Development, Learning, and Community: Educating for Identity in Pluralistic Jewish High Schools 9781618110824

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Development, Learning, and Community Educating for Identity in Pluralistic Jewish High Schools

JUDA ISM A ND JEW ISH LIFE

Series Editor Simcha Fishbane, Touro College, New York Editorial Board: Geoffrey Alderman (University of Buckingham, Buckinham) Meir Bar-Ilan (Bar-Ilan University, Ramat Gan) Herbert Basser (Queen’s University, Kingston, Ontario) Donatella Ester Di Cesare (Universita La Sapienza, Rome) Roberta Rosenberg Farber (Yeshiva University, New York) Andreas Nachama (Touro College, Berlin) Ira Robinson (Concordia University, Montreal) Nissan Rubin (Bar-Ilan Unviersity, Ramat Gan) Susan Starr Sered (Suffolk University, Boston) Reeva Spector Simon (Yeshiva University, New York)

Development, Learning, and Community: Educating for Identity in Pluralistic Jewish High Schools

Jeffrey S. Kress

Boston 2012

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: A catalog record for this title is available from the Library of Congress.

Copyright © 2012 Academic Studies Press All rights reserved ISBN 978-1-936235-30-8 Book design by Ivan Grave Published by Academic Studies Press in 2012 28 Montfern Avenue Brighton, MA 02135, USA [email protected] www.academicstudiespress.com

CONTENTS

Preface

AN INFORMAL INDUCTION

. . . . . . . . . . . . . VII

Introduction

INSIDE THE SCHOOLS AND OUT  BACKGROUND AND METHODS . . . . . . . . . . . .

1

A HOLISTIC DEVELOPMENTAL APPROACH TO JEWISH EDUCATION . . . . . . . . . . . A Holistic Jewish Education . . . . . . . . . . Holistic Education and the Formal-Informal Divide Moving Ahead: Developmental Jewish Education . Identity and Development . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . .

. . . . .

. . . . .

. . . . .

11 15 20 28 30

Chapter 

SCHOOL SKETCHES . . . . . . . . . . . . “Like at Camp”: The Abraham School . . . . . “A Spiritual Fix”: The Isaac Academy . . . . . “A Laboratory for Pluralism” The Jacob Academy Comments on School Sketches . . . . . . . .

. . . . .

. . . . .

. . . . .

. . . . .

40 42 50 58 66

Chapter 

EDUCATING FOR JEWISH IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT Development, Discrepancy, and Experience . . . . . Dialogical Distancing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Self-Reflection as Distancing . . . . . . . . . . . . The Challenge of Developmental Continuity . . . . . Discontinuities of Relationships . . . . . . . . . . Discontinuities of Message . . . . . . . . . . . . Reflective Discontinuities and Integration . . . . . .

. . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . .

69 70 72 77 84 92 94 98

Chapter 

THE CHALLENGES OF DIVERSITY  BALANCING INDIVIDUALS, GROUPS, AND COMMUNITY . . . The Challenges of Pluralism in Action . . . . . . . The Whole and the Sum of Its Parts: Group Cohesion and Pluralism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Potential for Relativism . . . . . . . . . . . A Voice for All? Pluralism and Dimensions of Power .

Chapter 

 V 

. . . . .

. . . .

104 107

. . . . . .

114 119 124

CON T EN T SA ND COMMU NI T Y DE V ELOPMEN T, LE A R NI NG,

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

TOWARD A DISCOURSE OF JEWISH DEVELOPMENTAL EDUCATION . . . . . . . . . Setting the Stage for Jewish Developmental Education . A Safe Context for Emotional Experiences . . . . Relationships are Catalysts for Jewish Growth . . Peer Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . Student-Staff Relationships . . . . . . . . . Opportunities for Leadership Connect Participants with Experiences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . An Individualized Process Nurtures Schema Growth

131 136 137 139 140 141

.

145 149

LEADERSHIP ISSUES FOR JEWISH DEVELOPMENTAL EDUCATION . . . . . . . . . . Outcomes and Process in Jewish Developmental Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vision and Values in Action: Please Sweat the Small Stuff Staffing for Developmental Programming . . . . . CONCLUDING REMARKS . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Acknowledgments References

. . . . . .

155 155 165 167 172

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 184

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197

 VI 

A N INFOR M A L INDUC T ION

AN INFORMAL INDUCTION

PR EFACE

I

had been working at the William Davidson Graduate School of Jewish Education at the Jewish Theological Seminary (JTS) for about a month when the dean, Dr. Aryeh Davidson (no relation to the school’s benefactor) asked me to attend the semester kick-off reception for students, faculty, and staff. I fit into the latter category, hired to be Senior Research Associate with a mixed and somewhat ill-defined portfolio that included program evaluation, a limited course load, and some time to pursue my own research (the following year, I applied for and received a faculty placement). I felt like the new kid in the school, which was manifested by a mixture of excitement and apprehension: looking forward to the challenges of the new job but self-conscious about being a newcomer or outsider in the JTS community and as a Jewish educational researcher. I was not a stranger to the world of organized Judaism or to JTS. I attended Jewish schools until college, starting at a supplemental school,1 switching to an Orthodox day school2 in the fourth grade, and continuing until my graduation from an Orthodox

1

The term supplemental school refers to a program of Jewish education that is offered through various venues in addition to a secular education, generally during the afternoon after school and/or on Sunday. There is no single accepted term for such schools; other terms, generally used interchangeably, include religious school, Hebrew school, afternoon school, or synagogue school (though not all such programs are located in synagogues).

2

The term day school refers to private school settings that offer a dual program of Judaic and general studies.  VII 

PR EFAC E

high school. I attended summer camps and belonged to youth groups affiliated with various movements and denominations, ranging from nondenominational Zionist to Orthodox. The Conservative movement, however, became my base. I attended a Conservative synagogue throughout my youth and spent summers at Camp Ramah as a camper and then a staff member. Through Ramah, I developed a close group of Conservative-affiliated friends and even spent one semester studying part-time at JTS during my college years. My father-in-law, Rabbi William Lebeau, was a vice chancellor of JTS when I began working there. I knew enough about JTS to realize that I would be working alongside rabbis and professors who defined the Conservative movement. It seemed that although I was somewhat familiar with the movement, they were the movement. They were the esteemed teachers who gave guest lectures at Ramah and at Hillel while I was at college. Many had been at JTS for most, if not all, of their professional lives, starting as students. I had been working at a program run through the Community Mental Health Center of the University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey (UMDNJ) and prior to that had been a student in the clinical psychology program at Rutgers — The State University of New Jersey. I was going from the regimented world of being a state employee and student in a large state university, where all roles had officially designated job descriptions, and all actions were preceded by paperwork completed in triplicate, to a far lessstructured experience in a private, nonprofit institute of higher education. And my work related to Judaism was going from an occasional pursuit to becoming the core of my research and teaching. I had done some research, consultation, and staff training in Jewish educational institutions, but I had the feeling, borne out by future experiences, that my new world was so small that most everyone knew each other personally, not just by name and reputation. In contrast, I knew very few people personally and not that many more by name and reputation. I entered the kick-off reception feeling that I was expected to be at least somewhat expert in Jewish educational research (after all, I was hired as Senior Research Associate) but knowing that my experience and expertise were primarily drawn from a very different context. To play it safe, I rehearsed ahead of time a few lines about my interests, and how I saw these interests informing my work at JTS, to use when I introduced myself. I planned to describe my prior work, providing in-service training in social and emotional learning and creating learning environments, which would promote student outcomes in areas such as self-awareness,  VIII 

A N INFOR M A L INDUC T ION

self-control, empathy, communication skills, problem solving, decision making, and conflict resolution. I would describe the connections I saw between this past work and the goals of Jewish educators related to intraand interpersonal outcomes: derekh eretz,3 menschlekheit,4 Jewish identity, and so forth. I was at JTS, I would conclude, to pursue a line of research that connects the goals of Jewish education with best practices in promoting psychosocial outcomes in educational settings. I was fairly confident that this response would provide more than enough of an introduction and that I could deliver it in a short and compelling way so that others would remain interested. I was not worried about follow-up questions to my brief description. Having worked conducting professional development seminars, I was accustomed to responding on the fly and thought that I had heard all the tough questions already. I was not ready for a question that was asked several times that evening upon finishing my short spiel: “Do you do this work in formal or informal education settings?” I found this to be a difficult question to answer, primarily because I did not recall encountering the terms formal and informal education in my experience to this point. I responded by using my clinical skills to fish around for some clues (while still trying to hang on to the senior researcher status). “Well,” they would continue, “does your work deal with schools or with places such as camps and youth groups?” Ah, suddenly some clarity. I was being asked about the type(s) of setting to which my work was relevant. However, this did not readily lend itself to a response either. After all, I had done research and consulting around social and emotional learning that was relevant to or took place in day schools, supplemental schools, camps, and youth groups. It was not clear why I was being asked to choose a side, as it were. To me, I was starting with a theory and a set of associated practices related to both a set of outcomes for Jewish youth and the environmental characteristics (including educator practice) that could help foster these outcomes. Certainly, the application context would change the actualization of these theories and practices, but it seemed to me that this would be the case even within one category of educational setting. At UMDNJ, I had consulted with and trained educators in public schools in both the poorest and wealthiest school districts in New 3

Literally, the way of the land, this phrase is used to describe “proper” behavior in the interpersonal realm.

4

Literally, being a man, this phrase is used across genders to describe being a good — moral, ethical, etc. — person.  IX 

PR EFAC E

Jersey, in after-school programs, and in private special-needs placements. The ideas played out differently in such diverse contexts, but there never seemed to be an implication that the approach was meant for one type of setting or another. Why couldn’t well-supported theories and practices of youth development apply to a variety of settings? Was that moment transformational? I do not think so, though I have told the story often when asked about my interest in blending formal and informal educational models, the topic of this book. I consider it a milepost, a particularly memorable moment along a pathway, rather than as a transition point. Of course, that pathway only exists in retrospect, paved by various decisions and events leading up to that milepost, as well as others afterward that provided me the opportunity to think about that milepost in relation to the broader context of the pathway as a whole. Without the mile markers, there are no pathways; without the pathway, the mile markers have no meaning. I say this not as a digression but rather because it illustrates an element of the ideas I will discuss in this book. My pathway, in this case with regard to my career, was paved through connections among experiences that were afforded to me and that I sought out. I connect these experiences in describing the pathway to where I stand now. That moment — the reception at JTS — had important elements that might have added to its prominence as a mile marker: I was in a heightened affective state; the moment took place in interaction and, in particular, with the initiation into a community; and it called on me to be reflective about my self-definition and to articulate it in a way that made sense to others. And it is consistent with, if not intentionally linked to, experiences that followed it. As part of the staff of the small, newly formed Davidson School, I had the opportunity to participate in the dean’s “kitchen cabinet,” which met regularly to discuss school policy and vision. At the time, the school had a well-developed concentration aimed at preparing teachers to work in day school classrooms. Dean Davidson was interested in expanding offerings for students interested in working in other venues, particularly supplemental schools and informal/communal settings such as camps and youth groups. How did I end up getting tasked with developing, and eventually becoming a coordinator of, what would become known as the Informal/Communal Education (ICE) concentration? First, we were a small group, and I was the only one with room in my portfolio to take it on (and perhaps, as the new guy, it was hard for me to say “no”). Second, I believe that Dean Davidson recognized — well before I did — the overlap of my work in social

A N INFOR M A L INDUC T ION

and emotional learning and the theories and approaches that characterize informal Jewish education. Developing this program provided many opportunities to think about what informal Jewish education was all about, to read the theories written about the topic, to become familiar with the contexts in which this takes place, and to speak with many theorists and practitioners who had been thinking about the issue far longer than I had. This book is my attempt to summarize how I have come to understand the question posed to me years ago at that Davidson School welcoming reception. I draw not only from the data collected as part of the project described below but also from reflections on my experience as both (simultaneously) a student and a teacher of Jewish education.

 XI 

I NSIDE T HE SCHOOL S  A ND OU T  B ACKGROU ND A ND MET HODS

INTRODUCTION

T

INSIDE THE SCHOOLS AND OUT  BACKGROUND AND METHODS

he buses leave from school right after lunch on Friday. They are heading to a local overnight summer camp, now vacant during the off season. Some of the students know this place well because they spend the summer here; but for most of them, the setting is unfamiliar. This is an all-school Shabbaton, a weekend retreat with approximately two hundred students attending. They are dressed casually in jeans and sweatshirts or tee shirts — their school clothes. The students are packed into the buses along with their sleeping bags and overnight bags. Some of these bags are quite large. After all, students — adolescents conscious of appearances — must dress not only for Shabbat but also for sports, for “hanging out,” and for bed. And the rustic setting, though winterized, can get cold at night. Some students are toting guitars or sports equipment. They are chatting or singing songs. A few faculty members are assigned to each bus, and they work with several student leaders to count heads, ask students to make sure their bags are not blocking the aisle, and so forth. A small group of faculty members went to the site the night before to set up. Others will be joining throughout the afternoon, several bringing their spouses and, to the delight of the students, their young children, who become instant celebrities. An hour’s drive brings them to camp where they leave the buses and are shepherded into the main hall. The head of school (HOS), to the warm applause of the students, welcomes the group and discusses the importance of community along with his hope  1 

I N T RODUC T ION

and expectation that the time they spend together in this beautiful setting will enhance the school community and solidify friendships. He also introduces the theme for the Shabbaton, “social responsibility,” relating it to the school community, as well as to social activism for causes such as the long-standing, bloody conflict in the Sudanese region of Darfur. The Shabbaton will be, the students are assured, a highlight of their experience as students at the school. The floor is then given to the experiential educator (EE),1 a staff member with a mixed role that includes responsibility for events such as the Shabbaton. The students cheer, a few hooting loudly. The EE welcomes the students and echoes some of the HOS’s comments about community before launching into the logistics and ground rules: where meals take place, spaces at the camp that are “off-limits” to students, and those where boys or girls cannot enter (namely, the bunks in which the opposite gender are housed). The EE also discusses rules regarding Shabbat observance. He prefaces these comments by talking about the pluralistic nature of the school, the climate of respect and inclusion that students have come to appreciate, and the value that they help create. Students in their bunks should work out what the policy should be in terms of turning on lights or playing music. In public places, there should be no use of electricity or playing music. After lunch on Saturday, those wanting to play guitar can do so on one particular sports field or, in the event of rain, one lounge. Cameras are not permitted on Shabbat, and cell phones are not to be used at any point over the weekend. The students listen patiently if not particularly attentively. Students are to be “dressed for Shabbat,” starting with the pre-kabbalat-Shabbat2 activity and continuing until the evening activity, and once again in the morning until after lunch. They seem untroubled (or unconcerned) about these rules. When the EE finishes, one of the younger Jewish studies faculty members, again to hoots and cheers, introduces the next activity. The students have previously signed up for different groups responsible for different aspects of Shabbat preparation. One group goes with one of the members of the Jewish studies faculty, a rabbi, to inspect and repair the camp’s eruv (the wire that surrounds the setting symbolically demarking the communal space). Another group goes to the kitchen where one of the 1

The term experiential educator (EE) will be used — even given ambiguous use of the term “experiential education,” as we will discuss — because this is the terminology used in the current research context of the AVI CHAI seminars.

2

Literally receiving or welcoming the Sabbath, this term refers to the first segment of the Friday night prayer service.  2 

I NSIDE T HE SCHOOL S  A ND OU T  B ACKGROU ND A ND MET HODS

Israeli teachers will lead them in rolling and braiding dough for hallahs. The largest group goes to the arts and crafts center where they are put in charge of making decorations — flower pots to put on the Shabbat tables, signs to post around the camp, and so forth. Others go off in smaller groups to rehearse songs that they will later lead or perform or to put the final touches on programs they are in charge of running. In a little over an hour, many of these activities seem to have spontaneously wound down. While a few students remain at their activity stations, most of the students are on the main ball field. Frisbees, footballs, hacky sacks, and soccer balls fly back and forth. A few faculty members join with the students in these games. Groups of students sit in circles with their legs crossed or leaning against one another. A snack is brought out and put on a picnic table, and students crowd around grabbing food and drinks. The EE climbs up on an adjacent picnic table and tells the students that it is time to return to their bunks to prepare for Shabbat. Bunking assignments, which were distributed that morning prior to boarding the buses, are posted as reminders. The students grab their bags from the piles at the bus dropoff area, and the boys and girls trudge off to their respective bunk areas. These areas become noisy as students run back and forth between bunks or toss balls around while waiting for their turn to take a shower. About an hour later, it is time for the grades to assemble in different areas for the pre-kabbalat Shabbat activity. The students emerge from their bunks in their Shabbat clothes. A small number of students wear dark suits and ties or long straight skirts and long-sleeved sweaters. Others wear “dressy” jeans and untucked button-down shirts. Most of the boys, though, wear chinos and button-down shirts or sweaters, while most of the girls wear slacks or skirts and sweaters. Each grade participates in a similar activity. All involve an icebreaker, designed for students to learn new information about one another, followed by a small group activity in which students reflect on the school as a community and what it means to be a member of the community. Then, there is an activity in which two members of the group are blindfolded and must construct a tower of blocks guided by the commands of the rest of the group. Finally, the group learns a short song with words that refer to the responsibility of all Jews for one another. Several students know the song from camp or youth groups. It is a short, repetitive song, and the students get the gist after a few repetitions. All grades then reconvene in the main hall. More staff members have arrived by now, and there are the unfamiliar faces of their spouses and children. The HOS, now wearing a tie and jacket, comes to the stage and welcomes a group of senior girls who sing the blessing as the candles are  3 

I N T RODUC T ION

lit. The students sit in benches as the HOS tells them about the options for services for the evening: a “traditional nonegalitarian” service (using the Orthodox liturgy), a “traditional egalitarian” service (using the Conservative liturgy), and a “liberal” service, (generally using the Reform liturgy, along with a photocopied packet of prayers and songs compiled from a number of sources). The students disperse to the services, which are led by students. Some of the student leaders seem quite comfortable as prayer leaders, their singing projecting through the space. Others can hardly be heard, their voices lost in the high rafters. Some students sing along with familiar tunes. Others seem to zone out but, with few exceptions, sit quietly and nondisruptively. After services, the students head to the dining hall, which has been transformed by the student-made decorations from a drab cafeteria to a colorful setting. The low ceilings and bare floors echo every sound, making it difficult for staff members to get the students’ attention. Hands are raised — the universal sign for “quiet please” in such settings — but many students keep talking until a staff member gets up on a chair and shouts, “Excuse me . . . we are waiting for quiet.” A chorus of shushing follows, and then, finally, relative quiet. The EE gets up on a chair and goes over the dining procedure. It is still hard to hear, but the students get the general idea: Kiddush (the blessing to sanctify Shabbat, typically recited over wine or, in this case, grape juice) to be made by a student volunteer, ritual hand washing for those who choose to do so, hamotzi (the prayer before eating bread) led by another student, cafeteria-style service at three different stations with a staff member calling tables, in turn, for students to get their food, no seconds until everyone has had firsts. The students sit at long tables, with groups of friends sitting together. Some faculty members are interspersed with the students, while others, particularly families with small children, seek quieter corners. No one seems concerned about the ensuing chaos, and the students eat without incident. The EE mounts a chair, and following a repeat of the struggle for the students’ attention, he and a few faculty members and students lead a number of songs, including the one learned during the pre-kabbalat Shabbat activity. Then he welcomes a student to lead birkat hamazon, the prayer after meals. It is hard to hear the student leader, and the EE must stop the singing at times to get everyone singing together. Many students know the tune, as well as various hand movements and other embellishments that they learned in camp or youth groups. At the end, as students burst into a continuation of the prayer often done in camp settings (involving singing la-la-la to the prayer’s tune while banging on the tables), the EE once again goes through the ritual of getting the students’ attention, this time to review the schedule for the rest of the evening (the  4 

I NSIDE T HE SCHOOL S  A ND OU T  B ACKGROU ND A ND MET HODS

students were given a printed schedule, and this is also posted at various points around the camp). Grade-level oneg Shabbat3 activities occur where the pre-kabbalat Shabbat activity took place. Students are again broken into groups, this time with care taken to mix established cliques. The students read quotations about interpersonal responsibility and discuss these based on stimulus questions. The discussions go on for about forty-five minutes followed by “free time.” There are boundaries — students can choose to participate in various activities (board games, Israeli dancing, storytelling, singing at a tish4) or to “hang-out” in one of several designated spaces. Of the activities, the tish proves to be the most popular (perhaps the fact that it takes place in the dining hall and snacks are served adds to the attraction), and students sing songs, some familiar to them and some less so, that include traditional zemirot,5 as well as other popular Hebrew songs. Students are then given thirty minutes of “in the bunk” time before quiet time. Faculty members are posted between the boys and girls campuses at night. The next morning begins with an array of options for morning services. In addition to those from the night before, there is a nature hike and a meditation service. After a late morning snack, options for the Torah service are announced. Here, the nonegalitarian, egalitarian, and liberal options are joined by text study and drama-based Bible study. Following services, everyone reconvenes in the dining hall for lunch, which is very similar in structure to the previous dinner, though the students still seem a bit sleepy. This is followed by ninety minutes of free time. Students return to their bunks to change into jeans or shorts and tee shirts. Again, options are given for those looking for a more structured experience: a football game coordinated by a history teacher, a nature hike led by a science teacher, board games available in the lounge, Israeli dancing, and so forth. The largest group of students, however, chooses to hang out on the main field. Again, sports equipment appears, students sit in circles, and impromptu basketball games break out on the adjacent court. As the optional activities wind down, the field becomes even more crowded as students congregate there. Faculty members participate in the same activities as the students — playing games, going on hikes, or conversing with their peers or with 3

Literally, joy of Shabbat, the term is often used to refer to Friday night social activities that enhance the celebration of Shabbat.

4

Literally table, the term is used to refer to a celebratory gathering often including food, singing, and stories.

5

Traditional songs that are sung at specific times such as at Shabbat meals.  5 

I N T RODUC T ION

the students. A snack is brought out and the next activity is introduced. Students are arranged in mixed-grade groupings of about fifteen students, each with a faculty member assigned to it. Each faculty member has selected a brief text from his or her discipline (Bible, Talmud, literature, history) related to the theme of social responsibility to be studied together and discussed in the group. Groups go off to find a place to sit, most sitting in circles on the field. Conversation about the text is a bit strained, with a few students doing most of the talking and the others seeming less engaged (again, neither disrupting nor contributing). After about forty-five minutes of discussion, the groups reassemble in the main hall where the EE, his voice now strained and cracking, introduces one of the administrators to describe the final activity before dinner. The whole group plays a “human scavenger hunt” that the administrator says will not only be fun but will help students learn about the diversity of the community. Students are instructed to find people who fill various criteria (e.g., find someone who has been to Hawaii, was born in another country, etc.). The students begin “on task,” but the activity quickly evolves into students schmoozing with one another. Dinner follows, including singing some songs traditionally associated with se‘udah shelishit,6 the last meal of Shabbat. After the meal, students are shepherded back to the field, now dimly lit by the lights of the basketball court, which provide just enough light for students to avoid stumbling or bumping into one another. The students are asked to form several concentric circles surrounding the HOS, the EE, two students with guitars, and several student leaders. They accomplish this, more or less, with the result being a cross between circles and a clump. The students and faculty members spontaneously put their arms around each other’s shoulders as they stand in the circles. After an extended effort to achieve relative silence around the circles, the HOS, his voice barely audible in the rear, talks about the intense feeling of community of the Shabbaton and expresses his hopes that the students will take this spirit with them back to school. A havdalah7 candle is lit, and a student begins to recite the havdalah prayers. Those in the rear can hear just enough to know that something — presumably havdalah, given the candle — is going on in the center. At the appropriate moment, the guitarists begin playing, and the students break out into the tune familiar to many from camp or youth groups. The tune is repetitive and includes various points of wordless “la-la-la,” so it is easy for even those who are less familiar to join in. Even those who seemed less engaged in the Shabbaton — those students 6

Literally, third meal.

7

Literally, separation. Havdalah is the set of blessings that mark the end of the Sabbath.  6 

I NSIDE T HE SCHOOL S  A ND OU T  B ACKGROU ND A ND MET HODS

who tended to come late, to sit on the outskirts of activities, to refrain from participating, to looking skeptically on “sharing” activities — joined in the circle and appeared to be singing along. Various visitors (faculty spouses, volunteer chaperones, even some camp employees), strangers just a few hours ago, were now familiar enough to be brought into the circle. The candle is blown out, and a few people sing traditional post-havdalah songs. A faculty member finds the switch to the floodlights that illuminates the field, and havdalah ends under the glare. The students are instructed to go back to their bunks to pack and to clean up. Once their bunk is inspected and approved, they are to head to the parking area where the buses are already idling. This process takes some time. The buses leave the camp around 9:30 p.m. Students are singing and taking pictures. The EE and several other staff members will spend one more night here, packing and cleaning. ***** The preceding description is an amalgam of observations from various Shabbatonim, creating a sketch that includes frequently observed elements. Of course, each school’s Shabbaton uniquely reflected elements of school culture, as I will describe later (cf. Kress and Reimer 2009). My work for this project started with a focus on such retreats. For several years before I became involved with the project, the AVI CHAI Foundation had been providing funding to offset the cost of Shabbatonim in several schools. Because of the intensity of these events, they were believed to hold great potential for student impact in areas that were valued by the schools and the funder. These events were also particularly costly to run, requiring transportation and room and board (at a minimum, not counting potential costs for staffing, programming, etc.) for a large group of students and staff, and the AVI CHAI Foundation’s funding was crucial. After several years of offsetting the costs of Shabbatonim, the foundation developed an initiative to enhance these events by developing a cohort of experiential educators (EEs) that would be responsible for planning and implementing Shabbatonim. Schools receiving Shabbaton funding were asked to designate an EE that would participate in a series of professional development seminars. The first cohort of the AVI CHAI Experiential Educators Project (ACEEP) met in fall 2004. The content of the program was offered by Brandeis University’s Institute for Informal Jewish Education (IJE) with Dr. Joseph Reimer and Rabbi Bradley Solmsen facilitating the workshops. I initially served as program evaluator for this project, providing a report to the funder about the process of the training seminars of the cohort, what the participants gained from the experience, and, to the extent that could be learned, the  7 

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way seminar participation translated into the work of the participants. I was attracted to this project because of the potential to explore education occurring at the margins of that which was traditionally seen as formal (i.e., a day school) and informal (i.e., a multiday retreat). In keeping with the funding priority of the foundation, the initial focus of the EE seminar was on work related to Shabbatonim run by the participating EEs. The scope of the work performed by these EEs was quite broad and initially not fully known to those involved in planning and implementing the seminars. Shabbatonim were the common reference point for the participants. However, almost immediately upon convening this group, it became clear that work on the Shabbatonim could not be understood outside of the broader context in which these educators — as a group and as individuals — worked: their job descriptions, relationships with school leaders and fellow staff, perceptions of others of their work, and, importantly, other Jewish and educational elements within the school. Separating the issue of tefillah (prayer) on a Shabbaton from the “culture” of tefillah in the school in general, for example, did not make sense other than in narrow ways such as the specific logistics related to the Shabbaton venue. As the project evolved, the focus, while still including Shabbatonim, widened to encompass the variety of work with which these EEs were involved — special events, trips, tefillah, to name just a few. For the second ACEEP cohort, my role changed. Program evaluation was handled internally by an evaluator associated with the IJE. I was engaged during the second year to follow up on themes from the first cohort and, most relevant to the current project, explore what we referred to at the time as the intersection of formal and informal education; and what is described later in this book as education for Jewish development. Over the course of the three years of my involvement with the AVI CHAI EE project (the first year of the second cohort was a hiatus), I observed six multiday EE seminars, speaking with (informally over meals and such, as well as in formal interviews) the participating educators and the organizers from the IJE. I also had the opportunity to visit Shabbatonim. During the first cohort, I, or one of the graduate students who served as research assistants, observed a total of ten Shabbatonim based on a “prepost” design, observing in each of five schools one Shabbaton as early as possible in the process and one as late as possible. I also interviewed lead administrators (either heads of schools or those administrators most directly involved in the Shabbaton process) in these five schools on two occasions during the two-year span. Heads of school/lead administrators were also involved to some extent in the IJE training, providing me with  8 

I NSIDE T HE SCHOOL S  A ND OU T  B ACKGROU ND A ND MET HODS

another opportunity to learn their views. During this span, I also observed two “Continental Shabbatonim,” events organized by the EEs as a group for participants made up of a number of students from each of their schools. While this first cohort included a focus (for my part) on specific outcomes related to the seminars (e.g., what was learned, how was that used), a prime goal included familiarizing myself with the work of these educators in general and with phenomenon of the Shabbaton specifically. For the second cohort, in addition to my interactions and interviews with the participating educators and IJE personnel, my research team and I observed Shabbatonim at nine schools (one Shabbaton per school with some overlap with those schools visited during the first cohort). Finally, over the final year of this project, I conducted an in-depth study of three schools, picked to represent sites with well-developed Shabbaton programs functioning within the context of a strong, broader approach to experiential education as chosen by those working most closely with those elements of the school, namely, the IJE team, the AVI CHAI personnel involved in this project, and myself. Further, these schools were chosen to represent varying approaches to Shabbatonim and experiential education in general. I spent two full days on two occasions in each of the three focus schools, in addition to attending the school’s Shabbaton (these schools are included in the nine mentioned above). While observing the schools, as well as on the Shabbatonim, I had the opportunity to interact — again informally and in semistructured interviews — with a variety of staff, administrators, and students. Reflecting my role as program evaluator, at first my inquiry focused specifically on Shabbatonim and on the work of the participating EEs. Along with the broadening conceptualization of ACEEP, the focus of exploration grew to encompass first the intersection of formal and informal educational efforts in the schools and, as the utility of these terms diminished, in general how these schools seek to promote positive student development, specifically Jewish development. The three focus schools were all community schools, a term indicating that these schools do not affiliate with a particular denomination of Judaism but are, rather, meant to address a broad spectrum of Jews (the ramifications of this approach are discussed in chapter 4). The growth in the number of students enrolled in these schools has outpaced that of Conservative and Reform day schools. Community day schools continue to demonstrate growth, both in the number of schools — 98 in 2008–09 as compared to 75 in 1998–99 — and  9 

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enrollment, which has grown by more than 40% over the past decade. Of note is the increase in Community day high schools, which generates a significant increase in the number of students in non-Orthodox high schools. (Schick 2009, 1)

While emerging data, published by Marvin Schick through the AVI CHAI Foundation,8 suggests that recent growth may have leveled off, these institutions are significant alternatives to denominational schools, particular in non-Orthodox communities. Although the participants in the AVI CHAI seminars represented both community and denominational schools, community schools were chosen as the focus for exploration not only because of their increasing popularity but also because their inclusion of Jews of differing backgrounds was seen as potentiating questions about how Jewish life in the schools would be addressed. ***** The purpose of this book is to create a dialogue between theories of schoolbased youth development, emerging primarily from general education, and data related to the schools’ efforts in this regard. This synthesis, understood within the unique context of nondenominational Jewish day high schools, will serve to articulate questions and ideas for the promotion of Jewish identity in youth. As such, the book can be seen as existing within the tradition that draws on the wisdom of educators to help explicate their work. It does so with an eye on best practices that have been developed in parallel contexts (general education), not to create a “Jewish translation” for these but rather to serve as a jumping-off point to explore these issues in a unique context. My goal for what follows is to couple my observations from the schools and the EE seminar, and those from my work with preservice preparation of EEs, with elements of relevant psychological-developmental theories. Although I provide brief overviews of each of the three focus schools, as well as of a prototypical Shabbaton (to the extent that one can create a composite that represents the various methods used by the schools), my intent is to use the data as a springboard for discussion rather than to provide a full portrait of each of the schools.

8

http://avichai.org/press-room/press-room/press-releases/2010-11-day-schoolenrollment-data-demonstrate-stability-and-commitment/  10 

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A HOLISTIC DEVELOPMENTAL APPROACH TO JEWISH EDUCATION

CH AP TER 1

T

here is a growing appreciation that educational goals go beyond knowledge about content areas and encompass elements in the emotional, social, and behavioral realms. While the manifestations of this broader conceptualization (in the form of research, books, organizations, etc.) have blossomed recently, related theories are not new. In his work on “cognitive emotions,” Scheffler (1991b), for example, describes the complex interplay of cognition and emotion, seeing both as important outcomes in the educational process: “Indeed, emotion without cognition is blind, and . . . cognition without emotion is vacuous” (Scheffler 1991b, 4). While Scheffler takes cognition as the jumping-off point, he describes two elements of emotion involved in the process of thought. “Emotions in the service of cognition” encompass affective experiences that further cognitive processes by providing motivation to learn, elements of frameworks for understanding, and imaginative elements of problem solving. “Cognitive emotions” exist by virtue of a particular pattern of belief or thought, such as, in Scheffler’s example, the joy one encounters when verifying a theory. Scheffler’s work emerged within the context of the “cognitive revolution” in psychology, during which researchers and theorists came to appreciate mental processes in addition to behavioral elements of human functioning, and it presages the emergence of affect as a partner, as it were, in mental processes. Although contemporary neuroscientific findings, such  11 

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as those showing emotional neurological pathways that function without cognitive involvement, may cause one to question whether affect “serves” cognition, Scheffler’s work does provide an example of the complexity of the intersection of cognition and emotion. Further, as the noted psychologist Arnold Lazarus (e.g., Lazarus and Lazarus 1991) pointed out with regard to the therapeutic process, affect is generally stimulated indirectly through other modalities such as sensation (e.g., hearing a scary noise), cognition (rationalizing to diminish a fear), and so forth. However, the interdependence of various elements of the human experience1 remains a fundamental aspect of his theory. The past two decades have also seen a growing recognition that schools must be more proactive in attending to dimensions of education — both as outcomes and as inputs or methods — beyond the cognitive. Zins, Bloodworth, Weissberg, and Walberg, in addressing the linkage between social and emotional learning and academic success, state that intrinsically, schools are social places and learning is a social process. Students do not learn alone but rather in collaboration with their teachers, in the company of their peers, and with the support of their families. Emotions can facilitate or hamper their learning and their ultimate success in school. Because social and emotional factors play such an important role, schools must attend to this aspect of the educational process for the benefit of all students. (2004, 3)

The field of social and emotional learning has blossomed during this period. Further, cognition and emotion are just two broad elements of the many that have been articulated as goals of education, at best a shorthand for varied terminology referring to outcomes in multiple spheres. American education has come a long way from “the three Rs.” Hansen, for example, discusses educating for intellectual and moral attentiveness, an approach that involves focusing on what students know, feel, and think about the subject matter at hand, with an eye toward their building both knowledge of the world and a sense for how to continue learning about the world. Moral attentiveness means being alert to students’ responses to opportunities 1

To Lazarus (1991), these are summarized by the acronym BASIC ID: behavior, affect, sensation, imagery, cognition, interpersonal relationships, and drugs/biology.  12 

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to grow as persons — for example, to become more rather than less thoughtful about ideas and more rather than less sensitive to others’ views and concerns. (Hansen 2001, 10)

Hansen iterates a series of outcomes, building on Dewey, that include straightforwardness, simplicity, spontaneity, naiveté, open-mindedness and open-heartedness, integrity of purpose, responsibility, and seriousness. In total, the “qualities . . . equip persons to contribute, however modestly, to general human flourishing” (Hansen 2001, 58). They constitute a person who “is becoming someone who can act in the world rather than mere being acted upon. . . . a person who not only can think and judge but also connects or embeds thought and judgment in actual conduct” (Hansen 2001, 60). The idea of education helping students “to grow as persons” (Hansen 2001, 10) can be seen as echoed in Kessler’s (2000; 2001) emphasis on the importance of a spiritual dimension of education. To Kessler, [a]t the heart of every adolescent experience is an exquisite opening to spirit. An awakening of energy when larger questions of meaning and purpose, of ultimate beginnings and endings, begin to press with an urgency much too powerful to be dismissed as “hormones.” (2001, 108)

In her work, she articulates several elements that can provide inroads to this sense of adolescent spirituality (Kessler 2000, 112–114): • Search for meaning and purpose • Longing for silence and solitude • Urge for transcendence, “the desire of young people to go beyond their perceived limits.” • Hunger for joy and delight • Creative drive • Call for initiation • Deep connection Again, these theorists stress the intersection of these broad elements of education with what is commonly referred to as “learning” in a cognitive sense. To Kessler (2001, 109), for example, “When students participate in a curriculum that invites them to share what matters most to them, learning comes alive with connections that bring meaning, higher order thinking skills, and motivation.” Perhaps one can even think of cognitive spirituality  13 

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to parallel Scheffler’s (1991b) cognitive emotions, that is, that spiritual issues can contribute to cognitive elements of learning. It is, of course, notable that Kessler was writing about general, not Jewish education. This broad conception of education is not limited to cognition and affect, or even spirituality, on an individual, internal level. Rather, theorists such as Kessler discuss the educational goal of connectedness — in the sense of transcendence or feeling part of something greater, or more concretely, as “a quality of relationship that is profoundly caring and resonant with meaning, feelings of belonging, and a sense of truly being seen or known” (Kessler 2001, 114). Connectedness is seen as occurring within one’s self, with other people and groups, with nature, and to faith traditions. At other times, this is seen in more concrete terms as being part of a community and forging caring relationships. There is also an element of coming to see one’s self as linked to a historical chain. As Dewey (1938/1997, 23) put it, to become “acquainted with the past in such a way that the acquaintance is a potent agent in appreciation of the living present.” Connectedness also refers to youth feeling part of a supportive community. To Hallowell (2002, 91), “[a] connected childhood is the most reliable key to a happy life.” Benson (2003) articulates developmental assets essential to positive youth development. Issues of connectedness infuse the list of assets, including “sustained relationships with adults, both within and beyond family . . . peer group influence . . . socializing systems, including families, neighborhoods, schools, playgrounds, congregations, youth organizations, and places of employment” (Benson 2003, 36). Meier (2009) elegantly pulls together various strands of a broad approach to education in arguing for schools to embrace a vision of education for democracy that would involve creating “habits compatible with empathy and skepticism; habits that could withstand the pressures and stresses of real life” (Meier 2009, 73). She is skeptical of current trends of test-oriented learning that cut off outcomes from real-world application. If meeting deadlines, accepting responsibility, speaking clearly, weighing evidence, working with others, trying stuff out — if all this counts, as the people who know the kids know it does, then we need an alternative examination system, because none of the above counts a whit in the only tests our children now sit. (Meier 2009, 79)

Meier recommends viewing education as extending beyond the classroom and even beyond the school walls:  14 

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Young people, first of all, need to belong to communities that have standards. Second, the young must also witness adults taking responsibility for their decisions and standing by them, exercising that fundamental capacity of citizenship: human judgment. Third, they need schools that provide safe opportunities to explore their own life-sustaining and joyous power under the guidance of adults the world respects. Fourth, they need schools that belong to their communities and families, and know them well. They must, in short, be surrounded by grown-ups they can imagine becoming and would like to become. (2009, 80)

In Meier’s work, we can see the interconnected strands of education in the realms of cognition and emotion, community and connection, spirit and faith. Interestingly, Meier articulated this vision with regard to general education but has written, as in the work cited, about its relevance to Jewish education as well. In a response, Elkin amplifies points made by Meier and suggests that Jewish schools must be more active in forging ties between Jewish schools and communities, connecting students with “people who are doing important work” (Elkin 2009, 85) in the Jewish and secular communities and who have developed “open-minded intelligence and empathy” (Elkin 2009, 86) such as described by Meier (2009).

