempt to get them to stick with it, but to no avail. In truth, even I could scarcely bear the appalling lack of nuance. We didn't finish watching it; I mumbled some sort of apology for wasting their time, and returned the movie with no fanfare. IT'S BEEN years since I'd thought of that failed parenting moment, but it all came back with great clarity last week when I read of the death of Ike Aharonovitch, the captain of the Exodus. The ship's commander, Yossi Harel, had died a year or two earlier. Leon Uris, the novel's author, had died in 2003, and Paul Newman, who had played Ari Ben-Canaan in the movie version, passed away in 2008. Thus, with Ike's death, the Exodus era had ended. To my surprise, I found myself much sadder than I would have imagined. For if I grew up on Exodus, my kids have grown up on Munich and on Waltz with Bashir. I grew up with an idyllic, Ari-Ben-Canaan-like image of Israel, formed from afar. Our children, though, were raised here. And this decade-just-ended, in which they became adults, began with the second intifada, proceeded to the disengagement and then to the highly problematic Second Lebanon War, and is now ending with a Schalit stalemate, a looming Iran and unprecedented international condemnation of the very fighting force that Exodusunabashedly held in such high esteem. Ike's death is thus the perfect metaphor - his passing is a reminder that the world in which I was raised is almost totally gone. Our kids are busy these days. One's in law school and getting married, one's in the army and hardly ever awake on the days that he's home, and one's working on matriculation exams, thinking about what he'll do when he gets drafted. In many ways, they know a lot more than I do about this country; they're no longer inclined to set aside time for their father's carefully scripted educational moments. YET I'M actually tempted to try again. It will never happen, but I still imagine some moment, when for old times' sake, perhaps just to humor their aging parents, the kids sit down with us and watch Exodus. I'd tell them to cease the sniggering at the old-Hollywood-style love story, to try not to laugh at the images of the noble Arab in his robe and keffiyeh on the rear terrace of the King David Hotel, and to suspend their incessant political commentary on the obvious oversimplification of the conflict. Why bother? Because despite the oversimplification and the saccharine overdose, Exodusreminds us of a world that used to exist, but doesn't anymore. It's a reminder of the days when young American Jews instinctively knew that the story that was unfolding across the ocean in Israel was also theirs - something we can no longer take for granted. It brings us back to those days when American Jews, and their Israeli counterparts, knew that the story was complicated, but also knew, with every fiber of their being, that the Jewish future depended on Jewish sovereignty. It was an era when Jews across the world still believed in the possibility of genuine leadership, when Jewish masses could speak without embarrassment of the fundamental justice of our cause. Our kids, and most of their close friends, still believe those things. But they've learned that most people don't; in much of the world, those convictions are considered naïve, or worse. Exodus is a vestige of an era when the world was different. Moviemaking has changed, and so has the world. Because of that, peace and justice are more elusive now than they were then. LIKE OUR times, Ike Aharonovitch was complicated. Were it not for Harel, he probably would have gotten the ship sunk and its passengers killed. We, too, are prone to extremes. But his legacy matters because he believed in the Jews, in their still-emerging state and in the fundamental justice of their cause. None of us would write Leon Uris's novel today; but that's no excuse for having no story to tell. Ike's memory demands that we recapture the narrative - perhaps with more nuance, but with no apology for insisting on the fundamental justice of our cause. They won't watch the movie, though. So I'll say it to them here. We're in Ike's debt, and in the debt of his contemporaries. So, as a new decade dawns, our obligation to him is simple. Somehow, we have to find once again the courage and the fortitude to believe, and to bring to fruition the dream his generation lived and bequeathed to us all.

A New Civil Year

I am in a very strange place and time right now. It is Thursday, December 31 at 7:00 p.m. I am in Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv, waiting to board a plane scheduled to depart at 11:40 p.m. I will literally be in the air for the arrival of the New Year as it is welcomed from Jerusalem to somewhere in the Pacific. I am really missing the start of 2010. As my friend Leslie Coff's son would say: "Epic Fail."