A HOLISTIC JEWISH EDUCATION Discussion to this point has described a holistic educational approach — one that encompasses multiple developmental realms including cognition, behavior, affect, spirituality, social relationships, and so forth — primarily in the context of general education. However, such an approach does, or should, provide a unique framing for the efforts of Jewish educators. Jewish education is marked by explicit goals in these domains. Jewish educational settings are expected not only to provide knowledge about Judaism but also to assist in the acculturation of students as participating members of the Jewish community. Few Jewish educators would be pleased to meet a graduate from their program who can recite prayers and Biblical verses flawlessly but is so “turned off ” that he or she neither attends synagogue nor participates in private prayer. Likewise, educators are likely to reject the idea that “feeling Jewish,” without a base of knowledge (or at least skills) is a sufficient outcome to their efforts.  15 

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These ideas were driven home to me in the course of conducting professional workshops with educators in both Jewish and secular settings. I often begin by asking participants to articulate a vision of an ideal graduate of their institutions. There are many consistencies among the responses I receive, both among Jewish schools and between Jewish and secular settings. Educators articulate an array of traits, characteristics, and abilities in the intra- and interpersonal realms, such as the ability to form caring relationships, to handle stress, to solve problems, and so forth. Even though different groups of educators used their own terminology (as would be expected given the diverse nature of the setting involved), the underlying ideas could generally be easily mapped onto one another (e.g., the use of the term derekh eretz by Jewish educators and respect by secular educators). As I listened to Jewish educators elaborate on their responses, it occurred to me that even responses that on the surface seemed strongly linked to knowledge about content were often discussed as a desire to promote a way of being, a developmental pathway that was paved by Jewish knowledge not as self-standing fragments of information but as elements that contribute to living a Jewish life. Hebrew, for example, while occasionally expressed as an abstract ideal, was far more frequently framed as important for its ability to connect Jews across geography and generations, to enable participation in prayer and ritual, and so on. The holistic nature of education, the fluidity among knowing, feeling, being (and being a part of), and doing, embraced by the educators with whom I have worked is consistent with a reading of Jewish educational theory. For example, Seymour Fox (1989) discussed the interplay of cognition, affect, and behavior in the theories undergirding the creation of Camp Ramah. To Fox, Jewish texts provided an educational basis, and the emotions were engaged as a way to make the connection between knowledge and behavior. In Ramah, Jewish education was conceived as character education. It was our hope that the study of Torah would develop the intellect, so that man would be able to understand better the complex issues involved in living. Our tradition taught us that analysis and insight were not enough. Knowing is not the only precondition for doing. Man’s feelings can and should be educated. Joy and happiness must somehow be correlated with appropriate behavior. (Fox 1989, 36)

Further, the groundbreaking volume Visions of Jewish Education (Fox, Scheffler, and Marom 2003) is replete with examples of visions that  16 

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encompass holistic goals. Scheffler, whose broad conceptualization was discussed above, describes the goals of Jewish education in terms of an educated person characterized by self-respect as well as respect for others, capable of responding to his individual situation and articulating his own thought [sic] and feelings as they arise. The educated person is in this respect someone whose attitudes and responses cannot be prejudged; they have the potential to teach him and us something new. Capable of self-teaching, the educated person learns as well from what others have to teach. He or she is not so opinionated as to be incapable of responding constructively to what others have to say. He has acquired, through having been taught, the sense of himself as member of a critical community, responsible to general canons of evaluation to which his own beliefs and actions are subject, canons that allow him no special exceptions in his own favor. He has in effect acquired an intellectual and a moral character. (Scheffler 2003, 225)

In the same volume, Twersky states that [e]ducation is the medium through which moral and intellectual perfection can be achieved. The desired perfection determines the contents and method of study — so as not to miss the target. It is necessary to maintain a special sensitivity to a number of fundamental terms that describe the direction of education and its outcome: shlemut (perfection), tikkun ha-nefesh (correction of the soul), kedushah (holiness), da‘at Hashem (knowledge of God), ahavat Hashem (love of God), and avodat Hashem (worship of God). (Twersky 2003, 50)

This vision is consistent with his conceptualization of Judaism in which every religious act “is accompanied by ‘practice of the heart’ — a personal, subjective religious component. The objective act is standard and unchanging; the practice is various and multifaceted” (Twersky 2003, 52). Writing from the standpoint of a Jewish educator (though in a journal about spiritual development in general), Scheindlin voices frustration with the tendency to undervalue emotional elements or, worse, to see emotions as hindrances to be controlled or shut down. The success of spiritual education depends upon educators finding “ways to restore emotions to their proper place as a foundation of consciousness and engagement with the world” (Scheindlin 2003, 179). Moreover, he echoes the aforementioned  17 

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emphasis on the interconnectedness of the various elements of education, seeing emotion as related to judgments and appraisals, guiding attention and perceptions and thereby influencing one’s thoughts. Emotions are the alert signals that serve to demarcate moral situations. “Absent the emotion, it is doubtful that cognition on its own would notice the presence of a moral need, much less bring it to consciousness, much less act upon it” (Scheindlin 2003, 183). Spirituality, particularly in children, is seen in emotional terms as involving meaningful relationships or experiences of awe and wonder. Scheindlin suggests that emotions become a part of classroom experience and learning, arguing that a type of learning that influences life choices, moral activity, and spiritual sensitivity is both affective and cognitive, and a teacher seeking such influence on a student’s life must therefore give attention to the ways in which the student’s affective and cognitive experience are coupled. (Scheindlin 2008, 344)

He sees the concept of yirat shamayim2 as one that can integrate cognition and emotion in Jewish education. The essence of this idea “is to see the world aided by an awareness of transcendence, to include the vision of others and of the Other in one’s own appraisal of the world,” through which one “is able to apply his or her understandings of Torah to everyday life, evaluates experience based on those understandings and synthesizes them fully” (Scheindlin 2008, 356). A holistic approach to Jewish education is particularly relevant given sociological trends in contemporary North American Jewry. Steven M. Cohen (2008) discusses the need for Jewish educators to embrace the socioaffective elements of their work. First, the decline of ethnic tissue and of collective identity sets before Jewish educators a new explicit objective: To build the social ties between Jews that make Jewish education possible and plausible. In this day and age, the promotion of Jewish friendships and marriage is not the fortuitous byproduct of Jewish education. It is, or ought to be, an inherent objective of Jewish education. (Cohen 2008, 81)

2

Literally, fear or awe of the heavens, i.e., awe of God.  18 

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A second relevant sociological trend involves the intensification of religious and spiritual ties, particularly on a personal level, with the implication that [e]ffective Jewish education today must, perforce, incorporate the provision of personal meaning in the context of well-functioning social networks and community, suggesting that community building may now constitute an integral part of Jewish education, and we may need to start regarding community builders as a new breed of Jewish educators. (Cohen 2008, 81)

Educators are advised to recognize “a realm of Jewish identity, community and interest that extends beyond prayer, observance, faith, theology, and sacred texts” (Cohen 2008, 81). Cohen sees this as a neglected area “in part because so much Jewish education takes place under religious auspices, and so many Jewish educators are religiously trained and religiously committed” (Cohen 2008, 81). Finally, he recommends attending to alternative venues for Jewish education (he gives as examples film, activities promoting social justice, etc.). At the same time that theorists are emphasizing personal meaningmaking, others are looking to the idea of connectedness, or transcendence, as an important component of the discussion. An example is the recent popularity of the idea of Jewish peoplehood, an idea that does not focus on the identity of individuals, but rather on the nature of connections between Jews. The concern is with common elements and frameworks that enable Jews to connect with one another both emotionally and socially. (Kopelowitz and Engelberg 2007, 9–10)

Noted educational theorist Lee Shulman frames the multidimensional goals of Jewish education “along three dimensions — habits of mind, habits of practice, and habits of the heart” (Shulman 2008, 8). Habits of mind entail a deep cognitive understanding of Jewish texts, ideas, literature, and liturgy. Habits of practice involve mastery and comfort with a variety of skills and actions that range from Jewish religious rituals to the conjugation of Hebrew verbs and acquisition of vocabulary. Habits of the heart involve the development of values, beliefs, and dispositions appropriate to a member of the Jewish community. All of these (and surely much more) are goals of Jewish education. When that education succeeds, the habits coalesce in the development of a coherent and well-integrated Jewish identity. (Shulman 2008, 8)  19 

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Shulman uses these three dimensions to suggest three curricular elements of Jewish education. First, the core subject matter of Jewish education is “the capacity to move back and forth between sacred texts . . . and their applications and uses in guiding, inspiring, and connecting with the world around us” (Shulman 2008, 10). The devar Torah3 is emblematic of this element in that it involves the integration of the interpretative, the contextual, the performance (of reading, writing, speaking, and acting) and the formation of identity, commitment, and values — a conception of Jewish ways of knowing that is inherently incomplete until they become ways of doing and being. (Shulman 2008, 10–11)

Second, Shulman describes hevruta learning4 as an exemplar of a learning context that is “regular, routine, and patterned, yet the novelty derives from the ever-changing texts and the creative battles of interpretation and analysis engaged by the participant” (Shulman 2008, 11). Finally, he suggests that the concept of machloket is a central defining feature of the pedagogies of Jewish education. The essential pedagogical dynamic is the battle of interpretations, implications, and possibilities. (Shulman 2008, 12)

Taken together, these three pedagogies intertwine text, social interactions, and meaning making.

HOLISTIC EDUCATION AND THE FORMALINFORMAL DIVIDE The conceptualization of the holistic outcomes of Jewish education has a parallel in a trend toward blurring the boundaries between formal and informal modalities of education. In common usage, the terms formal and informal education refer to distinct categories of settings. Formal, in this way of speaking, means “school” (day school or supplemental school) and informal means, roughly, “not school.” The latter category is used to 3

Literally, a word of Torah, this phrase refers to a speech or talk based on passages from the Torah.

4

This term, with its origin in the word haver, meaning friend or associate, is used to describe paired learning aimed at interpreting texts.  20 

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encompass such settings as youth groups, summer camps, trips (including Israel experiences), and educational experiences at Jewish community centers and Hillel campus centers. It is generally acknowledged that this distinction was more of a heuristic than a hard-and-fast rule. After all, some summer camps have time slotted for classes conducted by teachers; schools take their students on trips, too. Some venues seemed to defy categorization: An adult education class (sounds formal) that is based at a Jewish community center (an informal venue)? A community-based Hebrew high school that places as much emphasis on cultural and social activities as it does on classes? It is a comment on the ongoing struggle with the terms and with the understanding of informal and formal education that in a special issue of the Journal of Jewish Education devoted to theories of informal education, Dorph (2007) contributed an article titled “Informal education? Let’s not go back there again!” On the one hand, the terms are used inconsistently. On the other hand, attempts to sort this out are not new. The literature on Jewish informal education stresses the importance of understanding the term informal as a set of practices or as an approach. Chazan’s work remains a benchmark in the field (e.g., Chazan 2003). Chazan identified eight defining principles: 1.

2.

3.

4.

“Person-centered Jewish education”: This “means helping each individual grow and find meaning as a Jew. The emphasis is on personal Jewish development rather than the transmission of Jewish culture, and the individual is actively engaged in his/her own journey of Jewish growth.” Chazan also underscores the holistic — not purely cognitive — nature of this approach. “The centrality of experience”: Rather than hearing about elements of Judaism second hand, in informal education, “learning occurs through enabling people to undergo key Jewish experiences and values.” “A curriculum of Jewish experiences and values”: First, the notion of a curriculum refers to the fact that informal Jewish education is not unplanned. This curriculum generally focuses on: “(1) Jewish holiday and calendar experiences; (2) Jewish lifecycle experiences; (3) studying Jewish texts; (4) Jewish cultural and peoplehood experiences; and (5) acting upon Jewish values.” “An interactive process”: Multiple dimensions of interaction are involved: “Informal Jewish educators cannot really complete their work unless there is a dynamic interactive process between student and educator, student and student, student and text, and student and Tradition.”  21 

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5.

6.

7.

8.

“The group experience”: The group is conceptualized as more than the sum of its parts. “The group is central in informal Jewish education in that the key values of klal yisrael (the totality of Israel), am yisrael (Jewish people), kehillat kodesh (holy community), and tikkun olam (improving the world) are experienced through its very existence.” This is amplified by SilbermanKeller (2007, 266) who states that “the uniqueness of nonformal pedagogy stems from the creation of an interdependent relationship between individual development and group development: the individual develops within the group, and the group develops as a result of the individuals comprising it.” “The ‘culture’ of Jewish education”: “Informal Jewish education is rooted in the belief that education is ultimately about ‘creating culture’ rather than transmitting knowledge.” Relatedly, all aspects of the educational milieu are utilized to support this cultural approach. “An education that engages”: “Informal Jewish education intensely engages and even co-opts participants and makes them feel positive about being involved. Because of its focus on the individual and on issues that are real to him/her, informal Jewish education is often described as ‘fun,’ ‘joyful,’ or ‘enjoyable.’” “Informal Jewish education’s holistic educator”: Chazan describes the many roles and attributes of such an educator, who is “a total educational personality who educates by words, deeds, and by shaping a culture of Jewish values and experiences.” Some of these include: “person-centered,” “a shaper of Jewish experiences” for which he or she serves “to facilitate the learner’s entry into the moments,” “proficiency in the skills of asking questions, listening, and activating the engagement of others,” “creator of community,” “creators of culture,” “knowledgeable,” and “committed.”

Chazan was not alone in stressing informal (or experiential, a term that is sometimes used interchangeably) education as an approach. Reisman and Reisman (2002, 16), for example, identify this form of education as one in which an educator “structures and orchestrates the several components of the educational experience — his/her own role, the design of the experiential activities, the physical setting of the classroom or meeting room, and the network of interpersonal relationships — in order to optimize the achievement of learning objectives.” Reimer (2003) builds on Chazan’s work and emphasizes reflection on one’s experience as a hallmark of this educational approach. Although the work of these theorists helped to provide a structure to the field, ambivalence about informal or formal referring to a setting (nonschool or school) persists. One the one hand, the literature stresses  22 

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the similarities between so-called formal and informal settings, and the approach to education, such as described by Chazan, can take place in any setting. Reimer and Bryfman (2008) even suggest a shift in terminology, preferring to relegate informal and formal to descriptions of types of setting and to use experiential, a term that is becoming increasingly common, to describe an approach to education that can be used in both formal and informal settings. Chazan (2003, italics in the original) is clear that the elements in his description do not confine themselves to any particular setting, reporting that “[s]ome analysts of the modern day school suggest that these might be better seen as total Jewish ‘cultures’ — formal and informal — rather than as schools in the narrow sense.” Similarly, Zeldin notes similarities between Jewish residential summer camps and day schools, such as both having substantial amounts of time to devote to Jewish education, where “Jewish life can be played out naturally in its rhythms within the time available” (Zeldin 2006, 93), and Judaism can connect with other areas in the lives of participants. Reisman and Reisman (2002) include “classroom” as a possible venue for experiential education (as quoted in the previous paragraph). More recently, Kress and Elias (2008) use the term encompassing education settings to underscore the similarity among settings such as day schools and camps — both provide a rich, multicomponent, lived environment. However, while theorists stress that the approach of informal, or experiential, education may be context independent, there is also a theme in the literature (sometimes articulated by these same theorists) suggesting that the realities of the school context distinguish such settings from others (e.g., camps, youth groups) in ways that intersect with what can be considered informal or formal elements of education. Along these lines, the cognitive elements of education — learning content or subject matter — are seen as existing in the formal domain while the social and emotional aspects of education fall under the informal or experiential heading. For example, Chazan (2003) acknowledges “clear sociological differences” between schools and informal settings. “Generally, contemporary schooling — Jewish and general — has become associated with the task of transmitting knowledge. It also has important socialization and acculturation objectives, but the transmission of knowledge remains a central focus.” The subject matter of schools has “usually been seen in cognitive terms.” Further, schools are generally premised on a model of progression through an educational hierarchy. Reisman and Reisman, though rejecting the distinction, nonetheless acknowledge the tendency  23 

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to see formal education as “almost exclusively focused on content, or the cognitive component, while experiential education addresses itself to emotions, or the affective component, as well as the cognitive one” (Reisman and Reisman 2002, 16, italics in the original). Similarly, in discussing the vision of Camp Ramah, Fox (Fox and Novak 1997, 11) states that a school isn’t the best place to nurture a child’s Jewish emotional development. The challenge of Ramah was to educate the entire child — including his or her mind. We wanted to pay equal attention to emotional and spiritual issues . . .

Further, the terms formal and informal or experiential are seemingly proxies for rigid, disempowering, and/or antiseptic and progressive, adaptable, empowering, and caring, respectively. There is understandably a desire by those who use these terms in this way to want to distance the latter from the undesired elements of the former. To Smith (2007, 13), for example, writing about general education, informal institutions due to “the way in which they foster dialogue, relationship, and friendship” provide “a counterbalance to the individualization and commoditization” found in schools. [I]nformal education can offer an alternative [to the lack of relational andmotivational aspects of schooling] but it does depend on its practitioners developing strategies to distance their work (and their thinking) from the sorts of packaged and proscribed activities that are the normal fare of schools and colleges and holding on to the notion of extracurricular activity rather than falling into the trap of curricular extension. (Smith 2007, 22)

Nocon and Cole (2007, 102), writing about the United Kingdom, see an increasing “colonization of children’s leisure” that is being undertaken by schools and parents and also other elements of society (government, industry). The authors discuss research (based on Adler and Adler 1994) indicating that “during the last generation, children’s leisure activities have become less spontaneous and more rationalized. Adler and Adler (1994) characterize the change as being from child-directed activities that foster negotiation, planning, and problem solving to adult-directed activities that are more focused and professionalized” (Nocon and Cole 2007, 103). Authors such as M. K. Smith (2007), however, encourage the incorporation of what they see as falling under the informal heading into the world of schools.  24 

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When space is made for association, relationship, and conversation, people are able to learn in a deeper way about themselves, being with others, and being in the work. Limiting the role of curriculum allows us to attend to experience. It also enables us to approach students as whole people. (Smith 2007, 28)

Of course students socialize and have emotional experiences, this line of thinking posits, but these are not the primary domain of schools. In school, the primary goal is to learn. Youth attend camp (youth groups, etc.) to make Jewish friends and to experience those moments of spirit that take place while watching a sunrise or in forging intimate relationships. In the old formulation of the vision of the Hillel campus centers, informal settings involve “Jews doing Jewish with other Jews.” In this approach, the type of setting (school vs. nonschool) is taken as a proxy for a set of educational goals (knowledge-based vs. socioaffective). This approach is premised on the assumption of the possibility of separating the “head” and “heart” — or the cognitive and socioaffective aspects — of education. Jewish educators are not alone in conceptualizing such a distinction. Recent back to basics and assessment-driven educational movements are often rooted in a vision of the primacy of the cognitive, knowledge-building function of schools. While no one would argue with the role of school in enhancing student knowledge, the idea that this element of education can be isolated from social and emotional aspects is inconsistent with contemporary brain-based learning research and also does not stand up to scrutiny when specific educational interactions are analyzed. In general education, there is a growing appreciation of the inseparability of the academic (or cognitive mastery of content material) elements of learning, discussed by the theorists above as existing in the formal domain and the social and emotional elements, often discussed as the province of informal settings. Biologically based theories stress the intersection of cognition and emotion. In an often-cited work, Jensen (1998) reviews research findings that point to the role of emotions in focusing (or unfocusing) attention, shaping memory, and driving problem solving. Cognitive appraisal can shape an emotional experience. One has a different reaction to hearing a door opening in one’s apartment late at night when one is expecting a roommate to return after a party than when one believes the roommate is out of town. Likewise, a student’s emotional state (depressed? anxious?) can impact his or her attention in class and the ability to work with new  25 

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information. A student who is bullied or who is plagued by self-doubt is unlikely to perform optimally. The field of social and emotional learning, which has come into prominence over the past two decades, stresses that educators must attend to the cognitive, social, and emotional aspects of learning simultaneously. The Collaborative for Academic, Social, and Emotional Learning (CASEL), in its publication Safe and Sound: An Educational Leader’s Guide to EvidenceBased Social and Emotional Learning (SEL) Programs provides a comprehensive summary that clearly argues against the dualistic distillation of cognition from other elements of education: We all want young people to be knowledgeable, caring, responsible, and healthy. Young people who succeed academically and in their personal lives are socially and emotionally competent. They are self-aware. They have a positive attitude toward themselves and others. They know their strengths and are optimistic about the future. They can handle their emotions. They are able to set and achieve goals. And they are effective, responsible problem solvers. . . . Because socially and emotionally competent young people are concerned about other people, they empathize with and show respect for others, and they appreciate diversity. Socially and emotionally competent children and youth get along well with others. They know how to communicate effectively. They are cooperative. They negotiate with others to solve problems. They have good refusal skills. They know when and how to seek help. They make a positive contribution to their families and communities through such activities as peer tutoring, youth entrepreneurship, peer-led health campaigns, social clubs, peer counseling, or community service. (CASEL 2003, 5)

It is worth noting that some authors use the term informal when talking about learning that occurs through natural apprenticeships or cultural induction (see Nocon and Cole 2007, who link informal education with the work of Lave, Rogoff, and others). Classic examples of this type of learning are such cases as children in working-class Brazil learning complex mathematics by, from an early age, doing calculations regarding selling merchandise on the street (Nunes, Carraher, and Schliemann 1993). Similarly, a preschooler might respond correctly to the question “If you have three cookies and give me one, how many will you have left?” but not to formulations such as “What is 3 minus 1?” or “What number is 1 less than 3?” and so forth. In this sense, the term informal is used to describe learning that is akin to acculturation, that which is “learned” by being a part of a particular culture or society.  26 

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Certainly, such education occurs in the Jewish educational content. It takes place in families, where traditions can be as powerful as a halakhic precept.5 It takes place in synagogues, where local custom propagates itself among members. In the synagogue I attended while growing up, for example, members of the junior congregation learned the first page of a two-page closing hymn and would lead the congregation in this prayer. However, they never learned the second page. Even decades later, only the first page of that hymn was read. It is a norm in this setting, passed on without explanation. This naturally occurring cultural transmission, while it certainly exists and can be a powerful force in shaping behavior, is not the focus of the Jewish informal/experiential educational literature. Two elements distinguish Jewish informal education, at least as used in this book, from situated learning:6 reflection and intentionality. “[I]nformal educators both consciously set out to create environments that foster incidental learning, and encourage people to explore what may have been learnt.” (Jeffs and Smith 2008, 9). Reimer and Bryfman (Reimer 2008; Bryfman 2008; Reimer and Bryfman 2008) discuss the importance of socialization or the development of the “knowledge skills and attitudes to be an active member of the Jewish community” (Reimer 2008, 5) but do not see this as a passive process of passing on environmental norms. Rather, they characterize experiential education as challenging participants in “[s]tretching themselves and growing toward a more complex participation in one’s Jewish life” (Reimer 2008, 5). The process is seen as one of experience or encounter, struggle and risk taking, and growth. “[E]ngaged Jewish youth will grow into the creative leaders of tomorrow’s Jewish community only if today they learn to deal with complexity and risk” (Reimer and Bryfman 2008, 346). Finally, despite Chazan’s (2003) claim that “‘informal education’ is not simply a synonym for ‘good education,’” it remains the case that parallels to most, if not all of the characteristics of, informal or experiential Jewish education articulated in the literature can be found in contemporary educational “best practices” that emphasize elements such as project-based learning, meaning-making, and collaborative group work (e.g., Wurdinger 2005). This was driven home to me during a semester in which I taught both the Informal-Communal Education (ICE) fieldwork course and the 5

A rule rooted in Jewish law.

6

It can even be argued that much of Jewish education can be seen as a response to the idea that for many students, the everyday environment does not provide sufficient opportunities for “participation” outside of school.  27 

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introductory “Skills for Teaching” course (covering general pedagogic skills, with students doing field placements in supplemental schools). It became clear to me that there are nonclassroom analogues (if not homologues) for most classroom activities and vice versa. As I taught a lesson-planning approach in the “Skills for Teaching” class, for example, I also taught a program-planning approach to the students in the ICE practicum — the jargon was different, but the idea of connecting goals, objectives, and procedures was the same. We talked about assessment in the former and about program evaluation in the latter. The students in the “Skills” class were very concerned with classroom management techniques in teaching placements in supplemental schools while their peers in the ICE practicum were concerned about group facilitation and group dynamics. Yogi Berra’s son Dale was said to have claimed about his father Yogi that “our similarities are different.” Was the distinction between formal and informal education turning out to be a situation of “our differences are similar?”

MOVING AHEAD: JEWISH DEVELOPMENTAL EDUCATION All of these theories, taken together, suggest that there can be no singular focus (be it ritual, knowledge, etc.) to Jewish education. Rather, it is “essential for children to form an emotional attachment to the learning and to engage in actions or behaviors that are consistent with their learning” (Ben-Avie 2008, 100). Ben-Avie calls on Jewish educators to attend to the six developmental pathways articulated by James Comer (e.g., 2005) in taking into account the physical, cognitive, psychological, language, social, and ethical elements of education. It is not my intention, nor do I think it is a useful endeavor, to canonize or prioritize a comprehensive list of outcomes in multiple realms for Jewish schools. Such a process would be subject to nuances of construct definitions, priorities of various communities, and so forth. Further, it would be contrary to the spirit of contemporary approaches to Jewish identity that stress a diversity of Jewish expressions. I follow Charme’s advice to “avoid the temptation to slip into essentialist concepts of Jewish identity which falter when it comes time to stipulate the essential core of Jewishness” (Charme et al. 2008, 122) and am consistent with Horowitz who “rejects the notion of a singular definition of who is a Jew” (Charme et al. 2008, 133–134).  28 

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Rather, this discussion should make it clear that while cognitive learning often takes center stage, Jewish education is not solely an intellectual endeavor. Or one might say that intellect and learning are not just cognitive processes, but encompass a wide array of social, emotional, attitudinal, spiritual, and behavioral components and connectedness on multiple levels. As summarized by Kress and Elias, The range of outcomes of Jewish education can be seen as encapsulated in the prayer that introduces the “Sh’ma,” the central statement of Jewish faith, in the morning prayer service. In it, Jews pray for God to “grant their hearts to understand, to be enlightened, to attend to, to learn and to teach, to observe and to follow the words of your Torah’s teachings with love.” Jewish education is not merely a matter of the heart or of the head. Nor is rote ritual observance enough; the fully actualized Jew “understands,” “loves,” and “observes.” As such, Jewish education aims to touch cognition, affect and behavior. Because of the pull of assimilation of American Jews away from engagement with Judaism, in many cases this goal may be better formulated as, “to create change in cognition, affect, and behavior” or, to use the dominant formulation among Jewish educators, “to build Jewish identity.” (Kress and Elias 2008, 339, italics in the original)

Kress and Elias (2008, 339) note that the term Jewish identity is frequently used as “shorthand for the acculturative goals of Jewish education that unite outcomes in the affective, cognitive, social, and behavioral realms.” Theorists of Jewish identity, for example, Horowitz (1999) and Charme et al. (2008) caution against viewing outcomes in these multiple arenas as a checklist for educators to accomplish. Rather, they stress the importance of various of these elements — in an idiosyncratic fashion — in one’s sense of self, broadly speaking and, more narrowly, in one’s sense of self as a Jew. Jewish identity (as all identities) is seen as multidimensional, including “a religious practice dimension, a cultural-communal dimension, and a centrality dimension about the importance of being Jewish as a feature of the person’s own life” (Charme et al. 2008, 133). Because of the idiosyncratic nature of this process, “the interesting question then is to examine the ways that people connect to Jewishness, both ‘objectively’ (through parentage/ grandparentage and beyond) and subjectively” (Charme et al. 2008, 134). As such, holistic, developmental education for Jewish identity would focus not only on behaviors, thoughts, knowledge, attitudes, and so forth related to Judaism but also how one incorporates these into self-definition. To  29 

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Horowitz, for example, “Jewishness refers to the beliefs, images, feelings and practices that the person considers to be Jewish” (Charme et al. 2008, 136–137, italics in the original). Framing the Jewish educational process as one of fostering holistic identity development necessitates consideration of the developmental processes at work; not just what identity outcomes would look like, but how these are thought to come to be.

IDENTITY AND DEVELOPMENT Many contemporary theorists view schema as the building blocks of development. Schema are defined as organized patterns of understanding comprised of descriptive knowledge as well as information about behavioral expectations and affective aspects related to the object of the schema. In essence, schema organize one’s holistic set of cognitions, affects, and behaviors associated with an idea, object, event, situation, relationship, or location. (Sigel, Kress, and Elias 2007, 53)

Schema function “as a kind of informal, private, unarticulated theory about the nature of events, objects or situations we face,” serving as “our private theory of the nature of reality” or “our internal model of the situation we face at that moment in time” (Rumelhart 1980, 37). As a very basic example, one might have a schema for “dog” that might involve • • • • •

Knowledge (dogs are mammals) Beliefs (dogs like to lick people) Attitudes (I like dogs) Affects (joy upon seeing a dog) Behaviors (approaching a dog to try to touch it)

Most relevant to our discussion, theorists have discussed the notion of schema that one applies to one’s self,7 “an amalgam of features — personal characteristics, feelings, values, intentions, and images,” and “enactments” 7

Again, researchers use different terms to describe this, such as self-theory; and some nuances do underlie these differences. However, the basic idea of a “theory” of self that includes beliefs, affects, and behaviors is shared. The term “self-schema” is used here for consistency.  30 

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(or behaviors) (Rosenberg and Gara 1985, 90).8 The components of a selfschema are seen as inexorably linked, with a change in any one area (e.g., affect) having potential impact on others (e.g., behavior). This can occur in ways that seem more (as in, “I am shouting because I am angry.”) or less (“I am angry because I am shouting.”) intuitive. Further, one’s overall identity is seen as comprised of multiple selfschema related, in part, to the variety of one’s roles and relationships. For example, Rosenberg and Gara (1985) describe a hierarchical relationship among self-schema in which certain aspects are more prominent or subsume others. They bring as an example a prominent definition of “self-as-psychologist,” which may subsume identities as researcher, teacher, etc. These subidentities, while sharing certain features (behaviors, affect, etc.), will also differ from one another. The existence of a more prominent identity allows movement among subidentities without feelings of disconnection of rootlessness. One can, on any given day, teach a class, go immediately to the “lab” to do research, and go to the psychology clinic at night to see patients without calling into questions one’s identity as “psychologist.” Interrelationships among identities are idiosyncratic, differing among individuals based on the patterns of roles and relationships they experience. (Charme et al. 2008, 128–129)

Identities can also support, or be in contrast with, one another. One with a prominent “self-as-poet” might deny (either verbally or more implicitly) the possibility of “self-as-hunter.” Self-schema are often described as being context-dependent, related to one’s particular roles and relationships (Rosenberg and Gara 1985). That is, one may have different schema associated with one’s self that may come into and out of prominence in different contexts. To the extent that more cognitions, behaviors, affects, attitudes roles, and relationships, are incorporated within a particular aspect of one’s self-schema, this aspect is seen to be more stable (Stahlberg, Petersen, and Dauenheimer 1999) and to occupy a more central place in the hierarchy of one’s structure of multiple identities (Ashmore, Deaux, and McLaughlin-Volpe 2004; Rosenberg and Gara 1985; Gara, Rosenberg, and Cohen 1987).

8

Cf. Dweck 2000; Harter et al. 1997.  31 

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Affect plays a major role in understanding identity (Charme et al. 2008, 129). According to Rosenberg and Gara, the affective valence of identities is fluid over time. At any given time in one’s life, some identities may be satisfying and others not; some may be in crisis whereas others are quite stable; some identities may dominate in the thoughts and actions of a person although they are not hierarchically most prominent. (1985, 110)

Affect is seen as having a major role in the dynamism of identity, investing certain roles, relationships, and memories with particular prominence, and thereby changing the salience of identities with which they are associated (Haviland et al. 1994). Theorists also acknowledge the intersection of individual and group identities. Writing in a general context, for example, Ashmore, Deaux, and McLaughlin-Volpe (2004, 82) describe identities related to individuals within group categories (such as, in our case, Jewish), or what they call “collective identity” as involving not only a belief in categorical membership (i.e., that one shares characteristics with a group of others) but also a set of cognitive beliefs associated with that category, such as stereotypic traits thought to be shared by category members or ideological positions that define the group’s goals. Collective identity also involves “value and emotional significance” (p. 255), in the words of Tajfel (1981). This affective aspect of collective identification can include how we evaluate a category and the perceived value placed on the category by others, as well as the affective commitment and closeness we feel to other members of the category. Finally, collective identity has behavioral implications as well. Individual actions reflective of group membership, such as language usage in the case of ethnic identity or church attendance in the case of religious identity, are part of what we mean by collective identification.

So although many people cook dinner regularly, far fewer have a central identity aspect as self-as-cook. The casual crafter of dinner can be contrasted with someone who has a very elaborate set of elements related to a schema of self-as-cook that may include knowledge (knowing many recipes), behaviors (the ability to successfully implement those recipes), affects and attitudes (satisfaction related to cooking, feeling comfortable in a kitchen), and so  32 

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forth. Further, this person may have many social roles and relationships related to self-as-cook, perhaps publically blogging about food, attending cooking classes, and being known among friends as the person whose dinner party invitations should never be declined. This person may also identify his or herself as part of a larger group, a foodie, to use the current term. If identity is understood as a specialized schema, then identity development can be seen as a process of schema change and enhancement, the increasing elaboration of one’s various self-schema and the alignment of these into hierarchical relationships. Piaget described the process of development as adaptation, the process of assimilating or accommodating new “data” within existing schema. The modification of schema, the cognitive-affective-behavioral sets associated with objects or events, is seen as resulting from the resolution of discrepancies between experiences in the world and internal understandings, desires, or states. Individuals can resolve discrepancies by reorganizing their perspective (which involves modifying one’s existing schema to take the new experience into account) or by reinterpreting the new experience in such a way that it matches what is already familiar. The importance of discrepancy as an engine that drives development, an idea rooted in Piagetian theories, was articulated in the educational context by noted educational theorist and researcher Irving Sigel (Copple, Sigel, and Saunders 1979; Sigel 1993; Sigel and Kelly 1988). Sigel (1993) emphasized the role of educators and parents in distancing youth from previously held schema. In this context, distance is not meant as emotional ambivalence, lack of attachment, or rejection but rather disengagement from existing schema that results from the encounter with a discrepant input and that paves the way for development. The act of distancing refers to the facilitation of such encounters with discrepancies. To Sigel the educative process depends on the nature of the discrepancies faced by students, and how adults position children to recognize, reflect on, and respond to them. The key role of an educator is to facilitate the learner’s encounter of that which is discrepant with existing schema. Schema change can occur without the conscious, or meta-cognitive, awareness of a schema. . . . However, intentionally pointing out discrepancies, bringing these to the awareness of a developing youth, is a distancing strategy that would foster growth. (Sigel, Kress, and Elias 2007, 54–55)

As a basic example, a student’s schema related to animals might include the cognitive (knowledge) element that “mammals do not lay eggs.”  33 

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An educator who responds by asking the student to do research about the duck-billed platypus is using a distancing strategy, setting the stage for the student to revisit his or her way of conceptualizing “mammal” in light of new information. Language consistent with this approach — though not specifically grounded in the same set of theories — has been used by Jewish educational theorists such as Bekerman (2007), who described the efforts of Israeli youth group leaders who “destabilized the positions and opinions of the students, creating an opening for a more critical view on issues that previously seemed transparent” (Bekerman 2007, 238). Similarly, Fox (1989, 24) used the term disequilibrium to describe the encounter with new experiences by campers at Jewish residential summer programs. Reimer and Bryfman’s (2008, 343) focus on challenge is likewise premised on individuals calling into questions current beliefs and capabilities “from the basis of their experiences in this world.” This approach to identity development can be considered constructivist in that the emphasis is on individuals applying new “data” to existing schema; identity development results from “observations and reflections [being] brought together into a ‘theory’ from which new implications for action can be worked out,” and that can be used “as a guide to acting in a new situation” (Jeffs and Smith 2008, 64). This approach has parallels in constructivist theories of education and development in general (e.g., Penuel and Wertsch 1995). For example, Wiggins and McTighe’s (2005) notion of uncoverage9 involves a scaffolded method for elucidating abstract elements of learning that could (or should) emerge from participation in curricular activities but may not do so automatically, as it were. There is a “meta” element involved; growth results not just from knowing or being able to do, but from being able to glean the broader ramifications of what one does or knows and generalize to other situations. Such generalization may happen as a result of participation in an activity, but few educators would be willing to rely on the hope that it does. The fact that a student demonstrates fundamental aspects of addition through manipulating blocks does not mean that the student has a concept of “addition” that can be applied — without adult mediation — in other contexts. Curricula are developed to build toward this more complex — and transportable — way of understanding in a planful, active, and proactive way (“by design,” as Wiggins and McTighe famously 9

I thank an anonymous reviewer of a version of this chapter for pointing out this parallel.  34 

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put it). Similarly, Jewish identity involves not only participation in certain behaviors or holding certain beliefs, but a sense that these behaviors and beliefs are part of one’s central self-schema. In Jewish education for holistic identity, development is inherently an active process. While schema change certainly happens through unmediated experiences, what makes experiences educational is the intentional scaffolding of this process through the application of distancing strategies. Reimer (2008, 2) discusses the importance of going beyond participation in experiences, through the facilitation of (or, one might say distancing strategies of) skilled educators “drawing lines of comparison and contrast between what you have newly observed and what you already know.” Building on Deweyian ideas (e.g., Dewey 1916), Reimer points out that we have many experiences throughout any given day, not all of which impact identity in the same way; it is incumbent on an educator to facilitate the process of connecting that experience to other elements of a learner’s life. Psychological theorists remind us that students — particularly adolescents — receive many, often conflicting, messages about their identity and that educators must take an active role in navigating these developmental “vectors” (Kress and Elias 2008, 342). Before turning to an exploration of how this approach to identity development manifests in the study schools, it is worth noting potential concerns. A particularly challenging question relates to the potential benefits of unmediated experiences. The ideas here are premised on a (theoretically and empirically supported) constructivist notion of education for identity development in which mediated reflection serves as a catalyst for evolving self-schema (e.g., Dewey and Reimer as cited above). It is reasonable to believe that identity development can and does result from experiences even without reflection or other scaffolding.10 This relates to a more general challenge to identity research. It is very difficult to develop naturalistic assessments of multicomponent identity development. That is, behaviors can be unobtrusively and directly observed. Attitudes, beliefs, affects, and the like, in contrast, are quite difficult to ascertain directly without engaging the student (or any research participant) in a process that itself has the potential to be reflective (and, hence, identity-enhancing). Inferring attitudes, affects, and beliefs from student behavior (e.g., inferring a student’s beliefs about prayer by observing him or her praying) is possible but leads to questionable results. 10

Again, I thank an anonymous reviewer of a draft of this paper for raising this issue.  35 

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It is also possible to argue for an approach to identity that does not involve this meta-reflective level. However, the discourse of Jewish identity has moved from one of using normative criteria to assess the strength of Jewish identity to one of looking at the internal, subjective aspect of what being Jewish means to her. Here we are asking, how meaningful or important is being Jewish in a person’s life: Is it something psychologically central and meaningful, a motivating force in a person’s life? Or, is it simply a fact of background? (Charme et al. 2008, 136, italics in the original)

There is of course still a hierarchical assumption in such approaches, namely, that a reflective, thoughtful approach to Jewish identity is better than one that just is. However, one can imagine a person whose Judaism totally infuses his or her life to the point that asking about self-as-Jew is akin to asking about self-as-person-with-two arms: “Sure, not everyone has two arms, but everyone I know has two arms; everything I do is premised on the fact that I have two arms, and I have never not had two arms and have never thought that my having two arms was anything to give special thought to, it is what I am and that’s it.”11 However, theorists have pointed out that the nature of contemporary society — with easy exposure to difference — (i.e., the society in which the students in the study school are embedded, which includes both Jewish and secular elements) calls for a self-reflective approach to identity. For example, Horowitz (2008) points out that as a result of the fact that being Jewish is not only accepted but to some extent esteemed in contemporary society, Jewish identity depends much more on individual motivation rather than being conferred or reinforced by locale: You “do” Jewish only if it means something to you; there aren’t social pressures that confine Jews to their own settings as there were 100 years ago. (Horowitz 2008, 76)

Jews have become more curious (and confident) in exploring their Jewishness. Indifference, not rejection, is the dominant other pole.

11

This illustrates the potential for methodological reactivity — the act of asking about armedness is itself a distancing strategy that would cause schema development that might not have otherwise occurred.  36 

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Today in America, amid all of this diversity, all identity requires a fair amount of conscious choice and decision making. The American Jewish community would do well to cultivate a strategy of attentiveness to content and choices. (Horowitz 2008, 77, italics in the original)

That is, for many Jews, Judaism is seen as voluntary and not an assumed aspect of identity. Horowitz sees the basis as consciousness, which involves a series of mental processes (i.e., awareness, reflectivity, ongoing learning, and meaning making) as well as a sense of will that arises from feeling that being Jewish will help you find your way or it will take you somewhere you want to go. (Horowitz 2008, 77)

She argues for seeking alternate venues of Jewish education and the tailoring of such education to meet individual needs. Further, Bekerman (2001) sees Jewish educational institutions as based on modernist assumptions that self and culture exist in a way that can be acted upon and changed. Jewish educational institutions seek to move the external construct of culture into the internal construct of the self. He contrasts this to the view of postmodern thinkers who “view the self as a text in a sense unfinished, or at least always in its way, invented and reinvented through social discourse” (Bekerman 2001, 465). Applying such a view would lead to a more process-oriented and less mechanistic approach to Jewish education, “shifting our efforts from the inculcation or transmission of values, historical facts, ritual language, and social purposes to their production in social settings and through discourse” (Bekerman 2001, 469). Bekerman calls for turning “Jewish” into a product of the educational effort instead of a tautological prefix as it stands today in statements regarding the need to teach Jewish history, Jewish values, or Jewish texts in any Jewish educational effort.

The educational approach he recommends builds on the dialogical nature of identity development and includes opportunities to hear many viewpoints and to work with biographical narratives that span different curricular and educational efforts. Bekerman’s view touches upon the idea that encounter with difference is not just a mode of building Jewish identity, but is a way of thinking about Judaism itself. That is, Jewish identity is the dialogue around Judaism, the intersecting interaction of one’s life narratives with those of  37 

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others and with the subject matter of Judaism. While there is support here for an individualized crafting of life narrative as a goal, Bekerman’s analysis emphasizes that the social nature of this narrative creation is crucial. Rosenak’s (1987) distinction between the explicit (focusing on performance of mitzvot) and the internal (focusing on feeling and selfexpression), as reflected in approaches to Jewish education that focus on either norms or self-expression, is relevant to this discussion. To Rosenak, Judaism has always included both strands (e.g., Torah and its commentaries) and so should Jewish education. Similarly, one can see contemporary Jewish identity as framed within the tension between strong commitments and openness to the idea that not everyone shares these commitments. In the current context, because the macro (e.g., contemporary North America) and/or micro (e.g., the family of a youth) cultural settings often do not support the acculturative efforts of Jewish educators, Jewish education can be seen as a process of en-counter-culturation rather than of enculturation. It is difficult to expect Jewish youth to slip seamlessly into Jewish role expectations; there are too many options and alternatives. Further, societal trends toward individualism and choice (e.g., Cohen and Eisen 2000) also pull for a self-reflective stance rather than one of ritual adherence without understanding. It is certainly a truism that one can learn from any experience and that one may learn from an experience without awareness that this learning is taking place, or without consideration of, on a meta-level, what it means to be learning in this way. Education for Jewish identity development reflects a desire to counter the degree of uncertainty of learning taking place, to stack the deck, as it were, in favor of Jewish growth. Although incidental learning has some chance of being impactful, the lack of communal structure to support this learning and the en-counter-cultural nature of this learning makes it less likely to succeed; an intentional approach in which the environment is structured in a particular way and/or reflection is prompted is seen as more likely to succeed. Anecdotes are sometimes related of Jewish transformations that happen by virtue of being at the right place at the right time — someone flying from New York to Australia on vacation happens to be seated next to a rabbi who strikes up a deep, meaningful conversation that lasts for the entire twenty hours of flight. This can be contrasted to a scenario in which a student happens to find a seat next to a college-aged chaperone on a three-hour bus trip to a Shabbaton who strikes up a deep, meaningful conversation that continues on and off throughout the weekend. The latter involves a setting in which the deck was stacked, as it were, to  38 

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foster such a dialogue, though many elements were still left to a degree of chance (perhaps no one would choose to sit near the chaperone). Setting aside for the moment the possibility of divine intervention, it is difficult to see the former scenario as part of an educational plan. In summary, Jewish educators aim for holistic Jewish development within a variety of spheres including cognition, behavior, affect, and attitudes. Further, the goal is for students to incorporate these into a Jewish self-schema and to locate this self-schema within a more general sense of self or even as an organizing schema for this general sense of self. The process of educating for schema change is seen as one that is socially facilitated by educators providing distancing opportunities for students to encounter schema-inconsistent data. Distancing and schema-change processes bridge the external world (or experience) and the internal representation of self (or identity). This analysis suggests that the process of Jewish identity development should work on two levels: (1) creating a rich environment to provide opportunities for encountering behaviors, cognitions, and affects that can potentially be incorporated into an ever-more elaborated Jewish self and (2) facilitating the process of incorporating these elements within one’s self-schema. We now turn to our focus schools to explore the modalities through which such schema-change is addressed and the different approaches these schools take in using discrepancy as a catalyst for identity development. The following chapter includes a descriptive overview of each of the focus schools.

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CH AP TER 2

I

n the following sketches, I present a more detailed description of each of the three focus schools. These are intended to provide a glimpse into the three schools to set the stage for the broader discussion that follows. These sketches are not meant as comprehensive portraits of the schools. Although contrasts among the schools are informative, it is worth noting that all three schools share many similarities. The greatest similarity is that they all emphasize academic excellence as a core element of the school. This is demanded by the communities in which the schools are embedded. The families who patronize private Jewish day schools are notoriously ambitious for their children, and these schools feel the pressure to be academically productive. A school whose graduating students were not accepted into the appropriate universities would probably cease to be viable. The heads of school and teachers know this and guard their academic priorities zealously. The question they face is how, given that priority, they are to balance their programmes so that they are both well-rounded and Jewishly effective. (Kress and Reimer 2009, 343)

Further, the processes and outcomes of this academic focus are shaped strongly by the market forces of competition — from other private schools and often also from excellent public schools — among schools and by governmental education  40 

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requirements. As such, these schools all offer an array of advanced placement (AP) and honors courses and tout their students’ accomplishments — receiving national honors and scholarships and being accepted to elite universities. The similarities extend beyond academics. The schools’ goals for Jewish outcomes, as described by their leaders and in their mission statements, are broad and generally all of them encompass elements such as community building, tikkun olam and social action, and personal and interpersonal growth. And, in looking at the day-to-day activities of the school, and at the experience reported by students, these common elements are reflected in the myriad of extracurricular activities offered by each school to address these broad goals. Students at each school have available a vast array of teams, clubs, extracurricular activities, trips, assemblies, and so forth. However, to an observer, the schools seem to emphasize different aspects of their broad missions in ways that contribute to a different “feel” in each school. As an observer, I was impressed by the student body at each of these schools; I met many adolescents who were deeply engaged in both academics and in the community, who were thoughtful, motivated, and passionate. As a parent, I would be happy to enroll my children in any of them. Care must be taken in emphasizing trends of differences between schools. It is tempting to characterize settings along stereotypical and prototypical typologies and to read the data to support and enhance distinctions among schools, similar to the self-fulfilling prophecy in which a teacher’s preconceptions help promote outcomes that confirm these expectations. (For example, think about a teacher who assumes the quiet girl with glasses must be smart and unknowingly interprets this girl’s actions, even when they are ambiguous, as supporting this hypothesis, giving her higher grades on assignments and such.) Just as any given student is at times smart and at times not so smart, sociable and shy, cooperative and resistant; so every school includes moments on both ends of any dichotomy. This is particularly pressing in studying a complex system such as a school, in which the entirety of the data is literally incomprehensible and inaccessible to a researcher (e.g., Sadler 2002). For every indicator of a trend, there is a counterexample that can be found in the data. Generalities about each school emerge from a picture put together by the researcher, and the research process aims to make order out of complexity. What a researcher notes, recalls, emphasizes, and so forth runs the risk of creating a confirmatory bias to fit a particular schema.  41 

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With this caveat, I turn to describing the differential emphases in the different schools. I refer to these as emphases because, again, elements of each of these trends can be found in every school. What differs seems to be a matter of degree, or of environmental saturation, or the extent to which a particular trend seems to be reflected in the language used by different constituents in the policies of the school and in the unstructured moments in the school. The story I will tell emphasizes these distinctions, but the reader should keep in mind the many similarities that exist. Further, the sketches provide a general overview of each school (and its Shabbaton program); further details about each school are included within thematic discussions throughout the rest of this book.

“LIKE AT CAMP”: THE ABRAHAM SCHOOL The Abraham School1 is the newest of the three schools and the only one still in its original campus. Taking advantage of the topography and mild climate, its rooms are scattered among several buildings with shared usage, including a temporary structure and a local synagogue that lends space to the school. Students walk outside to get from class to class, have their lockers under covered outdoor walkways, and generally congregate at grassy areas and picnic tables around the site. The campus is bounded by a parking lot and hilly undeveloped terrain. Classrooms, generally with long tables placed in a U-shape, open onto outdoor corridors. There is no school bell, and I observe that classes often begin a bit after the scheduled time as students straggle in. Dress is very casual, particularly on warmer days. Boys generally do not wear kippot.2 One of the teachers tells me that his wife, who works in a different organization housed on this campus, jokes that the school, with its casually dressed students walking and sitting outside, seems like a summer camp. This summer camp “vibe” infuses the school. This is not to diminish from the academic rigor of the school nor the seriousness with which the students take their studies. Rather, the HOS came to the school from a distinguished career in residential Jewish programming and still holds that arena in high regard. Artifacts from his camp experience adorn his office. In fact, the school is located a short drive from this camp, and the site is used 1

Pseudonyms are used in place of the name of the schools.

2

The plural of kippah, literally a covering in Hebrew. The term refers to a skullcap.  42 

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for Shabbatonim and other school activities. He tells me that he likes to hire staff members that have camp experience, as these people tend to “get it” (his phrase) in terms of the climate he seeks to create and his educational vision. This climate and vision, too, seem to share elements with camp, emphasizing the intra- and interpersonal dimensions of development, the idea that one should treat all people as if they were created in the image of God, and that self-respect and self-discovery are important in this light as well. Community and character are the recurring themes. These values are framed by the HOS in a Jewish light, using the term betzelem elohim,3 and speaking to the whole school (at a Shabbaton) about tikkun ‘atzmi (self-repair) being the first step in tikkun olam (repairing the world). He describes a Jewish vision interwoven with positive personal values, pointing, for example, to a moment in a class he was leading about healthy eating when he made a humorous allusion to a Jewish ritual, and the class understood the reference (and also got the joke). To him, that was a moment of successful synthesis. He uses the phrase “A+ human being” to describe his goals for his students, playing on the traditional academic excellence demanded at private schools. This phrase, used by teachers and students alike, has infused the culture. In fact, during the Shabbaton, a student song leader inserted the term into a familiar call and response song: “A+,” he yelled, and without missing a beat, the students screamed back, “Human being.” While the HOS echoes the common refrain about the need for academic excellence, he also reports that he stresses, when recruiting, that “you can be a PhD and an SOB.” As a new school with its founding HOS still in place, members of the school community associate the school’s vision and approach with him, referring to him often by name in their own descriptions of the school. They use language that echoes that of the HOS; as one administrator put it, wanting “students to have a sense of hope and joy that they are engaging in acts of tikkun olam.” The school’s vision and discourse blend Jewish and human values. An administrator states that “we are working on an ongoing basis at helping the kids to establish good Jewish values that I think are good human values.” A teacher who also coaches a sports team told me a story of how a rival team exploited a loophole in the rules, while he decided to stick more closely to the spirit of the rule. 3

Meaning in the image of God, this phrase is from Genesis 1:27 and is frequently used as a concept to reinforce the idea that because each individual is created in God’s image, each is worthy of respect.  43 

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We lost the game but I was happy we did that. . . . I know it has to be a Jewish lesson. I know it is because I am very proud of my religion. I don’t know the exact Jewish link. I just know that it would be there. In many religions it would be the same, but I am proud to say it’s a Jewish lesson. It is a lesson of fairness, it is a lesson of integrity.

Faculty and administrators refer frequently to the school’s published vision for student outcomes (generally using an acronym as shorthand). The first of the six outcomes has to do with tikkun olam: integrity, honesty, and wisdom. Subsequent outcomes include language such as “learning is a lifelong enterprise,” “vital interaction of knowledge and Jewish values,” “participation . . . in community life,” “respect the religious practices and ideals of others,” “sense of hope, joy, self-confidence, personal meaning, and passion for life based on their understanding of Jewish tradition,” “critical, synthetic, and evaluative thinking,” “wisdom in their judgments and choices,” and “search for deeper meaning.” I am told that this statement is modeled after a Talmudic description of six questions one is asked upon one’s death to determine whether one can enter the world to come. It is notable that according to demographic studies, the school’s geographic region has a higher percentage of Reform Jews and lower percentage of Orthodox Jews relative to the region of the Jacob Academy (discussed below). It also has the largest percentage in the country of Jews that consider themselves “just Jewish” or “secular/no denomination” and the lowest rates of ritual participation and other measures of Jewish engagement. Jewish communal observance at the Abraham School leans toward the liberal. On the Shabbaton, though options are offered for shaharit,4 the school gathers as a whole for Friday night services and for Shabbat Torah reading. At the latter, mini-aliyot5 are read,6 and groups are called up for mass aliyot (e.g., all seniors at once). There seems to be a core group of students who know the Shabbaton songs and prayers and who sing them enthusiastically. However, many students do not join in. The arts are a major focus of the Shabbaton, with students involved in creating crafts to decorate their space. The seniors, who arrive a day early, create a class 4

The morning prayer service.

5

The plural of aliyah; literally ascent; the term refers to ascending as a participant in the Torah reading service to where the Torah scroll is read.

6

I do not believe these reflected divisions for a triennial cycle, but were abbreviated passages.  44 

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gift, a mural with the school logo in which each student symbolically places a tile. An art teacher serves as artist in residence working with groups of students to create a sculpture. There is an active group of Israeli dancers, facilitated by a teacher, whose participants learn contemporary moves to modern music. Students plan and facilitate many aspects of the Shabbaton, leading singing during meals, leading hikes, and so forth. Many faculty members are involved in different ways as well. In fact, students rotate through workshops in which faculty address the theme of the Shabbaton — freedom — from the perspective of their particular academic discipline. The Shabbaton approach is summarized in school documents thus: In addition to celebrating Shabbat, community bonding, and experiencing Judaism in nature, our Shabbaton provides our students the opportunity for individual spiritual growth. By meeting our students at their growing edge through demanding physical challenges, students are able to conquer fears, celebrate their accomplishments and thus are better able to appreciate who they are. When this growth process is examined by self-reflection and faculty mentoring, students become more self-aware and more mature. They are better able to answer the universal question, who am I?

The school’s focus on inter- and intrapersonal growth informs the studentrun Shabbaton activities as well. Students led a hike to a beautiful meadow that is recovering from a recent forest fire. The facilitators make a connection to the idea that struggle often leads to growth, just as the meadow bloomed after the fire. The hike concluded with a discussion activity in which small groups were asked to talk about “what enslaves them,” and then to share with groups of their peers. I was struck by the self-awareness of the students, as well as their comfort in sharing personal insights with their peers and faculty (and with me, a complete stranger). Students talked about their struggles with perfectionism, self-doubt, and the pressure to succeed from parents and educators. The Abraham School Shabbaton provides a forum for playing out school traditions. Most notably, an elaborate havdalah ritual involves the seniors using their havdalah candles to light those of the juniors. These two grades meet on Saturday afternoon to review the logistics of where they will stand, who will light whose candle, and so forth. The Shabbaton, which occurs late in the school year, becomes a time for seniors to make their transition, and the class as a whole symbolically hands off their senior status to the juniors.  45 

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Community values also play out in the leadership structure, in which leaders of various levels (deans, department chairs, etc.) gather in the HOS’s office to discuss issues and decisions facing the school. The HOS, sitting behind his desk (possibly because in the small, crowded office there is no other space), facilitates the discussion but listens as much as he speaks. One of the most striking elements of the meeting was the way that values talk seems to infuse the decision-making process. For example, one of the AP teachers wondered whether the school should ask for a delay of the date of the AP exam because much class time was lost during the year to Jewish holidays. In the discussion that followed, a question was raised about the intent of the college board’s policy for delaying tests. The sense was that the policy was for a test date that fell on a holiday, not for when time was lost during the year. However, there was also a feeling that if the request was made, the college board would grant it and that it would not raise eyebrows there. Discussion focused on ethical issues related to such a request, whether, for example, it gave the Abraham School students an unfair advantage. The group also considered the emotional reaction of the students (who might be relieved by the extension but also might be made anxious by the protracted process and by the rescheduling that would put the AP test around the same time as several other major tests), and the message they might be sending to the students about playing the system. The rabbi in residence added to the discussion the notion of dina demalkhut dina (the Jewish legal precept that the law of the land must be followed) and interpreted this to suggest that they ask the college board to explain its policy. Additional concerns were raised about logistics and scheduling and whether other AP classes would also ask for an extension and how this would play out with students who might not receive an extension. This discussion can be seen as one of shared leadership through consideration of elements of community impact, personal emotional and ethical experiences, and Jewish values. The staff workroom is shared by all teachers, who are crowded around a large table and several desks packed with computers and papers. It is hard to know how much of this set up is due to logistical constraints (the other two schools have smaller teacher workrooms scattered around the building) and how much is due to the school’s vision, but the effect is that the teachers work side by side. Other school structures and traditions reinforce the themes of interand intrapersonal growth as well. Most striking to an observer were the  46 

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derishot shalom:7 speeches that are five to ten minutes in length, delivered by each senior to the entire student and faculty community during which students connect issues of personal growth with Torah text (with heavy emphasis on the former). These addresses are delivered in conjunction with various school assemblies and also on the Shabbaton and serve as rites of passage attended by family members. Over the course of my observations, I had the opportunity to hear several of these. The talks generally followed a consistent formula: the brief development of a theme based on the Torah portion of the week followed by a discussion of some element of struggle or growth that the student underwent over the course of his or her time at the school, and concluding with what the speaker learned from this to share with others (the link between the Torah portion and the personal growth theme was at times tenuous). While some derishot were relatively straightforward in terms of stating a theme from the parashah and tying it to something about the school (e.g., along the lines of the importance of working hard to achieve one’s goals), several students used the occasion for, as a dean put it, “blockbuster revelations” — speaking from the heart with deep emotion about family and personal crises. I heard one student speak about a battle with a psychiatric disorder. Another spoke about the terminal illness of a parent, and another about a parent’s struggle with substance dependence. After the student finishes delivering the derishah, the presenter is embraced by their faculty advisor (who has worked over a period of time to help craft the product), his or her peers, and any relatives who attend. The theme of personal growth is echoed by the college guidance counselor, who states that “the [college] application process can be a catalyst to selfdiscovery if [the students] are willing to use it that way. . . . It can help deepen their self-exploration.” A teacher describes framing his pedagogical approach along several questions: “Can you clearly define your own goals? And meet them? Do you know what is expected of you? Do you know what you do not know?” Upon graduation, in an interesting parallel to the derishat shalom, students receive a commencement booklet that contains a paragraph for each student written by a faculty member, describing the student’s growth and experiences in the school. These notes are highly personalized, referring to specific events in each student’s history at the school. 7

Plural of derishat shalom, this term is used in contemporary Hebrew to mean regards or greetings, as in a letter. The term at the root of derishat also refers to Biblical exegesis, also a relevant translation in this context.  47 

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The HOS refers to a relative challenge in the realm of bein adam lemakom, (elements of Judaism that are “between man and God,” ritual observance). The student body, although denominationally diverse, is weighted toward the more liberal side of the spectrum. A large percentage of families are affiliated with synagogues, and the area has strong organizations affiliated with each of the major denominations. Communal prayer, however, remains a struggle at the Abraham School. Students meet every other week for a school-wide prayer service, and on alternating weeks for one of several prayer options. The school-wide service I observed, designed to be a conglomerate of the approaches of the biweekly minyan8 options, did not appear to deeply engage the students. A faculty member (from the “discussion” prayer option) led a discussion that turned into a mostly frontal lecture, a band (from a music prayer option) played, but few students seemed to know the words to sing along. There was a “false ending” when a large group of students misinterpreted “rising for a particular prayer” for “standing to leave because it was over” and had to be called back to their seats. No prayer book or handouts were visible. The girl sitting next to me told me that she finds tefillah frustrating at the Abraham School and compares it unfavorably to the prayer experiences at her summer camp. At another point, a different student complains about people making noise during prayers at school, connecting even this to the predominant school theme, stating, “At least they can have some respect for those who want to pray.” The students at Abraham discuss their school, in both their public derishot and their conversations with me, as a place where students are not pretentious; where, as one student put it, “being an oddball is the norm”; and where the range of individual differences among adolescents is embraced and students can discover their unique inner strengths, with one student even adding “like at camp.” A junior tells me during a meal about the difficult issues he had at public school and that he decided to transfer to the Abraham School this year “to start over.” The school is committed to including a range of students. A discussion in a leadership meeting focuses on whether to “give a second chance” to a student who was expelled from another school because of discipline problems (incidentally, the student was subsequently accepted and observed to be well integrated into the school soon after). At Abraham, there are more students (though the number is small) compared to the other 8

The term minyan refers both to the quorum of 10 required to conduct a complete Jewish prayer service (as in “We must wait for one more person to make a minyan” and to the prayer service itself (“I am going to minyan before class this morning.”).  48 

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two schools who seem to have visible difficulty with social interaction, who wear clothes that do not meet the accepted “style,” who avoid eye contact while speaking, and so on. These students appear to pose a challenge to the community. On the one hand, no inappropriate behavior is directed toward these students; in fact, I witnessed several staff and students ask how they are enjoying the Shabbaton. On the other hand, I often saw these students sitting alone (or near others who do not interact with them) throughout the Shabbaton. Another student used the term intimacy to describe relationships here, extending also to interactions with faculty. In general, faculty members seem to have a relaxed rapport with the students, and vice versa. One teacher says that because he is young and involved in leading extracurricular activities, he “feel[s] like a raw, accessible role model. I am indeed their cousin, in a different dynamic, a different situation.” Later, he says he has a “kinship” with the students that entered ninth grade the year he began teaching at the school. Faculty members are seen as approachable and down to earth. One girl, in a derishah, notes that “at Abraham [we] don’t just learn from classes, we learn from our relationships with our teachers.” She points to a relationship with a teacher that started as a meaningful conversation during a Shabbaton in the ninth grade as the impetus for becoming a cheerleader (in a figurative sense) for the school. It was at an Abraham School Shabbaton where I experienced a student-run oneg that evolved into a late-night rap session in which the interpersonal issues that had been vexing the grade were discussed. Students led their peers in discussions — based on questions printed and distributed to participants — about their experiences as part of the community in school, their frustrations and satisfactions, and their roles and responsibilities. While some students seemed less engaged or clown around, few seemed to approach the activity by acting out or trying to get out of it. In fact, some conversations seemed to get quite intense with a few students visibly emotional, tearing up and hugging one another. The staff generally monitored from afar, in the room but not in the group. The groups came together to share observations. Remarkably, the activity was still going strong after two hours, and many students continued the conversation even after the faculty called an official close to the activity. At the Abraham School, students are concerned that, in the words of one student, “[I]t is hard to maintain that level of intimacy and to make everyone understand what our school is all about while at the same time we want all these Jewish kids to get an education. It is like we feel kinda torn.” Older students are particularly concerned about ninth graders who they see  49 

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as isolating themselves as a class, having claimed a space to eat lunch and hang out in an area separated from the rest of the school in the dining area. “The incoming students aren’t as friendly, I feel like they withdrew from the other grades. They are not aware . . . they are more typical high school kids.” Of course, the growth of the school also means that there is barely enough room for the whole school to eat in the dining hall. The HOS says that this is a perennial concern in the school and describes a process of acculturation, with the current seniors voicing the same concerns that were raised about them when they were freshmen.

“A SPIRITUAL FIX”: THE ISAAC ACADEMY With approximately six hundred students, the Isaac Academy is the largest of the three schools. It is also the oldest; many alumni teach at the school (the principal estimates about 10 percent of the faculty are Isaac graduates). The school is located in a new building surrounded by new housing developments, some of them still under construction. The area is described to me as one of an emerging Jewish community; as the Jewish suburbs creep farther from the city center, this is a new frontier. Jewish institutions seem to be slowly moving to this area. The school will eventually be part of a larger campus of Jewish organizations for the region. The first thing that the HOS tells me is that when he came to the school a decade ago, he “found the school had a very rigorous . . . academic program, including Jewish studies.” He says this as a positive but notes that the experiential aspect was underdeveloped. He felt that previous administrations had been more concerned about keeping order to enhance academic rigor than about the Jewish development of the students. In fact, he reports that even the students resisted initial experiential programs, seeing them as “a religious thing, not for us.” Academic excellence and structure remain central elements of the school’s tone. The principal states that she is most proud of the tight-knit nature of the community but that “a close second is the academic ability of the kids.” In describing Isaac graduates, she says that “first of all they excel academically, and I think part of that is that we have a very rigorous academic program.” This theme is echoed in the school’s recruitment pamphlet, which opens claiming that Isaac is one of the “foremost Independent High Schools, and one of the leading Jewish schools in the world.” On the other hand, a “Vision” pamphlet opens with the “Jewish dimension, the school’s ‘raison d’être,’ and without  50 

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it we have no school.” The school’s three-part mission statement reinforces this dual emphasis with the first point referring to the school offering “the best possible Jewish high school education,” the second talking about the “best and most inspired teaching by outstanding faculty” and “care for each individual,” and the third talking about educating “students to be committed Jewish and concerned, active citizens.” Though extracurricular options abound, the strong academic emphasis and concern for orderliness can still be observed throughout the school. Bells mark the end-of-class periods, and, more strikingly, the William Tell Overture plays from the public-address system in the moments before the start of the following class. At times, the students’ scramble to class takes on the feel of a mad dash, a “musical chairs” struggle to be in class by the time the song stops. School administrators are positioned in the hallways to deal with those who do not make it in time. At the start of each class, the teacher leaves an attendance sheet by the door to be picked up by a staff member to be processed. The “Student’s Reference Guide for Attendance and Punctuality” is posted on bulletin boards around the school. Physically, the center of the airy building is the library, with windows that make it visible from many vantage points, including when one first enters. Seats in the classrooms tend to be arranged traditionally, in rows. Some older students seem to chafe at limitations (e.g., limits on posting flyers on the wall) arising from being in a building that was, at the time, brand new, comparing this unfavorably to their old building. In a recent year, a Shabbaton was canceled at the last minute when a group of students withdrew because a test was rescheduled for the Monday after the scheduled Shabbaton weekend. Students must pass comprehensive, selfguided tests in Judaic studies material. The academic focus is heightened, in part, by certain local statutory academic mandates that are stricter than those faced by the other two focus schools. The principal describes a “peer pressure to excel academically, so you get status in this building by getting high marks academically” among students. More so than at the other two schools, the HOS seems to compartmentalize Jewish academic studies and Jewish experiential activities. In a previous interview, he described a seeming zero-sum game — to the extent that the school is successful at structuring a Judaic studies curriculum that is as academically rigorous as that of general studies, the more is taken away from the spiritual and emotional side. He knows the latter elements are essential but wonders if they can be addressed in a school context because this would involve difficult transitions between the spiritual side and serious  51 

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academics. The Shabbaton program (instituted shortly after he arrived) was a deliberate attempt to redress this balance. As compared to the other schools, students here tend to live in a more concentrated geographic area. The principal sees this as a point of pride. The nature of the community leads the school to have, in addition to a large number of alumni on staff, a faculty in which there is always a family member [who is a student or alumnus] and so we like to say “the Isaac family.” Literally! So the teachers are neighbors of the kids and the kids all grew up together and everybody knows everybody and there is not a sense of the fragmented where parents don’t even know who their kids are friends with. [T]here is that sense of community.

I hear the phrase “Isaac family” several times during my visits; the students refer to a “family” feeling resulting from the relationships forged on the Shabbatonim. Many faculty members and students attend the same local Orthodox synagogue. Aside from this very large Orthodox synagogue, local Jewish organizations are described as relatively weak. The HOS reports that the school, not local synagogues, serves as the major Jewish organization for many of the students’ families. The imbalance of the strength of local denominational structures, though, is clearly frustrating to the HOS, who tells me that unfortunately your colleagues in the Conservative community and the Reform community have been unable to get their acts together. We keep on telling them to get youth movements, etc. here which takes a lot of work and a lot of development. We have NCSY very active here. We should get NFTY or USY too.9

According to local population surveys, the metropolitan area in which Isaac is located has a high level of Orthodox Jews relative to other North American communities, is in the middle of the distribution as far as Conservative and unaffiliated Jews are concerned, and has a lower percentage of Reform Jews as compared to other North American communities. Moreover, even the Conservative and Reform organizations in the region tend to 9

The National Conference of Synagogue Youth, North American Federation of Temple Youth, and United Synagogue Youth are youth groups associated with the Orthodox, Reform, and Conservative denominations, respectively.  52 

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be more conservative (little “c”) in their religious outlook. It is an area, says the principal, where “there is an affinity toward Yiddishkeit even among nonaffiliated kids.” The HOS notes that this enables the school to find a middle ground of observance where most of the school can be comfortable. Even given the nature of the community, though, the student body is not homogeneous. In fact, several staff members comment on the diversity of the students; a guidance counselor tells me that in his approximately twenty years at the school, “we’ve become more of a community school.” With regard to Jewish outcomes, “The ideal Isaac graduate,” according to a Judaic studies administrator, “should have a Jewish head screwed on correctly, meaning they should have the skills and the knowledge to pursue their study of Jewish knowledge, Jewish texts, but most of all have the motivation to do so. I have often said that the test is not how much they know when they graduate or what they can do but whether they want to pick up a Tanakh10 in ten or fifteen years.” This administrator also describes the school as increasingly diverse and broadens the goals to state that “if they’re a devout Reform Jew or a devout whatever Jew, that is the important thing. Our main enemies are apathy and ignorance.” His remarks are echoed by a Judaic studies teacher who talks about her role in “letting [the students] know that a diversity of opinions are all welcome as part of modern Jewish identity [which] allows them to express themselves and find their own Jewish identity in a more positive way no matter what the expression may be.” One Judaica administrator talks about the importance of respect in a community school, where “you can have boys who walk around with tzitzit11 and boys who have never worn tzitzit in your [sic] life. They come from different perspectives and can still have a great relationship.” When asked how the school promotes respect as a value, he points to values that come up in the context of text study in Judaica classes. In practice, however, talk of diversity bumps up against realities of the community. Perhaps because the Orthodox structures in the community are stronger relative to those of other groups, the school has Judaic studies teachers, administrators, and students who are generally further to the right of the spectrum as compared to other study schools. The HOS tells me that it is hard to attract non-Orthodox Jewish studies faculty and jokingly opens 10

An acronym standing for the Jewish biblical canon, including Torah, Nevi’im (Prophets), and Ketuvim (Writings).

11

A traditional fringed garment.  53 

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our interview by asking me if I have any graduating JTS students to send him as faculty. Reflecting a community with a strong Orthodox synagogue but few other Jewish institutions with which to affiliate, the Isaac Academy, in contrast to the other two study schools, has both the most Orthodox feel and the fewest communal Jewish practices. Boys here wear kippot throughout the day (as per the dress code), and some of the student leaders wear dark suits on Shabbat. Unlike at the other two schools, the circles of spirited dancing at Shabbatonim are segregated by gender. The school hires a large contingent of Israeli shelihim12 to teach in the school, and they are regularly called on to help staff the Shabbatonim. Overall, they come from Orthodox Jewish communities that are even further to the right of the spectrum. On the Shabbaton, for example, one of the shelihim raises a concern about the kashrut13 of the milk that was supplied. On the other hand, in contrast to the other schools, there is no school-wide prayer program. An optional Orthodox morning minyan is offered, but it is sparsely attended, attracting less than twenty students on the days that I observed (the HOS attributes the poor attendance, in part, to complications related to getting the students there on time). The school appears to exist with a tension between the community (i.e., the diverse) aspects of the school and the Orthodox approach that pervades much of the school. For example, it does not appear that all faculty members share the view of the aforementioned administrator who speaks of being “devout” whatever one’s background. This administrator talks about the need to work with members of the Judaic studies faculty, some of whom come from an ultra-Orthodox background, to appreciate different approaches to Judaism on the part of the students. The teacher who spoke about the need for students “to find their own Jewish identity” also describes how she had to work hard to make it clear to her students that it was quite acceptable to question the text, that doubts and criticism did not need to be muttered in “under the breath comments.” Evidently, her eleventh-grade students had not yet accepted this as part of standard procedures. On the first morning back at school after a Shabbaton, while the students gush excitedly about the experience, their teacher, a shaliah who had attended the Shabbaton, tells them, “You know, you can do kiddush anytime, not just on a Shabbaton.” There does not seem to be an organized vocal group of Conservative or Reform 12

Emissaries that spend time in Jewish communities throughout the world to foster connections with Israel.

13

The degree to which the milk can be considered kosher.  54 

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Jews, even though many students come from feeder schools associated with those movements. At the Shabbaton, I met several students that attend Camp Ramah, a Conservative summer camp. With the EE’s encouragement, several of them even tried to organize a Conservative minhah14 service to run in parallel with the already-scheduled Orthodox service. Because very few students showed up, though, the service was canceled. The Shabbaton provides a striking contrast to the dearth of communal Jewish ritual within the Isaac building. Shabbatonim play a central role in the religious life of the school. Indeed, the school now hosts more than a dozen Shabbatonim each year. Most of these are for freshmen, who are required to attend a Shabbaton. For other grades, Shabbaton attendance is optional; space is limited and spots are generally filled immediately. The HOS attributes this increased popularity to two factors: personnel and student leadership. Toward the beginning of my involvement with the AVI CHAI EE program, a new staff member, a shaliah with considerable Orthodox youth group experience, took over responsibility for the Shabbatonim. This individual was highly charismatic and energetic and brought with him traditions of raucous, spirited simhah dancing,15 emotional stories, and niggunim.16 At the same time, a system of student leadership was developed in which student madrikhim,17 selected from applicants based on demonstrated leadership potential, received training and supervision from the EE, and took charge of many of the elements of the Shabbaton. As the group associated with this charismatic EE and with their vocal role in leadership, these students became the equivalent of “big men (and women) on campus.” Many were already involved in a host of other school activities, and their roles in the Shabbaton leadership increased their social connections and clout in the school. While each of the study schools has a student leadership program, the Isaac Academy’s program is more visible. Student leaders are chosen through a competitive application process and are trained and supervised regularly by the school’s EE. At the other two schools, students lead various elements of the Shabbaton (e.g., facilitated an activity); at Isaac the madrikhim, to a large extent, run the show, facilitating discussions and transitions, leading prayers, 14

Afternoon prayer service.

15

Upbeat, fast, sometimes boisterous dancing, generally without set steps and taking place in circles.

16

Spiritual melodies, generally without words.

17

Plural of the term madrikh, which means guide and is often used to refer to youth leaders or counselors such as those at summer camp.  55 

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spurring on the singing and dancing, and generally setting the tone. In check-in meetings with the EEs18 throughout the Shabbaton, the madrikhim discuss students who seem to be less engaged and strategize about how to best approach them. They process any slip-ups (e.g., a transition that did not run smoothly) and problem-solve for how to improve their work. By their language, they see themselves as counselors to the ninth-grade “kids” (as the madrikhim occasionally refer to their younger peers). And the ninth graders seem to idolize them, telling me how “awesome” they are and how exciting it was to befriend them. The madrikhim receive certain informal and traditional privileges, such as a snack after the younger students go to sleep on Shabbatonim and opportunities to spend time planning activities in the student activities center. The degree of initiative and responsibility shown by these students is remarkable. In describing the experiential element of the school, the HOS refers to the “school ruah.” The talk of ruah, or spirit, is a recurring theme in my conversations with students and faculty in the school, particularly with regard to the Shabbatonim. It is easy to see why. Though the aforementioned EE is gone, many of the traditions remain. Spirited dancing erupts throughout the Shabbaton (during meals, tefillot . . . just about any time), initiated by the madrikhim who pull in (often literally) the rest of the students. Though some students initially hang back, as the Shabbaton progresses all seats are empty during this dancing. The floor of the dining hall in the camp/retreat center vibrates and bounces to the extent that it is a running joke among staff that one day the group will fall through. At the center of the circles are the madrikhim; the staff members generally join the circles but are not the instigators. Even the bus ride home from the Shabbaton is punctuated by songs from the Shabbaton, sung by students with voices scratchy from hours of spirited shouting. The ruah continues the following Monday morning when the recently returned students sing and dance noisily in the cafeteria during breakfast, spilling out into the hall as the bell rings. The spirit bumps up against the academic program as administrators, allowing the students an extra moment or two of revelry, disperse the students back to their classes. In the first period class that I observed that morning, ruah clearly trumped academics. As the teacher, a shaliah who attended the Shabbaton, attempted to begin class, the students (freshmen who had been on the Shabbaton) erupt

18

At the time of this observation, two EEs shared the duties related to the madrikhim and to the Shabbaton in general.  56 

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into song. Much of the class (perhaps because I am there) is spent talking about the Shabbaton rather than the teacher’s planned activity. Elements of the Shabbaton reflect the religious trends of the school. The Conservative-egalitarian minyan option is sparsely attended, while the Orthodox minyan and the “discussion” services are packed. Unlike at the other two schools, no Liberal/Reform option is offered. I am told by several administrators that the difficulties in hiring staff from Conservative and Reform backgrounds further complicates the development of prayer opportunities related to these denominations. Whereas other schools generally have an alternative prayer service such as meditation, singing, or hiking, Isaac does not. At various points in the Shabbaton, the madrikhim “testify” to the group about how they evolved in their Judaic practice, discovering the joy of increased observance of Shabbat. They encourage the freshman to attend the follow-up dinner they are planning specifically for those who attended the Shabbaton the following Friday night at the local Orthodox synagogue. They talk to me with pride about “seeing a change in the kids” Jewishly, and see it as their responsibility to plan Shabbatonim to show them that Shabbat can involve singing and dancing, not just restrictions. At least some of the freshmen are getting the message. One says that “the Shabbaton made you more closer [sic] to your Jewish side. It actually made you like to keep Shabbat.” Another says that she wants to go to the local Orthodox synagogue “even though my family is not religious, but I want to go on my own because the Shabbaton made me like this kind of stuff.” In the words of one student, the Shabbatonim are a “spiritual fix.” The principal reports that “the shelihim . . . invite [the students] over for Friday night dinners, and the kids will start davening [praying] at our shul [synagogue] because the shelihim are there . . . [people refer to one of the services there as] the Isaac minyan because there are so many Isaac kids there, it is really an NCSY minyan, so the lines are blurred out in the community.” Perhaps because of the size of the school, a key factor students discuss when asked about the Shabbaton is social impact — getting to know other freshmen who are not in their usual classes. To these freshmen, connecting with upper classmen seems particularly meaningful, and they note happily that they now know students in each grade and see them in the halls and cafeteria, and so forth. The relationship-building component of the Shabbaton is also emphasized by several administrators. One discusses the importance of a community in which “everybody knows everybody,” bridging long-standing patterns of relationship. Administrators and students also stress the importance of seeing teachers in a different light. The students see  57 

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the spirit and relations as coloring their broader experience with the school, making the school seem “better and warmer” and more fun. Interestingly, similar language is used by a student, who planned a trip to New Orleans to help rebuild in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, in describing student participants on the trip as now being “energized” and having a “spring in their step, ” generally happier because of what they did. Perhaps the Shabbaton and the experiential program complement the academic focus of the school by providing a context for spirit and connections that become associated, and to some extent, generalized in the school. This is done in a way that is consistent with the traditional framework of the community. The connection of the Shabbaton experience with better academic outcomes is voiced not only by the principal, who tells the story of a disengaged girl who spent a lot of time in the office, who “became part of the group, and the teachers were saying she was totally paying attention,” but also by a student (not the one discussed by the principal) who notices that her grades since the Shabbaton were higher, possibly, she theorizes, because the Shabbaton “makes you want to try harder because . . . on the Shabbaton they [the madrikhim] were always saying to make the most of your time at Isaac because you wish you had more time there when you leave.” On the Shabbaton, a veteran teacher, self-described as “not necessarily a traditional Jew, a very proud Jew” attended and, to the excitement of the students, became caught up in the spirited dancing as Shabbat progressed. When I spoke to him some weeks later about the experience, he says that he “was introduced to some religious and cultural aspects of more traditional Judaism for the first time.”

“A LABORATORY FOR PLURALISM” THE JACOB ACADEMY Like the Abraham School, the Jacob Academy can also be seen as having an emphasis on personal growth, though this is seen by the HOS as resulting from “the opportunity to pursue excellence, the opportunity to taste success and experience failure, the need to commit in depth.” He sees this playing out in multiple realms: academics, extracurricular activities, and Jewish experiences. This pursuit of individual commitments manifests in a notable intentionality of pluralism in the school, the idea that success in a diverse community depends on deepening the commitment of individual groups while at the same time seeking dialogue with “others.” The school  58 

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is located near several institutes of higher education in an area with many strong Jewish institutions. Notably, the community supports several longstanding and popular nondenominational religious settings. The HOS’s emphasis is echoed by a student who, upon being asked what surprised him in coming to the school, talks about pluralism, something he feels that he did not experience in his Conservative elementary school, and which he feels leads the Jacob Academy to be a “more dynamic” setting. Separately, another student answers the same question similarly, noting her initial concern that the school would seem too Jewish for her Reform background, but instead finding it very open religiously, that it was acceptable for her to practice as she wants and, moreover, that there were other like-minded students there. The daily prayer-based minyanim (orthodox, egalitarian, liberal) each draw solid crowds, as do the discussionbased options. Students are very involved in running these tefillot, both in school and on Shabbatonim; on a Shabbaton, for example, the Reform prayer option is led by a guitar-playing student training to be a Reform song leader. One student describes the Jacob Academy’s array of prayer options as “a trial-and-error system” in which students try out different options and “if I love it, I will come back tomorrow.” In addition to various prayer options, the school also offers an array of elective extracurricular activities facilitated by faculty members (who take more or less of an active role depending on the leadership skills of the students in the group). Time for these activities is built into the schedule of the school, with one block of classes dedicated to participation in an activity. The choices include sports teams and music and arts groups, as well as less traditional offerings such as yoga and stand-up comedy. In addition, the school sponsors an array of out-of-classroom activities (trips, community-based experiences, etc.) that involve students making choices to pursue interests of their choice. In my observations, the complex logistics of all of this (which involve a schedule that shifts throughout the week) were evident in students asking each other in the hallway what period came next, when certain things were scheduled, and so forth. Some student clubs have their own Shabbatonim, and faculty point with pride to students who have initiated clubs based on their desire to pursue a particular interest. On one Shabbaton, the a cappella group, with a faculty member filling in for a missing member, put on an impromptu performance on the lawn during free time. The Jacob Academy’s experiential education team developed a statement of principles with six components. These encompass, in order: (1) “compelling Jewish experiences” that “strengthen Jewish identity”; (2)“core values” and  59 

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“giv[ing] back to the world”; (3) “the habits of mind and the habits of heart of pluralism”; (4) “experiential and extracurricular learning opportunities that tap into the passions and creativity of every student”; (5) “excellence in teaching and learning”; and (6) “a learning community that is collaborative, reflective and professional.” In the school, elements of diversity manifest not just in religious terms and in extracurricular interests but also in other ways, for example, in efforts to include gay and lesbian students. The student-led Gay Student Alliance is very active, and signs about inclusion adorned the walls throughout the school during my visits. Coincidentally, I visited the school during the Day of Silence, in which some students and faculty chose not to speak to make a point about the silence of people who cannot speak about their true identities. The day culminates in an assembly organized and led by students. After an introduction by a student, who speaks in a poised and confident manner, the HOS is invited to the podium. He speaks while leaning on the podium, his relaxed stature matching the personal nature of his opening comments. In the process of speaking about a friend who “came out” while in college, the HOS shares with the students pieces of his own personal history. He makes a broad point about difference and the various dimensions of difference that exist at the school, including not just sexual orientation, but economic strata and Jewish approaches. He ends by making a connection to the week’s Torah portion related to the need to make a holy community, which he sees as achievable only by breaking silences and actively soliciting different voices and viewpoints. The Jacob Academy has undergone a growth in numbers and, like Isaac, has recently relocated to a new modern building. While one administrator echoes the Isaac Academy’s concern about the potential to lose “intimacy” and “personal connections” as the school grows, a key concern at the Jacob Academy has to do with maintaining prior levels of critical pluralistic reflection and dialogue. This points to a recurring manifestation of the school’s approach. Deliberative, critical reflection is seen as mediating growth as a result of participation in multiple experiences and is viewed as crucial to the functioning of a diverse community. One high-level administrator who has been with the school from the beginning is concerned that the growth of the school may result in the community having fewer opportunities, and less need, to “talk about” and “be really thoughtful” about religious issues. Concern about a decreased degree of pluralistic deliberation is echoed by many in the school community, including students in the upper grades. This change is attributed to two shifts in the school. The first is the increasing  60 

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percentage of students coming from secular schools. These students are seen as being less immersed in Jewish practice on a daily basis and less attached to a particular set of traditions and a strong denominational affiliation. Therefore, they may not have the base from which to argue for or against particular positions. The school, like each of the others, is working to bring these students up to speed with regard to Judaica and Hebrew language. The second shift has to do with the rapid growth in size of the school. As the school grows, an administrator tells me, “We have to be more thoughtful and [do more] planning [to have pluralistic dialogues] . . . we have to choreograph more.” The “adult community” increasingly has not “gone back and been reflective enough. We haven’t spent the critical time together in a room without a lot of people around, without a lot of things pressing us” to think through school priorities and possibilities. In the early days, I am told by several long-term administrators, discussions about communal ritual practice were a necessity because of the need for a relatively small group to solve problems in action with regard, for example, to prayer during a Shabbaton. There were simply not enough students to support multiple options, and difficult decisions needed to be made. Now that the larger student body can support different tefillah options, the only compromise to work out is whether to allow different options rather than to mandate a single service. In a larger community, deliberations become more unwieldy and less necessary. A recent controversy about the seating arrangement (mixed vs. unmixed) at prayers during a recent small-group Shabbaton centered not just on the decision made, but on the process by which it was made, which was seen as a solution imposed by administrators rather than debated by the community. In one class I observed, a student faults the school for “attempted pluralism” because students are not required to sample each different minyan option. The HOS, phrasing his goals in the form of questions, wonders, “How do we move from sampling to depth and commitment? How do we move from one time experiences that may even be compelling and may even be ongoing things that become part of your identity?” Even in the face of such concerns, debate and dialogue for the sake of clarifying opinion and beliefs still very much infuse the culture of the school. These themes are encapsulated in a letter to the school community about the Shabbaton in which the principal states that the required student and faculty participation in Shabbatonim has been essential to the mission and vision of our school. Spending Shabbat together creates a laboratory for us to put our pluralism into practice.  61 

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When we wrestle with how such a diverse community will observe and celebrate Shabbat as one, we are challenged to reflect on our personal values and commitments and to articulate these values and commitments to each other. Built into an all-school Shabbaton are value conflicts that lie at the heart of our school and of what it means to be a community, creating tremendous learning opportunities for all of us. Together, we must navigate the balance and sometimes tensions between these values. We strive to create a Shabbat experience as one unified community while honoring our diversity and the many micro-communities that make up our school. We commit strongly and passionately to our sense of personal obligations while making compromises where possible in order to make space for the Other and for the good of the whole.

Perhaps indicative of the worry about the reduction of pluralistic deliberation, there is an excitement about this being the first all-school, off-site19 Shabbaton in several years. The Shabbaton is partially funded by a gift from the previous graduating class to help reinstate this tradition. Evidently, however, some students were concerned that the Shabbaton was “required,” perhaps pointing to a tension between the value of community and the values attached to student empowerment and individual decision making. At the Jacob Academy, Jewish communal ritual is observed in a way that can be consistent with a variety of commitments. For example, on the Shabbaton, birkat hamazon is first led by a boy, and then followed by a girl who repeats the opening leader’s lines. In this way, it is explained to me, this is acceptable to both those who do and those who do not accept a gender-egalitarian approach. The question of tefillah options is raised at a school meeting the week preceding the Shabbaton, illustrating a conflict of values in the school: How might we pray together as a community while also making sure to respect the differences among groups in the community and what they would be comfortable with? Should there be an all-school prayer venue, requiring a decision that all students would, for that one service, observe the same ritual practice? Or should there be only parallel, separate services allowing choice of observance but sacrificing communal gathering for prayer? The decision was made to go with the latter, which was framed as an approach of “spiritual togetherness,” knowing that all members of the community are praying simultaneously in formats that fit their individual 19

All of the Shabbatonim had been held in the school building.  62 

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commitments. The paradox of spiritual togetherness resulting from parallel participation seems to fit the culture of the school. One administrator talks admiringly of a student who, in preparing a speech to be delivered to the student body, spoke about the fact that the challenges that have presented here for kids . . . it isn’t so much that you end up believing in God . . . but that you’re obligated to think about those beliefs and to be challenged by them and that that’s really an important aspect that maybe you don’t realize as you’re going through [the school]. The experience is unique to our school, she said, . . . “I talked to other friends who are at other schools and they don’t have that same experience happening and always being asked to ask questions, to think about the big questions . . . not necessarily to come to a definitive answer but to be thoughtful about it.” That’s something that we as a community share and that we take with us.