The metaphors are almost overwhelming - at least as I sit alone in a airport with my cafe hafuch (gadol, chazak v'im dal shuman) - at the gateway to Eretz Yisrael. So please excuse a little sleep-deprived maudlin musing on the eve of the new year...

I am in the air between two realities, two homes. Audrey and I have had more serious conversations about the place Israel holds in our hearts and lives than at any time since the year we lived here. We celebrated our first wedding anniversary (that's me in front of the new Katy's - the new iteration of the restaurant where we celebrated that anniversary) in Jerusalem, during my first year of graduate school. It was an amazing time, even though Israel was in the second year of the first intifada. (Looking back, it was the mildest of conflicts in the last two decades, but it did not seem so at the time.)

The old arab-built house at the corner of Oliphant and Alcalay was were we became a family. Living on our own, far from either of our families or friends, we found a new way together. By the time we returned to the states (and headed out to the frontiers of Los Angeles) we had established our own rhythm as married people tend to do. We had gone from being you and me to being us. The smell of the jasmine bush in front of our Jerusalem home is still one of the strongest and most meaningful olfactory memories I have - right up there with Grandma Honey's latkes and Mom's London Broil (among many other choice dishes). I walked over to the old house after Shabbat last week - the hotel (Prima Royale, restored and very nice) is only three short blocks away - and picked some flowering Jasmine from the massive bush to bring home to Audrey (this is the fourth time I have brought some back).

Last spring, our oldest son spent a semester at Kibbutz Tzuba, outside Jerusalem with the Eisendrath International Exchange. It was some of the best money we ever spent. He had an amazing time, and we were just waiting for him to say "Let's go." I think we might have. He did come back committed and in love with Israel, but like us not ready pull the ripcord. He did write about it for his Confirmation last June.

Another up in the air aspect is New Year's Eve. In Israel it is referred to as Sylvester. For many years it was a non-issue in Israel, except in places where the rabbinate threatened (and followed through) to remove the Kashrut certification of any restaurant or hotel that held a Sylvester celebration. The Balashon blog explains why. In Tel Aviv tonight there are lots of events in restaurants that do not have Kosher certification. And I am told that Rabin Square is set up for several bands to perform. But it is not a big deal here. At all.

As I sit in the airport (boarding soon) with my Jim Joseph Fellowship friends, Harper and Audrey are getting ready to go to our friends' house. For the last ten years or so, we have spent New Year's eve with two other families, starting with dinner, and continuing through dinner on New Year's Day, when we celebrate Ethan's birthday. New Year's Rockin' Eve, chocolate martinis, board games, videos, lots of cooking and hanging out. It is fabulous. I am sad to miss it tonight. It is a seriously meaningful celebration for our families, although not celebrated with seiousness. It is strange not to be there.

So this rambles a bit. That happens when you are up in the air. I was excited to come to Israel eleven days ago. I was sad to leave my family. I am excited to go home and be with them in the morning. I am sad to leave Israel. Unlike every other time I have left Israel, I already know when I am coming back, as the fellowship returns to Bar Ilan next December.

My heart is in the east, and I in the uttermost west--
How can I find savor in food? How shall it be sweet to me?
How shall I render my vows and my bonds, while yet
Zion lieth beneath the fetter of Edom, and I in Arab chains?
A light thing would it seem to me to leave all the good things of Spain --
Seeing how precious in mine eyes to behold the dust of the desolate sanctuary.

Yehuda Halevi, writing in Spain c. 1141

Yeah, Yehuda. I get it.

Leading Like Lenny (or Riccardo, Richard, Herbert or Carlos)?

I am currently sitting in a classroom in the Jim Joseph Building on the Bar Ilan University campus in Ramat Gan. The beautiful new building is the new home of the school of education and the Lookstein Institute for Jewish Education in the Diaspora and the Jim Joseph Foundation Fellows Program. I have the honor of being chosen to be one of the fellows. What follows is a summary of an amazing session we had yesterday with Itay Talgam, an orchestra conductor who taught us about leadership written by my fellow fellow, nammie Ichilov:

Today was a great first day! Besides having an afternoon of listening to some great classical music, led by some of the world's best conductors, Itay Talgam (pictured above) presented on Leadership as Vision & Values through the multiple conducting styles of the various conductors.