Elements of the choreography of pluralistic dialogue can be seen throughout school structures. Students and faculty have multiple opportunities to think through and deliberate on issues as a community, and discussion is a recurring part of the school schedule. The school community participates in an interactive debate midrash20 format in which different positions are presented and questioned. This highly structured public forum is used for discussion of controversial issues. Rules for the debate midrash include procedures for seating (according to one’s stance on an issue), turns for speaking, and movement around the room (as opinions change, one moves to the corresponding area in the room). The school’s administration uses this format for discussions among students (e.g., around issues of communal prayer) and faculty (e.g., around maintaining a program that some faculty see as expendable). Such a scaffolding of the deliberative process is infused throughout the school. In one notable example, a Judaic studies teacher runs a class “seminar style,” with students sitting around desks arranged in a square. He begins the class by asking a question and then expects the students to carry the discussion from there without a need for him to intervene. Students follow procedures for moving the discussion along (e.g., when you are done, indicate who should speak next). At the completion of a curricular 20

This term is a play on the term beit midrash, which means house of study and is used to refer to venues for the discussion of Jewish texts.  63 

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unit, the teacher invites guests (from in or out of the school) to participate in a discussion of the theme of the unit. There is also an online space for continuing the discussion, and in class, the teacher referenced comments that were posted online by the students. To this teacher, the process of the discussion is the key element of the class. He tells me that he sees grades as inhibiting the students’ desires to take risks in forming their own opinions. He reports that students tell him that grades make them think about classes in a way that distracts from their ability to learn and to participate in the class. In response, he posted large signs in the front of the room that say, “Grades Stink” and “Look Ma, No Hands” (referring to the idea that you don’t have to raise your hand in the discussion, that students must learn the signs of how discussions flow). This teacher grades the class as a whole, not individually, and therefore, students feel a shared responsibility to keep the discussion moving. The teacher thinks the students respect this and says that if a student is not participating in a discussion, one of the other students calls on that student and tries to engage him or her in the discussion. The interactions and roles are to an extent scripted: students must listen to one another and not interrupt even if they disagree, disagreements are to be framed in a positive tone, and so forth. An administrator, describing a class structure such as this, says that “it comes out of a commitment to that kind of discourse going on in the classroom.” Another administrator describes one of her goals as an educator (like most of the administrators in all the schools, she also teaches classes) to be understanding that text can have many meanings, multiple meanings. It is really hard to unteach what they have learned in their elementary schools, that there is a right way for studying Torah. How is that possible? It is antithetical to everything I stand for. So what I am trying to do is work on habits of heart and habits of mind so . . . it’s OK to live in the gray and the same text can have different meanings. Not everything goes, there are boundaries for certain interpretations, but that’s OK.

In other classes I observed, text study focuses not only on the content of the text, but on the meta-analysis involved in how to deconstruct a text. In a tanakh class, the teacher focuses on how to ask questions about a text based on the grammar used or its literary elements. The students ask questions about why a line begins with a noun, why an expected phrase does not occur, and relate the answers to broader themes about the text. In another class, students refer to elements of debate as they encounter them  64 

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in a Talmud text, “Ah . . . that is a third-party opinion.” They are asked to bring proof texts to defend their positions and interpretations of the text in question. Although in other schools I did see class formats that focus on the scaffolding of text analysis, I experienced this more consistently and intensely at the Jacob Academy. The culture of questioning is strong enough that a student feels empowered to pose to an openly gay administrator, who is observing the abovementioned Day of Silence, a challenge about the event, wondering if it detracts from the learning opportunities in the classroom. Although she reported feeling put off personally by the question, she engaged the student in dialogue (writing rather than speaking, in keeping with the Day of Silence), discussing other forms of learning that are important in addition to classroom learning. Various school structures support the coming together of students for dialogue. The school’s Shabbaton features an elaborately designed Friday afternoon activity in which the students worked in prearranged groups, each with a faculty participant, to solve a series of visual and verbal puzzles. A complex system of points and rules was explained to the students. The game was structured so that within each group, individuals (or a subgroup) must work on different puzzles, which were each designed to call upon different learning styles. The game was set up so that the team succeeded by coordinating the individual talents of the participants. In the building, the main areas for students to hang out are found right at the entrance, where a piano and sofas sit opposite the entrance to the dining area (which is open throughout the day). The din and activity that goes on there are among the first things a visitor experiences. The halls were designed intentionally (I am told) with many nooks and alcoves. These are used for a variety of activities throughout the day, for example, by students working in small groups and by a Liberal prayer service. On several occasions, I witness teachers who permit their students, who are working on projects in small groups, to leave the room to work in the hallways. Likewise, I am told that faculty workrooms in the new building were assigned with the goal of mixing faculty from different departments to encourage collaboration and cross-fertilization of ideas. My observations of the Jacob Academy are consistent with the findings of Shevitz and Wasserfall who studied the same school. These authors describe the school as “intentionally pluralistic” (Shevitz and Wasserfall 2009, 375), where differences are respected while an overall sense of community is maintained. They argue that the balance of diversity and  65 

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community is contingent upon the sense of safety in the school and license to “risk the differentiation, debate, discussion, and openness to cooperation and change that are at the heart of [the school’s] understanding of community” (377) and by the centrality of pluralism to the school’s self conception. The school “relies heavily on cognitive approaches,” (380), valuing the ability to articulate and defend opinions and positions while at the same time making sure that “vulnerable student groups” (384) have a place. Teachers, themselves a diverse group, value pluralism and go out of the way to promote it. Finally, to a lesser extent, there is also a concern that student empowerment and leadership are to some extent being taken over by faculty and staff. This was voiced strongly to me on a Shabbaton by a long-time staff member who pointed to the many faculty-led elements of that event. A student wrote an article with a front-page headline asking, “Do students still rule the school?” Her findings — based on interviews with some students and administrators — showed a split opinion about this. Interestingly, given the school’s ideals, she concludes that I suppose this isn’t something that can be answered yes or no. I think this is a topic that everyone in school should think about. It really depends who you are and what activities you are involved in. Isn’t the pluralistic idea to take all ideas into contemplation? There is no one answer to this question. I have my opinion, but don’t let it be yours.

As was the case with concerns about diminishing pluralistic dialogue, the degree of student empowerment, too, seems to remain high even in the face of worries of its diminution. For example, the school has a joint facultystudent va‘ad hamishpat (law or justice committee) with a procedure, spelled out in detail, that is involved in the disciplinary process, hearing cases with testimony that can be initiated by students and faculty alike.

COMMENTS ON SCHOOL SKETCHES These sketches amplify the challenges to the formal-informal distinction described previously. Noted educational theorist Seymour Sarason (1996) famously imagined the interpretations of an all-seeing but naive space alien upon encountering an American school. If Sarason’s space alien happened to land during a Shabbaton, it would encounter an experience that feels much  66 

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like an overnight summer camp. If it visited during an extracurricular block at the Jacob Academy, the feel might be that of a youth group.21 Each of the three focus schools has, to the eyes of a short-term visitor, a different feel and focus. It is possible to read into each school a unidimensional narrative: the Jacob Academy as the home of dialogically based identity cultivation through intergroup encounter; the Isaac Academy as traditional in both its academic focus and its ruah-based approach to Jewish ritual; and the Abraham School as existing at the intersection of contemporary self-help and Jewish values. It would be a mistake, however, to view these settings as radically different entities. As with any attempt to characterize the essence of a complex organization, such a summary would be an oversimplification. All of the three schools take their academics seriously, provide opportunities for exploration through dialogue, and focus on elements of self-growth. The differences are a matter of degree or emphasis. But these differences in emphasis are found in various aspects of the schools. Before turning to themes that cut across the different settings, it is worth pointing out that the climate and culture of each school can be seen as coevolving with the communities in which they are based. The Abraham and Jacob schools are newer, and as such, of course, the stories of their founding, with the emphasis on the idealistic visions of their founders, are very much alive; many of these founders are still among the school leaders. As these schools grow, perhaps some of their self-conscious attempts at articulating a vision for Jewish identity enhancement reflect the ongoing work of selfdefinition of these schools, which are themselves in the relatively early stages of their own development. The Isaac Academy, long-standing enough that its graduates are among its emerging leadership, while not without its struggles for self-definition and growth, is established enough so that its norms and expectations are more set and, perhaps, taken for granted. Likewise, this school exists within a community that is in some ways more homogeneous in terms of Jewish organizations and affiliations, which is reflected in the predominantly (but, again, far from unitary) “traditional” Jewish voice of the school. At the Abraham School, the closer ties are with Conservative and Reform organizations, with these groups also coming into more prominence in the school. The Jacob Academy is likewise diverse, perhaps even more balanced in the activity of its subgroups. 21

Alternately, Sarason’s space alien might be similarly confused by landing at a Jewish summer camp and finding a text-based Judaica class.  67 

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The relevance of the contextual and historical elements of the schools should not be surprising. Though it is tempting to treat “day schools” or “day high schools” or even “community Jewish day high schools,” as meaningful categories, there is no blueprint for the growth and development of these schools. Though each is affiliated with RAVSAK, the umbrella organization for Jewish community day schools, they are autonomous and tied closely to, and emerge from, the needs and resources of particular communities. This diversity is meant to frame the discussion that makes up the remainder of this book.

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EDUCATING FOR JEWISH IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT

CH AP TER 3

I

n chapter 1, we discussed theories of identity development that stress the importance of providing opportunities for youth to actively construct, or reconstruct, self-schema through encounters with contrasts to existing schema. The core of this approach is the social mediation of experience as the catalyst for growth (e.g., Rogoff, Matusav, and White 1998; Vygotsky 1978). These theories provide a useful framework for understanding the Jewish identity development efforts of the focus schools. The American Jewish experience is marked by blending the norms of two cultures (e.g., Fishman 1999). As such, at least in the liberal denominations and Jewishly diverse schools that are the focus here, Jewish identity development is the creation of a sense of self at an intersection, or perhaps at several intersections: as a Jewish individual, as a member of a Jewish community, and as part of a larger contemporary culture. Inherent in this conceptualization, and in many theories of identity development (e.g., Harter et al. 1997; Tajfel and Turner 1986), is the idea of contrast, that one develops a sense of self through a process of comparative encounter with other expressions of, or possibilities for, identity. There are three primary ways in which these schools, which are marked by norms and activities that differ from those of the participants’ external contexts and, therefore, are well suited for presenting discrepancies, serve a distancing role in challenging the self-schema of participants by providing (1) novel experiences, (2) dialogical opportunities, and (3) occasions for self-reflection.  69 

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DEVELOPMENT, DISCREPANCY, AND EXPERIENCE Experiences have the potential to breed discrepancy. New experiences bring with them roles, expectations, and ways of relating to others that challenge assumptions and expectations. A student who believes that “all committed Jews, such as myself, refrain from driving on Shabbat” may question that belief when he or she spends Shabbat with a Reform Jew who drives on Shabbat but is nonetheless involved in prayer and study.1 A student with an affect of “boredom” associated with self-as-Jew, when confronted with a different, more engaging style of synagogue service, may develop a more nuanced schema. As an individual encounters new experiences, contextually based aspects of the self may come into conflict with one another. Experiences such as Shabbatonim call upon students to live Jewishly in one another’s presence. The abstractions of “denominational affiliation” and “creation of community” give way to concrete concerns for what is and is not acceptable behavior for the twenty-five hours of Shabbat. Conversations about whether the use of electricity is permitted in the bunk, decisions about styles of dress, and choices about which prayer service to attend, all challenge students to make a statement about themselves along with their peers who are doing the same. Experiences that call for participation in acts of daily Jewish living have the potential to bridge contexts of self-definition. That is, a youth may easily maintain a distinction between self-in-school and self-with-friends or self-as-Jew, perhaps even coming to see one of these as the “real me” and rejecting the others as “not me” (Harter et al. 1997). Activities such as Shabbatonim create intersections among these aspects of self, highlighting discrepancies and calling into question boundaries among self-aspects (“I have been friends with Noah since second grade, but this is the first time we stood with our arms around each other while saying havdalah). Further, self-schema are not yoked to the present. Markus and Nurius (1986) discuss the notion of “possible selves,” or to use our terminology, schema for what one might become in the future. Experiences have the potential to illuminate discrepancies related to future selves — between current self and projections of one’s future self (“I always thought I would be a doctor, but I am turned off by my science classes”) or between alternative conceptions of a future self (“I always thought I would be a doctor, but 1

Alternatively, the student may view the Reform Jew’s efforts cynically, rejecting the possibility of alternate forms of engagement.  70 

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I see that one can have a meaningful life as a poet”). The range of plausible identity outcomes may expand along with a student’s world of experiences and relationships. Discussing encompassing educational environments such as day schools or summer camps, Kress and Elias note that such settings encourage participants to put themselves into new roles and become parts of novel situations. Joining a team, learning a new language, attending prayer services regularly, learning how to canoe, grappling with obscure texts, or taking a role in a play can each be a new sub-context for the participants. As such, the participant experiences “distancing” with regard to one’s identity because the experience creates discrepancies between what is “known” about oneself and how one acts, feels, and views oneself in different sub-contexts within the setting, or when one is in the setting and when one is not (campers often feel that “I am a completely different person at camp”), and between who one is now and who one might be in the future. One’s identity is shaped by the demands, expectations, and roles within contexts (e.g., Jackson 1995). As new behaviors are incorporated into one’s repertoire, one’s sense of self-efficacy encompasses new situations, and the affective and attitudinal valences of the experiences can change. Encompassing educational experiences may challenge previously held representations of one’s view of oneself as a Jewish person, and may introduce additional Jewish “possible selves,” to borrow language from Markus and Nurius (1986). (Kress and Elias 2008, 340)

Learning from experience has roots in Jewish tradition. To Abraham Joshua Heschel, “It is the act that teaches us the meaning of the act” (1997, 189). The tradition relates that at the essential moment of the receiving of the Torah, the assembled Israelites replied na’aseh venishma2 (we will do, and we will hear or understand). Rabbinic commentators, for whom no biblical word or phrase occurs randomly, point out that one would expect the response to be reversed, that is, for understanding to precede doing. They point to this as a sign of the primacy of action, the willingness to act “on faith” even without knowing a reason. The understanding emerges from the doing. Rote performance of ritual is seen as a stepping stone toward a meaning-based approach, as in the adage mitokh shelo lishma ba lishma (loosely translated, motivation to follow tradition will emerge from unmotivated practice). 2

Exodus 24:7.  71 

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This approach was particularly, but not exclusively, evident at the Isaac Academy, perhaps because its more homogeneously Orthodox approach (as compared to the other two schools) to religious observance allowed for the creation of a more unified set of public rituals. At this school, Shabbatonim were designed to create an experience that even ritually observant students were unlikely to have encountered except perhaps at camp or in a youth group. An Isaac Academy Shabbaton is marked by singing until one is hoarse and dancing until the floor starts to shake. As previously quoted, one Isaac Academy student describes the impact of the Shabbaton, “Even though my family is not religious, I want to go [to synagogue] on my own because the Shabbaton made me like this kind of stuff.” It is certainly unlikely that she had encountered “this kind of stuff ” previously. The locus of discrepancy is turned inward (comparing one’s self now with one’s self in the future), between what is and what can be in terms of one’s Jewish identity, and how this relates to the type of Jewish person one might always have assumed (even in an unarticulated sense) one would be and the type of alternatives that emerge as possible.

DIALOGICAL DISTANCING Dialogical interactions — particularly debate and argumentation — are a second modality common in the study schools for challenging self-schema. Debate and argumentation have roots in the Jewish tradition, referenced in ancient texts (e.g., Abraham’s argument with God to spare the people of Sodom and Gomorrah) and in popular culture (e.g., jokes about two Jews having three opinions). To Neusner (1997, 25), “When Jews study Torah, they argue. When they sit sedately in a class room and acquire information, they may study, but they are not studying Torah. . . . to learn, we must be aggressive.” A recurring image of Jewish learning involves scholars gathered around a pile of open books, debating in sing-song voices the meaning of the text. As noted previously, Shulman (2008, 12) discussed “the concept of mahloket3 as a central defining feature of the pedagogies of Jewish education. The essential pedagogical dynamic is the battle of interpretations, implications, and possibilities.” Note that both Neusner and Shulman do not see the process as one of simply sharing ideas with others but rather as 3

Argument or disagreement, often used to refer to the articulation of different positions in a Talmudic argument.  72 

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“aggressive” and a “battle” for understanding, involving challenges to beliefs and opinions. Jewish schools — the schools in the study among them — embrace forms of pedagogy in which one’s schema are called into question through dialogical interaction. The paradigmatic setting for argumentation in Jewish learning is the hevruta, paired study in which students share interpretations of a text to arrive jointly at a greater understanding of its meaning. In the process, the hevruta learner engages in a circular movement of listening and attending seriously to what the partner and the text are saying. He or she must attend in an open way to the claims of both the text and the hevruta partner, attempting to view things from the perspective of the others (the text and the partner’s point of view about the text). (Holzer 2006, 196)

These dialogical interactions can be understood in Vygotskian terms: Every function in the child’s cultural development appears twice: first, on the social level, and later, on the individual level; first, between people (interpsychological) and then inside the child (intrapsychological). (Vygotsky 1978, 57)4

Through interaction, cultural knowledge is transmitted and evolves. Kent (2006, 220) uses the term interpreting through opposition to describe the process of learning in hevruta. The presentation of discrepant points of view in the service of textual interpretation is consistent with a distancing approach because such interactions call upon participants to question their ideas and viewpoints. Shulman, summarizing Dewey’s views, notes,5 4

The process of hevruta is consistent with a community-of-learners approach as described by Rogoff, Matusav, and White (1998, 396) in which “children take an active role in managing their own learning, coordinating with adults who are also contributing to the direction of the activity, while they provide the children with guidance and orientation. . . . Adults support children’s learning and development through attention to what the children are ready for and interested in as they engage in shared activities in which all contribute.”

5

Ellenson (2008, 255), summarizing Buber, seems to agree that it is more than a learning modality; it is a defining feature of the human condition, “The individual is ‘human’ primarily because he or she is capable of entering into dialogic relationship with another person and with God.”  73 

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[W]e are intrinsically incapable of uttering the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Claimed truth is unavoidably incomplete. Our assertions can never do justice to the full complexity of the world around us. . . . For this reason, controversies are both inevitable and desirable. Individuals or groups will sense the incompleteness of any argument and oppose it with an alternative that builds on what was left out of the original position, thus advancing deliberation and advancing the analysis. (Shulman 1991, 467)

Feinberg provides an ethnographic description of a classroom in a Jewish school characterized by frequent challenges to opinions among the students and between the students and the teacher. He sees this as consistent with the “part of the Jewish tradition in which God is in conversation with man and where even the voice of God can be questioned,” resulting in a chaotic environment “where argument holds center place, where disagreement even with the highest authority is part of the moral order, and where elements of chaos are built into the very conception of education” (Feinberg 2006, 22). Hevruta was used frequently in the current study schools in a variety of contexts. In fact, the term hevruta was often used by educators in these schools to describe any group work, not just the type of paired, open-ended, interpretive tasks that characterize traditional conceptions of hevruta. That the language blurs the image of students pouring over ancient texts with contemporary approaches to cooperative learning6 (e.g., Johnson and Johnson 1998) shows the degree to which the notion of dialogical learning infuses the culture of Jewish education. A visitor to any of these schools would find not only classroom activities specifically structured around joint interpretation of texts but also students sprawled on couches, sitting in nooks in the hallways, or reclining on the floor in the library, pouring over texts in pairs or small groups. Further, in the study schools, the culture of dialogical challenges is fostered by frequent attention to the rules of engagement for debate and argumentation. Teachers (of both Jewish and general studies) were frequently observed clarifying appropriate processes for analyzing texts or other information. A teacher might work with students to map out the steps of a Talmudic argument, thereby showing the stages and elements of the thinking of the rabbis. In the same way that a math teacher would ask 6

Brown and Malkus (2007) discuss the significant differences that exist between hevruta and cooperative learning, although both are based on an interpersonal approach to learning.  74 

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students to show their work, teachers in these schools often prompt students to show their thinking, as it were, through their focus on the analytic process, for example, asking for a student to provide a proof text to support their interpretation.7 Educators make similar efforts to scaffold dialogue among students. This goes beyond general exhortations such as “one student talks at a time” to include specific language explicating the process of debate (e.g., “We have two opinions on the floor, as expressed by Josh and Talia. Would anyone like to provide support for either of these?”). Interestingly, I observed teachers going out of their way to reinforce students who had either lowered their hands during a class discussion or said, “Forget it . . . it was already said” when called upon. The teachers’ praise helps to shape an expectation for appropriate dialogue in the classroom (in this case, “know when to say nothing”). Theorists (e.g., Wertsch and Toma 1995, drawing on the work of Lotman [1988] and Bakhtin [1986], among others) have described two functions of texts, univocal (conveying information) and dialogical (producing interpretations through the interaction between text and reader); a text can be seen as having a meaning, and it can be seen as having many meanings. Wertch and Toma (1995) extend this theory and describe interaction within the classroom as “text” that can also have these two functions. Univocal classroom interactions function “to convey information to the teacher and to the rest of the class. In Lotman’s terms, the central consideration in such cases is the accuracy of transmission” (Wertsch and Toma 1995, 168). In contrast, in dialogical interaction “the speakers’ utterances were taken as ‘thinking devices’ or ‘generators of meaning,’ rather than self-enclosed messages that are to be received accurately” (Wertsch and Toma 1995, 169). In general, it is reasonable to expect that when the dialogic function is dominant in classroom discourse, pupils will treat their utterances and those of others as thinking devices. Instead of accepting them as information to be received, encoded and stored, they will take an active stance toward them by questioning and extending them, by incorporating them into their own external and internal utterances, and so forth. When the univocal is dominant, the opposite can reasonably be expected to be the case. (Wertsch and Toma 1995, 171)

7

See Kent’s (2006) discussion of self-regulation of the analytic process within hevruta. The rules of engagement in these settings are to an extent predetermined and negotiated by participants in the course of their interactions.  75 

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A dialogical approach was most apparent at the Jacob Academy, though it was present (especially in the form of the hevruta) in each school. The Jacob Academy, embedded in a community in which the three major denominations (as well as nondenominational Jews) each has a strong presence, has a culture in which students “wrestle . . . with value conflicts that lie at the heart of our school and of what it means to be a community” (a phrase used by the HOS in a letter to the student body). In the study schools, and particularly at Jacob, the culture of debate is built outside of the classroom as well. Each of the schools holds community meetings or leadership councils to discuss issues of impact to the school community. Two particularly elaborate examples of the scaffolding of interpersonal interaction at the Jacob Academy — one involving the classroom adorned with the “Grades Stink” and “Look Ma, No Hands” posters and the other involving the debate midrash format — were described previously in the sketch of the school. Such opportunities not only allow students — and faculty — to question one another’s opinions, but to learn how to do so. An emphasis on dialogical interactions is not without risks. Krakowski, for example, describes the “chutzpah” of ultra-Orthodox students in the classroom of a secular studies teacher who employed Talmudic-style reasoning to argue with her in a wide variety of circumstances. They regularly seized on any imprecision in her speech to “innocently” carry out instructions in ways she had not intended, and defended incorrect answers by parsing the precise language in which questions were posed by their textbooks. (2008, 332)

In general, students in the study schools behaved appropriately in their interactions with peers and staff.8 The nature of relationships in the schools helps to create the environment for debate to flourish, whereas the emphasis on the process and procedures of debate helps to avoid the “chaotic” environment observed by Feinberg (2006) in his ethnography. When the potential exists for more passionate disagreement in the school, educators are likely to call upon more formal structures (e.g., a community meeting) to maintain a generative order to the process. Attention to the orderly process of debate and argumentation can be seen as existing within 8

Of course, isolated exceptions were witnessed. Also, student behavior might have been reactive to the presence of an observer. The overwhelmingly polite and respectful behavior that was observed, though, is consistent with reports of the staff.  76 

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the Jewish tradition of mahloket leshem shamayim9 (argumentation for a higher cause, such as arriving at the meaning of a text or deciding a rule of Jewish law). It can also be seen as a matter of community building in these pluralistic schools with their intentionally diverse student bodies. In religiously pluralistic settings, attending to the rules of engagement may be particularly necessary because of the potential for heightened conflict around emotional issues. When the rules are clear and enforced, differences of opinion can come to be seen as generative and not aversive. Still, the potential exists for students to cross the line. One administrator describes the students in her school as “thoughtful but sometimes a little rude, a little entitled.” It was in this school, as related earlier, that a student questioned an administrator about the relative merits of a major schoolwide initiative in support of gay students.10 The administrator supported the student’s right to raise the question, but the episode points out some of the challenges of implementing a dialogical strategy that also takes caring, interpersonal dynamics into account. The issue is not whether it was appropriate for the student to have raised opposition to the program (the community norm is to do so) but rather whether he exercised good judgment in doing so publically, just as a class was about to begin, to an openly gay administrator who was active in planning the event (and was about to begin teaching the class). Further, at the time the challenge was posed, the administrator was refraining from unnecessary speech (as part of the program, to illustrate the silence of gay students). When, where, and how to ask are important elements in such situations.

SELFREFLECTION AS DISTANCING Self-reflection is the third modality of distancing common in these schools. It can be seen as operating in conjunction with experiences and dialogical interactions. Self-reflection is understood as an active process that is important in consolidating learning (e.g., Buehl 1996) and engaging the neurological pathways that “[h]elp students make personal connections to the work they do in class” (Jensen 1998, 81). Dewey (1938/1997) emphasized that to be maximally effective, educational experiences should be 9

Literally: an argument for the sake of the heavens.

10

The student stated that he opposed the program because it took away from class time, not because of lack of support for gay students.  77 

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accompanied by opportunities for reflection. Likewise, Reimer, as discussed previously, discusses the importance of opportunities for reflection and processing with the goal of incorporating educational experiences into one’s life and worldview. Researchers in general education point out that “[q]uiet periods for self-reflection” which “provid[e] freedom from outside stimulation or pressure” are vehicles through which teachers enable students to access their own values, priorities, and sense of purpose. High school students in particular may find quiet, reflective periods to be sources of refreshment and focused attention. (Elias et al. 1997, 53)

Noted Jewish educator and spiritual practitioner Rabbi Zalman SchachterShalomi, speaking at a forum for general education, claimed that he “would like to see that in courses[,] after we talk about a wonderful notion, we encourage the class, ‘Now daydream for five minutes about that.’ Measure yourself to this idea; see how it feels when you put it on” (Schachter-Shalomi and Smith 1999, 230).11 In such a process, “observations and reflections are then brought together into a ‘theory’ from which new implications for action can be worked out” and that can be used “as a guide to acting in a new situation” (Jeffs and Smith 2008, 64).12 Self-reflection can be seen as the internalization of the dialogical process of questioning self-schema13 and is consistent with the idea of considering “possible selves” (Markus and Nurius 1986) or schema for whom we may be in the future, as evident in Feinberg’s description (2006, 102): 11

Interestingly, popular media outlets are currently reporting results of emerging neurological research using headlines “Discovering the Virtues of a Wandering Mind” (Tierney 2010) that summarizes findings that “[a] wandering mind can protect you from immediate perils and keep you on course toward long-term goals. Sometimes daydreaming is counterproductive, but sometimes it fosters creativity and helps you solve problems.” Of course, reflection and daydreaming are not the same, though the type of guided daydreaming recommended by Rabbi Schachter-Shalomi seems to share reflective elements. In his formulation, students are given a framework for consideration rather than expected to be fully left alone with their thoughts.

12

Note the similarity in the language of Jeffs and Smith to the description of schema earlier in this chapter.

13

In fact, research suggests that in diverse settings, the combination of intergroup dialogue and critical self-reflection is key to creating opportunities for growth (Nagda 2006; Nagda and Gurin 2007).  78 

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Self-reflection has to do with who we are and, within limits, the way in which we choose to engage with the world, allowing us to see who we are at this moment (a knock-kneed batter, a befuddled actor, a scratchy singer, or a careless eater) so that we may also see the potential that remains yet unrealized. The critical element is required not just to see this momentary self but also to understand the way it is situated in a nexus of openings and possibilities.

Self-reflection does not require solitude to occur, though it is facilitated by opportunities for introspection, for the consideration of the personal meaning of events once time has passed. This internal process can be shared with, or related to,14 others in writing (e.g., in a journal), in conversation, or in artistic expressions. These “others” may play a role in clarifying ideas by “actively listening,” or they may simply share reflections in turn. Reflective analysis of self-schema occurs in relation to events in the past, not in response to “in the moment” challenges from others, as in the dialogical interactions described earlier. Self-reflection can serve to bridge classroom learning, as well as other experiences, with self-schema change. Reflectively making connections among elements of one’s experience is a centerpiece of identity development. Harter and colleagues (1997) stress the importance to adolescents of a process in which [e]xperiences are temporally sequenced into an integrated self-narrative that provides meaning and future direction. Moreover, life narratives construction is a continuous process since we not only craft but revise the story of our lives, creating new blueprints that facilitate further architectural development of the self. (Harter et al. 1997, 850)

These authors stress that the synthesis of a coherent life narrative does not happen automatically. Other theorists note that, from a Vygotskian perspective, the synthesis needed to create a positive, coherent identity may require sociocultural mediation or scaffolding provided by the environmental context (Penuel and Wertsch 1995). In fact, adolescents are at risk of negative disequilibrium based on conflicting views of themselves, the perception of conflict between the perceptions of the “real me” with the expectations of others, or with the “me” that presents itself in certain situations. Rejection of certain elements of the self or of certain identity14

Such sharing is in contrast with the debates described in the previous section.  79 

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incongruent experiences may result. A variety of theorists (e.g., Emerson 2006, building on the work of Bahtin; cf. Sampson, 1993) suggest that the creation of life narratives in conversation with others can be a particularly powerful shaper of identity.15 As Jeffs and Smith (2008) point out, dialogical interactions such as those discussed in the previous chapter are themselves activities or experiences. It would follow from this that in addition to engaging in conversations that can challenge self-schema, reflecting on such conversations would contribute to the internalization of their personal meaning. For example, a European history class may present an opportunity for students to discuss antiSemitism. A self-reflective stance would include asking students to draw connections between historical events and the students’ own experiences and beliefs as contemporary Jews, what the class discussion has to do with how they see themselves, and so forth. Reflection on the meaning of a dialogue connects the conceptual, hypothetical topics of the discussion to the evolution of the self. Immersed in the moment, engaged in any activity (including dialogue), it is difficult to monitor emotions and make meaningful connections with broader themes in one’s life. While reflecting on an activity, we can draw on ideas, images, and memories of events. . . . We can play with them, adapt and develop them to fit the new. We make connections. . . . We have to encourage people to open their minds to various possibilities and to make links. (Jeffs and Smith 2008, 63)

Jeffs and Smith draw on Schon’s (1983) distinction between reflection-inaction and reflection-on-action, with the latter process of reflection making it “possible to return to the experience, attend to feelings and make connections and judgments” (Jeffs and Smith 2008, 63). Although reflection can happen spontaneously, a facilitated approach would include environmental prompts and opportunities for students to reflect (alone, with peers, or with adults) on experiences, reactions, doubts

15

Emerging data suggest a neurological basis for this, with different areas of the brain involved in representing present and past selves. D’Argembeau (2008) found the latter to be processed by the same area that is involved in reflecting on an intimate other. This finding, although in the early stages, suggests that reflection on one’s past self, as well as on relationships with significant others — both discussed in the current context as potential stimuli for schema change — seem to share neurological pathways.  80 

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and questions, and their enthusiasm, and to weave all of these into an ongoing life narrative. For example, after an intensive experience such as an Isaac Academy Shabbaton, students would be prompted to process questions related to Jewish tradition (Why did the boys and girls dance separately?) or to discrepancies from prior expectations (I never thought Shabbat could look like this; are there really places where this happens on a regular basis?) or to how one views one’s self as a Jew (How can I take on some practices that seem this spirited? or I was turned off by all the shouting; what does that mean for me as a Jew?). These questions may emerge immediately following a Shabbaton or sometime in the future. Similar questions may emerge from any experience — including dialogical interactions in classrooms — in or out of the school. Leaving follow-up reflection to chance is a very risky approach in addressing a central goal of experiential Jewish education, that of weaving experiences into one’s sense of one’s self as a Jew. As with development through experience and interpersonal dialogue, reflection is also culturally consistent and is represented in Jewish ritual (e.g., Yom Kippur presents an “opportunity for serious self-scrutiny” (Einstein and Kukoff 1989, 29) and culture (e.g., the self-questioning Tevya in Fiddler on the Roof). Many commentators have discussed the introspective ideal implied by the Hebrew word lehitpallel (to pray), which is a reflexive verb that can also be translated literally as to judge one’s self. “For the rabbis, thinking about the question ‘What does it mean to be a Jew?’ is critical to being a Jew” (Feinberg 2006, 28). In the study schools, educators present students with an array of structured self-reflective opportunities16 to connect the elements of their experience in the school into a narrative related to their self-schema. For example, on various occasions in each of the schools, students were asked to

16

Because self-reflection is generally an internal process, in its purest form, it is impossible to observe. This presents certain methodological challenges: How can an observer know if during a long bus ride home from a Shabbaton, a student, while staring out the window, is thinking about a recent discussion about Shabbat or trying to memorize the conjunction of the Hebrew pluperfect for an upcoming exam or wondering how to approach the person on whom he or she has a crush? Spontaneous debate can be seen (or heard); spontaneous self-reflection cannot. However, the question at hand is not whether or not students reflect, but whether there are intentional efforts on the part of educators to provide opportunities for such reflection. Though a similar challenge remains — that is, if a teacher schedules 10 minutes of journaling time, we don’t know how much actual reflection is going on — the public sharing of the fruits of reflective processes, as described, provides evidence of student engagement in the reflective process.  81 

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share self-reflections in a public forum and to present these to the community in an act of contemplative self-disclosure of the fruits of self-reflection.17 These venues often involve older students discussing their experiences while at the school and have the potential both to set an introspective tone for the younger students and to create an expectation that school will be a place to achieve personal, as well as academic milestones. This approach is particularly notable in, though again not exclusive to, the Abraham School, where evidence consistent with the HOS’s proclaimed emphasis on tikkun atzmi (self-repair) is found throughout the school. The guidance counselor at the school states that “the [college] application process can be a catalyst to self-discovery if [the students] are willing to use it that way. . . . It can help deepen their self-exploration.” The derishat shalom, discussed in the Abraham School sketch, is a particularly powerful public display of the fruits of a facilitated process of self-reflection, but it is not the only one at Abraham or elsewhere. At the Jacob Academy, each graduating student writes a paragraph reflecting on his or her growth. These are published as a collection and distributed to the community as part of the commencement process. During freshman Shabbatonim at the Isaac Academy, student leaders from the upper grades attend the freshman Shabbatonim and tell the younger students about how they have changed Jewishly over the course of their years at the school. Several freshman Shabbaton participants, whom the leaders observe “really getting into” the Shabbaton, are also asked to share their reflections on their experiences with the group. Back at the Abraham School, a reflective activity at a Shabbaton that was planned jointly by staff and the student leadership turned into a late-night session of dialogue and self-reflection (Vignette 1). VIGNE T T E 1 : Fac i l i t a te d a n d S p o n t a n e o u s S e l f- R e f l e c t i o n At a school-wide Shabbaton, I observed an oneg (Friday night) activity for the eleventh-grade students. The program began with students indicating their agreement or disagreement with various statements about themselves (Jewish and general attitudes and behaviors) by “stepping forward” from

17

There is reason to think that the public presentation of the fruits of one’s reflection may be particularly powerful. Many faith traditions include rituals for religious testimony based on the idea that opinions are strengthened when they are stated publically. The potential coerciveness of such testimony is discussed in a later section.  82 

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the line in which they were standing. When the staff facilitator called this segment of the activity to an end, the students requested a few more rounds. This activity was followed by discussion in small groups using stimulus questions developed by the students about emotional experiences in school. Once again, when staff attempted to end the activity, the students kept the discussion going, even asking if the staff could leave the room so they could speak more freely (staff moved to a place where they could keep an eye on the students but not hear specifically what they were saying). This activity went on until 2:00 a.m. The next morning, I spoke with some of the eleventh graders about the experience. One told me that he entered this school together with many other students from his elementary school and that he brought with him “a lot of grudges” that he had held for many years. He felt that last night, he finally was able to work past these and to learn what other students were thinking. Another described the eleventh grade as split into two large cliques that did not interact until last night’s activity bridged the divide. Of course, the actual impact of this one experience remains to be seen. (Will these positive feelings be maintained when they are back on campus? Did anyone’s attitude actually change?) However, it does seem that the Shabbaton allowed a degree of self-disclosure not available elsewhere.

Students in the study schools also take “classes” designed specifically to promote reflection on self-schema. These classes are generally run by rabbis, experiential educators, or other student-support personnel (e.g., deans, as in Vignette 2). Further, dialogue and self-reflection may be used in tandem. Tanchel (2008), for example, describes a sequence of biblical study at a pluralistic Jewish high school in which basic frameworks for biblical study are presented in the early grades, eventually leading to students’ encounters with the documentary hypothesis18 of biblical authorship in their senior year. In class, seniors have the opportunity to debate the topic, to examine the evidence supporting this approach, and to weigh it against their preconceptions (e.g., about the divine authorship of the Bible). Tanchel’s approach exemplifies interpersonal (in the tense debates among students that she describes) and reflective (through journaling and other writing) techniques for distancing self-schema.

18

This historical-critical approach sees the Bible as texts edited over time. This theory often leads to the questioning of the divine origin of the Bible and, by extension, the “truth” of its precepts.  83 

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VIGNE T T E 2 : A Je w i s h Ide n t i t y C l a s s At the Abraham School, I observed a Jewish Identity class developed for those tenth graders who did not participate in the school’s semester-long Israel experience. In the session, students drew an outline of their hand and filled it in with adjectives they would use to describe themselves Jewishly and with descriptions of experiences that formed their Jewish identities. These were shared with a partner and reported back to the class. When some of the adjectives included “bored” and “sleepy,” the teacher, who was also a dean at the school, accepted and encouraged the students, saying, “The whole range of responses, that’s what it’s about.” The second phase of the activity involved picking one experience and, using a handout, describing the sensory memories related to this and, finally, to picking an object associated with the experience and either writing about it or drawing it. The products of this activity were to be displayed for the school community. The teacher shared her own “hand print” and spoke about her experiences at a summer camp.

To summarize, the study schools open the door to the evolution of selfschema by engaging students in a setting in which new experiences, serious dialogue, and personal reflection are not just possible, but actively encouraged and are part of the norm. These experiences, conversations, and reflections, in turn, power student growth.

THE CHALLENGE OF DEVELOPMENTAL CONTINUITY A constructivist, schema-based approach to understanding identity emphasizes development in multiple intersecting arenas (e.g., cognition, affect, behavior). An educational approach premised on this understanding is one in which current self-schema are enhanced through contact with discrepancies. The study schools use a variety of methods to this end. Opportunities for new experiences, discussions, and self-reflection, all in a Jewish context, abound in the schools. We now turn to the question of integration or the degree to which these identity-enhancing opportunities are connected with one another and to the broader school context. This consideration is based on past findings such as those by Simon (1998), who observed a bifurcation  84 

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of the venues in which content-based and moral-developmental discussions take place in a Jewish day school. The current study supports this finding. In the study schools, developmental discussions related to strongly held beliefs and issues of identity tend to occur in contexts that can be considered “alternative,” that is, outside of the academic arena of the school (e.g., on Shabbatonim or in classroom settings specifically designated for such discussions, generally Judaic studies classes taught by an administrator or experiential educator, such as the Jewish identity class in Vignette 2). Although subject-matter classrooms often contain dialogical elements (such as hevruta study), these usually focused on understanding the course content. Allusions and parallels to “real life” abound in the content-area classroom, also seemingly as a form of “pedagogical content knowledge” (Shulman 1986), a way that teachers help students grapple with subject matter. Although many teachers discuss the importance of making content areas “more relevant,” in practice this manifests as the discussion of contemporary analogies between themes found in a content area (e.g., challenges faced by European Jews in the 1800s) and Jewish life in contemporary North America. For example, in a Bible class focusing on a text that deals with issues of authority and free will in the story of Moses and Pharaoh, a teacher led a discussion of the power structure in the classroom setting and the impact this has on student experiences there. Drawing such parallels constitutes a strong educational technique, and students generally reacted quite positively, questioning one another’s viewpoints on the nature of authority. Discussion, however, generally stops short of delving into what the core concept or theme of the lesson has to do with a student’s identity, how it integrates into his or her self-schema. Intentional distancing of self-schema generally does not occur in the general flow of classroom interaction. Contemporary relevance and analogies were generally used in the service of understanding the text, but not to help the students understand themselves. Developing an understanding of academic material — even that containing concepts relevant to a student’s experience — does not automatically result in the bringing of these concepts to bear on a student’s identity. In the previous example, after the parallels between authority in the classroom and in the text were drawn, the teacher returned to questions of whether Moses and Pharaoh had free will during their encounters and the ramifications of their having or lacking free will to understanding subsequent parts of the narrative. This led to a rich and interesting discussion of the text. The further connection — the issue of what having or lacking free will means to “me” as  85 

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a developing Jew, the questioning among students of beliefs about free will in their lives — was not made. Whereas one hopes that students will leave the class with such questions on their minds, it cannot be assumed that they will — at some later point — come back to consider the deeper personal meaning of the issues debated in class.19 Students may learn the rules of kashrut20 and may compare these to contemporary ideas about eating and food. They may even have the opportunity to debate issues such as “Should all Jews be vegetarian?” But in the words of one experiential educator, they may not “have a safe space to say ‘I don’t really care about kashrut, and I want to explore that with someone,’” to help them process the ramifications of what they are learning for their own lives. There are many challenges to infusing conversations related to Jewish development into subject-matter classrooms, even Jewish content classes. First, students have school schema that generally involve learning facts to produce a correct answer. Although students in these schools clearly embrace opportunities to engage each other in dialogue, when all is said and done, they are aware that they are expected to perform well on the advanced placement and entrance exams that will pave the way for admission to a competitive university. The “Grades Stink” poster mentioned in the Jacob Academy sketch is emblematic of the struggle to create a dialogical environment — where responses are part of an ever-evolving search for greater understanding and growth — in a univocal context in which the correct answer receives the highest grade. The students bring their anxieties about grades to the classroom. I observed a history teacher who had planned to spend a few moments at the beginning of class reviewing specific elements of an assignment (how to outline, paraphrase, and footnote the paper) and ended up spending more than half of the session answering detailed questions about his expectations for the assignment, even after repeatedly telling the students that “there was not one right way” to complete certain elements of the task. He spoke to me afterward about his frustration, which was clearly evident, at the students being overly “grade focused.” 19

Also, there is the potential for students to completely miss the broader developmental issues raised by the subject matter. I observed a teacher developing the metaphor of God being Abraham’s shield and pushing his students to consider the idea that God protected Abraham. His students persistently asked questions about ancient armor and weaponry. These students did not seem to be doing this maliciously; they had a good rapport with the teacher and were asking thoughtful questions. They were not, however, heading in the desired direction.