Itay, who also served as an Assistant Conductor to Leonard Bernstein, shared with the group the importance of leading from a place of "higher consciousness" (known as "Transcendence" in Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs) which is actually beyond Maslow's original highest level of "Self-Actualization."

The whole afternoon really allowed the 11 of us (unfortunately 3 fellows were delayed because of the storm that hit the northeast on Saturday night) the opportunity to do some of our own critical thinking and self-reflection to see where we fall in the variety of leadership examples, as well as which leadership would work best in our respective Jewish educational arenas.

And if all of this was not enough, in the morning we were all invited to work on a Google Wave together to better understand how this Web 2.0 application can be used down the road...when this comes out for Beta testing this will change the way we currently communicate through instant messaging, etc. This is REAL TIME communication online?!?!

Anyway, that should be it for now, so have a great day, and stay tuned for Day 3 when we visit the Bar Kochba Caves (made of "mysterious limestone formations in the southern region of Israel. It was here that the Jews took refuge from the Romans, who persecuted them. In the year 132 C.E., the Jews planned and began their revolt against the repressive regime [from these caves].")

Thanks nammie!

A transcript of Itay's presentation is here:

Lead like the great conductors - Itay Talgam

The magical moment, the magical moment of conducting. Which is, you go on to a stage. There is an orchestra sitting. They are all, you know, warming up and doing stuff. And I go on the podium. You know, this little office of the conductor. Or rather a cubicle, an open-space cubicle, with a lot of space. And in front of all that noise, You do a very small gesture. Something like this, not very pomp, not very sophisticated, this. And suddenly, out of the chaos, order. Noise becomes music.

And this is fantastic. And it's so tempting to think that it's all about me. (Laughter) All those great people here, virtuosos, they make noise, they need me to do that. Not really. If it were that, I would just save you the talk, and teach you the gesture. So you could go out to the world and do this thing in whatever company or whatever you want, and you have perfect harmony. It doesn't work. Let's look at the first video. I hope you'll think it's a good example of harmony. And then speak a little bit about how it comes about.

(Music)

Was that nice? So that was a sort of a success. Now, who should we thank for the success? I mean, obviously the orchestra musicians playing beautifully, the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. They don't often even look at the conductor. Then you have the clapping audience, yeah, actually taking part in doing the music. You know Viennese audiences usually don't interfere with the music. This is the closest to an Oriental bellydancing feast that you will ever get in Vienna. (Laughter)

Unlike, for example Israel, where audiences cough all the time. You know, Arthur Rubinstein, the pianist, used to say that, "Anywhere in the world, people that have the flu, they go to the doctor. In Tel Aviv they come to my concerts." (Laughter) So that's a sort of a tradition. But Viennese audiences do not do that. Here they go out of their regular, just to be part of that, to become part of the orchestra, and that's great. You know, audiences like you, yeah, make the event.

But what about the conductor? What can you say the conductor was doing, actually? Um, he was happy. And I often show this to senior management. People get annoyed. "You come to work. How come you're so happy?" Something must be wrong there, yeah? But he's spreading happiness. And I think the happiness, the important thing is this happiness does not come from only his own story, and his joy of the music. The joy is about enabling other people's stories to be heard at the same time.

You have the story of the orchestra as a professional body. You have the story of the audience as a community. Yeah. You have the stories of the individuals in the orchestra and in the audience. And then you have other stories, unseen. People who build this wonderful concert hall. People who made those Stradivarius, Amati, all those beautiful instruments. And all those stories are being heard at the same time. This is the true experience of a live concert. That's a reason to go out of home. Yeah? And not all conductors do just that. Let's see somebody else, a great conductor, Riccardo Muti, please.

(Music)

Yeah, that was very short. But you could see it's a completely different figure. Right? He's awesome. He's so commanding. Yeah? So clear. Maybe a little bit over-clear. Can we have a little demonstration? Would you be my orchestra for a second? Can you sing, please, the first note of Don Giovanni? You have to sing "Aaaaaah," and I'll stop you. Okay? Ready?