20

The laws related to keeping kosher.  86 

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Teachers are likewise constrained by an “emphasis placed upon curricula,” which leaves them with little incentive to give up control and to engage in a conversation that might be “unpredictable [in which] practitioners do not know where it might lead” (Smith 2007, 15). There is a limit to how far-ranging discussions in classrooms are likely to become, at least in the context of a structured lesson. Educators may even see discussions as ploys by the students to minimize the progress of the class (in taking time away from learning “testable” knowledge) and strive to keep the class “on topic” or “on track.” After all, teachers are also assessed, at least in part, by the performance of their students and therefore come to see their disciplines . . . as a set of data to absorb . . . There is pressure, sometimes self-imposed by the teacher, sometimes imposed by mandatory tests of students or evaluations of teachers, to cover a wide range of material. There is the requirement to give each student a grade for each course — a requirement which necessitates quantifying learning in some way and therefore pushes one to teach that which can be readily tested. There is the inherent complexity of leading focused discussions of multifaceted, highly charged issues, a challenge made all the greater when one’s own education did not include such discussions. (Simon 1998, 41)

Simon takes this further and sees the proclivity of teachers to avoid issues of personal meaning as a result of the “larger social and political context in which schools are situated, a context in which the complexity of moral issues is often reduced to platitudes or slogans and in which disputes over moral issues often degenerate into accusations or name-calling” (1998, 41). Further, educators may feel unprepared to facilitate conversations that can be seen as “dangerous” (Jeffs and Smith 2008, 50), such as those having to do with strongly held beliefs. They themselves may be at various stages of their own faith development21 and may therefore be even less inclined to lead a discussion on the topic. Pluralistic settings create unique challenges in providing space for Jewish developmental discussions. Shulman (1987/2004, 200) offers an instructive portrait of a literature teacher in a secular high school whose “goals were to liberate her students’ minds through literacy, eventually to use great works of literature to illuminate their own lives.” This teacher describes her strategy of asking questions such as “How is this piece 21

In fact, several educators spoke with me about their own experiences attending the school’s Jewish programs and the impact on their own Jewish development.  87 

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of literature similar to our common experiences as human beings?” Many educators in our focus schools would agree with the goal articulated by this teacher. However, in pluralistic settings, “common experiences,” as she puts it, among the students as Jews are limited.22 Krakowski (2008) provides another relevant parallel, also in a different context, in comparing two classes at an ultra-Orthodox day school — one taught by a rabbi and one by a secular female teacher. In contrast to the rabbi, the secular teacher did not address connections between her curricular material and the students’ life experiences (even when such a connection seemed rather easily made, such as when learning about current events having to do with Israel). In Krakowski’s analysis, the secular teacher’s outsider status hindered her ability to enter into such discussions. The context was unfamiliar to her, so she was unaware of when she might be treading on a controversial or forbidden topic. The rabbi, on the other hand, represented the authority that creates such boundaries and therefore felt empowered to navigate within them. Educators in pluralistic day schools face similarly unclear boundaries. The rabbi in Krakowski’s study was able to speak from and to the religious background of the entire class. The teacher in Shulman’s portrait built on common experiences of the students. In pluralistic schools, teachers cannot assume that any element of Jewish participation is common or shared. The teachers themselves come from a particular Jewish background (or even from a different faith tradition) and may have limited knowledge of other denominations. It is difficult for them to know when pushing a student toward deeper thinking about identity can inadvertently pose a challenge to a belief considered “unquestionable” by that student’s community. Many Jewish educational leaders tell stories of parents angered by the decision of a son or daughter, based on his or her experience at school, to become “more religious” by eating only kosher food or putting on tefillin (phylacteries). It is, perhaps, even easier to imagine the reaction of a parent whose child moves in the opposite direction. Pluralistic educators must navigate the embrace of dialogue and questioning within the school with the nagging suspicion that a parent or local rabbi may not welcome such questioning as it could move the student away from expected patterns of behavior. Classroom teachers focus on the textual sources, the historical roots, and the broad context of Judaism. In class, students learn that questions 22

Later, I discuss the role of Jewish experience in these schools as forming the shared reference points for Judaism in these diverse settings.  88 

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are more than acceptable, they are expected. They learn and practice the process of debate. In content-areas classes, however, students often are not prompted to play out the relevance of subject matter to the choices they make as Jews or how they see themselves developing Jewishly. It is possible to see content classrooms as setting the stage for questioning self-schema, with experiences beyond the traditional content-area class context picking up where these classes leave off. Shabbatonim, classes focusing specifically on Jewish identity, and the like are generally led by administrative or experiential personnel who may be more likely than subject-matter teachers to be familiar with communal norms and more comfortable with a process of facilitating developmental discussions. Also, because these exist outside of the core academic structure, the univocal, grade-oriented pressures are diminished. The Abraham School’s late-night rap session at the Friday night oneg, the Isaac Academy’s madrikhim-facilitated discussion of the Shabbaton experience, and the Jacob Academy’s community debate over how to pray at the Shabbaton are all examples of venues that focus students’ attention on themselves as Jews in engagement with their peers or staff. The argument can be made that in multifaceted, encompassing, educational settings such as day schools, it is important for students to have the opportunity to explore their self-schema regardless of exactly where that exploration occurs. However, such an approach presents challenges from the standpoint of creating developmental continuity in these schools. Individuals participate in many experiences that hold developmental potential when they serve as springboards for the analysis of self-schema. The formation of a coherent life narrative involves weaving together these connections between experiences and the self over time; it is a process of connecting connections. The issue of connections can also be considered with regard to the settings in which development takes place. Noted developmental psychologist Urie Bronfenbrenner (1979) talks about the importance of developmental ecology, the interrelationships among roles and expectations afforded by one’s environment. This dynamic, systemic approach includes several components of reciprocal interaction between a person and the environment. Microsystems are those contexts in which an individual is a direct participant (e.g., one’s classes in school). Mesosystems23 are 23

Bronfenbrenner (1979) also describes exosystems, settings that impact on a child’s development in which the child does not participate (such as PTA meetings) and macrosystems, general beliefs relevant to development (e.g., “Children should be engaged in education, not in employment.”).  89 

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interconnections among microsystems that have the potential to create through-lines and continuity of the values, rules, and expectations among different isolated experiences (as an example, a teacher might also coach the baseball team or attend the same synagogue as the students, potentially talking to the student about a matter from class). To use a current buzzword, mesosystems create synergy among individual experiences so that the resulting whole is greater than the isolated parts. Creating developmental environments involves strengthening such connections across contexts and through time, creating “the broader sense to a youth of being engaged in an ongoing interrelated set of experiences” (Walker et al. 2005). Walker and colleagues suggest that “[y]oung people benefit when their learning opportunities are conceived as a cohesive whole rather than constructed out of a series of fragmented events and activities.” Dewey (1938/1997, 33) discusses an “experiential continuum” that reinforces or links experiences over time, cautioning that “experiences may be so disconnected from one another that, while each is agreeable or even exciting in itself, they are not linked cumulatively to one another” (Dewey 1938/1997, 26). Jewish educational theorists frequently call for building connections among the disparate settings — school, camp, youth group, and so forth — in which youth participate to augment their collective impact. Wertheimer (2005) uses the image of “linking the silos” in the title of his report, whereas Kress and Elias (1998) borrowed from the popular proverb to point out that “[i]t takes a kehilla24 to make a mensch.” Similarly, in a more general context, Smith and Denton (2005, 162), conclude from their groundbreaking study of youth spirituality that [e]specially when religion is structurally isolated from the primary schedules and networks that comprise teenagers’ daily lives are teens’ religious and spiritual lives most weak. It is, by contrast, when teens’ family, school, friends, and sports lives and religious congregations somehow connect, intersect, and overlap that teens exhibit the most committed and integral religious and spiritual lives.

Ingall and Kress (2008) suggest that these connections are particularly vital to building identity that runs counter to general societal norms, as sought by Jewish educators:

24

A community.  90 

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As educators, we have the “values deck” stacked against us. Contemporary culture deals our youth a hand that includes questionable values and behavior portrayed in the media by sports and cultural icons. Students, and particularly teens (though increasingly younger children as well), exist under great academic pressures, with enormously structured schedules of school, work, and extra-curricular activities. They do not always have time to focus on values growth. Coordination of efforts is an important “ace in the hole” to assist educators in dealing a winning hand. (Ingall and Kress 2008, 294)

The present study suggests that in encompassing Jewish educational settings, challenges of continuity are not limited to coordination among organizations but are also relevant to the coordination of activities within an individual setting. Challenges to developmental continuity can be seen from several interrelated perspectives on the same basic theme: that these schools provide many experiences that have the potential to prompt identity development but these experiences tend to be conceptualized and implemented in isolation from one another rather than as a coordinated whole. This can be seen as a particular instance of the more general critique of the fragmentation inherent in contemporary high schools, where the experience of students is departmentalized with the “big picture,” of what is being learned and why, lost in the details of mastering specific points of content (e.g., Powell, Farrar, and Cohen 1985). Here, the big picture is the evolving Jewish self. Subject matter presented in classes (e.g., the experience of Eastern European Jews in the late 1800s or the view of the sages on the matter of divorce), classroom discussions (e.g., about politics or current events or about the importance in Judaism of tikkun olam), out-of-classroom experiences (e.g., a spring break trip to New Orleans or participation in a Shabbaton), and spontaneous events with peers or teachers or in the world at large (e.g., the ups and downs of friendship or the illness or death of a parent) all hold developmental potential. Each, especially when coupled with self-reflection, can impact on self-schema. The creation of a coherent narrative, however, calls for opportunities to step back and view these discrete events in relation to one another and to the evolving self so that, like a pointillist painting, they appear as a meaningful whole rather than as a bunch of dots. To use Bronfenbrenner’s terms, a variety of microsystems exist, but the schools face challenges in creating mesosystems to bridge these.

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DISCONTINUITIES OF RELATIONSHIPS The structural division among the providers of different aspects of education complicates the bridging of developmental contexts in the school. Even if a classroom educator has the opportunity to engage a student (and let us assume that this educator has the skill and proclivity to do so) in a meaningful reflective conversation, the educator is hampered to the extent that he or she has limited knowledge about the nature of discussions this student has had in other classes or about the student’s peer relations or about the experiences the student may have had on a recent school trip.25 Moreover, a teacher with whom a student develops a positive relationship may not be assigned as this student’s teacher in subsequent years. The study schools, because of their small size and the multiple roles played by educators, present certain strengths in terms of creating meaningful student-staff relationships, a theme to which we return in Chapter 7. Faculty members play multiple roles and are seen frequently outside of the classroom. Further, the study schools have made efforts to address this issue by making use of roles for faculty to serve as mesosystemic connectors of the different settings in which a student participates.26 A class dean, for example, may track the progress over time of students academically, socially, and emotionally by interfacing with classroom teachers, experiential educators, parents, and guidance counselors, as well as the students themselves. Different modalities of advisories have been developed, providing opportunities for faculty members to “check in” with student progress (Vignette 3). In some cases, groups of students meet with the same designated faculty advisor throughout their years at the school. Through advisories, information is passed in both directions, with faculty reminding/informing students of upcoming events and deadlines and students giving feedback to faculty on initiatives in the school. In the departmentalized world of high schools, advisory groups provide an opportunity for a faculty member to get to know a student over the course of several years and to track any changes in the student’s academic and affective status. Advisory times can also serve as a “rap group” for issues relevant to students. In addition, the advisory can serve as a structural support for other activities. The structure of high schools often leaves 25

Schools have varying policies for staff involvement in out-of-classroom activities.

26

The schools’ efforts are similar to “developmental guidance” approaches such as those found in many public schools.  92 

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students without a base or a place where faculty know they can address all the students in a meaningful venue. Morning homerooms are generally absent, and public-address system announcements and memos/newsletters are at risk of being ignored. VIGNE T T E 3: A d v i s o r ie s: L i n k i n g R e l a t i o n s h i p s o v e r T i m e One school has a particularly well-developed advisor program in which all faculty members serve as advisors. New faculty receive training and apprentice with an experienced advisor. The coordinator of the program describes its function: [T]he advisor will really keep an eye on [the academic, social, and emotional] realms. And, this person is seeing the kids every day, almost every day. So, this person is looking into someone’s eyes and seeing if there are changes. It’s keeping track of any note that gets sent home by a teacher or a dean, [these are] forwarded to their advisor. So, an advisor really has a very clear picture of who the student is on this campus. And it kind of builds a portfolio for the kids. So, if I go to an advisor and say, how is so-and-so doing, they could pull out some information and have a conversation with me about it. In lots of cases, a parent comes, and we have to have a conversation about what’s going on. It’s a localized place to really gather information on how they [are doing] . . . we see the student as a whole person versus, you know, this is my English student or my Hebrew student. She continues that advisory groups, which are mixed-grade, also provide an opportunity for students to be called upon to interact with students outside of their normal peer group and for “students to see their teachers as human beings, and vice versa.” In this school, a joint staffparent group was meeting to plan an end-of-year activity for juniors. When several questions were raised regarding how students would react to various ideas, the decision was made to have the faculty members that advise juniors pose the questions to their advisees and report back. In addition, an experiential educator was observed soliciting feedback about a recent program from his advisee group.

Of course, such structures are not without their limitations. Advisory meetings are frequently rushed or canceled due to schedule conflicts. Advisors and deans may have large groups of students to keep track of and may have teaching or other administrative duties. Further, advisory meetings tend to occur in groups and therefore do not provide opportunity for individuals to work on creating connections among their unique experiences. And  93 

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it is possible that even an advisor might miss the opportunity to make connections among multiple settings. For example, as part of one school’s efforts to coordinate activities related to shemirat halashon,27 a note was sent to all advisors asking them to use a midrashic story (about running out of words) as the basis of discussion with their advisory group. The students seemed interested in the story but generally interpreted it in its literal sense (what it would be like to run out of words) rather than addressing the broader lessons related to shemirat halashon. When the advisory ended, there was no clear sense of where and when the discussion would continue. Later that day, I observed this same advisor reprimanding students for something they said to other students. Interestingly, the theme of shemirat halashon was not invoked by the advisor in this discussion, though the theme was clearly relevant to the transgression of the students.

DISCONTINUITIES OF MESSAGE The previous example also illustrates the challenge of carrying over a theme from one context to another (in this case, from the advisory group to the dean’s office). Hansen (2001) discusses the importance of creating environments that reinforce learning goals with consistency across activities, building on Dewey’s and Rousseau’s ideas that teaching does not occur directly, through some unmediated change to the learner caused by the educator. Rather, education occurs indirectly, through the educator’s arrangement of the environment in which such learning takes place. The educator’s role is to be intentional about linking elements of the context to create the highest likelihood for learning to take place, to create Bronfenbrenner’s mesosystems. In these schools, developmental experiences abound, but the through-line, or overall message, uniting these programs is often unclear or missing. This may lead to an uncoordinated, “shotgun” approach to achieving Jewish identity outcomes. Although experiences such as Shabbatonim, trips, and such were viewed as part of the broad school-wide curriculum (i.e., an important part of the array of offerings meant to educate students) and have some degree of overlap with classroom activities and other educational elements in the

27

Literally, guarding one’s tongue; used as an umbrella term for guarding against unkind or harmful speech or gossip.  94 

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school (e.g., the participation of classroom teachers in Shabbatonim), except in a few instances, they were not seen or used as venues connected to other elements in the school. Although Shabbatonim generally have elements of text study or more structured learning, the content was generally independent of the rest of the school’s curriculum; and although students on Shabbatonim “live” Shabbat, efforts to link this living with subject matter about Shabbat are generally absent. As an Isaac Academy administrator put it, “The kids don’t know what Shabbat is. They go away for the weekend but what does Shabbat mean? What is it all about? Not what the Shabbaton is all about, what Shabbat is all about. What are the values of Shabbat? What are the traditions of Shabbat?” Shabbatonim are generally conceptualized as important for their social and affective impact, not as venues for teaching new material or reinforcing classroom learning. In fact, some educators mentioned that they specifically downplay more structured educational activities or connections to the school during the Shabbatonim in an attempt to create a setting that was distinct in the minds of the students from the pressures of school. On the other hand, one promising example of thematic coordination was seen in a school in which the educational activities of a Shabbaton were planned to extend an ongoing theme for the participating grade (having to do with an aspect of tikkun olam). Thematic coordination points to the tension between the structure and spontaneity of education for Jewish identity development. Whereas a planful “curriculum of Jewish values” is among Chazan’s (2003) defining features of informal education, as discussed previously, to others, “[i]nformal education is based around conversation, formal around curriculum” (Jeffs and Smith 2008, 23). To Smith, a key distinction between formal and informal education is the relative emphasis placed upon curricula and conversation. . . . Informal education tends to be unpredictable — practitioners do not know where it might lead. . . . “Catching the moment” can quickly take conversations into the realms of feelings, experiences, and relationships. (Smith 2007, 15–16)

Experiential educators tend to pride themselves on thinking on their feet and may see a structure as limiting. Whereas the value of spontaneity is not questioned, there are potential trade-offs in terms of developmental continuity.  95 

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As Dewey cautions: Improvisation that takes advantage of special occasions prevents teaching and learning from being stereotypes and dead. But the basic material of study cannot be picked up in a cursory manner. Occasions which are not and cannot be foreseen are bound to arise wherever there is intellectual freedom. They should be utilized. But there is a decided difference between using them in the development of a continuing line of activity and trusting to them to provide the chief material of learning. (Dewey 1938/1997, 78–79)

Such a “line of activity” (or theme) is frequently missing in the Jewish developmental efforts of schools. More accurately, there may be many lines or themes that are not clearly defined, further complicating the connections among experiences. Educators often talk about the importance of teachable moments, “when students’ enthusiasm, interest, prior knowledge and motivation have intersected” (Brooks and Brooks 1999, 105–106). Although such “moments” are clearly important, they have the potential to be isolated moments and, as such, to be diminished in their educational potential (Vignette 4). In fact, it is possible to understand the impact of teachable moments as enhanced by, if not contingent upon, their being embedded in a developmental ecology. In a classroom, teachable moments can be educationally powerful because they take place in the context of ongoing inquiry, where new understandings that emerge from that moment can be intentionally referenced and incorporated into one’s framework for understanding. Isolating developmentaleducational moments in discrete events makes it less likely that any given moment would be connected to either other relevant moments or to ongoing thinking about one’s self. Further, education related to Jewish identity development involves deeply held beliefs and behavioral patterns. Changing, or even analyzing, these generally does not occur in a moment. One wonders about the potential of the moment described in Vignette 4 to impact the student’s way of dealing with similar situations in the future if the remainder of the participant’s ecological inputs have not changed28 and 28

The ecological approach posits dynamic interaction between a person and the environment. As such, there is the potential for the student to radically modify her environment (intentionally or unconsciously) based on the minyan discussion in Vignette 4 so that the environment is supportive in her behavioral changes. However, the array of developmental vectors (Kress and Elias 2008) pressing against this makes such a change less likely.  96 

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if she has limited opportunity to safely practice alternate behaviors and to reflect on such experiences. VIGNE T T E 4: Isolated “ Teachable Moments ” Approximately twenty students were participating in a discussionbased alternative minyan led by an administrator. The composition of the group remains the same throughout the year, and the students seem to have developed a good rapport. They sit in a circle on the floor in an alcove. The topic of discussion was chance encounters and how they can change one’s life. The faculty leader read some examples of interesting accounts from a source sheet, gave some examples from his life, and then asked the students to share their examples. One girl brought up a story that had to do with meeting another adolescent on a trip during the recent winter vacation. She described the attempts he made to befriend her and tells the group that she found him a bit odd. She felt conflicted because she did not want to be disrespectful and tell him to go away, but she did not want to spend time during her family vacation with him. The facilitator opened a discussion of how one might balance respect with boundaries. This struck me as an excellent example of seizing a “teachable moment” based on the student’s story, one that allowed the group to address a real phenomenon faced by the students on a daily basis (related to cliques, how to be open to others but at the same time be realistic about having a group of close friends, etc.). The advisor gave some suggestions and several students contributed their own thoughts on the matter. The discussion continued for a short while and then, as time was running out, the session drew to a close. Although students did get a chance to share some thoughts about a relevant topic, the “moment” only scratched the surface of the complexity of the issue. Such a topic, it seemed, called for more than a “moment” of discussion. Perhaps the advisor could have asked the students to role play the responses they recommended for addressing other students and building skills for communicating difficult messages. Or the students could have been asked to keep a journal of when this issue comes up in their experiences in school, forming the basis for follow-up conversations at later discussion meetings as students trace their evolving ways of approaching similar situations. In this way, the moment of discussion would be more likely to turn into the beginning of a process of growth with regard to this important interpersonal issue.  97 

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Of course, coordination need not mean rigidity. Ingall and Kress (2008, 292) recommend an approach that is “at the same time spontaneous and deliberate,” capitalizing on unanticipated opportunities while at the same time providing “the consistency of reinforcement that is needed.” The following description of Schwab’s pedagogical approach is instructive. What appeared so spontaneous in the classroom was meticulously planned by Schwab. Before each meeting we would meet for a couple of hours and think through the text to be read and its most important questions. We would rehearse the likely course or courses the conversation would take . . . almost as if we were composing an improvisation. (Shulman 1991, 465–466)

The paradox of “composing an improvisation,” captures the tension between the spontaneity and planfullness of education for Jewish identity development. Schwab’s example suggests that having an overall blueprint for the educational experience can bridge educator goals with the spontaneity of the moment.

REFLECTIVE DISCONTINUITIES AND INTEGRATION Self-reflective opportunities in these schools appear to lack continuity as well. Efforts to promote reflection capitalize on episodic public or groupdiscussion-based formats such as advisories, alternative prayer venues, and discussion groups at Shabbatonim. There are few opportunities for ongoing, guided, individual, personal reflection aimed at drawing connections among what is learned in subject-matter classes, what one experiences in out-of-classroom events, and how one sees one’s self as a Jew.29 Even the intensive Abraham School derishat shalom occurs at the end of the high 29

The lack of opportunity for reflection was felt by educators as well. In the words of one EE: “I come out [to the AVI CHAI seminar], I get this vacuum created where I’m not listening to a bell . . . and I don’t have to be there first period and I don’t have to be taking my kids home after school and all the million responsibilities that we have. So here I get to breathe and talk [about] ideas, which is a luxury that I don’t [usually have]. And then I go back [home] Tuesday night, and I’ll step off the plane, and then I go back to all of the stuff I have by my bed, and I have on my desk, you know, I don’t have enough hours in the day to do [discussion and reflection].”  98 

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school experience, when potentially relevant developmental moments that happened far earlier have long passed. As an Isaac Academy Judaic studies administrator puts it, “Sometimes ruah30 is spirit and sometimes it is a lot of wind.” In this school, there is concern about the difference between spirit (embodied in the raucous Shabbaton experience) and spiritual (structured opportunities to contemplate one’s practice). One administrator, bumping into me in the hall on the Monday after I returned from observing a Shabbaton asked me, jokingly but tellingly, “So are we brainwashing our students or just giving them a ruahdik31 time?” Although students do seem able to create narratives of their high school experience, one wonders about the number of developmental opportunities that were missed along the way in the everyday stress of school life or forgotten (or not even encoded to begin with) because they did not seem relevant at the time they occurred. For example, it is unlikely that a guidance counselor speaking with a student about conflict with a parent would be able to refer to the classroom discussion of “free will and authority” (mentioned in an earlier example) to frame their conversation in Jewish terms and to make connections between concerns of the student in the moment with themes that emerged elsewhere. The conversation may be meaningful but disconnected and, therefore, potentially a lost opportunity. The fact that many self-reflective opportunities in the schools occur in group settings is notable. Such venues are marked by a range of both student involvement, as well as educator efforts to elicit or motivate involvement. Group settings allow for “free riders,” who might tune out the discussion. Of course, it is possible that those who are not participating actually are passively taking in material and questioning their self-schema. However, it does raise the question about the extent to which some adolescents are willing to engage in this process in a public forum, despite the efforts to create safe space and nurturing relationships. Researchers have noted that individual differences in self-reflective style can mediate the effects of reflection on identity (Berzonsky and Luyckx 2008; Luyckx et al. 2007). This suggests the need for an individualization of the reflective process. Further, Jeffs and Smith describe the interplay of experience, reflection, and change as nonlinear and temporally unpredictable, with topics and experiences revisited over time, with new meaning found. “[A]s we discover something 30

The word ruah means both “wind” and “spirit,” and the administrator’s statement plays on both meanings.

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this becomes a spur to further experimentation. Alternatively, people may experience no immediate learning or recognition, and it is only later, sometimes much later, that the value is recognized.” (Jeffs and Smith 2008, 67). Individuals may be at different points in the process and may “need” different things from the facilitator (e.g., information, guidance), calling into question the reliance on scheduled, or programmed, opportunities for reflection. A coordinated thematic approach, as described above, rather than discrete experiences, can lend coherence to a school’s developmental program. A student, however, may still encounter a myriad of messages and experiences — in and out of school — related to who they are and who they should, or could, become. For these messages and experiences to be most impactful, they must be integrated into the adolescent’s ongoing sense of oneself over time. To create a coherent life narrative, students need opportunities to digest these messages and experiences, to break them down in their minds and to think about how they relate to who they are, to contemplate discrepant messages, and to compare new ideas or actions against previously held beliefs about the world, about Judaism, and about themselves. A developmental approach to education would provide sustained opportunities for a student to process, with peers and with adults, the wealth of educational messages he or she receives in class, at home, at Shabbatonim, at camp, on the Internet, and so on; to consider, in multiple ways and on an ongoing basis, one’s identity and the impact of experiences — including discussions in classrooms about content areas — on this identity. Such meta-reflection, in which experiences are processed in terms of identity, can help provide the balance between the directedness of a curriculum, on the one hand, and the free-flowing interaction of a rap group, on the other. Even a Jewish educator who could move beyond the constraints of time, academic pressure, and so on might question whether she really “should not set limits on what might be discussed, or what others should learn” (Jeffs and Smith 2008, 18). It is not the case that any and all topics of discussion would be equally valued by Jewish educators, who are mandated by the school’s mission to work with issues of Jewish identity. So although a Jewish educator may be happy to talk with students about a variety of issues, and whereas conversations can be wide-ranging, free-flowing, and tangential, the educator does have a specific interest in the student as a developing Jewish person and in the question of “What does this have to do with you as a developing person and a developing  100 

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Jew?” Although any topic might (and no doubt will) emerge in the course of experiences and discussions, the dimension of Jewish developmental relevance would be an important focus of the Jewish educator. This is reflected in Bekerman’s (2007, 244) findings that informal educators operating within a context with a delimited range of goals (e.g., religious or Zionist), “despite [their] absolute commitment to bring about a process of self-examination and thoughtful reflection, to the point where ‘nothing will seem obvious and clear cut,’” were more likely than those in secular settings to use methods that “kept the discussion on the topic” as suitable for their setting. As such, this question — “What does it mean to you as a developing person and Jew?” — has the potential to become the connection for the diverse experiences — in and out of classrooms — in which a student participates and to integrate a student’s experience in the school. Jewish day schools, with their dual curriculum of Jewish and general studies, face unique challenges in terms of creating continuity of education in the setting. Traditionally, the question of integration in Jewish day schools has been framed as the intersection — in theoretical conception, as well as in concrete overlap — of Jewish and general studies (Malkus 2002). For example, in the study schools, several history teachers incorporate Jewish history within the general context of the historical period. Or, in another example, a Judaic studies teacher and a literature teacher coordinate their efforts in teaching general principles of Kabbalah with reading the book Siddhartha, which focuses on themes of spirituality. These teachers even developed a joint final exam, asking students to draw on what was learned in both of these classes. More recently, discussion of integration in Jewish day schools has broadened to focus on the organization of the curriculum around a common goal and set of pedagogical outcomes, similar to the type of thematic continuity discussed earlier in this chapter. Ellenson (2008) sees a shift in liberal Jewish day schools from curriculum integration of general and Judaic studies to one of curricular interaction in which students would come to appreciate the “power of our own tradition as well as the wisdom it has to offer . . . as they ultimately go forth to confront and contribute to both the Jewish community and the larger world” (Ellenson 2008, 261). As previously noted, Scheindlin, (2008, 356) suggests integration around the concept of yirat shamayim, in which the ultimate goals are “to see the world aided by an awareness of transcendence, to include the vision of others and of the Other in one’s own appraisal of the world,” and ultimately to nurture  101 

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a student who is “able to apply his or her understandings of Torah to everyday life, evaluates experience based on those understandings and synthesizes them fully.” Levisohn (2008, 287) discusses integration centering around the virtue of integrity, or a student’s “capacity to compare new ideas with old ideas to see how they fit . . . to encounter new moral situations and see how they change one’s perspective — and the motivation to do so.” An ongoing, facilitated process of reflection on one’s Jewish identity, in light of the various elements of education in a Jewish community day school, can serve as an additional dimension of integration. Whereas curriculumbased or theme-based approaches to integration focus on the message to be delivered in consistent ways by the messengers (the educators), integration through self-reflection focuses on the recipient, namely, the student, and his or her ability to make connections among educational experiences and with the evolving self. The theme here is the recipient or the recipient’s examining his or her self-schema in the light of new experiences. It is here that the spontaneity of developmental education can fully emerge, as sets of experiences are filtered through the unique perspective of each individual student. The goal would be an integrated outcome that would be idiosyncratic, not monolithic. Further, such an approach represents an alternate conceptualization for the “curricularization” of developmental education. To use Jeffs and Smith’s (2008) categories, it is not completely “conversational” (emerging solely from in-the-moment interactions) because there is an overall direction involved; it is not rigidly “set” as it will play out differently with the individual differences and varied experiences of the participants; and it is not “negotiated” jointly by the participant(s) and facilitator(s).32 Perhaps such an approach can best be described as a grounded curriculum with the recurring analysis of self-schema providing connections among the diverse developmental settings in which a youth participates.33 Although the process would be individualized, the outcome need not be focused solely on the self at the expense of the community. Part of reflecting on one’s self as a Jew can 32

At times, developmental education in these schools is all of these: spontaneous conversations happen in a variety of settings; set venues are specified for elements related to Jewish identity (e.g., the Jewish identity classes discussed in the previous chapter), and there is a degree of negotiation to be found, both intentional (e.g., student leaders working with educators to plan programs) and de facto (e.g., students steering a discussion in a certain direction and the educator “allowing” it to go that way).

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involve thinking what it means to be a member of the Jewish community (and what the latter term means).34 The fact that a process of questioning one’s self-schema, while grounded in a directed process, is essentially unpredictable raises questions about the breadth of outcomes that educators in these schools would define as successful or positive outcomes. This question, related to the notion of pluralism, is the topic of the next chapter.

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Note: Of course, creating ongoing, interconnected opportunities for students to reflect on self-schema poses challenges of role definition, pressures for covering content, etc., similar to those discussed in the previous chapter with regard to creating dialogical interactions around issues of identity. I will return to the logistics of implementing such an approach in the final section of this book.  103 

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THE CHALLENGES OF DIVERSITY  BALANCING INDIVIDUALS, GROUPS, AND COMMUNITY

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t would be a mistake to assume that because the discussion up to now has been about individual identity, issues of community are absent from these schools. The vignettes are full of examples of communal rituals (religious and secular) and events. In fact, these schools fall within the category of community schools, and while this term is used to connote “not affiliated with a denomination,” the term does raise the question about the nature of community in these schools. The distancing-based approach described in the previous chapters sees the encounter with discrepancy as facilitating identity development in what is fundamentally an interpersonal, socially mediated process. The Jewish diversity of the study schools serves as a developmental catalyst in providing opportunities — through experiences, discussions, and mediated self-reflection — different Jewish expressions. It may seem strange to talk about religious differences in the context of a Jewish school. After all, whatever other commonalities the students lack, they are all Jewish. Yet these schools are religiously diverse within the boundaries of Judaism, and Judaism has fairly wide boundaries. Religious diversity — or the  104 

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descriptive fact that students come from a range of backgrounds that span not only the major Jewish denominations but also what might be considered “extradenominational” affiliations (e.g., secular-humanist, multior nondenominational) — is not a new phenomenon in Jewish schools. My own experience of being a Conservative Jew in an Orthodox yeshiva is far from unique. Further, the fact that school leaders acknowledge this diversity might likewise be a trend that extends back in time. To continue a personal example, my brother, writing in the online edition of the Forward, recalls our Orthodox principal at our Orthodox school welcoming our Conservative family with the claim that “this is a school for all Jews.”1 However, the school I attended was an Orthodox school, and while the fact that I was Conservative may have been accepted by the leadership, there was never a question that all students were expected to adhere (at least while at school) to Orthodox behavioral expectations. One might have been able to point to isolated examples in denominationally affiliated schools of deviations from the “one-school, one set of religious expectations” rule: for example, an Orthodox school might hold parallel prayer services for students of Ashkenazic and Sephardic backgrounds, or a Conservative school might offer both an egalitarian prayer service and a service in which females are not included in the same way as males. What has changed in the past twenty years is the number schools that themselves are not affiliated with one specific denomination and that actively seek to attract a religiously diverse student body and to accept, at the very least, multiple Jewish manifestations. Although religious differences within Jewish day schools might not be new, the value stance or emotional valence, associated with such difference might be. Theorists have described this as a move from acknowledging diversity to embracing pluralism. Diversity is a description, a statement of empirical observation. The subway I ride to work is a setting marked by diversity in that it is populated by individuals of varying ethnic and religious backgrounds (to name just two elements of diversity). However, “[m]ere plurality — diversity — is not pluralism” (Eck 2003, 169). Pushing the subway analogy one step further, one can assert that each diverse group (or individual) has a right to certain beliefs, practices, and so forth within certain boundaries (it is acceptable for those on the subway car to wear kippot, hijabs, or crosses; it is not acceptable for them to throw these at their fellow passengers). Interactions around points of diversity may occur, 1

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but these are not intentionally planned and, because norms run counter to such interactions, they are relatively rare. Such a “parallel pluralism,” is encapsulated by a rabbi, participating in a study by Feinberg (2006, 40), who states that the boundaries that comprise a religious identity are also strong markers, setting off “ours” from “theirs” and allowing for a plurality of religious and moral truth. In other words, a boundary marker is just that. It comes with a “no trespassing” sign. I will not tread on your tradition if you do not tread on mine.

Perhaps this approach can be thought of as one of good fences make good neighbors. Moving another step — or perhaps a half step — in the direction of pluralism would be the assertion that not only could each group’s behavior be passively accepted in parallel, but that if accommodations are made for one group, then other groups have the right to demand (and those in power have the responsibility to provide) similar accommodations. To further push the subway example, if representatives of one religion were allowed to distribute pamphlets on the train, other religious groups would expect to be able to do the same. Taking a further step, one can embrace not just parallel practices, but a more assertive stance of interaction in which one values interactions among groups as a vehicle for growth and an opportunity for learning. This involves the embrace of encounter and engagement with the other, the attempt to understand the rationale of divergent viewpoints. To stretch the example to (and perhaps beyond) the breaking point, one might imagine the transit authority, in a moment of pluralistic passion, posting conversation starters in the subway cars in an attempt to engage passengers in meaningful conversations around issues of diversity. Eck (2003) describes three classes of response to the encounter with difference. Those taking an exclusivist approach understand their beliefs as being correct and reject the validity of other claims to truth. Exclusivists may see the rejections of other views as strengthening their own identification with their group (in rejecting the other). The inclusivist approach is characterized by the acknowledgement of other truths while maintaining that one’s own tradition is superior to others; other traditions are evaluated on the terms of one’s own beliefs. Finally, Eck describes the pluralist approach as the belief that  106 

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[t]ruth is not the exclusive or inclusive possession of any one tradition or community. Therefore the diversity of communities, traditions, understandings of the truth, and visions of God is not an obstacle for us to overcome, but an opportunity for our energetic engagement and dialogue with one another. (Eck 2003, 168)

The assertive, interactionist, mode of pluralism echoes the constructivist, distancing approach to identity development discussed previously. Intergroup interactions can be seen as a distancing strategy that may result in the evolution of one’s identity. To Eck (2003, 189), pluralistic encounter can strengthen one’s own identity and commitment: “The aim is not only mutual understanding, but mutual self-understanding and mutual transformation.” An example of self-growth through pluralistic encounter is brought by Reich, a Jewish educator who reflects on her experiences in a CatholicJewish colloquium and working in Catholic schools. Her encounters led her to reconceptualize her understanding of the notion of the divinity of Jesus, an idea she had felt she could in no way relate to, in a way that made her analyze her own beliefs with regard to a more personal approach to one’s relationship with God. She uses this as an example to discuss the idea that “preparation for and participation in dialogue actually contributes to learning about ourselves” (1996, 560). This runs counter to tendencies in our society to bifurcate others as good or bad.

THE CHALLENGES OF PLURALISM IN ACTION While the diversity within each school holds great developmental potential, it also creates challenges. At a very basic level, in a school in which students hold varying beliefs and abide by different norms, how do school policies reflect these differences? The issue is, to some extent, less emergent within the everyday school context. The demands of communal ritual are not great and are generally met by an approach of offering options. Ritual opportunities are there if students opt for them, and when ritual participation is required, a diversity of options is generally offered. Decisions made for in-school observance (e.g., kashrut of food in the cafeteria) may cause philosophical discontent or dissatisfied grumbling but is usually not invasive enough to cause active, organized, dissent. Of course, schools also have the option of handling the diversity of religious expressions by minimizing the degree of communal ritual in the school day. Here, the Isaac  107 

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Academy provides an example, offering only Orthodox morning prayer services at which attendance is optional. In the lived experience of schools, however, issues of Jewish communal observance are never fully absent. There are times when the needs or wants of one group might bump up against those of another. The challenges of pluralism may be brought to the fore particularly when ritual observance plays out in a communal context. At issue is the possibility of conflicting rights and responsibilities among groups; each group’s set of practices has the possibility of impacting on those of other groups. On a Shabbaton, for example, the guitar music that may be a central component of tefillah for Reform students would run counter to the prohibition of playing instruments on Shabbat embraced by the Orthodox students meeting in the next room. Such situations are complicated by the constraints of limited resources (space, time, funding, staffing, etc.). There are many questions inherent in addressing the needs of a diverse community. Should there be an official approach to Jewish communal practice that those representing the school administration should support? Should the rules be the same for faculty and students? How might facultystudent distinctions in rules pertaining to Judaism be differentiated from general faculty-student rules? For example, if students are forbidden to arrive at a Shabbaton after the start, or leave before the end, of Shabbat but (Jewish) faculty can come and go at any point (as is the case in some schools), is this understood as faculty being allowed to adhere to a different standard of pluralistic practice? That different rules apply to students and faculty, and the Shabbaton is a requirement for students in a different way than it is for faculty (in the same way that students cannot park in the faculty lot)? That an intentional decision was made to allow faculty to arrive on Shabbat because the value of having the community together supersedes the value of faculty modeling religious behavior (Vignette 5.)? Are students aware that the variations that they witness are the result of a planful, pluralistic approach to community, or do they see it as “anything goes” or “some people are deciding not to follow the rules”? VIGNE T T E 5 : E x p e c t a t i o n s for S h a b b a t O b s e r va n ce At one Shabbaton, staff members drove to and from the Shabbaton throughout the course of the weekend, some sleeping at home and coming for the day, others attending only parts of the Shabbaton. Clearly, priority  108 

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was placed on having as many staff members attend for as much of the Shabbaton as possible. This is in keeping with the school’s strong emphasis on community and relationships. However, taken together with other elements — for example, staff members making a point of not using a microphone for announcements but letting a student use a megaphone to give instructions, or a teacher making a phone call on Shabbat — and without reflection and discussion might have the effect of seeming, particularly to the adolescent eye, as hypocritical or inconsistent (the trade-off of ritual and community was my inference, not something that was explicated to the students).

These questions have to do with the religious policies that apply to the community as a whole and whether these are communicated clearly. Although expectations were generally clear and respected, there were several instances that illustrate the challenges in creating and enforcing norms for communal Shabbat observance. Even students in denominationally affiliated schools come from a wide range of Jewish backgrounds, although these schools abide by denominationally determined parameters with which parents, in choosing to send their children there, at least tacitly agree. Students — some of whom have little or no prior Jewish education and have minimal home observance — cannot be assumed to share an understanding of what constitute the basics. For example, on one Shabbaton, several students were unaware that rules set for Friday night still applied on Saturday afternoon; for them, Friday night was Shabbat. Lack of shared understanding and the nonexistence of externally defined norms make it particularly important for expectations to be communicated clearly. If there is an expectation, for example, that students wear kippot during tefillah, how will students know this is the case? Are students reminded to wear kippot in this venue and given a kippah to wear if they forget one? How are disagreements, raised by students who do not traditionally wear kippot, handled? Although community schools deal with Jewish pluralism on a regular basis, the workaday life of the school is in reality not life, but a structured environment that allows for the possibility of skirting thorny issues related to pluralism. Compromises become part of the norm, not an object for consideration, and as such become diminished in their capacity to serve as distancing roles to prompt growth. The cafeteria is kosher, though not all the students keep kosher. It can come to hardly register. Situations that take students out of the norm — such as Shabbatonim — can serve to highlight issues of pluralism.  109 

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On Shabbatonim, communal and individual observance intersect. Schools generally allow individual decision making within some boundaries. Even during a Shabbaton at a Conservative-affiliated school (not one of the focus schools; a denominationally affiliated school differs in that there is a prescriptive, if not normative, set of practices), students rooming together at the hotel site were able to decide what would or would not be allowed on Shabbat in their individual rooms. Communal practice at that Shabbaton, however, was set by the staff (e.g., with the use of electricity prohibited outside of the rooms). Similar patterns are common on Shabbatonim at community schools — students (or small groups of students housing together) can often make their own private policies while communal policies are adhered to in more public venues. There is often a process for bringing students into the discussion of these communal practices. The most elaborately structured example is the Jacob Academy’s communal forum for debate about options for services (described in that school’s sketch). Even at the Isaac Academy, where Orthodox ritual practice dominated at the Shabbaton, the student leadership group had discussions about prayer options. As alluded to by Shevitz and Wasserfall (2009), the current data suggest that these schools also rely on a degree of flexibility (or perhaps apathy) on the part of the community to put aside, at least temporarily, personal proclivities for the sake of the needs of a different group or for the community as a more general entity. These authors bring the example of a girl who attended a different service option to make a minyan for someone saying kaddish2 even though she did not believe in counting women toward a minyan. Students who do not adhere to regulations of Shabbat or kashrut are expected to do so, to varying degrees, while in school or at a Shabbaton. Students who embrace strict observance are expected to attend schoolwide prayer options that include mixed seating. Such an approach, rather than seen as a compromise-by-blending, can be seen as a commitment-byfluidity, shifting between community needs and individual commitments. New approaches to ritual — such as the practice at the Jacob Academy of having a boy and a girl lead a prayer — may even be developed to address multiple needs. It is important to note that while Jewish diversity may be the primary manifestation of a focus on pluralism in these schools, there are many dimensions of difference that play out in these settings. First, although 2

The prayer said by mourners.  110 

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Jewish day schools struggle to meet the needs of students with special needs (learning, developmental, behavioral, medical), administrators at these schools seem proud of their attempts to broaden their reach and to address a more varied group of learners. In one example, an educator spoke with pride about the progress of a boy with Tourette Syndrome, whom the admissions director had encouraged the school to admit despite a rocky educational history. The student has clearly become integrated with his peers. At another, a HOS worked with his leadership team around the issue of whether to admit a student who had been expelled from another school. The HOS argued for giving the student a second chance, to do teshuvah,3 and to become part of a community. He tied this opinion to values he holds for the school. Any community spans many dimensions of difference, and a day school is no exception. There are differences among students in terms of sexual orientation, family composition, economics, and Jewish beliefs and practice, to name just a few. Creating an inclusive community is important in enabling students to feel safe exploring their own identities, and it also provides students the chance to get to know others who differ from them, also important in one’s evolving selfdefinition (Vignette 6). VIGNE T T E 6: Speaking of Diversity Speaking at an assembly planned by the school’s organization of gay students, the HOS refers to aggressive acts that silence people and points out many ways of being different at the school. He mentions economic differences, giving an example of not affording to rent a limousine for prom and asking students to think about what they would do if a friend could not afford something like that. He refers to being different Jewishly and gives an example of going to a non-Kosher restaurant and how that impacts people who wouldn’t go with you. He ties it into the week’s Torah portion, Kedoshim,4 asking what it means to be a holy community and discussing that in a holy community, pluralism needs to be celebrated. He says we risk crushing the dignity and humanity of those who are silenced, who are sad and lonely.

3

Repentance.

4

The seventh portion of the book of Leviticus; the word kedoshim refers to holiness.  111 

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The case of prayer in these schools provides an illustrative example of the challenges inherent to communal ritual practice in diverse settings. Katz describes three general categories of tefillah education in schools: (1) skills, “the necessary Hebrew skills to worship in Hebrew”; (2) knowledge, “learning what the prayers are about”; and (3) disposition, “developing a love of prayer and relationship with God.” She traces a shift over the second half of the twentieth century from a skills focus to a focus on the ideas expressed in the prayers. The guiding vision was that “if the students understood the ideas and had the skills, then the tefillah would become meaningful for the pray-ers [sic] and they would have religious experiences” (Katz 2008, 305). Cognition, it can be said, is seen as the gateway to spiritual experience. Most recently, the spiritual dimension has become a focus. Katz recommends that educators be clear about their goals for prayer education so that they can be intentional in choosing activities that meet this goal. While ultimately, “[n]o curriculum can cover all aspects of a particular subject. The challenge is for educators to be aware of the tension and to carefully consider the trade-offs of any resolution” (Katz 2008, 307). It is very hard to generalize about type, number, and frequency of prayer venues offered at community Jewish high schools other than to say that these vary greatly from school to school. Many schools offer options (though the options vary by school) that might include a mehitzah5 minyan, a campstyle (Conservative-based egalitarian) service, a liberal (Reform-based) service, and an array of alternative options: such as discussions, yoga, and meditation. The alternative minyanim differed in the amount of liturgy used (some focusing on a loose matbea‘ 6 of a few prayers, some incorporating no liturgy). Not surprisingly, the depth and focus of discussion-based minyanim were contingent upon the skills of the facilitator. On Shabbatonim, there was variation in when tefillah options were offered (as opposed to having one communal service) or when prayer was required at all. On Friday night and Saturday mornings, attendance at a service was generally required. Afternoon and evening services were generally optional. Engaging students in meaningful prayer experiences is a challenge that extends well beyond the Shabbatonim. Schools face the challenge of structuring services in a way that maintains the active engagement of adolescents for whom “sleeping late and skipping prayer” might be the 5

A mehitzah is a boundary that separates males and females.

6

This term is used to refer to a basic template of prayers.  112 

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preferred tefillah option. On one Shabbaton, prior to each prayer service and birkat hamazon, a facilitator would make a comment such as “If you don’t want to pray, please be respectful and sit quietly. Do not talk and disturb others.” Although there is an element of realism involved in such a statement (it is likely that some of the students would not want to pray), it does support a value of respect for fellow students. However, such a statement may, in contrast to other messages conveyed within a school, create an implicit understanding that not wanting to pray is a norm, or at least a sanctioned option on a par with actually praying. In several cases at Shabbatonim, certain prayer options were more at risk than others for cancellation or of being of poor quality. This may have had to do with the presence or absence of, a faculty member to champion a particular minyan or, more generally, a critical mass of students to attend (as in Vignette 7).

VIGNE T T E 7: T he C h a l l e n g e o f a n E ga l i t a r i a n M i nya n At an Isaac Academy Shabbaton, only two people (out of approximately ninety) signed up ahead of time for the egalitarian minyan, so this option was not offered. While at the Shabbaton (which began on a Thursday), the educator noticed that girls were not attending the optional minhah services, for which there were no alternative services. The educator met with the female students who were involved in planning the Shabbaton to discuss the girls’ nonattendance. During the discussion, these students (particularly one whom I later learned attended Camp Ramah) strongly supported offering an egalitarian minyan option and thought that girls would attend it even if they had not signed up for it. Then the idea of a female-only minyan was raised, and this received even more support. However, it soon became clear that the girls’ confidence was based on their assumption that the egalitarian or female-only options would be offered during a mandatory prayer service, where students were required to pick something. After it became clear that the educator was suggesting the egalitarian or female-only services as possibilities for optional minhah, the girls were less optimistic about attracting sufficient attendance at a service that far fewer students were choosing to attend to begin with. The educator also was concerned that no staff member was able to run an egalitarian or female-only minyan as there were no strong Conservative educators there. In the end, no egalitarian or female-only minyan was held.  113 

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The tefillah issue also illustrates a related challenge in a pluralistic community. These schools must consider not only the options available for ritual participation, but also the educational goals for it. There are many potential desired outcomes for any tefillah program including, but not limited to: learning the mechanics of prayer (including how to recite/ sing key prayers, when to stand, sit, bow, etc.); learning the meaning of the prayers; learning how Jewish groups, other than one’s own, approach prayer; providing a chance for quiet self-reflection; providing an opportunity for the community to gather and worship together; spurring reflective dialogue in a Jewish context; setting the expectation that prayer is something Jews are commanded to do; and allowing students to experience tefillah as joyful and meaningful. While it may be possible to achieve several of these simultaneously, it is also likely that some of these may stand in opposition to one another. The pluralistic goals of the institution are intertwined with the broader educational context.

THE WHOLE AND THE SUM OF ITS PARTS: GROUP COHESION AND PLURALISM Another set of challenges pertains to maintaining a pluralistic promotion of individual commitments (or the commitments of subgroups) while at the same time maintaining a sense of group cohesion and community. Psychological approaches to identity formation discuss the importance of the context in which development occurs, the norms and expectations, and the roles and rules — explicit and implicit — inherent in settings or more generally in a particular culture. As one’s developmental journey moves into an ever wider array of contexts, one encounters multiple sets of environmental presses. A healthy identity is seen as being at once flexible enough to adapt to different expectations and integrated enough so that one maintains a sense of continuous self. Relatedly, moving among contexts has the potential to bring the developing individual into contact with an increasingly wide array of others. This encounter and the subsequent comparison with one’s self can also serve a distancing function. The challenge is to create a strong identity while at the same time not rejecting others. Reimer draws on the work of Erik Erikson to challenge Jewish educators to work on fostering a Jewish identity that is both “strong and inclusive” (Reimer 1999, 13), tolerant of differences among  114 

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Jews and between Jews and Gentiles. He does not see this as meaning that one should “escape the particulars of your life story and communal history, but to incorporate those in a search for what unites you with others with very different life stores and communal histories” (Reimer 1999, 12). Such a balance, he submits, is not easy to achieve particularly when mistrust exists between different communities, but it is nevertheless an important goal. This challenge has been articulated in community day schools (Shevitz and Wasserfall 2009) and is consistent with a long research tradition highlighting the tension between in-group cohesion and out-group acceptance (e.g., Tajfel and Turner 1986). It is one of balancing centrifugal and centripetal forces, to use Shevitz and Wasserfall’s terms. As discussed around prayer options at the Jacob Academy’s debate midrash, the multiple options for Jewish practice might come at the expense of broad communal participation. Further, as students gain elements of identification with groups (e.g., a denomination or “those of us who attend the mediation minyan”), might this evolve into an in-group/out-group (or, multiple inand out-groups) situation? Smerkar (2009, 53–54), summarizing the work of Coleman and Hoffer (e.g., 1987), discusses two conceptualizations of community: In functional communities, which are characterized by structural consistency between generations, social norms and sanctions arise out of the social structure itself, and both reinforce and perpetuate that structure. Functional communities exhibit a high degree of uniformity and cohesion within geographical, social, economic, and ideological boundaries. Value communities describe a collection of people who share similar values about education and childrearing but do not constitute a functional community; they are strangers from various neighborhoods, backgrounds and occupations.

Pluralistic day schools face challenges in both conceptualizations. Though the students do spend large amounts of time together, they originate from communities varied along the dimensions that contribute to the homogeneity of functional communities. These schools pride themselves on representing, at least in a relative sense, a range of socioeconomic status, geography, and Judaic background. The latter challenges the formation of a values community as there may be diversity in strongly held values of members of the community.  115 

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Shevitz and Wasserfall (2009), based on their observations of a pluralistic high school, discuss the importance of cultivating a safe climate in which debate can flourish and in which even members of potentially disenfranchised groups feel embraced. Approaches to the developing of within-group identity while maintaining intergroup relations suggest that opportunities for group interaction are also important for creating a shared community in diverse settings. Of course, this is a real-world challenge as well. Judaism involves the balancing of individual commitments with: (1) a ritual structure that relies heavily on communal participation and (2) a greater sense of Jewish peoplehood, as discussed previously. It is possible to understand the multiple extracurricular opportunities in these schools (clubs, sports teams) as providing common communal ground, where shared interest and talent are the key to group functioning, and religious concerns can take a backseat. In the study schools, students come together in multiple venues, not just physically but emotionally, to work collaboratively on meaningful projects. Each of these schools supports a very wide array of programs that take place outside of the classroom context, or within a classroom but not specifically related to the lesson plan at hand. A glance at any one of these schools’ monthly schedules reveals the comings and goings of students both within (clubs, assemblies, etc.), and outside (trips, etc.), the school. Although Shabbatonim are a central experiential program, they are certainly not the only such program, and in many cases, they are not even the most intensive (in terms of time and energy committed). Vignette 8 is not an exhaustive list of events but rather the beginning of a loose categorization, with some notable examples. Whereas these venues have the potential for raising differences among groups, as discussed, they also provide opportunities for close contact with others. Likewise, school traditions — shared historical reference points, in-jokes and catchphrases, as well as more structured activities such as town meetings — can play a similar role. VIGNE T T E 8: A Var ie t y o f C o m m u n a l Ven u e s Extended Trips: Israel is the most common destination among the many trips offered by schools. These trips vary from relatively brief trips to time spans of all or part of a semester. Other trips include those tied to a curriculum unit (e.g., a trip to Greece tied to a social studies curriculum) or a related theme (e.g., a tikkun olam trip to work with Habitat for Humanity in New Orleans). Some trips are of a more general nature, such as a trip to New York City that  116 

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incorporates Jewish aspects of the city. Although the impact of these trips is unknown, they do appear to make a strong impression on the student participants. For example, on multiple occasions, questions having to do with the school experience in general were answered with specific reference to the Israel experience. These trips are not without their challenges. Apart from the obvious concerns of funding and staffing, there is the issue of what to do with students who remain in school and do not attend the trip. Schools have generated various ways to adapt to this, such as for shorter trips, assigning an in-class note-taker to share information with those who are away, or for longer trips, elective courses for the remaining students. Community Service: Schools generally have a requirement for a minimum number of hours of participation in community service. This is an area of potential growth for schools because the requirement tends to remain separate from other aspects of a student’s experience, with no opportunity for a student to reflect on what they gained from their service and how it relates to their more general growth while at the school. Innovative Class Formats: Various teachers use classroom methods that go beyond traditional class discussions around the topic of the lesson. An interesting element was observed in several schools’ Judaic studies classes. These classes would begin with a dedication in which students were asked to dedicate the day’s learning in recognition of some person, event, or milestone. Students seemed eager to add to the list of dedications, which included birthdays (of the students and members of their families), recognition of victories of sports teams, passing of driving exams, and many others. These dedications seemed to serve as a type of update time in which students could share “good and welfare” that was on their minds. In addition, several schools have instituted a form of drop-in times, when teachers are available for students to come by to ask questions, seek extra help, or follow up on discussions that began in class.

Further, although venues such as Shabbatonim were discussed previously as highlighting group differences, it is possible to think of these intensive communal experiences organized specifically around Jewish ritual as creating Jewish common ground in a diverse setting and, as such, playing a centripetal as well as a centrifugal role. Common Jewish experiences at home, in the community, or in other educational settings (such as camp and youth groups) cannot be assumed (actually, the lack of commonality should be assumed). Community in school is frequently fragmented, with the whole community often coming together only sporadically, and then for  117 

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activities that may have community-enhancing value but are generally not interactive. In terms of community, a Shabbaton shows what could be, what is possible if the overlay of grades and academic pressure is removed, the hierarchy of roles and relationships is loosened, and the focus shifts from learning about our differences to coming together to live as a community, at least temporarily. It is also possible to see each school as having developed an organizing central focus related to Judaism that spans the multiple denominations, creating a Jewish center or common frame of reference. The Jewish foci have what might be called signature Jewish pedagogic structures associated with them. At the Abraham School, a strong emphasis on the inter- and intrapersonal elements of Judaism (with a particular focus on self-growth and tikkun olam and a tendency to reflect back on an intentional approach to community building) provides a central Jewish focus. The signature Jewish pedagogic structures of the derishat shalom is one example of the close association of Judaism and self-exploration. Likewise, the havdalah ceremony at the all-school Shabbaton described in the school’s sketch is notable for the application of the theme of transition (often associated with havdalah as the transition from Shabbat to the rest of the week) to the community itself, serving as a symbolic moving-up ceremony as the seniors literally pass the torch to the juniors. The choreography of this event, and participation in it, has taken on a shared meaning in this community that is related to, but separate from the conventional role of havdalah. At the Isaac Academy, the raucous ruah can be seen as a unifying approach to Judaism. The Shabbatonim — with their wild simhah dancing, singing, and sharing of homiletic stories — can be seen as signature Jewish pedagogic structures. By the end of the Shabbaton, no one remains seated during dancing, and the spirit is carried back into the school the following Monday. At the Jacob Academy, pluralism itself seems to have become the unifying theme. The idea that unites students is that they are working to create an intentionally pluralistic setting that actively embraces different approaches. The debate midrash can be seen as one of the signature Jewish pedagogic structures of the school, an opportunity that is both pluralistic in its structure (in that multiple opinions are considered) but also has served as a venue for considering pluralism in the school. Students and faculty wonder whether the school is pluralistic enough. The Abraham School’s derishat shalom and havdalah, the Isaac Academy’s raucous Shabbaton ruah, and the Jacob Academy’s debate midrash are each similar in that the barriers for participation are low, and students can  118 

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participate at whatever level they are in terms of Judaic knowledge and ritual prowess. Each stresses a universal Jewish element that can bridge movements and groups,7 similar to Dorff ’s (2002, 51) “identifying shared convictions” approach to pluralism. There are no steps to learn to participate in the Isaac Academy’s simhah dancing; a student needs to know only how to jump and scream. At the Abraham School, it is acceptable for a derishat shalom to only tangentially be rooted in the text before turning to introspection; and at the Jacob Academy, opinions expressed at debates may be more or less defended by textual sources. A similar paradox can be seen in the multiple prayer options in many schools. Yes, these serve to divide the community, but they also allow everyone an opportunity to be a full participant in a prayer experience. Someone with limited Hebrew competency and no familiarity with the liturgy can still shine in a discussion-based tefillah. It can similarly be posited that each of the schools has created a different emotional regime (Riis and Woodhead 2010), or set of norms and expectations, around the expression of emotion with regard to Judaism. Although the intersection of affect and religion (and/or spirituality) is frequently discussed, these schools illustrate nuances in the way emotional life plays out. Again, to make generalizations that, of course, do not encompass all observations: in the Abraham School, much of the emotional life emerges from introspection; in the Isaac Academy, emotion is expressed behaviorally through Shabbaton singing and dancing; and at the Jacob Academy, emotion is intertwined with dialogue. This illustrates the importance of seeing emotion as a complex, contextually dependent construct. Likewise, the term ruah is often used with regard to emotional elements of Judaism. This term, too, can signify both quiet, contemplative introspection and raucous activity.

THE POTENTIAL FOR RELATIVISM A further challenge related to pluralism in these schools has to do with the potential to see all hermeneutic interpretations as holding equal sway, to equate “making a compelling argument” with being “correct” or, perhaps to conclude that there is no “correct” and that therefore all conclusions hold 7

Similarly, the organizers of a “Continental Shabbaton” — at which small groups from many schools come together in what can be seen as a diversity of diversities — chose universal themes for the experience: advocacy, leadership, tikkun olam, community service, hesed, and social action.  119 

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equal sway. One can argue that the current emphasis on Jewish pluralism has read multivocality into the tradition while deemphasizing univocality. The Talmud, with its presentation of multiple conflicting opinions, is often framed as the multivocal text par excellence. However, it is also the case that there are elements of Jewish tradition — even in the Talmud — that emphasize univocal dimensions, that one side is “right” (or at least, that the law — the halakhah — follows a particular opinion). The Talmudic concept of teku — the unresolved argument left hanging in perpetuity — is seen as a paradigm of “agreeing to disagree.” However, the actual incidence of arguments that end in teku is quite low. And it is worth noting that there is a tradition of understanding the term teku as an acronym8 indicating that the prophet Elijah will provide what would ostensibly be the correct (or at least definitive) answer. Similarly, the well-known story of “Achnai’s Oven”9 is generally taken as a license for flexibility, the ability to hold different opinions even if they are in direct disagreement, as it were, with God. This interpretation rests on Rabbi Joshua’s invocation of the line “It [the decision about the law] is not in heaven” and the subsequent statement by God that “my children have defeated me.”10 What is generally overlooked, however, is the second part of Rabbi Joshua’s statement, that “[o]ne must follow the majority.” Including this line adds the dimension of “the right way” to the discussion of the ability to argue and debate; disagreement is fine, but in the end there is one accepted answer. Brendtro and Brokenleg discuss Bill Moyer’s approach to promoting spiritual growth while maintaining the parameters of pluralism as depending on our ability to listen to people whose experience and reality may be different from ours. He maintains that we need not abandon our own distinctive traditions; rather, through critical encounters with others as persons of faith we can be enriched by what he calls the “religious mosaic” of our nation. (2001, 45)

8

tishbi yetaretz kushyot uv’ayot

9

This story is related in the Babylonian Talmud, Baba Metzi‘a 59b. It involves Rabbi Eliezer calling upon the heavens to support his side of an argument. Though a heavenly voice did weigh in on Rabbi Eliezer's side, Rabbi Joshua was not swayed.

10

In taking ownership of halakhic decisions even in the face of God’s attempts at miraculous intervention.  120 

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Although this is an idealistic vision, there is, of course, in the balance between commitment and acceptance the potential for movement toward the latter to an extent that approaches relativism. One can take the question to a slippery-slope extreme: If all viewpoints are internally consistent and therefore at least in a sense valid, why be Jewish at all? If I can go to Reform services today, Orthodox services tomorrow, and a rap group about contemporary ethical issues the next day, why can’t I go to church or skip services the day after? How might schools maintain a sense of commitment to the boundaries while allowing a certain degree of porousness within the parameters? Woocher, studying adult Jewish education, raises similarly pertinent questions about education in pluralistic settings. For the adult students in her study, contemporary values provided a filter for understanding traditional Jewish ideas, even to the extent of leading to the neglect of the latter, for example, Words and concepts such as “covenant,” “commandment,” or “obligation” were virtually absent. Instead, students reflected on how being empowered to choose what to believe, how to behave (or how to think about that behavior), and which communities to belong to (or how to interpret the act of belonging) helped them construct their individual Jewish lives. (Woocher 2004, 28)

What struck the author is not that this filter existed but rather that the study of texts was itself the key element in reaching that end. What the students seemed to take from this was that “[i]f all interpretations are equally valid and equally authentic, all choices regarding Jewish practice and communal affiliations are valid as well” (Woocher 2004, 29). In fact, the experience “seemed to . . . encourage and legitimate the values of individualism and choice by placing them within the context of Jewish tradition, thus blurring the distinctions between the two value systems” (Woocher 2004, 30). Theorists make efforts to distinguish pluralism from relativism. “Relativism assumes a stance of openness; pluralism assumes both openness and commitment” (Eck 2003, 193, italics in the original). Feinberg (2006, 120) argues that pluralistic interchange need not weaken one’s commitments but rather that “understand[ing] the process by which these doctrines change frees students to accept the tradition while promoting a full understanding of its complexity and richness.” He suggests that one way schools achieve this is through the unspoken expectations related to  121 

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the parameters of dialogue, what Bronfenbrenner (1979) might refer to as the macrosystem, or the accepted norms of a community. Feinberg describes a class in a Jewish school in which the French Revolution is discussed in terms of the experience of the Jews of France. The teacher takes the identity of these students for granted. They must address the question as Jews for whom the answer has a personal significance. And, by the very fact of taking that identity for granted, by voicing no doubt that the answer to this question is essential to their identity as Jews, he also stamps that identity. He calls upon them as Jews, and by calling upon them as such, their identity as Jews is enacted as part of a process whereby they become Jewish. No argument is needed that they should be Jewish or that they could choose a religion other than that of their parents. And in the very silence their identity as Jews is fixed and the issue is defined not as “whether Jew” but as “[i]n what way Jew? (Feinberg 2006, 27)

The embedding of these discussions within a particular culture and community is seen as helping to maintain the boundaries (if not providing a rationale for those boundaries). Feinberg posits that this approach involves “connections and relationships” as much as it does “abstract principles and fine-grained arguments’’ (Feinberg 2006, 149). That is, much of our longterm commitments are based on earlier relationships and commitments to one’s community, parents, or others. In religiously pluralist societies, doubt and conflicts in faith are common, and students are likely at some time to question the dogmas of their faith, comparing them to other religious and nonreligious systems. Students who are taught to see their religious education as a question of not just what to believe but also where to belong may have a better basis on which to evaluate their doubt and to make a wiser decision when a conflict of faith comes along. (Feinberg 2006, 187)

The tie to the originating community provides the basis for continuity even within the realm of questioning tradition. Writing about the experience of parents, Pomson and Schnoor (2008, 166) see “the day school as a kind of Jewish neighborhood,” with “a sense of shared space, of purposeful interaction, and of projects advanced.” This “neighborhood” is described as a place where Jewish parents and families meet one another, bump into each other casually, and work together formally and informally. During  122 

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special moments, such as during festival seasons, it seems as though everyone in the neighborhood is present. There is a kind of heightened sense of possibility in the air fed by children rushing back and forth in costume and by the colorful appearance of specially decorated corridor walls. At such moments there is a palpable feeling of community and shared interest, value, and purpose. (Pomson and Schnoor 2008, 165)

Pomson and Schnoor’s description contains an interesting juxtaposition of increased individualization of identity pathways on the one hand, with the idea that communal organizations such as day schools can provide a context for the participants on these journeys to be visible to one another and to interact and learn together on the other hand. A commonly used metaphor for Jewish identity-enhancing settings is that of a bus station or airport. Travelers are heading from a range of points of origin to a range of destinations, taking a variety of routes, traveling at various speeds, and having differing reasons, and degrees of motivation for, their travels. These Jewish journeyers, the metaphor goes, find themselves at times together, their paths crossing at a high holiday service or a life cycle event. Pomson and Schnoor’s neighborhood metaphor, in contrast, implies a greater potential for sustained, or at least recurring, contact among those engaged in the setting. Though one may unexpectedly come across someone one knows while waiting for a flight, the probability is low, and even lower that the two will meet on future occasions in this way. In contrast, although I do not see all of my neighbors daily, I see most of them with some regularity, and although I share differing degrees of intimacy in my relationships with them, I can count on a certain similarity of experience brought about by our choice to share an environment. If my basement floods during a storm, it is also reasonable to wonder if my neighbor was running a sump pump. An implication of this metaphor is that whereas the individuals and the environment may change over time, the idea of joint participation and relationship (or at least the potential for joint participation — there are neighbors with whom I have no interactions at all) is a constant. In fact, the relationship is defined structurally, by membership in a particular class of individuals (e.g., those living on the south side of town), and although it may cease when one moves out, the relationship may continue from a distance. I may not know all of my neighbors, and I may not like all of the ones I do know, but there exists with them a heighted possibility of relationship. These ongoing relationships can provide a bridge to the norms of a particular community.  123 

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Rosenak describes differences between explicit approaches to religion (focusing on socialization) and implicit approaches (focusing on individualization). He sees this tension — between maintaining group norms and providing for individual interpretation and meaning — to be a part of the Jewish tradition that should be preserved in educational efforts; the goal is to balance the two. To be only explicit is not to have come of age, to not yet ask the questions or to have wearied of the ambiguity of true answers. To be only implicit is not to understand that when one grows up, one must decide — and that one will be held responsible, because truth is more than personal preference. (Rosenak 1987, 186)

Personal innovation should be rooted in tradition. Rosenak stresses the importance of the larger community in supporting norms, yet at the same time emphasizes the need for individuals to find meaning within the shared ritual, to balance “principle and pluralism” (Rosenak 1987, 272) and suggests prompting (or, one might say, “distancing”) for personal meaning and understanding, while “pointing out that a certain understanding or metaphor is conspicuously not within the ‘language’ of Judaism” (Rosenak 1987, 264).

A VOICE FOR ALL? PLURALISM AND DIMENSIONS OF POWER The inverse of a concern over fostering an “anything goes” mentality involves questions that can be raised regarding the potential for a school’s approach to reflect certain valued Jewish expressions at the expense of others, even when the undervalued expressions are within an acceptable range of communal norms. Are the various expressions of Judaism given a “fair shake” even by educators who disagree with them? In a system infused with commitments to obligations and restrictions, it is understandably difficult to embrace as equally legitimate those who do not embrace these same commitments. In manipulating the environment around issues of diversity, do we run the risk of being manipulative in promoting certain outcomes? For example, there is a proclivity to see Jewish practice as degrees on a continuum. Differences among the denominations are often  124 

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conceptualized as points on a spectrum, with Orthodox on the right, Reform on the left, and Conservative in the center. While it is possible for this to be expressed in a value-free way, movement leftward can easily become synonymous with lessening the intensity of one’s Jewish engagement. We often hear talk of “less religious,” “less traditional,” or “less observant” as opposed to “differently” religious, traditional, or observant. Though meant humorously, the title of Bader’s (1994) book How to Be an Extremely Reform Jew underscores this tendency. By extremely reform, the author reflects a common usage, and one he uses in the book’s subtitle, as “Jewishly impaired” rather than something like steeped in an understanding of a Reform conceptualization of Jewish tradition. Likewise, an educator may hold gender equality as a very strong value and see it as central to Judaism, even to the extent of finding approaches to ritual that do not include this to be morally questionable. One could see the potential for an educator to promote this belief. Alternatively, this egalitarian stalwart might find that the right (as in not the left) is taken as a default. For example, it is not just in the schools that it is more likely that a deep believer in egalitarianism would be asked to complete an Orthodox minyan than a deep believer in Orthodoxy would be asked to complete an egalitarian minyan. The expectations for trying out new experiences, as the Jacob Academy students complained, might not apply to everyone equally. When we are talking about educators, who are in positions of authority, we must draw caution from Eck’s notion of inclusivism: [I]nclusivism often dodges the question of real differences by reducing everything finally to my terms . . . Inclusivism is a “majority consciousness,” not necessarily in terms of number, but in terms of power. And the consciousness of the majority is typically “unconscious” because it is not tested and challenged by dialogue with dissenting voices. The danger of inclusivism is that it does not hear such voices at all. (2003, 184–185)

I recently heard the following story, told with tongue only slightly in cheek, from a well-respected colleague in a pluralistic Jewish institute of higher learning. He had been walking home from Friday night services at his synagogue when he bumped into a small group of his students emerging from a restaurant. The students greeted him warmly. He describes not being surprised that students were in a restaurant on Shabbat. What took him aback, however, was the lack of self-consciousness these students showed. They were not embarrassed at all to bump into a professor on his way home  125 

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from synagogue! While this was originally related as an amusing anecdote, it illustrates a major challenge to the creation of pluralistic settings. There is a fine line between wanting students to encounter different Jewish expressions and hoping that they embrace certain of these rituals in a way that matches more closely an approach to Judaism other than the one to which they are initially committed. Pluralistic intergroup dialogue cannot be separated from the accepted norms of the communities in which it is embedded. [E]ducating for pluralism must attend to the impact of dialogue on a community’s efforts to form the religious identity of its members. Shifting perceptions of the boundaries that divide us inevitably impact religious self-understanding. For this reason, a community’s engagement with religious others cannot afford to move forward independently of efforts to integrate new insights and learning in the life of the community of faith — in the stories we tell, the beliefs we articulate, the practices we engage, and the values we embody. (Veverka 2004, 47)

It is the second part of this description that challenges the schools. Veverka sees pluralism not as a buffet-style exploration of others, but as having a goal of strengthening connections with one’s faith tradition. This raises the question of the goal of pluralistic interactions or, more broadly, what type of Judaism does a school seek to promote. As discussed, each school seems to have its own Jewish emphasis, evident in its leader’s words and its promotional materials, but it could be that these differences mask a much more complex situation. The Abraham School, for example, was described as emphasizing the values of tikkun olam and tikkun atzmi. But other Jewish elements are present as well. The students pray together at Shabbatonim and in school. They study Torah together. They spend Shabbat together. This suggests that ritual fits somewhere in the conceptualization of the ideal graduate of the school. Would the leadership of this or any other Jewish school count as a success a student who rejects all Jewish ritual participation outside of participation in tikkun olam and self-growth (or who participates in these, but does not connect them to a Jewish framework)? Would that student’s family? Community? At the Jacob and at Isaac academies, the notion of trying out different Jewish approaches is stressed (although quite differently in each school). What is the point of this exploration — is it a change in one’s viewpoint or stasis within a category? Is there a goal of diminishing categories to a new type of Judaism, one that embraces trying  126 

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different things? How would this play with the communities that send the students to these schools? Feinberg sees a tension in religious education as the balance between accepting and promoting the tenets of religion while at the same time encouraging critical self-reflection as a key component of a democratic society: “[T]o encourage critical reflection is . . . to court risks because the conclusions that any student may arrive at cannot be guaranteed” (Feinberg 2006, 104). He cautions against a dogmatic approach to what he refers to as moral education but that has parallels to our discussion. The most serious concern about dogmatic moral education in a religious context is that it can overwhelm individual moral intuition and moral novelty with premature commitments to established moral theories. The concern is less that students will come to adopt an inadequate moral doctrine than that they will come to think that moral agency consists only in conforming to the teachings of authority and, as a result, that their capacity for independent intellectual thought and moral growth will be aborted. (Feinberg 2006, 127)

Feinberg’s concern echoes James Marcia’s classic formulation of identity foreclosure (1966). One counterargument to concerns about environmental manipulation holds that regardless of our intentions, the environment is always of influence so it can either be an intentional influence to communally sanctioned ends or an influence determined by other forces. The fact is, within our schools and culture, identity is being imposed: not spiritual identity but material identity. This sense of mistaken identity is reinforced by media: advertising, newspapers, magazines, and especially television and film. (Glazer 1999, 80, italics in the original)11

Glazer does address the question of, as he puts it: “How do we establish or support the formation of inner spiritual identity without resorting to indoctrination or imposition of ideology?” The answer is simply to ground education within experience. Examining closely our perceptions, emotions, and beliefs — our experience-awareness and insight naturally arise. (Glazer 1999, 82) 11

Interestingly, although writing in the late 1990s, Glazer omits new technologies from his list.  127 

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Although we may question the use of the term simply with respect to outcomes such as those suggested, Glazer recommends a strategy similar to that which we have been discussing, one of developing skills and habits of experience-based self-reflection and self-growth. In other words, the issue of environmental indoctrination is answered by the notion that the ideas and capacities indoctrinated by the environment are specifically those that counter indoctrination. If pluralism and self-growth are the themes around which an environment is organized, and debate, dialogue, and interpersonal respect are the practices used to promote these themes, then the manipulation is one of setting the stage for increased individual agency. Moving from good fences to assertive pluralism calls for an additional level of commitment, one where citizens understand and accept the reasons for the principles that sustain the plurality of religious and nonreligious traditions. The commitment to pluralism requires a certain ability to distance one’s self from one’s primary commitment, to grant a certain contingency (if not to one’s own beliefs, then to the fact that one holds them rather than some other set) and to allow that regardless of “the truth” of one’s own beliefs, others have an equal right to hold conflicting beliefs.12 (Feinberg 2006, 41–42)

Feinberg (2006) cautions that even in diverse settings, pluralism does not automatically occur. The constraints of time, staffing, funding, and so forth create a default mode of univocality. Feinberg brings the example of a Jewish school in which a broken film left the staff scrambling to fill in something for the assembly that was already in progress. A one-sided film about the Six-Day War was shown as an emergency stand-in for the scheduled film. In the current study, an example might be the cancellation of minyanim due to logistical issues. Further, one HOS (not from one of the three focus schools) talks about a challenge as the school expands — that Orthodox students tend to take on leadership roles on the Shabbatonim, and others are marginalized. In other schools, the Orthodox population may be small, and the situation may be reversed. There is a need to find meaningful roles that cross the spectrum. To Feinberg (2006, 168) “teachers will need to consciously engage students in hearing the voice of the religious other even as they engage their own religious commitments.” Schools must 12

Feinberg uses the term distance in a similar way as we have.  128 

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go out of their way to show a plurality of approaches and viewpoints. The struggles of the Isaac Academy to provide a range of prayer options without staff members with the backgrounds to do so, even if the results sometimes fall short, is an example of efforts in this regard. Feinberg emphasizes the intersubjectivity of pluralism, the need for interlocutors to (1) accept that the other holds his or her position with as much legitimacy as one holds one’s own and (2) trust that the other feels the same way about you. This illustrates the intersection of higher order vision regarding community and the “on the ground” minutia of creating such a community on a moment-to-moment basis. How are others to know that I accept the legitimacy of their beliefs even if I disagree with the content of that belief? How am I to know that others feel the same way? As community psychologist James Kelly (1979), borrowing from a jazz tune, pointed out, “Tain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it.” Intersubjective acceptance might be fostered through rules set out by a teacher/facilitator and reinforced by posters on the wall and other exhortations to respect the other, but when a student is in dialogue with a peer, it is the elements of that interaction — both verbal and nonverbal — that cement the trusting relationship. Is the tone inquisitively critical, or is it demeaning and harsh? Do questions about the nature of the belief or opinion come along with stated or unstated criticism of the believer or person who expressed the opinion? In most youth educational settings (in contrast to episodic lectures or community events), these dialogical encounters take place in the context of an ongoing multifaceted relationship. The students who argue about the meaning of a text may also play on a sports team together, hang out in different crowds, and cooperate or compete in various social spheres. The minute-to-minute interactions in a dialogue are filtered through the larger context of the relationship. The dialogue is not an isolated moment in a student’s experience. The tone and tenor of a Talmudic discussion may carry the baggage of an ongoing argument over a boyfriend, a social slight, a conflict of cliques. Again, Bronfenbrenner’s (1979) notion of macrosystem is relevant. A recurring message in these schools, particularly the Jacob Academy and the Abraham School, is that they are not just committed to creating a pluralistic environment, but they are passionate about the idea of pluralism and strongly desire students to embrace this as an ideal and a vehicle for growth. Students should not just accept others, or even embrace and understand others, they should also value the idea that this embracing is a key element in this (and possibly any) setting. Pluralism is framed not just as a necessity  129 

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in a diverse setting, but as a value in itself. Feinberg (2006) sees a faith in the ground rules of dialogue as a foundation for the creation of pluralistic settings. That is, I can only allow myself to come to understand your point of view respectfully if I trust you to do the same for me. Interactive dialogue not only results from such trust but also helps maintain this trust as one sees that respectful interactions can occur. To Hansen, the regulation of the environment is not micromanagement. It has as a goal the perpetuation of freedom that exists within boundaries, the foundation of participation in a society. “[C]ontrol describes a dynamic quality of participation and of relationship, centered around educational purposes; it allows multiple voices to be heard within the setting” (Hansen 2001, 108). In summary, pluralistic schools strive to build community amid diversity. Further, they strive to walk the line between relativism and doctrinism. Blind obedience is not the goal of a democratic society; nor are individual autonomy and expression always appropriate. Functioning in modern society means bridging these two elements. This tension is of particular relevance to Jewish education.

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TOWARD A DISCOURSE OF JEWISH DEVELOPMENTAL EDUCATION

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A

holistic, schema-based approach to Jewish education integrates multiple modalities of identity (affective, cognitive, behavioral, etc.), and whereas certain elements of educational settings (e.g., new experiences, discussions, and opportunities for reflection) potentiate identity growth, this type of growth can occur in any type of setting. If any given educational setting can (and often does) contain elements that would be categorized by the common use of the terms formal and informal education, and if any educational moment or interaction engages the multiple dimensions of identity, we are, once again, left wondering about the terms formal and informal. One can argue that these terms have heuristic value, along the lines of Reimer and Bryfman’s proposal (Reimer and Bryfman 2008) that the term informal be used as shorthand for the category of out-of-school educational experiences. It is not clear how these definitions help the work of Jewish educators or those that train them. Lev Vygotsky (1986), among others, suggested that the language we use is a tool that is used to shape the way we see the world. Likewise, psychologist George Kelly (1963) posits that we develop “personal constructs” that serve as active fi lters for our experiences in the world. Our language and our categories are not neutral, and they are selfperpetuating. The risk of maintaining a formal/ informal distinction is in maintaining the artificial bifurcation between the “head” and the “heart” of Jewish education, a split of content and connection.  131 

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I am reminded of the classic figure-ground illusion in which the contours of two black profiles on both sides of a page define a white vase in the center (as the vase, in turn, defines the profiles). Is the viewer looking at faces or at a vase? The answer is more than “both”; in a sense, the question does not make sense. Without the faces, there is no vase and vice versa. One may be perceiving, or attending to, one aspect or the other, but both exist, each by virtue of the other. Is any given educational experience formal or informal? Is it a cognitive experience or a socioaffective one? These questions are equally meaningless. Just as the picture is defined jointly by the faces and the vase, each educational experience is defined by social, emotional, and cognitive aspects. Certain educational moments or venues may draw the eye to one element or the other, but that does not mean that other elements are missing. Even the driest lecture is accompanied by an affective experience, even if the experienced emotion is one of boredom. Further, it may be helpful to distinguish between the characteristics of educational settings on micro and macro levels. A school is made up of an infinite number of educational subsets, varying according to how one chooses to bind them: literature class, Mr. Shapiro’s fourth-period ninthgrade literature class, or the opening activity of Mr. Shapiro’s fourth-period ninth-grade literature class.1 Any of these subsets might exhibit more or less of, for example, Chazan’s characteristics of informal education or involve more or less intentional focus on socioaffective elements. In this way, educational venues would not be characterized orthogonally as formal or informal but rather described in terms of the degree to which they focus intentionally on holistic educational-developmental outcomes. Widening the focus, one might find, as with a pointillist painting, that an overall image of the educational setting emerges, dominated to a greater or lesser extent by the composition of the various educational subsets. In a painting, there is a degree of interdependence between the parts and the whole; the parts in their totality are experienced differently than when viewed on an individual basis. Likewise, the experience of the opening moments of Mr. Shapiro’s class — though it may be heavily loaded with characteristics of developmental education — from the perspective of the students will be viewed through the lens of other elements of 1

Note that I also include elements that are on the surface easier to note as informal features, e.g., schools have assemblies, trips, etc. However, my example here focuses on the archetypical formal subset of contexts within a school, the classroom lesson.  132 

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Mr. Shapiro’s class and, indeed, educational modalities in the rest of the school. Further, the gestalt of a pointillist picture, while comprised of individual points, also serves to determine the composition of those points. Assuming I am not dealing with abstractions, if I am going to draw a boat, there are many, but not an infinite number of, possibilities for placement of dots. At some point, a particular placement of dots no longer produces a boat but some other object. The idea of a boat determines the characteristics that comprise it. Likewise, features of school help shape what individual educational subunits look like. Mr. Shapiro can structure his class in many different ways, but regardless of his choices in this regard, he must consider that his students must meet a state education standard for literature or that they must progress to the tenth grade having achieved a certain degree of competence or that he must follow certain rules (explicit and implicit) to be rehired or make tenure or be in accord with the union. As an alternate to the informal/experiential-formal framework, I suggest that we adopt language that allows for the discussion of Jewish education, both in and out of classrooms, as a holistic endeavor that strives for outcomes in multiple interrelated developmental arenas such as knowledge, feelings/attitudes, and behaviors (including social behavior). Thomas Armstrong provides an interesting parallel case in general education, describing a growing emphasis on what he calls “academic achievement discourse.” Among the characteristics of this approach is an emphasis on subject matter and academic skills, standardized testing and grades, a “curriculum that is rigorous, uniform, and required for all students” (Armstrong 2006, 12, italics in the original). Armstrong points to several shortcomings of such an approach, including: it deemphasizes parts of the curriculum (such as the arts) that “are part of a well-rounded education students need in order to experience success and fulfillment in life” (Armstrong 2006, 23); it encourages teaching to the test and a success-at-all-costs attitude on the part of students (who are driven to cheat) and teachers (who may manipulate test results); it removes power and control over curricular decisions from the teachers (and, though he does not discuss this, all the more so from students); it increases stress levels for teachers and students; it does not take into account individual (or group) differences among students; it devalues learning for its own sake; and “has resulted in an increase in the incidence of developmentally inappropriate practices at all levels of schooling” (Armstrong 2006, 31, italics in the original).  133 

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Armstrong (2006) recommends adopting a “human development discourse,” which is based on the following assumptions about such an approach: 1.

“Becoming a whole human being is the most important aspect of learning” (39, italics in the original). This includes “cognitively, affectively, socially, morally, and spiritually” (40).

2.

“[M]easuring learning growth in the midst of the learning experience itself ” (40, italics in the original). The assessment is the experience and vice versa.

3.

Educational experiences should be “flexible, that is individualized, and . . . [give] students meaning ful choices” (41, italics in the original).

4.

It is interested in the entire span of human development and the context in which development occurs. This includes “the provision of a safe environment, the building of trust in the learning relationship” (42).

5.

A goal of this approach is “to nurture astudent’s abilities so that her future may include successful relationships with others, meaningful service to the community, emotional maturity ethical behavior, and a passion for learning among many nonacademic goals” (42).

6.

Assessment in this approach is individualized. Armstrong uses the term ipsative to mean “comparing a person’s present performance to the person’s prior performances” (43).

7.

“Human Development Discourse is egalitarian in nature, involving administrators, teachers, and students in sharing knowledge and learning in an atmosphere of trust and synergy” (46, italics in the original).

8.

The ultimate goal of such education is happiness, which Armstrong defines as “the growth of a whole human being, one who despite obstacles and challenges is able to find deep satisfaction in life” (47).

There are clear parallels between Armstrong’s Human Development Discourse, which is seen as a school-based approach, and the elements of a holistic approach to Jewish education discussed previously. Further, while Armstrong’s terminology — in his juxtaposition of academic and developmental discourses — might suggest that the latter is somehow devoid of content, his descriptions of the type of settings that use the latter discourse in fact do emphasize the cognitive dimension but in a way in which cognitive growth is embedded in a holistic vision of development that also encompasses the social, behavioral, affective, and spiritual dimensions of growth.  134 

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Might we be able to think similarly about a Jewish developmental education framed in holistic terms as focusing on Jewish developmental outcomes that encompass knowledge, affect/attitudes, and behavior (including social behavior) and as using a range of methodologies that include text study, participation in communal rituals, and intra- and interpersonal elements? Perhaps it is more useful to discuss elements of settings in terms of the degree to which they exhibit certain characteristics of Jewish developmental education (JDE) than to attempt to categorize these elements, or the setting as a whole, as formal or informal. The distinction can be framed as a matter of intentional attention to educational elements that go beyond cognitive content learning to include attention to Jewish identity development, broadly conceived. Consider two lecturers, the first dryly listing facts and the second weaving in stories, illustrations, or intriguing questions with which the learner can connect emotionally. Looking only at the structure of the room, both lectures may appear similar (students sitting in rows with the lecturer in the front); however, the latter lecturer has made an effort to address the emotional and meaningmaking experiences of the learner and thus can be seen as capitalizing on the experience as a catalyst to development. The learners in the former classroom will certainly have emotional reactions, but these are incidental rather than planned (e.g., they may be bored, and we can be generous in our assumption that the lecturer does not wish to bore the students intentionally). In teaching this idea, I sometimes refer to the heatingcooling control on my car (the age of which may render this analogy irrelevant before too long). A bar is marked with blue to represent “cold” and red for “hot.” On the right of the bar, the marking is entirely red; on the left, it is blue. As one approaches the middle, though, the markings of one color grow narrower, and the other color fills in the space. In the center, red and blue occupy the same amount of space.2 An educational venue — on any level — can be seen through filters of JDE, such as the following: • To what extent are the affective experiences of the learner accounted for, both in thinking about the environment (e.g., issues of safety), as well as outcomes (e.g., linking content with the emotional experience of the learner)?