Audience: ♫ Aaaaaaah ... ♫

Itay Talgam: Come on, with me. If you do it without me I feel even more redundant than I already feel. So please, wait for the conductor. Now look at me. "Aaaaaah," and I stop you. Let's go.

Audience: ♫ ... Aaaaaaaah ... ♫ (Laughter)

Itay Talgam: So we'll have a little chat later. (Laughter) But ... There is a vacancy for a ... But -- (Laughter) -- you could see that you could stop an orchestra with a finger. Now what does Riccardo Muti do? He does something like this ... (Laughter) And then -- sort of -- (Laughter) So not only the instruction is clear, but also the sanction, what will happen if you don't do what I tell you. (Laughter) So, does it work? Yes, it works -- to a certain point.

When Muti is asked, "Why do you conduct like this?" He says, "I'm responsible." Responsible in front of him. No he doesn't really mean Him. He means Mozart, which is -- (Laughter) -- like a third seat from the center. (Laughter) So he says, "If I'm -- (Applause) If I'm responsible for Mozart, this is going to be the only story to be told. It's Mozart as I, Riccardo Muti, understand it."

And you know what happened to Muti? Three years ago he got a letter signed by all 700 employees of La Scala, musical employees, I mean the musicians, saying, "You're a great conductor. We don't want to work with you. Please resign." (Laughter) "Why? Because you don't let us develop. You're using us as instruments, not as partners. And our joy of music, etc. etc. ..." So he had to resign. Isn't that nice? (Laughter) He's a nice guy. He's a really nice guy. Well, can you do it with less control, or with a different kind of control? Let's look at the next conductor, Richard Strauss.

(Music)

I'm afraid you'll get the feeling that I really picked on him because he's old. It's not true. When he was a young man, of about 30, he wrote what he called "The Ten Commandments for Conductors." The first one was: If you sweat by the end of the concert it means that you must have done something wrong. That's the first one. The fourth one you'll like better. It says: Never look at the trombones -- it only encourages them. (Laughter)

So, the whole idea is really to let it happen by itself. Do not interfere. But how does it happen? Did you see him turning pages in the score? Now, either he is senile, and doesn't remember his own music, because he wrote the music. Or he is actually transferring a very strong message to them, saying, "Come on guys. You have to play by the book. So it's not about my story. It's not about your story. It's only the execution of the written music, no interpretation." Interpretation is the real story of the performer. So, no, he doesn't want that. That's a different kind of control. Let's see another super-conductor, a German super-conductor, Herbert von Karajan, please.

(Music)

What's different? Did you see the eyes? Closed. Did you see the hands? Did you see this kind of movement? Let me conduct you. Twice. Once like a Muti, and you'll -- (Claps) -- clap, just once. And then like Karajan. Let's see what happens. Okay? Like Muti. You ready? Because Muti ... (Laughter) Okay? Ready? Let's do it.

Audience: (Claps)

Itay Talgam: Hmm ... again.

Audience: (Claps)

Itay Talgam: Good. Now like a Karajan. Since you're already trained, let me concentrate, close my eyes. Come, come.

Audience: (Claps) (Laughter)

Itay Talgam: Why not together? (Laughter) Because you didn't know when to play. Now I can tell you, even the Berlin Philharmonic doesn't know when to play. (Laughter) But I'll tell you how they do it. No cynicism. This is a German orchestra, yes? They look at Karajan. And then they look at each other. (Laughter) "Do you understand what this guy wants?" And after doing that, they really look at each other, and the first players of the orchestra lead the whole ensemble in playing together.

And when Karajan is asked about it He actually says, "Yes, the worst damage I can do to my orchestra is to give them a clear instruction. Because that would prevent the ensemble, the listening to each other that is needed for an orchestra." Now that's great. What about the eyes? Why are the eyes closed? There is a wonderful story about Karajan conducting in London. And he cues in a flute player like this. The guy has no idea what to do. (Laughter) "Maestro, with all due respect, when should I start?" What do you think Karajan's reply was? When should I start? Oh yeah. He says, "You start when you can't stand it anymore." (Laughter)

Meaning that you know you have no authority to change anything. It's my music. The real music is only in Karajan's head. And you have to guess my mind. So you are under tremendous pressure because I don't give you instruction, and yet, you have to guess my mind. So it's a different kind of, a very spiritual but yet, very firm control. Can we do it in another way? Of course we can. Let's go back to the first conductor we've seen: Carlos Kleiber, his name. Next video please.