2

A similar illustration of gradient is used by Jeffs and Smith (2008, 24).  135 

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• To what extent are social elements of the experience intentionally used to promote growth through group work, discussions, and so forth? • Does the educator make efforts to balance a focus on broad developmental goals with the natural flow of student interests as they emerge? • Does the approach attempt to play a distancing role by involving students in new experiences, dialogical interactions, and facilitated self-reflection? The following sections deal with the implementation of JDE “on the ground.” While many of the illustrations are drawn from Shabbatonim, it is important to note that the questions above and the guidelines that follow are as relevant to a classroom as to a Shabbaton, camp, or other informal setting.

SETTING THE STAGE FOR JEWISH DEVELOPMENTAL EDUCATION We now turn our attention to elements of educational settings that are seen as providing the substrate on which the distancing, schema-based efforts of Jewish developmental education are built. This discussion is based on principles articulated previously in the context of understanding Shabbatonim.3 Here, we revisit and revise these guidelines, using lessons from the study schools, as they apply more broadly to the idea of addressing holistic identity outcomes. The following are meant to complement those guidelines previously articulated but also represent an updated formulation.4 They are seen as setting the stage for the processes described earlier in this book.

3

Kress and Reimer’s (2009) original principles involved (1) safety and boundaries, (2) relationships, (3) youth leadership, (4) differentiation/individualization of experience, and (5) attention to affect.

4

Notably, the original fifth guideline, having to do with the importance of affect is now omitted as a separate guideline. Instead, discussion of affective issues is infused throughout this book as central to a schema-based approach to identity development.  136 

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A Safe Context for Emotional Experiences A distancing-based approach to identity development — as with any encounter with difference — involves risks; the process is seen as one of change and not stasis. For educational experiences to lead to the evolution of self-schema, they must take place in an environment of safety, where stepping out of one’s comfort zone is seen by participants as a healthy part of growth. As in Maslow’s (1954) well-known hierarchy of needs, safety is the supporting substrate. This issue is compounded in Jewish developmental education in which students are expected to risk more in terms of sharing and exploring aspects of themselves and their beliefs in contexts such as Shabbatonim, which are marked by rules for interaction that may not resemble those of a typical classroom (chairs in rows, hands up, and wait to be called upon to speak, etc.). At the most basic level, the logistics must be well planned and deftly executed. In the schools, this idea applies to all educational experiences: physical safety is always the first priority; and the nuts and bolts of the educational process (ensuring adequate supplies and personnel, set schedules, and good communication) provide the bedrock on which any organized setting is built. When education moves out of the school building and into environments that are less controlled and less self-contained, excellent logistical planning becomes even more important. No one is pleased when a student misses the bus home from school; however, it is a true crisis if a student is left behind at a remote retreat center after a Shabbaton ends. Further, while students may not always follow the rules of behavior in school, they are generally aware of what these rules are. There is a degree of consistency in the school rules that students have encountered since they were very young. Although there are variations among grades and schools, the framework tends to be easily grasped. A transfer student would not be surprised to find that the new school had a policy for attendance, completion of work in a timely manner, and so forth. The experiences described throughout this book often take students away from school and out of school time. Which of the school rules still apply? Which don’t? On Shabbatonim, for example, students and faculty leave the set of structures in which they usually interact with one another. At the very least, educators should not assume that students will be able to transfer and translate school rules to the Shabbaton setting. Moreover, the intense  137 

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demands of communal living put additional demands on the creation of communal behavioral expectations. Therefore, it is important to consider logistics, transitions between activities, and the handling of glitches and crises. Finally, particularly important for experiences in pluralistic settings are clear expectations for issues of religious practice. A respectful process for handling and negotiating these issues is developed. (Kress and Reimer 2009, 349–350)

In general, Shabbatonim ran smoothly and safely. The educators are skilled at bringing together all of the nuts and bolts of Shabbaton planning and implementation. Although this planning sounds basic and will not be discussed at great length here, its importance should not be underestimated. There are enormous responsibilities related to moving and housing large groups of adolescents. Some logistics must be planned long in advance (e.g., booking a venue), whereas some needs only emerge at the last minute (e.g., weather-related concerns). Because many of the Shabbaton venues are geographically distant from the school (and often from grocery stores and pharmacies), and because Shabbat observance limits the degree to which overlooked logistical elements can be compensated for over the course of Shabbat, those running Shabbatonim must anticipate the entire range of staff and student needs — meals, snacks, materials for ritual, educational, and social programs, and much more. Logistical planning in these schools is further challenged by the schedule and pace of the school day. Educators and administrators in schools struggle to find time for all of the various programs offered. The schedules of the schools tend to be complicated and packed; even finding a time for a conversation with a teacher can be difficult. However, the challenges in this regard go beyond “fitting it all in.” The structure of the school day also means abrupt and artificial transitions between activities that might mitigate the impact of educational experiences. The ring of a bell signals students to proceed to their next scheduled activity. For example, following an emotionally moving assembly on Darfur, which included intense and disturbing images, students hurried to their next class. Would there be a chance for students to process their reactions to the assembly? How would strong reactions be managed within the clear expectation that students quickly shift gears and return to class? At a different school (not one of the focus schools), the student body gathered for a prayer session in support of an ill student. Later, a student discussed the difficulty of having to go right back to class after the very emotional assembly. Such transitions  138 

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are not only emotionally challenging, but prevent the type of reflection and processing that make experiential education impactful. Additionally, the work of all educators takes place within the hyperscheduled life of today’s adolescents, and educators are sensitive to the pressures experienced by students. As one educator describes it: We have school on Martin Luther King day, and we call it a “day on” as opposed to a “day off.” We don’t have any academic classes, we just have programming about Martin Luther King and civil rights activism. We are really pushing against culture to have school that day. A lot of kids don’t come to school; we probably had 65 percent attendance this year, which is dramatically better than last year. To some extent we all support kids having a long weekend with their parents. If you are going to visit your grandmother that day, who are we to say no? But at the same time, we also think it is really important for the kids to be here, so it is hard. The same thing with the Shabbaton . . . yes, it is really important for kids to have their weekends and to relax, but they also need to be at school; this is part of the experience. We run a tough balance because everyone sees the value of it, but at the same time we are asking them to do these things that are outside of the time allotted for school. The same with community service — they are expected to do eighteen hours of community service outside of school; well they don’t have eighteen hours outside of school when they are not on the computer or doing homework or doing whatever they are doing.

Relationships are Catalysts for Jewish Growth The importance of relationships for successful education is well accepted and well documented. For example, the National Center for Innovation and Education (1999) states in a popular training program that “relationships form the basis of all learning.” With specific relevance to the idea of developmental education, King (2004) empirically examined the importance of “social capital” — defined as interaction, trust, and “shared vision” (clarity of expectations) with peers and parents and other adults — in moral and ethical development. She concludes that “[t]he factors that most strongly influenced moral outcomes in this sample were having a sense of shared vision with parents, being in a trusting relationship with an adult, and engaging in positive communication and interaction with one’s peers” (2004, 120). Further, King’s findings suggest, echoing Bronfenbrenner’s idea of mesosystemic linkages (1979), that the  139 

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optimal environment for nurturing moral development would include interactive, trusting, mutual relationships. Relationships in which youth have rich communication, meaningful interaction, an experience of trust, and a clear sense of shared values and expectations among their parents, friends, and other adults seem to be associated with positive moral outcomes. Such findings suggest that youth need a web of support that runs both wide and deep. The web must run wide across the important relationships in their lives. (King 2004, 120)

PEER REL AT IONSHIPS. Peer relationships among students are, of course, crucial to this endeavor. Shabbatonim and similar experiences present the opportunity to deepen relationships, but care must be taken to mix cliques and to create opportunities for students to share in both learning and playing with one another. Overwhelmingly, Shabbaton observers were struck by the quality of relationships — both among students and between students and staff. Student participants spoke frequently about Shabbatonim as a chance to meet new classmates or to solidify relationships with those they know only tangentially. The Shabbaton experience creates opportunities for intensity and breadth of relationships (not just with one’s usual clique) that are less common at school. The Abraham School’s Shabbaton rap session (described previously in Vignette 1) is an example of this. Also, Isaac Academy students, following a freshman Shabbaton, reported feeling much more at home at school after meeting so many other students on the Shabbaton and were particularly excited that the upper class madrikhim now said hello to them in the hall. Cementing studentstudent and student-teacher relationships is an overall strength of the Shabbatonim. That these relationships extend back to school can create a context for revisiting the impactful moments and strong emotions of a Shabbaton. The substrate of relationships helps to facilitate the creation of community among students even in the face of exposure to differing viewpoints regarding emotionally laden topics such as religion. Researchers (e.g., Mutz 2002) and theorists (e.g., Feinberg 2006) have suggested that in negative emotional climates, such as those marked by distrust, exposure to different viewpoints on important issues has the potential to lead to retrenchment and conflict rather than increased tolerance and learning between groups. Further, relationships can help build the trust in intersubjectivity discussed earlier such as a student knowing that at the same time that he or she is approaching an “other’s” point of view from  140 

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a standpoint of mutual respect, the “other” is approaching his or her point of view in the same way (Feinberg 2006). STUDENTSTAFF REL ATIONSHIPS. The critical importance of relationships between students and teachers is underscored by findings from a study of Catholic schools by Bryk and colleagues (Bryk, Lee, and Holland 1993) pointing to the quality of relationships between teachers and students as a mediator of student achievement. Teachers in the most successful schools had multiple relationships with students (perhaps also serving as a coach or counselor) and were concerned with their students outside of the academic context. Although this may seem obvious to some, the results of Smith and Denton’s benchmark study of religiosity in youth suggests that adults are often reticent to engage adolescents about matters of faith. [P]arents, pastors, ministers, religious educators, and congregational leaders concerned with youth largely need simply to better engage and challenge the youth already at their disposal, to work better to help make faith a more active and important part of their lives. The problem is not that youth won't come to church (most will), or that they hate church (few do), or that they don't want to listen to religious ministers or mature mentoring adults (they will and do). But this does not mean that youth are currently being well engaged by their religious congregations. . . . [P]arents and faith communities should not be shy about teaching teens. Adults do not hesitate to direct and expect from teens when it comes to school, sports, music, and beyond. But there seems to be a curious reluctance among many adults to teach teens when it comes to faith. Adults often seem to want to do little more than “expose” teens to religion. Many adults seem to us to be almost intimidated by teenagers, afraid to be seen as “uncool.” And it seems many religious youth workers are under a lot of pressure to entertain teens. In fact, however, we believe that most teens are teachable, even if they themselves do not really know that or let on that they are interested. (Smith and Denton 2005, 266– 267, italics in the original)

Indeed, the study’s authors were struck that, in contrast to other topics that may be considered difficult to discuss (e.g., drugs and sex), “for many of the teens we interviewed, our interview was the first time that any adult had ever asked them what they believed and how it mattered in their life” (Smith and Denton 2005, 133).  141 

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The challenge of youth-adult relationships is evident in findings from the Jewish participants in Smith and Denton’s study. While Jewish respondents generally viewed their synagogues as warm, welcoming, and accessible, more disturbing findings marked their description of specific relationships. When asked for the “Number of adults in a religious congregation or religious youth group attending teens can turn to for support, advice, and help (not including parents),” 72 percent of the Jewish respondents answered “zero” (compared to 39 percent overall). Further, when parents are asked to what degree the congregation sets as a priority work with teens, only 32 percent believe this to be a very important propriety (65 percent overall). Smith and Denton conclude that successfully engaging youth in religion will require the strengthening of relationships. They see this as manifesting in small steps through simple, ordinary adult relationships with teenagers. Adults other than family members and youth ministers could be intentionally encouraged to make better efforts to learn teens’ names, to strike up conversations with teens, to ask them meaningful questions, to be vulnerable themselves to youth in various ways, to show some interest in them, to help connect them to jobs and internships, to make themselves available in times of trouble and crisis, to work toward becoming models and partners in love and concern and sacrifice. (Smith and Denton 2005, 269)

As discussed previously, there are structural impediments (e.g., scheduling, curricular demands) in schools with regard to student-faculty relationships. Classes occur on a regimented schedule with only a few minutes for students to navigate the halls to reach their next class on time. Teachers, for their part, must use those same few minutes to shift from what they taught the students exiting the room to what they will teach the students entering (possibly from a different grade and studying a different content area). Of course, this assumes that the teacher is scheduled to teach in the same room and doesn’t require extra time to reach another room or attend a meeting elsewhere (Vignette 9). VIGNE T T E 9: A c a d e m i c P re s s u re a n d S c h e d u l i n g At the end of a history lesson, some of the students gather around the teacher with follow-up questions to discuss. The students in the next  142 

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class are already making their way into the room, and the teacher tries to schedule a time for a follow-up discussion with the students. He suggests lunch, but the students are busy. He resorts to suggesting that they meet during minhah (which is optional and poorly attended). Afterward, he tells me that he does not like meeting during minhah because it is a very short time period (not, interestingly, because he is reluctant to take the students away from a prayer experience). He tells me that the open office time that they have once a week is not enough. He would like the elective/ enrichment block turned into academic time.

Further, not all adults are willing or able to make these types of personal connections with teens. One might assume that those who chose as a career to teach adolescents would not have trouble in this regard, but certain mindsets or worldviews may hamper relationship building. For example, Walker et al. (2005) talk about the importance of approaching youth as partners. These authors, point out that adults who come to “fix kids” have less impact than those who come to meet young people “where they are” (Morrow and Styles 1995). If they are unreasonably critical, controlling, cynical, judgmental, or prejudiced, these adults can do more harm than good. (Walker et al. 2005, 409)

Educators’ beliefs about the nature of control can be another barrier. Educators are concerned that others will perceive them as lacking control over their students or view them as being lazy if they allow students freedom to pursue their own interests. (Wurdinger 2005, 91)

Educators must be “willing to be vulnerable” (Kessler 2001, 121), to put their opinions on the line, and to possess “a capacity for connectedness” (Palmer et al. 2001, 132). Even given these obstacles, student-faculty relationships were observed to be overwhelmingly warm and caring, and it is worth thinking about some of the elements that might lead to this. First, within the structure of a class there are opportunities for creating connections that help span the divide between educator and learner. Teacher self-disclosure, one frequently observed technique, serves to make a teacher more “human” and to set the stage for students to connect to the teacher as a person. Students seemed very interested to hear about elements of teachers’ lives. For example,  143 

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a teacher mentioned his recently completed doctoral dissertation, and the students seemed intrigued by this, asking questions about the dissertation and the process of writing it. Rather than dismissing these as off-topic questions, the teacher briefly addressed them before turning back to the lesson. There are also many examples of teachers sharing aspects of themselves “as people” by deed, as well as by word. The participation of faculty on Shabbatonim is one example of this. At such intensive out-of-classroom venues, the opportunities for breaking traditional roles and set patterns of relationships multiply. Students have the opportunity to see their teachers and administrators (and vice versa) as people with interests who have a life beyond the classroom and to participate together in a sport, craft, game, or other nonacademic pursuit. At Shabbatonim, some faculty bring their spouses or significant others and their children. Perhaps a student discovers that a strict and humorless (at least in class) teacher is surprisingly skilled in Ultimate Frisbee. Likewise, a math teacher might see that a student who has trouble with algebra can read Torah and lead zemirot beautifully. The latter is of particular importance given research emphasizing the link between student-teacher relationships and academic motivation taken alongside with findings that suggest that these relationships tend to deteriorate as students enter adolescence (Doll, Zucker, and Brehm 2004). Teachers also coach sports teams, lead clubs, and sometimes invite students for Shabbat. Students and faculty in these schools may have dual relationships, as it were, as neighbors, babysitters, and so forth. There were also several occasions when students and faculty were observed discussing elements of their out-of-school relationships (e.g., a teacher working in the summer camp attended by the student or attending the same synagogue). Such conversations can serve as connectors tying together different aspects of a student’s development. However, one cannot assume the deepening of student-staff relationships will happen naturally. Again drawing from schema theory, students may come to these out-of-school settings without a clear framework for the new rules of engagement, as it were, and fall back to apply pre-existing understandings and patterns regarding how to react to staff. Opportunities should be planned for staff and students to interact in ways that differ from their in-school modes to expand existing schema. To promote holistic growth, a “teacher today needs to be a good mentor and coach, and to help students develop the skills they will need to be the ‘change masters’ of the future” (Arrien 2001, 149). New roles have been  144 

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created that allow faculty to be involved in students’ academic and personal development. In addition to the aforementioned advisories, for example, some schools have deans responsible for a particular grade, sometimes staying with the grade all four years, getting to know the students in a meaningful way. Such relationships help foster developmental continuity, as discussed previously. It should be noted that breaking traditional roles brings with it a challenge of maintaining acceptable boundaries. While in no instance was any inappropriate behavior in evidence, there were a few times when boundary questions emerged. For example, one teacher gave bear hugs to some of the boys in the class (these appeared to be initiated by the students) and ran the class in a loose manner (lots of jokes, starting the class a few minutes late). Whereas the boys in the class, who made up the large majority, seemed to take this as good-natured fun, the handful of female students did not respond as well, speaking in class infrequently.

Opportunities for Leadership Connect Participants with Experiences To promote positive youth development, Walker and colleagues recommend that “attention should be directed not on shaping youth, but on shaping learning opportunities that help youth shape themselves” and that youth should be “active collaborators in selecting strategies and defining the specific learning opportunities in order to create and sustain youth engagement” (Walker et al. 2005, 400). Similarly, Mahoney and colleagues, addressing the issue of drop-out levels in youth programs, find that “programs that are successful at retaining their adolescent members offer increasing opportunities for leadership, decision making, and meaningful service” (Mahoney et al. 2005, 15).Likewise, Villarruel and colleagues, though writing specifically in the context of programming for minority youth, suggest that programs offer opportunities for youth to focus on the issues that they care about in ways that provide more control over their own development . . . offer the chance to use the language and skills that youth bring to the program in positive and supportive ways . . . [and] provide high-quality, sustained engagement with young people as partners. (Villarruel et al. 2005, 118)

Again, this requires an educator to relinquish control and to take on an element of vulnerability.  145 

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To teach, in the standard sense, is at some points at least to submit oneself to the understanding and independent judgment of the pupil, to his demand for reasons, to his sense of what constitutes an adequate explanation. Teaching, in this way, requires us to reveal our reasons to the student and, by so doing, to submit them to his evaluation and criticism. (Scheffler 1991a, 53)

In describing their practice at the onset of the AVI CHAI training seminars, many participants reported that they themselves do the planning and implementation of all or most of the Shabbaton activities, with students either not involved, or involved in a limited way in tefillah (e.g., reading part of the Torah portion or receiving an aliyah), leading a small-scale activity (e.g., an icebreaker), or giving limited input into themes and such. When asked to envision ideal but achievable outcomes, many discussed student planning and facilitation of programmatic aspects, transitions, and so forth. For example, one educator describes a situation in which [s]tudents are empowered by faculty to plan, coordinate, and execute the Shabbatonim with support from the faculty, but with students making the major thematic and programmatic decisions, and taking on the lead roles in actually running the Shabbatonim. This student empowerment and coordination is orchestrated by a full-time coordinator of student life who has the time and the mandate to motivate students to take the lead in the Shabbaton planning process.

Student leadership is discussed by the participants not only as an end in itself but also as a means to increase student engagement in programming (with the assumption that students would be more engaged in activities they or their peers plan) and “letting students shine.” The latter term was used by several educators with relation to both student leadership and programming (i.e., developing a range of programming that would allow for the expression of a range of student strengths). Some educators described finding ways for students to become more involved in leadership activities, either by delegating responsibilities for an increasingly broad array of activities or by holding special interest Shabbatonim that groups of students help lead based on their involvement with a club or minyan (e.g., a dramaton for drama students). Overall,  146 

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there are many leadership opportunities for students in these schools. The relatively small size of the student bodies allows many students to take on leadership roles. In different schools, I heard students describing processes for proposing a new activity to the administration, with the students responsible for writing a proposal and a budget. Students were seen in positions of responsibility on Shabbatonim and in-school activities. Some schools have incorporated leadership training for students into their programs. The Isaac Academy madrikh program described earlier is an example of a particularly intense, but far from isolated, leadership training program. With student leadership, quality control can be an issue; student-led activities may deviate significantly from the overall educational plan. For example, a group of female freshmen tells me about how they stayed up late in a rap session facilitated by the student leaders of a Shabbaton. The group not only discussed issues about friendship and being a student at the school (which certainly fit the community-building goals of the Shabbaton) but also “Who is the hottest guy in the school?” (which seems to be, while developmentally appropriate, less related to the Shabbaton goals, to say the least). One can see this as students harmlessly schmoozing in a way that enhances the quality of the overall experience (by showing that these leaders can keep it real). However, it can also be seen as off-message in a school where other programs may speak to the importance of not objectifying members of the opposite gender or de-emphasizing the importance of physical appearance. Several educators describe significant challenges to involving students in meaningful ways. One says that students “are reluctant to be the ones in the front of the room in charge. They do not want to ‘shush’ their friends.” On Shabbatonim, it appears that some students are unfamiliar with the flow of Shabbat, so they are not sure when to begin/end blocks of programming. Further, observations illustrate the challenges that exist even in a settings that have very strong student leadership-training components. At several points, it seemed that the student leaders had difficulty grasping the big picture or overall goals of a Shabbaton, or a given programmatic element, and led programming in a way that did not enhance the experience (Vignette 10). Educators are struggling not only to have students take more responsibility, but to facilitate their doing so in a way that best supports the overall mission of the Shabbaton.  147 

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VIGNE T T E 1 0: C h allenges of S t udent L e adership The school has a Shabbaton tradition in which the entire community walks together, singing a song, down the trail from the sleeping quarters to the communal space for Friday night services. The goal is to create a communal feeling among the participants. At the observed Shabbaton, the male student leaders forgot to teach the boys the group song and disrupted the communal walk to teach it to them. This interrupted the flow of the experience. Other courses of action could have been taken (e.g., singing an easy niggun while walking and teaching the song later on). Later in the Shabbaton, a student leader told a story about a woman who escapes from an assault because she prays, while another (assumedly non-praying) woman is assaulted instead. The theological ramifications of the story were ignored. It is notable that these elements of questionable educational content were delivered by well-trained, very poised student leaders to a group of younger students hanging on their every word. Moreover, these leaders were exceptionally successful in facilitating ruah in singing and dancing, and in fostering positive relationships among the students. This illustrates the potential trade-off between educational quality and student leadership.

Students may have particular challenges with large group facilitation. Such facilitation takes a set of skills distinct from those needed to teach a class or run a small group discussion, and even gifted classroom teachers may fall short in this regard. In one telling example, a teacher (who was observed to be very effective in conducting a lesson in a class) struggled in the role of facilitating part of a school-wide tefillah experience. The discussion he attempted to lead morphed into a frontal sermon. There are many seemingly minute elements of group facilitation that, particularly for students, may need cultivation and development. For example, small groups of students are frequently designated to help teach or lead a song (during tefillah at school or at a Shabbaton). On several occasions, these students were observed clustered together in one area rather than being spread among the other students, facing each other rather than the group, and singing softly. Student leaders may also have difficulty with small group discussion. Student-led “discussion” tefillot were observed at which the student facilitators, while clearly prepared in terms of background materials and such, struggled to formulate questions in a way that would  148 

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stimulate discussion. There were, of course, also examples seen of students who were skilled at such facilitation, but the inconsistency poses a notable challenge. A related issue has to do with staff members’ ability to scaffold student leadership, to give students a loose rein but to be able to step in gracefully to steer things back on course when needed. Vignette 11 illustrates the need to be clear about roles during student-facilitated activities. Clearly, the song leader was not in a position to both run the service and handle discipline problems. In fact, as a student, it is questionable whether he should have been expected to be the voice of law and order to begin with. The faculty members present were faced not only with a decision about whether and when to step in, but how to do so in a way that did not demean the efforts of the student prayer leader. VIGNE T T E 11: S tudent L e adership and S taff Scaffolding At a Shabbaton, a student plays guitar and leads the Reform services. He is remarkably poised before his peers, standing in the middle of a circle of students, circulating so that his back is not turned to any one section for long. Though I am told that he led the Friday night service to great student response and engagement, in the morning service, he is working with a crowd that is very tired and very cold (at the unheated site during a fall cold snap). A small group of boys lies down in the middle of a circle in a clump on top of one another. The student leader makes a few attempts to cajole this group back to their seats, or at least to lie quietly in their clump. Only after some time, when the disruption becomes consistent and more blatant, do faculty members step in.

An Individualized Process Nurtures Schema Growth Woocher points to the increasing expectation of the individualization of products and experiences in contemporary society and calls upon educators to provide more differentiated offerings and a greater variety of options and opportunities to try these. And we can make the entire experience of Jewish education more responsive to what people are seeking as well as to what we so earnestly want to give them. (Woocher 2008, 34)  149 

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The importance of acknowledging the diversity of the learners is also suggested by Scheffler (1991b) who rejects the notion that education is a matter of finding a learner’s potential and helping she or he achieve it. Rather, he posits that people have many potentials and that educators choose among these as they help students grow. However, he notes that educators cannot know which potentials are intrinsic or more central and which are not; nurturing a particular potential by necessity limits the fulfillment of others. Applying these ideas to Jewish education, one can consider a range of potential Jewish outcomes available to people; an educator might choose to focus on one or the other of these but must still be able to keep possibilities open and put tools in the hands of the students. Though discussed from the perspective of parents of day school students, Pomson and Schnoor make a broader point about Jewish identity journeys. Jewish adults are finding Jewish meaning in new and innovative ways, and in the process venerable institutions are being called upon to play new roles in Jewish society. Whereas older models in the study of Jewish identity see the enactment of Jewish religious rituals, such as synagogue service attendance, as the central definition of what it means to be Jewish in North America, newer perspectives point to a great variety of ways that Jews “do Jewish” today. Some of these ways include the embrace of Klezmer music or of the Yiddish language, involvement in political activism as it pertains to Israel, immersion in Jewish studies at the university, Israeli dancing at the local Jewish community centre, or participation in Jewish heritage travel or birthright trips. Finding Jewish meaning through one’s children’s school is another instance of adults creating lived religion within an alternative Jewish site. (2008, 156)

This list of identity-related activities can also be seen as a description of many of the opportunities offered by schools to students to address their identity development: arts and cultural activism, social and political activism, and trips to Israel and other Jewish-oriented travel. However, while Pomson and Schnoor see these activities as existing in differing organizations for adults (e.g., they mention the university and the community center), schools bring many of these same activities together under one central roof for their students. The schools remain flexible in providing multiple pathways, and it follows, even multiple outcomes (to some extent, as discussed previously). This pluralism of pathways means that the “drama kids” can expect to find a meaningful place for themselves not only as passive participants but also  150 

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as leaders in a Shabbaton, as can the more academically engaged and sportsoriented students. Some schools offer a wide array of special interest classes on a variety of topics with the goal of enabling students to exert choice over their topics of exploration. These activities are in some cases mandated in that students are required to fulfill a certain number of these as a requirement for graduation. Schools have developed various strategies for making room for these experiences during the school day. The schedule of the Jacob Academy includes a block at the end of the day to accommodate a wide range of activities so that students can explore a particular topic over the course of a semester or more and also offers a week of intensive exploration of a variety of topics. The special interest areas offered include the arts and popular culture, as well as areas such as journalism and mock trial. Setting both the schedule and the expectations for students to undertake these experiences seems to mitigate the pressures felt by students and teachers to focus on core academics at the expense of these areas of enrichment. However, the challenges of protecting this time are evident in that there are academic areas such as AP courses that intrude into this scheduled block. Other schools may take a more episodic, but still structured and consistent, approach to such activities, such as requiring attendance at a certain number of the programs offered during the year (Vignette 12).

VIGNE T T E 12: A M a n d a te d E n r i c h m e n t A c t i v i t y A series of extracurricular, informal events is held during lunchtime several times a month. Students are required to choose among various sessions and to attend a certain number each year. The schedule of sessions is posted at the school entrance, and fliers for the day’s session can be seen around the school. The session I observed was about “Parashah Performance,” a way to experience Torah text through drama and movement. The instructor is a teacher at a local institute of higher Jewish learning. Although the students must sign in to record their attendance, the setting is informal. Pizza and drinks are provided, and students sit around a U-shaped desk in a multipurpose room. The students (approximately twenty-five) who attend seem very interested in the activity, which involves creating poetry based on a parashah and then developing dramatic movements to accompany this. The leader demonstrates some performances, and the students sit in rapt attention, even through some wording and movement that might have struck some adolescents as odd or comical. Some of the students ask  151 

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specific questions about theatrical issues such as staging. Clearly, they had an interest in performance and were picking her brain, not just as a teacher but as a performer.

The above approach can be seen as one of “there are many ways to shine, Jewishly, and in general.” Of course, as discussed previously, the situation is trickier with regard to ritual expectations in which individualization must be balanced by maintenance of communal norms and boundaries. There is a tension between going with a student’s strengths and expecting students to stretch themselves into new areas. At the extremes, this is clear; one cannot claim that they do not need to go to prayers because their strength is in basketball. But what about a student who finds spiritual connection and meaning in communing with nature and not with structured prayers? As discussed previously, at a Shabbaton in a community school, one is likely to find prayer options that involve hikes, drama, movement (with little or no liturgy), as well as occasions when even the spiritual hiker is expected to attend a structured prayer service. A final dimension of individualization has to do with the idea that individuals enter into educational contexts not just with different levels of knowledge and motivation but also with differing degrees of what has been called emotional or social intelligence (Goleman 1995, 2006), elements of self-awareness, self-control, communication and problem solving skills, and so forth. This is obvious to the point that educators may wonder why it must be emphasized here. However, such skills occupy a crucial place in a holistic conception of Jewish identity. If Jewish education is about enacting in addition to knowing, then social and emotional skills take a central position. For example, in workshops with Jewish educators, I often ask participants to think about some of the values or interpersonal mitzvot they would like their students to develop (mitzvot like derekh eretz, respecting parents and teachers, and visiting the sick) and think about what internal capacities a student would need to skillfully actualize those values. It quickly becomes apparent that knowing that a value or mitzvah is important is not enough, nor is the desire or motivation to embrace it sufficient. The goals of Jewish education involve complex patterns of interpersonal behavior for which the ability to perform directly affects the experience (in many ways, the performance is the experience). Even with a specific example such as visiting the sick, participants generally develop long lists of the types of inter- and intrapersonal skills needed to do this well (see the following chart for a sample of representative responses).  152 

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R e p re s e n t at i ve R e s p o n s e s for C a p ac i t i e s Ne e d e d to S k i l l f u l l y V i s i t t h e S i c k Visitor is physically and emotionally healthy Commitment to visit; ability to plan time and travel Sensitivity to personal space Social skills (awareness of reaction of sick person): greeting, conversation Compassion (listening, touching) Visitor knows when to talk, when to be silent Touch or not touch? Eye contact (eye to eye, not eye to illness) Emotional sensitivity (sympathy, empathy, cheerfulness) Interaction with doctors, nurses, others (assertive, insist/advocate the right help) Visitor can control own reactions, which may be negative Visitor knows when to leave

Unlike knowledge and motivation, the dimension of socioaffective skills as they relate to Jewish developmental outcomes is often overlooked. To be clear, I am not talking about the neglect of those students who have clinical issues or whose social or emotional state causes concern among educators for their well-being. The principle of individualization pushes us to take the social and emotional challenges of Jewish development seriously for all students and not to assume that because one knows one should enact a value or even wants to do so, that one has the social and emotional wherewithal to do so. It is important to address the underlying social and emotional intelligence skills in the service of actualizing Jewish values. . . . [P]ossessing the skills to manage such complex interactions will enable one to be more successful in following through with these [values-based] intentions. (Ingall and Kress 2008, 295)

The issue of the underlying competencies that are required for achieving grander developmental-educational outcomes is echoed, in more poetic language, in Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi’s assertion that efforts to give “freedom and independence” (Schachter-Shalomi and Smith 1999, 221) should be accompanied by promoting what he calls “tools” to accompany this, such as “increasing our consciousness; increasing our affective  153 

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capacity; learning how to tame the dinosaur inside of us; and learning how to collaborate more” (Schachter-Shalomi and Smith 1999, 230). There are various opportunities and methods to build these skills in day schools. Educators can use role play combined with feedback from educators and peers to practice particularly difficult interactions. This can be paired with opportunities to reflect on one’s social and emotional skills and to set goals for development of these skills. Community service projects, required of students by most of the schools, but generally disconnected from the remainder of a student’s experience, can become laboratories for such growth. Volunteering in an inner-city soup kitchen, in addition to an end in itself, can be a chance to prepare for and reflect on the emotions (Might there be anxiety? If so, how might you deal with it?) and social complexities (How can you, a fifteen-year-old, suburban, white, upper-middle-class Jewish boy strike up a conversation with a sixty-eight-year-old, impoverished, homeless African American man?) that accompany this activity. Although students enter this process on different levels (some may have a hard time striking up conversation, some not), individualization assumes that the realities of developmental contexts should not be ignored.

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LEADERSHIP ISSUES FOR JEWISH DEVELOPMENTAL EDUCATION

OUTCOMES AND PROCESS IN JEWISH DEVELOPMENTAL EDUCATION One can look back on the discussion of guidelines and conditions in the previous chapter and consider that each guideline, while framed as an element that enhances the identity-developmental process, also has parallels in the holistic identity outcomes discussed earlier in this book. Relationships, leadership, feelings of safety, and the like both foster growth and are themselves aspects of self-schema. Th is can be seen as a synthesis of two educational approaches contrasted by Reisman and Reisman. In the fi rst, “the benefits to the individual from active participation and interpersonal interaction are seen as a sufficient educational rationale. . . . The process becomes an end unto itself” (2002, 17). In the second approach, effectiveness is measured in terms of the achievement of a specific cognitive goal for the class or group. This view of experiential education begins with a specific educational content objective — the achievement of which is enhanced through the appropriate personal involvement of the participants and the creation of a supportive learning community. (Reisman and Reisman 2002, 17)

In Jewish developmental education, at least to some extent, the experience is the outcome, and the outcome  155 

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is the experience. Consider participation in tefillah experiences over the course of a year at school or a summer at camp, accompanied by opportunities throughout to reflect on this practice. This is an educational process in that those who arrange the services do so with a goal of enabling participants to learn elements of prayers that can be applied in other contexts and to develop an affinity for prayer that would lead them to pursue future prayer experiences. But as involvement in communal prayer is itself a desired goal, participation in these tefillot can also be seen as an outcome. Jewish educational acts can have meaning in the lives of the participants as experiences in and of themselves, and they create the potential for future meaning-making and growth. A similar analysis can be found in the literature on developmental assets that emerged from an initiative spearheaded by the Search Institute to identify factors that help promote positive youth development (e.g., Lerner and Benson 2003). These assets consist of both opportunities afforded by the environment and qualities of the individual. There is often a parallel asset to be found in both the external (environmental) and internal (personal) asset lists.1 For example, “Service to Others: Young person serves in the community one hour or more per week” is found on the list of external assets while “Caring: Young Person places high value on helping other people” is listed as an internal asset. Likewise, various elements of positive relationships are found on the external assets list, and interpersonal competence (or, the ability to forge relationships) is seen as an internal asset. Shulman (1986, 9) discusses the idea of pedagogical content knowledge (PCK), or “the ways of representing and formulating the subject that make it comprehensible to others,” in addition to content knowledge (knowing about the subject matter and the rules for generating knowledge within a discipline), and curricular knowledge (being aware of the available curricular options). In the current situation, it seems as if the content and process of education are inextricably intertwined. That is, in educating for Jewish identity development, there may not be an agreed-upon specific body of knowledge or know-how related to practice (e.g., learning how to lead ma’ariv services may or may not be a goal of any given educational setting). In fact, the individualization of Jewish identity pathways (as discussed previously) would suggest that such a codification is not even a desideratum. There is, 1

The Search Institute developed parallel (but slightly differing) asset lists for different age ranges. The lists can be found at http://www.search-institute.org/developmentalassets/lists.  156 

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however, the expectation for some process (e.g., participation in certain experiences coupled with self-reflection) that would lead to the elaboration of Jewish self-schema. What is “the subject” as referred to in the above-quoted definition of PCK? It seems that the answer would have to do not just with Judaism but also with the ever-evolving Jewish identity of the participants. One possibility is to think in terms of what we might call, in homage to Shulman, Jewish developmental process knowledge (JDPK), or knowledge that educators possess in order to create environments that are most likely to promote identity development. JDPK could be seen as existing at the intersection of the developmental needs of the learner, the particular programmatic (or curricular) goals and content, and the structuring of the environment to enhance the developmental-learning aspects of the curriculum. JDPK complements PCK in that it takes as a starting point the context in which the content is embedded. In this approach, making content “comprehensible to others” (as in Shulman’s definition, above) goes hand in hand with creating processes that are most likely to result in incorporating the content (whatever it may be) or elements of the experience into one’s Jewish self-schema. This suggests that those involved with such education be well versed in developmental processes in addition to Judaic content areas. The intertwining of process and outcome in this approach suggests a dynamism among the various elements of an educational setting such as suggested by Schwab’s famed “commonplaces” approach (cf. Cohen, Raudenbush, and Ball 2003), though in reality, for heuristic purposes, any given component might be taken as a starting point. Kress and Elias (2006b), writing about program implementation from the perspective of school-based consultants, talk about the intersection of five constantly evolving developmental arenas: • • • • •

Program being implemented Implementers Process of implementing the program Consultant Program participants

In the current context, the consultant may not be a relevant part of the system. Further, it is important to note that each of these arenas is embedded in what might be considered either a sixth developmental arena, or perhaps a meta-arena, namely, the educational setting itself (a broad heading that includes leadership, history, vision, etc.).  157 

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The picture is beyond one of intersecting lines, and more of interdependent forces. That is, although it is the case that any temporal cross section will reveal various points in each of the developmental trajectories, paths of any one arena will influence all the others. The scenario depends on where one starts the story, but in reality the arenas exist in dynamic interrelationship. As the program moves along, staff concerns will change, the needs of the students will change (based on natural factors and on the impact of the program), and the staff’s perceptions of the students and their actions and needs might change. (Kress and Elias 2006b, 609)

Kress and Elias introduce the idea of the gradient of developmental relevance: [T]he conditions created by the interacting developmental needs of the various arenas. New information, decisions, procedures, and so on can be evaluated against the gradient of developmental relevance to assess where they fit within this ever-evolving system. (Kress and Elias 2006b, 609).

Such an approach assumes a reciprocal interaction between student growth (what might traditionally be considered an educational outcome) and program implementation (that which might traditionally be considered an educational process). The intertwining of process and outcome suggests that in assessing identity-enhancing educational programs, there may be a blurring of what is traditionally referred to as formative and summative evaluation. An example can be seen in the evolution of a rubric of components of quality Shabbatonim that was developed as part of the AVI CHAI seminar. As the seminar began, it quickly became apparent that norms or best practices had not been established or articulated. The experiential educators did not bring to bear explicit theories of how to run a successful Shabbaton programme. Rather, like many informal educators, they operated on the basis of their past experiences working with teenagers and adapted their field-based knowledge to the particulars of a day high school environment. (Kress and Reimer 2009, 347–348)

One might say that an elaboration of JDPK was lacking, possibly adding to feelings of the marginality of these educators. The need for some unifying framework to describe the work done by these EEs was seen as important by the program facilitators (who needed to concretize a common language  158 

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within the diversity of the jobs of the EEs), the funders (who were interested in concretizing the dimension of education they were funding and in furthering the ability to evaluate Shabbatonim), and, as we would learn, by the EEs themselves (many saw this as more than a task checklist; it became a representation of the depth and breadth of their work, a summary using language that fit within the educational context). The process of describing quality Shabbatonim involved viewing the work done by the educators through a lens of developmental and community psychology theories. Observing Shabbatonim and listening to the educators as they spoke about their work helped in shaping a rubric of those components that seem to embody a quality Shabbaton. Because outcome markers were lacking (i.e., there was no way, as part of this project, to assess “success” against student outcomes), “quality” was seen as the intersection of those implicit theories held by the educators (made explicit through their work and discussions) and theoretical guidelines derived from the literature. As such, the description of quality components is grounded both in theory and in the work done by the educators. (Kress and Reimer 2009, 348)

Within the diversity of the responsibilities of the EEs and the Shabbatonim they run, there are certain recurring elements that are discussed by educators and observers with regard to what makes a Shabbaton tick. A rubric, informally referred to as “the grid” because of its visual format, was developed during the first cohort of the AVI CHAI Experiential Educators Program. The grid was created to formalize and organize the elements that contribute to the overall quality of a Shabbaton and to create a common language for discussing goals and outcomes with regard to the Experiential Educators Program. The grid emerged from discussions among the AVI CHAI-IJE team and the author, as well as from interactions with, and observations of, the work of the experiential educators of the first cohort. The latter group was significantly involved in shaping this document — participating in sessions in which they reviewed drafts and provided feedback. Conceptually, the grid is premised on educational and developmental theories as discussed in this book. The grid and the theories informed one another in a co-evolutionary process. The outcome represents the melding of theory and what might be considered the JDPK of school-based experiential educators, at least with regard to Shabbatonim. Creating Jewish developmental settings such as Shabbatonim, is the pedagogy of the EEs, and the articulation of their work represents their JDPK.  159 

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The grid was created with an appreciation for the diversity, on a number of levels, of the participating schools. Schools differed in their goals for Shabbatonim, the venues used, who organized and ran these, and who attended. Experiential educators had a wide array of job descriptions (if they had job descriptions at all) with responsibilities for the Shabbatonim and beyond (i.e., other roles in the school). The schools were situated in communities with different expectations regarding the nature of the education to be delivered. It is not possible to explain these differences based on any one factor. Rather, these schools exist at the intersection of many dimensions (e.g., community vs. denominational, regional differences, school size, age of the school, and staffing, to name just a few) that create a unique environment in which the Shabbatonim take place. As the project expanded to encompass the broad topic of the intersection of formal and informal education in Jewish day high schools, the grid, as shown in table 1, was expanded by the author to reflect this conceptualization.2 The grid is meant to be understood within the following guidelines: • Schools differ in the relative emphasis they place on any of the elements of the grid. As such, it should not be seen as a blueprint for creating experiences in a specific school. • Likewise, different experiences focus more or less on various elements of the grid. Whereas many of the elements are applicable within a classroom context, some are less so. Also, application of the elements will vary with the scope of the activity, for example, a forty-five-minute program on Darfur, a Shabbaton, or the opening program of a Shabbaton. • Although the elements of the grid are presented in certain categories, distinctions among elements are at times somewhat arbitrary. Many are interconnected and linked one to another. An experience as a whole is reducible to component parts only if its complex ecology is set aside for such an analysis. • Many of these elements involve a balance or tension of goals, either internally or between two elements. For example, the desire to involve more students in leading tefillot conflicts with the desire to have prayer leaders who are maximally competent in this role, as discussed 2

Though this maintains the framework of the Shabbaton grid as described in Kress and Reimer (2009), specific contents are not only broadened to encompass a wider array of Jewish developmental settings but also updated to include elements based on evolving understanding of the relevant theories and on ongoing input from EEs.  160 

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previously. The resolution of these tensions should emerge from thoughtful consideration on the part of facilitators of the goals and priorities for their work. Ta ble 1 : Elements of Jewish Developmental Process Knowledge Logistics Component

Evidence of Planning Time Management

Flexibility/ Crises

Rules and Supervision

Transitions

Description

Logistical factors were anticipated and attended to ahead of time, required supplies were procured, and arrangements were completed. There is a match between the time schedule and the goals for the experience. Adequate time is allotted for each activity, and there is a balance of structured activities and down time. Schedule is modified smoothly to meet emerging needs, and glitches are handled without missing a step or causing visible anxiety. Such situations may even be used as educational tools. Rules and schedule are clear, and students are informed of these ahead of time. Any infractions are dealt with appropriately and with discretion. An educational stance is maintained in explaining expectations and dealing with infractions. Endings and beginnings of events are clearly demarcated, and expectations for movement to the next activity are clearly communicated.