(Music)

(Laughter) Yeah. Well, it is different. But isn't that controlling in the same way? No it's not. Because he is not telling them what to do. When he does this, it's not, "Take your Stradivarius and like Jimi Hendrix, smash it on the floor." It's not that. He says, "This is the gesture of the music. I'm opening a space for you to put in another layer of interpretation." That is another story.

But how does it really work together if it doesn't give them instructions? It's like being on a rollercoaster. Yeah? You're not really given any instructions. But the forces of the process itself keep you in place. That's what he does. The interesting thing is of course the rollercoaster does not really exist. It's not a physical thing. It's in the players heads.

And that's what make them into partners. You have the plan in your head. You know what to do, even though Kleiber is not conducting you. But here and there and that. You know what to do. And you become a partner building the rollercoaster, yeah, with sound, as you actually take the ride. This is very exciting for those players. They do need to go to a sanatorium for two weeks, later. (Laughter) It is very tiring. Yeah? But it's the best music making, like this.

But of course it's not only about motivation and giving them a lot of physical energy. You also have to be very professional. And look again at this, Kleiber. Can we have the next video, quickly? You'll see what happens when there is a mistake.

(Music) Again you see the beautiful body language. (Music) And now there is a trumpet player who does something not exactly the way it should be done. Go along with the video. Look. See, second time for the same player. (Laughter) And now the third time for the same player. (Laughter) "Wait for me after the concert. I have a short notice to give you." You know, when it's needed, the authority is there. It's very important. But authority is not enough to make people your partners.

Let's see the next video please. See what happens here. You might be surprised having seen Kleiber as such a hyperactive guy. He's conducting Mozart. (Music) The whole orchestra is playing. (Music) Now something else. (Music) See? He is there 100 percent, but not commanding, not telling what to do. Rather enjoying what the soloist is doing. (Music)

Another solo now. See what you can pick up from this. (Music) Look at the eyes. Okay. You see that? First of all, it's a kind of a compliment we all like to get. It's not feedback. It's an "Mmmm ..." Yeah, it comes from here. So that's a good thing. And the second thing is it's about actually being in control, but in a very special way. When Kleiber does -- did you see the eyes, going from here? (Singing) You know what happens? Gravitation is no more.

Kleiber not only creates a process, but also creates the conditions in the world in which this process takes place. So again, the oboe player is completely autonomous and therefore happy and proud of his work, and creative and all of that. And the level in which Kleiber is in control is in a different level. So control is no longer a zero-sum game. You have this control. You have this control. And all you put together, in partnership, brings about the best music. So Kleiber is about process. Kleiber is about conditions in the world.

But you need to have process and content to create the meaning. Lenny Bernstein, my own personal maestro since he was a great teacher, Lenny Bernstein always started from the meaning. Look at this please.

(Music)

Do you remember the face of Muti, at the beginning? Well he had a wonderful expression, but only one. (Laughter) Did you see Lenny's face? You know why? Because the meaning of the music is pain. And you're playing a painful sound. And you look at Lenny and he's suffering. But not in a way that you want to stop. It's suffering, like, enjoying himself in a Jewish way, as they say. (Laughter) But you can see the music on his face. You can see the baton left his hand. No more baton. Now it's about you, the player, telling the story. Now it's a reversed thing. You're telling the story. And you're telling the story. And even briefly, you become the storyteller to which the community, the whole community, listens to. And Bernstein enables that. Isn't that wonderful?

Now, if you are doing all the things we talked about, together, and maybe some others, you can get to this wonderful point of doing without doing. And for the last video, I think this is simply the best title. My friend Peter says, "If you love something, give it away." So, please.

(Music)

(Applause)