Setting

The setting is appropriate to the goals of the experience as a whole, and activities within the overall experience take place in areas of the setting that are likewise appropriate.

Structured Options

Options (e.g., games, song sessions) are made available during free time.

Enjoyment

Programming includes opportunities for fun activities, even those lacking an articulated, intentional educational component other than the broad goals of the experience as a whole. Sometimes a football game is just a football game. Also, all elements — including educational elements, rules, and supervision — are presented in a way that is not so heavy-handed as to create an overly controlled atmosphere.

Staffing

The experience is staffed not only with adequate numbers, but with staff that “get it” as described in Chapter 6.  161 

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C o n t i n u e d Ta b l e 1 Relationships Component

Description

Deepening StudentStaff Relationships

Warm, supportive student-staff interactions are visible during structured and unstructured times. Students and staff are observed spontaneously engaging in serious discussion (e.g., a rap session on Israel), as well as in play (e.g., a basketball game, jokes, and sharing stories).

Sense of Community Among Students

Student interactions are generally warm, respectful, and supportive, even across natural cliques or circles of friends. Intermixing of cliques or circles of friends occurs frequently. For example, students warmly shake hands with a peer who has just read Torah or made a presentation.

Staff Facilitation of Relationships

Staff members planfully encourage student interaction, especially in terms of mixing cliques and student leaders and others and make efforts to draw in students who may be socially excluded.

Staff Participation

Staff members balance active participation on their part in activities/discussions (rather than serve only as the “responsible overseeing presence”) with stepping back and letting students “have the floor.”

Personal Safety

Norms and expectations for the emotional safety of participants are clear, consistent, and enforced. S t udent L e adership

Component

Description

Planning

Students are involved in planning the event, setting themes, organizing activities, and managing other relevant programmatic aspects.

Leadership

Students lead activities, ritual events, and other relevant programmatic aspects.

Staff Facilitation of Student Leadership

Staff members step in to support student leadership as needed. When a student needs help, has difficulty motivating others, or running an activity, staff members intervene in a way that preserves the student leader’s sense of ownership while at the same time supporting the integrity of the program.  162 

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C o n t i n u e d Ta b l e 1 S t udent L e adership Component

Description

Leadership Preparation

Students are trained, supervised, and supported in their leadership activities so that their leadership enhances, rather than detracts from, the overall quality of the experience.

Broadening Leadership

Students beyond the “usual suspects” are involved in leadership positions. Even those students not in formal leadership positions have opportunities to give input regarding program planning and execution or are able to shape elements of the experience.

Ritual Component

Description

Diversity

Options are offered for alternate approaches to rituals and/or attempts are made to frame rituals in a way that sensitively welcomes those who may not be familiar with the ritual or the particular approach to it. For example, a variety of tefillah options can be offered, or, if not, explanation is provided regarding the given approach to increase the degree of comfort among students.

Hiddur Mitzvah

Rituals are done in a way that makes them meaningful to students and that enhances the beauty of the practice. For example, care is taken that the hazzan can be heard clearly by the congregation during tefillot; a dining hall is decorated with artwork, especially for Shabbat.

Engagement

Students are drawn into the ritual and are active and motivated participants. Efforts are made to accommodate students who want more opportunities for participation. For example, staff may stay after lunch to sing with students who want more zemirot.

Expectations

Expectations for Shabbat observance and other ritual areas are clear and students are informed of these ahead of time. Any infractions are dealt with sensitively. An educational stance is maintained in explaining expectations and dealing with infractions.  163 

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C o n t i n u e d Ta b l e 1 Spirituality Component

Description

“Spirited” Engagement/Ruah Leadership

A high level of positive energy is evident. Singing, dancing, clapping, and foot stomping break out spontaneously. This is facilitated by leaders (staff or student) who also help to involve those less engaged. Opportunities for expression of ruah are built into the schedule, including designated times for storytelling, zemirot, etc.

Shabbat Spirit

Of course, this is specific to Shabbatonim and includes, but is not limited to: the transitions from hol (weekday) to Shabbat and back again, the type of programming and scheduling planned for Shabbat, policies for Shabbat observance, etc.

Personal Reflection

Space is provided in the program for this (e.g., no hyper-programming). Further, leaders provide the scaffolding to do this — guiding questions, journaling time, etc.

Peer Reflection

Opportunities, facilitated by leaders, are provided for students to share meaningfully with one another and to respectfully challenge one another’s viewpoints.

Pro g rammatic/Developmental E lements Component

Description

Modalities

Activities speak to different learning styles or intelligences.

Multiple Entry Points

Educational activities address the diversity of students’ levels of competence and interest in the material. Efforts are made to accommodate those students who want more learning to provide opportunities for those who want to pursue a topic further to do so.

“Jewishness”

Educational activities are rooted in Jewish content. Even general topics such as leadership or self-growth are presented within a Jewish framework.  164 

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C o n t i n u e d Ta b l e 1 Pro g rammatic/Developmental E lements Component

Description

Sophistication

Learning involves rich materials and activities that encourage students to share their interpretations and to see the topic in a new light.

Engagement

Activities are structured in a way that draws in students, either by involving them in an activity or by presenting “frontal” material in an engaging way.

Focus

Facilitators (student or staff ) strike a balance between keeping activities/discussions on topic and allowing these to follow spontaneously emerging pathways.

Linkages — Explicit

Programming is explicitly related to and contributes to an understanding of the goals for the event or the theme if there is one. Spontaneous opportunities to reinforce the theme or goal are capitalized upon.

VISION AND VALUES IN ACTION: PLEASE SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF What will it take to enhance efforts in promoting Jewish developmental outcomes in schools? To begin with, successful approaches should bridge a compelling vision to the nuts and bolts of implementation. The importance of vision has become a common refrain in Jewish and general education. The publication of the book Visions of Jewish Education (Fox, Scheffler, and Marom 2003) is a particularly visible manifestation of the many efforts in publications and leadership training programs. “Every successful program for youth needs a core of beliefs and values that tie staff and young people together” (Brendtro and Brokenleg 2001, 51). In contrast, perhaps because it seems less glamorous and seemingly more obvious, the importance of planfully addressing issues of implementation on the ground has been relatively neglected. However, data from the implementation of developmental programs in general education (e.g., Ennett et al. 2003; Hallfors and Godette 2002) suggest that despite good intentions on the part of administrators and educators, initiatives often suffer from neglect that leads to their eventual atrophy. Many veteran educators can  165 

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look back through their files of notes from professional-development days and school priority-setting sessions, enthusiastic memos from leadership, and packets of new materials to create a history of the dead-end initiatives of their schools. It is difficult to sustain focus in schools: leadership changes bring sudden shifts in priorities; a proliferation of good ideas can cause conflicting mandates (see Reimer 2010 for a discussion of this particular issue) or inordinate demands on resources; and lack of consistency and follow up can lead to implementers questioning the degree to which their efforts really count. Ideally, of course, vision and implementation go hand in hand. For example, Pekarsky views vision as useful in that it guides action (e.g., Pekarsky 2008). At the most basic level, a developmental approach to Jewish education calls upon the creation of many subcontexts within a school setting. The array of opportunities, trips, clubs, and Shabbatonim is vast and, as I am reminded often during my conversations with school leaders, very expensive. Parents, already paying high tuition fees are hesitant to pile on too many extra expenditures for additional school activities. Although I do not have a solution, the issue of funding is one that must be addressed if efforts are to succeed. It is important for values-based programs to be implemented in a way that reflects the guiding ideals of the initiative itself (Kress and Elias 2006a). School leaders must ask themselves about relationships with and among their staff. What opportunities do staff members have to contribute input to, and share leadership of, this initiative? What approach should be taken with those who are hesitant, either because they conceptualize their work in a different way, or perhaps because they are doubtful of their ability to interact with students in a way that is broader than a specific focus on content? What about staff members who do want to get involved but need help to do so? How will the leader send the message, on an ongoing basis, that Jewish developmental education is important to the school? These types of questions make it clear that implementing an initiative, particularly one with holistic goals, is much more than a matter of logistics or technical know-how (though these are important). Rather, instituting any initiative is a human process, with social and affective components (Evans 1996). Implementing Jewish developmental education is itself a developmental process, requiring changes in behavior, attitudes, and knowledge. To maintain a balance between vision and the specifics of implementation, organizational leaders should maintain a stance of continual selfassessment of their organization in the “spirit of continuous improvement”  166 

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(Novick, Kress, and Elias 2002, 121). Self-reflection on an organizational level is emphasized as a way of being vigilant about the integrity of values promotion (McHenry 2000). McHenry suggests asking questions such as “How do we demonstrate our school’s commitment to the school’s values in the process of hiring faculty and staff and in the support, time, and resources provided for faculty and staff development?” (McHenry 2000, 227).

Staffing for Developmental Programming Neglecting to provide adequate staffing, poorly defining staff roles, or piling new responsibilities onto already burdened staff members puts program implementation at risk (Novick, Kress, and Elias 2002). To some extent, the challenge of staffing is related to that of funding; with more funds available, it would be possible to hire the additional staff required to make non-classroom-based programs run. Because of funding limitations, the responsibilities for out-of-classroom programming are often included in the already full portfolio of a staff member. With each new initiative, the job description of the EE grows (and usually it already includes classroom teaching responsibilities). Responsibilities associated with trips and tefillah, as well as advisories and such are added piecemeal to the work of teachers and administrators. The imposition of these extra responsibilities has the potential to create ill will. Even if staff members embrace these responsibilities (and in my observations they often did, acknowledging the importance of this dimension of the school), cascading job responsibilities can detract from the overall quality of Jewish developmental education. As time becomes increasingly scarce, preparation becomes more last-minute. Joint planning becomes almost impossible. If the Jewish developmental environment is to be coordinated, however, such planning and coordination are crucial. For example, for a tefillah program to have coherence and connection over time — particularly one that incorporates a range of alternative options — faculty involvement must be planfully addressed. To the extent to which leading a tefillah group is an add-on to an already full course load or another set of responsibilities, the planning necessary to develop such a thoughtful approach is unlikely to occur. A group may have several “good” discussions over the course of the year, but these are not likely to be connected to one another or to a theme and, therefore, unlikely to achieve their full educational potential. Of course, staff numbers are only part of the story. Hiring the right staff is crucial. As a group, the EEs in the training cohorts were charismatic and  167 

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young. The latter does not seem to be a coincidence. Even putting aside the assumption (admittedly questionable, with elements of my observations finding the opposite) that young staff can more easily relate to students and vice versa, the job calls for someone with a high degree of flexibility in his or her schedule and the ability to spend weekends and other extended periods of time away from home. At these events, the hours are long, and the arrangements can be, to put it nicely, rustic. One EE told me that a Shabbaton had to be extended through Sunday morning because weather conditions prevented the group from returning home on Saturday night as scheduled. This meant that he had an extremely short turnaround before his flight later that Sunday to New Orleans to chaperone a trip. Youth is also sometimes described as a proxy for mind-set, the ability to “get it” with respect to adolescents. One HOS, (not from any of the focus schools) talking about staffing a Shabbaton, said that “our goal is to have young staff members. I don’t [attend the Shabbaton] by design. The last person they need to see there is me, I believe. I really think that . . . I don’t want sort of stodgy teachers there either.” In addition to those officially designated as EEs, there seem to be faculty members who are the “go to” staff in terms of helping out, chaperoning, running some programs, or pitching in to run a tefillah service or the like. These are staff members that seem to “get it.” The idea that some staff “get it” and some do not is a refrain I hear frequently from EEs and administrators. “Getting it” seems to imply an appreciation of the importance of interacting with students in ways other than the traditional teacher-student, classroom model; a willingness (and logistical availability) to dedicate time outside of the classroom structure; and the ability to shift gears and interact with students in a different way. Some schools address the first two elements by contractually requiring a certain degree of faculty participation outside of the classroom, and in each of the schools, faculty serve as Shabbaton staff, team coaches, trip chaperones, and advisors to student groups. The third issue — actually being able, even when willing, to take on a different modality of interaction — is more complicated. On a Shabbaton, teachers are seen sitting in circles with the students, playing ball, and singing songs. However, I observe and am told about teachers that seem uncomfortable in these settings. As one EE (not in the focus schools) tells me with frustration, it is wonderful that the science and math teachers are willing to come on a Shabbaton; but when they are asked to facilitate groups, some use a very classroom-oriented model and end up “making the informal environment formal.” One EE, for example, talks about his efforts to “bring some camp” to his classroom teaching.  168 

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[I]n my classroom, I don’t mind if a kid sits on the floor. That’s what it takes for him to have his book in front of him and not be distracted. It doesn’t matter to me how you learn or where you learn.

However, he acknowledges that for some teachers “that completely pushes their buttons.” Importantly, many EEs, and educators in general at these schools, go well beyond their job descriptions in connecting with youth. Staff members volunteer to attend trips, coach teams or clubs, and even take it upon themselves to invite students to their homes for meals or for Shabbat. Regardless of their own personal Jewish beliefs and practice, the EEs are able to relate openly and nonjudgmentally with those with alternate practices and are generally knowledgeable about a spectrum of approaches to, and manifestations of, Judaism. Not surprisingly, many have backgrounds in Jewish camping and/or other youth work. In almost all cases, the EE has classroom teaching responsibilities in addition to his or her work with trips, Shabbatonim, and other extracurricular activities. This is seen by administrators as both a pragmatic matter — the need to fill teaching slots or offset the salary of an additional employee — as well as being consistent with the educational approach of a school — that having the EE teaching sends a message to the students about the intersection of efforts in the contentbased and affective realms. As noted previously, the EEs are often those who teach courses with a more identity-exploratory agenda, such as courses meant to enculturate students coming from public school or advanced classes in which students think about ethics and contemporary issues. As discussed previously, work in this arena involves various types of teacher self-disclosure, which involves not just verbal sharing in a classroom context but also opportunities for students to get a glimpse of the educators’ personal lives. This raises a staffing challenge as it means finding educators who not only understand their subject matter but have found a way to integrate their passion for it into their worldview and life practices. If adolescents are, as one EE put it, “excellent bulls — detectors,” then educators should be willing to share those elements of their Jewish practice that support the educational mission and must be prepared to address those elements that may seemingly — especially to the mind of an adolescent looking for inconsistency — run counter to the vision. Part of the challenge may be that expectations for adults focus on a commitment to a particular modality of Jewish expression; whereas, at least in these pluralistic settings, there is an assumption — if not an expectation — that adolescents are still  169 

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settling on these commitments. When one is at a different stage in one’s religious commitment, can one model the openness and flexibility called for in these settings? Some staff seem to justify a degree of flexibility as permissible because it is “for the sake of education,” but just because an Orthodox faculty member can adapt to attending a Reform-style service or having students playing guitar on Shabbat, would she want to bring her husband? Her kids? For many staff, pluralism is a new discourse, one which they are themselves figuring out. Sharing this journey would be a form of self-disclosure, but from a very different stance than that which an educator is used to; rather than teacher-as-authority, it seems more like teacher-asfellow-traveler. The classrooms in which teachers work have been compared to egg cartons: Teachers work adjacent to, but separated from, one another. While there is usually an office for the EE, these educators seem to value an approach that might be called Jewish developmental education by walking around.3 Many important aspects of an EE’s work are accomplished while walking the halls. One EE stops a girl to ask if she has signed up for a program about which she expressed interest and, when she says no, asks why she hasn’t. Another EE checks in with a student about the progress of a program the student is planning. Hands are shaken, backs are patted, reminders to bring in forms are issued. Lines of communication work both ways. Students ask about program deadlines and details. In one short span, as I sit and speak with an EE in a staff work area, we are approached by a staff member who has a question for him about a hamentaschen4 order for the Purim program and by a Judaic studies administrator who comes over to discuss the logistics of a professional development day. The office space, to the extent that the EEs have any, is often a blend of public and private space. Students drop in to talk about programs, ask questions, and sometimes just to schmooze. Consistent with the findings of Silberman-Keller (2007), many of the EEs, particularly those in the first training cohort, describe a feeling of marginality in their work. This plays out structurally (e.g., they do not have a department, they are the only EE, they must cajole classroom teachers to help out) and/or psychologically (believing that though their efforts are generally supported, what really counts in the school are the academics). They readily discuss their work as losing out in any conflict of time or 3

This phrase is based on the popular management approach of Management By Walking Around.

4

A traditional, triangular Purim pastry.  170 

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scheduling with formal requirements and of students and educators giving up on informal programs when the formal pressures grow. The desire to professionalize the role of the school-based experiential educator was often operationalized as bringing these educators up to par — in terms of respect and compensation — with the rest of the teachers, a sense that they would welcome being brought in from the margins. The EEs believe strongly in the work they are doing. However, some feel that other staff members do not really understand what they do, or perhaps see it as less serious or rigorous than work in the classroom. Perhaps as a result, the participating EEs used the training seminars primarily for networking and sharing ideas with peers, not with the outside experts. Their focus was on enhancing their programs, not on reflecting on their growth as professionals. The latter, as suggested by one of the seminar facilitators, may be due to the rapidity with which experiential educators move upward and out of this field.5 There is a very high turnover rate in the EE positions and at times, the roster of seminar participants had several to-be-announced (TBA) listings in place of names of participants. Because upward movement is generally outward — that is, out of the experiential realm and into some other administrative area6 — one may wonder about the motivation for growth as an EE. Finally, it is worth reiterating that although this discussion and project have focused on staff members specifically designated as EEs working with out-of-classroom programs, Jewish developmental education can and should be incorporated into classrooms as well. Neither content mastery nor lesson-plan writing prowess is sufficient to promote holistic Jewish growth. Training and development for all educators should focus on the guidelines discussed in Chapter 5 and the developmental processes described throughout this book.

5

This may further add to feelings of marginality for newcomers in a system where longer tenure is valued.

6

At the time of this writing, all three of the EEs in the focus schools had left their positions. One took a position in the central administration of the school, and two went to pursue advanced degrees.  171 

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CONCLUDING REMARKS

CH AP TER 7

T

he discussion in this book exists at the intersection of several trends in general — and Jewish — educational and developmental theory and research. Primary among these are: 1. That schools function in ways that go well beyond the cognitive learning of points of content (e.g., math facts, historical timelines, etc.). This manifests in several strands of research such as the argument that schools take a broader role in the developmental experiences of students in addressing issues of health and well-being (e.g., Dryfoos 1994); the discussion of the applicability of social and emotional elements within our framing of content areas and curriculum standards (Kress et al. 2004); the questioning of distinctions between formal and informal education; and the case for social and emotional elements of learning to pervade a school (Elias et al. 1997; CASEL 2003). Most directly, the current research is consistent with, and meant to build upon Armstrong’s work (2006) on the idea of a developmental discourse for education. 2. That identity is described both by multidimensional manifestations (e.g., what one does, thinks, feels, etc.) and by reflective elements (what one considers important or central to who one is). Identity is seen as ever-evolving and existing in dynamic interaction with one’s surroundings, which both shape one’s identity and are, in turn, shaped by it. The construct of schema is used to frame the discussion of identity, with change occurring as  172 

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a result of the encounter with discrepancy and the promotion of identity development seen as involving the facilitation of such an encounter. As such, the current research is ecologically based, situated at the intersection of the developing individual and the environment(s) in which he or she is developing. That the study is school-based should not detract from the importance of nonschool settings and interactions (e.g., parents, religious institutions, summer camps, etc.) in this process. This has been touched upon in our discussion of how the schools are situated within their various communities and the impact of this on the approaches of the school administration and faculty to thinking about and enacting Judaism. Also, we have alluded to the role of nonschool others (e.g., parents, clergy) as potential facilitators of ongoing reflection on the part of students. A network of interrelated roles and relationships is seen as crucial for the bounding of identity development and has been discussed above as a check on the potential for relativism that can emerge from a focus on differences within a setting. This network of roles and relationships also has the potential to impact upon the centrality or perceived importance of any given aspect of identity. One might look back at the approach described throughout the book and ask, “While encounter with Jewish diversity might result in an elaborated sense of one’s self as a Jew, how do we know that this aspect of identity is considered a vital part of who one is?” I once again call on the foodie example. As one gets into cooking, this aspect of one’s identity takes up increasing space, as it were, in one’s roles and relationships. One’s self-as-foodie is called upon throughout the day in ways initiated by the person (e.g., using a lunch break at work to blog about last night’s meal) and by others (e.g., a colleague at work asking this person specifically for a restaurant recommendation). The network is both built by the individual who seeks out additional roles and relationships (e.g., signs up for more cooking classes) and, in turn, influences the person (as more people recognize the person as a foodie, they might treat her or him more in line with this identity). In fact, the story of Jewish developmental education in community Jewish high schools can be seen as one of strengthening the variety of roles and relationships associated with one’s Jewish self. Such schools, like any other multifaceted, encompassing developmental setting (Kress and Elias 2008) bring about various intersections of the self. Players discussing whether or not (and if so, under what conditions) to attend the state basketball championships even though this means the team may be scheduled to play on Shabbat are seeing the intersection of self-as-athlete and self-as-Jew  173 

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(to name just two of the potential selves involved). A student who uses her artistic talents to decorate a bland community hall for Shabbat, or who sings both Israeli and American pop music as part of an a cappella group is similarly bridging self-aspects. The connective mesosystems (Bronfenbrenner 1979) include relationships with teachers and fellow students that extend beyond the classroom in ways that are planned intentionally (e.g., a faculty member staffing a Shabbaton) and that are potentiated but not planned (e.g., teachers and students attending the same synagogue). The current study has implications that go beyond the walls of the Jewish communal day high schools in the study. While community schools, through being nondenominational, open the door for broad Jewish diversity, denominationally affiliated schools — both day schools and supplemental schools — should not be assumed to lack diversity. The variety of religious beliefs, attitudes, and behaviors vary widely even within a particular denomination; while trends may exist, it is certainly not the case that each member of a denominational setting toes the denominational party line. In fact, it cannot be assumed that everyone working in or learning in a denominationally affiliated setting considers his or herself a member of that denomination (or, for that matter, is Jewish at all). Ignoring these differences wastes the potential to use these settings for a distancing purpose, as sources of discrepancy that, when facilitated under the conditions described, have the potential to drive identity development. As noted, educators might approach the issue of difference with some trepidation, concerned that once one learns about difference, one might leave the fold (in this case, the denomination). The discussion of the bounding of relativistic tendencies should be of some comfort to such educators. Supplemental school education has been a particular target of communal criticism over the years, with questions raised about its efficacy (e.g., Schoem 1989; Himmelfarb 1984), though recent years have seen a bit of a thaw in this regard (e.g., Kress 2007; Wertheimer 2009). Many of the troubles of these schools were attributed to the limited number of hours of attendance required by these schools. Interestingly, the issue was taken as hours qua hours, that reaching some minimal number of hours was the key or that the battle should be waged over giving up or adding an hour a week to the experience. The current analysis suggests that the issue of hours, in fact, might be a proxy for the challenges faced by these settings in involving students in meaningful developmental experiences, dialogue, and reflection, or in the deep relationships that facilitated these. Yes, an additional hour of school is an additional hour in which such identity-enhancing  174 

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activities might take place, but framing the issue in that way downplays the potentially more relevant goals. Best practices in supplemental education are increasingly seen as those that increase the encompassing nature of such settings, that widen the range of related roles and relationships in which they involve students. Linkages are being strengthened between congregationally-based schools and the congregations in which they are based. Educators are recognizing the potential of Shabbat services to serve as an extension of the school and vice versa. The needs of parents as Jewish learners are being considered. Shabbatonim, tikkun olam projects, and other out-of-classroom experiences are being incorporated. All of these are seen as steps in the right direction. As efforts move in this direction, though, these settings may face issues of developmental continuity, similar to those described above. In day schools, we saw the dangers of bifurcating (structurally and conceptually) the various dimensions of growth. In synagogue schools, too, we can ask questions from a vantage point of thinking about the synagogue setting as a whole. Who is thinking about the various youth-developmental contexts in which synagogue youth participate? Is there coordination among these? Does the organizational/leadership/committee structure lend itself to making connections or to maintaining divisions? How are youth engaged in significant, ongoing relationships with members of the synagogue community? Are there opportunities for meaningful engagement in synagogue life that take a variety of forms so that youth with relatively poor liturgical skills but, for example, strong art or drama skills, can still be contributing members of the community? Significantly, the current discussion is relevant outside of the Jewish context. Even more than our community Jewish schools, American secular schools (public and private) have student bodies that represent multiple dimensions of diversity and face challenges in working simultaneously to foster identity and community. In fact, several of the theorists discussed throughout the book, for example, Feinberg (2006), see the ability to navigate within pluralistic settings as key to the functioning of a democratic society. Critics have pointed to the decreasing connection between the subject matter of schools and concern for students’ communal functioning in the broader society. Shapiro (2006, 13–14), for example, points to graduates with minimum knowledge of events in the world, lack of the ability to question or challenge ideas, incapacity at voicing contrary ideas in the classroom,  175 

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incredulity that education should have something to do with democracy and critical examination of our culture, surprise at the application of education to the quest for meaning and purpose in our lives, and astonishment at the idea of education as a vehicle for affirming a position of moral responsibility toward the world in which they live.

Interestingly, Shapiro draws a contrast from his own Jewish educational experiences in which he contrasts dreary recitation of remote facts in the typical high school history class, [while] Jewish pedagogy offered history as the long struggle for spiritual and physical survival. Becoming aware of, and learning to identify with, this history provided a student with a compass through which to orient his or her life around a powerful moral and spiritual vision. [History] became a living guide to the present, and the way to find significant purpose in our lives. (Shapiro 2006, 74)

Likewise, Kress and Elias discuss the ramifications for American education of theories such as those discussed throughout this book. Echoing Shapiro’s concern about the increasingly inward focus of schools, the present study suggests the importance of bridging developmental contexts, as “socialization is aided when education occurs within a congruent encompassing setting” (Kress and Elias 2008, 342). Kress and Elias contrast the current period to that when American schools were seen — both by educators and within the communities — as agents of socialization of new immigrants, a ticket, so to speak, into American society. Our increasingly fragmented society leaves few common reference points, and perhaps the focus on standards-based content can be seen as filling the void. At the very least, the current data reinforce the idea that in American education, identity-enhancing goals of education should be woven into the fabric of work in schools and beyond. Youth should be provided with multiple, safe opportunities for youth to be themselves within the demands and expectations of different experiences, and settings can provide developmental “moments.” Students should follow as well as lead, fail as well as succeed. Experiential discrepancies between one’s sense of self in different settings and between the expectations and values of developmental contexts provide an opportunity for youth to broaden their identity to encompass new possibilities. (Kress and Elias 2008, 342)  176 

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All of the concerns (discussed earlier) of educators as they move toward a focus that includes not just knowledge but broader identity issues are relevant here as well, and perhaps even more so. However, in skirting issues of identity, “the school abdicates messaging to others. Hence, students are increasingly likely to embrace individualism without connections, meaningful relationships, and communal involvement” (Kress and Elias 2008, 343). The current study suggests that schools need not, and should not, act alone in their developmental efforts. Even with students spending as much time in school as they do, there are limits to the number of life contexts schools can address. Cooperation and coordination with communal settings can fill the gap. A student who, in school, is beginning to bridge identities such as self-as-artist, self-as-friend, and self-as-productivemember-of-a-community can exercise and reinforce these connections through involvement in a variety of settings (religious organizations, community centers, social service organizations). Such an approach is similar to that of the coordinated communal mobilization for problem prevention described by Hawkins and Catalano (1992), but framed in the context of identity promotion. Communal organizations could be helpful in providing ongoing relationships with adults and the ability to use one’s skills and abilities to improve the world. It is certainly the case that this vision faces many obstacles, such as the fact that “not all youth have equal access to those experiences that will allow them to safely experiment with different self-expressions in the service of comparing and modifying self-schema” (Kress and Elias 2008, 343). In this regard, aforementioned issues of student engagement through leadership may be particularly relevant. Sarason’s (1996) view that school culture must become more participatory in order to provide more experiential contexts for learning is a reaction to the decreasing opportunities for such experiences outside of school. This involves bringing the students into the process of more actively experiencing their educational settings. To the extent that the thematic emphasis of the school is relevant to the world of the learners, they too can become participants in a community of learners. (Kress and Elias 2008, 343)

All of these recommendations call upon educators to look beyond institutional boundaries to find allies and collaborators. The locus of the discussion shifts  177 

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from “What can a school (or religious institution or youth organization) offer?” to “What do youth need?” and “Where can they best have experiences that complement one another in building identity?” Similar to the schools in this study, there are logistical impediments — including the related challenges of staffing and funding — that must be addressed. However, our analysis suggests that even small steps can be a beginning. Tweaking the schedule of a school or teacher to capitalize on opportunities for relationship building, for example, may not be easy, but it is not impossible. Likewise, creating school traditions that build a sense of community need not detract from time on academic tasks. The multimodal approach to identity discussed here has broad implications as well. It is important for educators to take an inclusive stance when it comes to psychosocial outcomes of education, such as connectedness, citizenship, and such. Educators in both Jewish and secular settings must avoid the pitfall of proliferation of programs aimed at such outcomes. Researchers have written about finding multiple programs within the same school — various substance-abuse prevention programs targeting an array of substances, violence prevention, anti-bullying, gender and sexuality, to name just a few — independent of one another. The division of these programs is problematic in that it: (1) can create questions on the part of staff as to what the school’s real priority is (and therefore, what should they spend their time doing) and (2) misses the opportunity to create synergy among these efforts (CASEL 2003). It is important to realize that any of these efforts is successful only when its goals are incorporated into the identity schema of participants. At the end of a six-week course on bullying, it is not enough for students to be able to recognize the signs of bullying and articulate what to do if bullying is encountered. Rather, a successful outcome means one should adopt attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors that negate bullying and see these as integrated into one’s self-conception and connected to other central aspects of one’s self. Such an approach calls for sustained engagement around challenging psychosocial issues and to expect progress (and regression) to occur in fits and starts. As with Jewish education, learning should be defined broadly to include enactments and affects as well as “knowing about.” Efforts to involve students in communal service projects should address not just why such projects are important, but should take seriously students’ attitudes and affects around them (e.g., “When I help in a soup kitchen, I feel empowered to make a difference”; or, alternatively, “When I help in a soup kitchen, I feel guilty or uncomfortable.”) and behaviors (how can one find soup kitchens,  178 

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what are the barriers to accessing these, what are the expected behaviors while there, and how can one interact with people from very different circumstances?). There are those who might say that the construct of identity is too broad to guide an approach to education, that in trying to create impact on too many levels, we risk achieving nothing. Indeed, Kress and Elias (2008, 342) point out that “[t]he implications of such an approach are humbling,” but that, nevertheless, [e]fforts to develop a new curriculum or a better assessment tool are important, but what happens in one class during a school day must be understood within the variety of vectors experienced by a student. The impact of this curriculum is intensified or attenuated by factors including the affective climate of the class/school, the relationship between teacher and student, the importance that general studies teachers, parents, peers, the society puts on learning that particular subject, the degree to which this curriculum reflects the principles underlying general school goals, etc. Experiences such as the summer camp or a trip to Israel may impact upon one’s self-schema as a Jew, but there are various vectors that can support, minimize, or oppose such changes in one’s identity. More broadly, while a school, program, mentoring relationship, etc., may support identity development, many forces act to sustain or attenuate that development. Creating encompassing contexts for development that span an individual’s developmental journey are integral to the success of teaching curricula. (Kress and Elias 2008, 342)

Supporters point out that identity is always being shaped, whether we as educators take ownership of this shaping or not. “Whether we like it or not, education is always, and everywhere, a process that shapes what it means — or we would like it to mean — to be human” (Shapiro 2006, 52). While this approach may seem expansive, I close with a plea for the opposite, for the application of the kabbalistic concept of tsimtsum, contraction or pulling back. The vital importance of the educational task risks giving the impression that if a particular issue (related to content or psychosocial issues) is not addressed in some way, then the endeavor is a failure. I have seen this result in a weight on the shoulders of Jewish educators-in-training as they come to believe that if their forty-five-minute Hanukkah program at a synagogue is not transformative, then they have let down the Jewish people. In organizations, I have seen this manifest in what might be considered a checklist or coverage approach to education. Did we  179 

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do anti-bullying? Check! We did a program for the sixth graders. Have we covered citizenship and character education? Check! We are using this or that curriculum, and we had a series of assemblies. Such an approach may “prove” that a school addressed various mandates or provide “data” useful for marketing or recruitment (“Look at how we focus on moral education!”). Applying tsimtsum, a modest contraction of the scope of what we think we can control, we would come to understand that impacting identity is highly complex, requiring sustained efforts by multiple individuals and settings. The advice of Rabbi Tarfon in Pirke Avot 2:161 is relevant here: “It is not upon you (or, not your responsibility) to complete the work, nor are you free to desist from it.” Or to offer another translation, “It is not in your capability to finish the work, nor are you free to desist from it.” Developmentally based education must transcend individual settings, yet be coordinated and connected. Even then, the developing youth is always seen as an active agent; educators might provide opportunities for growth and facilitate reflective integration of these into one’s identity, but the full range of vectors of development are unpredictable. The best we as educators can do is help youth achieve a strong foundation — of identity, roles, and relationships — from which to approach this unpredictability.

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Literally Chapters of the Fathers, this Talmudic section is often referred to as the Ethics of the Fathers.  180 

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ACK NOW LEDGMENTS

I

am indebted to the AVI CHAI Foundation for its generous funding in support of this project. The AVI CHAI Experiential Educators Project team — Yossi Prager, Lauren Merkin, Galli Aizenman, Sarah Kass, and Miriam Warshaviak — not only provided support and encouragement, but through years of insightful discussion throughout the duration of this project, also helped to shape the ideas in this book. The generosity of the Foundation enabled me to conduct and publish this research, and I am deeply grateful. I know the potential for fraught relationships between program implementers and program evaluators; to their great credit, Dr. Joe Reimer and Rabbi Bradley Solmsen not only welcomed my involvement, but encouraged the evaluation procedures to be woven into the fabric of the program itself. It was a privilege to watch these two educators in action and to learn from them. Julie Chivo provided key logistical support throughout my involvement. I am also grateful for my collegial discussions with Dr. Reimer who has been a professional role model and a source of good advice in my own development as a Jewish educational researcher. A researcher’s job is to crunch data — to provide structure and order to information emerging from the field. Whereas the organization of the data is the researcher’s, the data represent the wisdom of those participants in the project. A researcher “knows” by connecting the knowledge of the participants. The  181 

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talented experiential educators who participated in the AVI CHAI project were likewise generous with their time and open and frank in their thoughtful discussions with me. In particular, the three unnamed experiential educators at the focus schools went well beyond the call of duty to facilitate my visits, allow me to follow them around for long periods of time, and be one more element of their already-complex logistical planning when I accompanied them on Shabbatonim. Moreover, I learned much from my many conversations with them. I express my appreciation also to the leadership, staff, and students of the participating schools for their engagement with this project. Throughout this project, it struck me that rather than being defensive or suspicious of the presence of a representative of the funding organization, the numerous people involved in this project embraced a superordinate goal of learning about their practice and contributing to the growth of the field of Jewish education. My fieldwork was aided by a team of research assistants: Ariel Beinart, Emily Cook, Geoff Menkowitz, Dov Nelkin, Jennifer Newfeld, Mallory Probert, and Rebecca Shargel. A special thanks to Rosemary Raymond for all of her help. Some material in this book (the discussion of unmediated experiences in chapter 3, the section on self-reflection in chapter 4, and particularly the early sections of chapter 5) appeared previously as “Reflection and Connections: The Other Side of Integration” in the Journal of Jewish Education, 76 (2010): 164–188; my appreciation to Taylor and Francis for permission to reprint this material. The faculty of the Jewish Theological Seminary has provided important support for this project in the form of a semester-long leave intended to help junior faculty progress in their research. My colleagues in the Department of Jewish Education at the William Davidson Graduate School of Jewish Education are a constant source of ideas and inspiration. Dr. Aryeh Davidson, whose role in my career is described in this book, deserves special acknowledgment. After many years of scratching my head and wondering why he thought it would be a good idea for me to develop a program in experiential Jewish education, I think I finally get it. My thanks for your foresight and friendship. The seeds for the ideas in this book were planted in a sparse room in Tillett Hall at Rutgers University where I was introduced to school-based research methods and the idea of educational settings as the springboards for identity development in youth. My teacher was and is Dr. Maurice Elias, who continues to be a mentor and friend. Maurice also helped me to see the possibility of building upon the intersection of my identities as school 182 

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based practitioner, applied researcher, and involved Jew. I have come to realize that the richness of my graduate school experience resulted from his experiential approach to student development. As a student, I had the opportunity to take on an array of professional roles and challenges, knowing that he would serve as a source of guidance and support. The writing of this book taught me many things; one humbling lesson was the degree to which I viewed correct grammar and spelling as a set of interesting suggestions rather than as accepted conventions. Leslie Rubin has been a very patient and perceptive editor whose contribution to the final product is greatly appreciated. Likewise, my thanks to the team at Academic Studies Press, in particular Sharona Vedol and Sara Libby Robinson, for helping me to share my work. My final set of acknowledgments is for my family. To all of you, spanning four generations: my appreciation for (1) your encouragement and support; (2) your forgiveness for my missing of several family get-togethers due to this project; and (3) refraining, even when I knew it was difficult, from repeatedly asking about the progress of this seemingly endless endeavor. Most significantly, to Adena, Ezra, and Kira: Fieldwork generally means time away from one’s family. This project called me away not only during the workweek but also on multiple occasions during the ultimate family time of Shabbat. I know that this posed many difficulties, which you handled with grace and patience. My writing made my laptop computer a frequent companion with which I spent countless hours. My search for a quiet place to work took me to the attic, the basement, the guest room, and quite a few coffee shops and libraries. Through it all, you remained supportive and encouraging. Ezra and Kira, no matter how much I think I know about development and education, you are constantly teaching me more. Adena, your calm perseverance in even the most challenging situations is something that I struggle to emulate. My love and gratitude to the three of you!1

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And of course, my thanks to Tobi the Shih Tzu for not eating pages of this manuscript.  183 

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 196 

INDE X

Abraham 72, 86n19 Abraham School 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 58, 67, 82, 84, 89, 98, 118, 119, 126, 129, 140 Accommodation (cognitive) 33, 106, 151, 163, 164 Adaptation 33 Adler, P. A. 24 Adolescent(s) 1, 13, 35, 41, 48, 79, 97, 99, 100, 109, 112, 138, 139, 141, 143, 145, 151, 168, 169 Advising/advisories/advisors 92–94, 97, 98, 168 Aizenman, Galli 181 Argumentation 72–74, 76, 77 Armstrong, Thomas 133, 134 Ashmore, Richard D. 32 Assembly(ies) (school) 41, 47, 60, 111, 116, 128, 132n1, 138, 180 Assessment/evaluation vii, 8, 17, 25, 28, 29, 35, 87, 134, 146, 158, 166, 179, 181 Assimilation (cognitive) 33 AVI CHAI Foundation 2n1, 7–10, 29, 55, 146, 158, 159, 181 Bader, David M. 125 Bakhtin 80 Beinart, Ariel 182 Bekerman, Zvi 34, 37, 38, 101 Ben-Avie, Michael 28 Berra, Dale 28 Berra, Yogi 28

Brandeis University’s Institute for Informal Jewish Education (IJE) 7–9, 159 Brendtro, Larry 120 Brokenleg, Martin 120 Bronfenbrenner, Urie 89, 89n23, 94, 122, 129, 139 Brown, Steven M. 74n6 Bryfman, David 23, 27, 34, 131 Bryk, Anthony S. 141 Camp viii, ix, x, 1–5, 7, 21, 23, 25, 42, 43, 48, 55, 55n17, 56, 67, 67n21, 71, 72, 84, 90, 100, 117, 136, 144, 156, 168, 173, 179 Camp Ramah viii, 16, 24, 55, 113 Catalano, Richard F. 177 Charme, Stuart 28, 29 Chazan, Barry 21–23, 27, 95, 132 Chivo, Julie 181 Cognition/cognitive 11, 12, 12n1, 13– 16, 18, 19, 21, 23–26, 28–33, 39, 66, 84, 131, 132, 134, 135, 155, 172 Cohen, Steven M. 18 Cole, Michael 24, 26 Coleman, James S. 115 Collaborative for Academic, Social, and Emotional Learning (CASEL) 26 Collective identity 18, 32 Comer, James 28 Community, vii, x, 1–3, 14, 15, 19, 43–46, 57–63, 90n24, 104, 122–124, 159, 177; building, 41, 77, 140, 147;

 197 

INDE X

challenges, 49, 88, 107–112, 148; diversity and pluralism in, 6, 53–54, 65–68, 114–119126, 129–130; education and, 17, 73n4, 155–156, 160; in school, 50, 52, 76, 162, 173–175, 178; Jewish identity and, 37, 69–70, 89, 101–103; kehillat kodesh (holy community), 22; participation in, 26, 27; self-reflection in 82, 84; service, 119n7, 134, 139, 154 Community Mental Health Center of the University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey (UMDNJ) viii, ix Community school 9, 10, 53, 104, 109, 110, 152 174 Connectedness 14, 18, 19, 29, 143, 178 Conservative (Judaism) viii, 4, 9, 52, 52n9, 53–55, 57, 59, 67, 105, 110, 112, 113, 125 Constructivism (ist) 34, 35, 84, 107 Cook, Emily 182 D’Argembeau, Arnaud 80n15 Davidson, Aryeh vii, x, 182 Day schools vii, viin2, 8, 9, 20, 23, 68, 71, 85, 88, 89, 101, 102, 105, 111, 115, 122, 123, 150, 174 Deaux, Kay 32 Debate 61, 64, 66, 72, 74–76, 79n14, 81n16, 83, 86, 89, 110, 116, 119, 120, 128 Debate midrash 63, 76, 115, 118 Denton, Melinda L. 90, 141, 142 derishah, Derishot (derishat) shalom 47, 47n7, 48, 49, 82, 98, 119 Development, x, 14, 73, 73n4 30, 33– 35, 84, 89n23, 96, 104, 107, 114, 134, 156–157; of author’s research, 181–183; experience and, 79, 81; Jewish developmental education, 7–10, 28, 95, 98, 135, 136n4, 154, 166–167, 171; Jewish identity, 19, 21, 27, 37–39, 86, 150; of Jewish schools, 57, 67, 68; relationships and,

22, 139, 144–145; social environment for, 24, 43, 137, 140, 173, 174, 179; spiritual, 17, 87 Developmental assets 156 Developmental continuity 84, 89, 91, 95, 145, 175 Dewey, John 13, 14, 35, 77, 90, 94, 96 Dialogical 69, 72–81, 85, 86, 74, 103n34, 136 Dialogue 10, 37, 39, 58, 60, 61, 63, 65– 67, 75, 78n13, 81–84, 86, 88, 107, 114, 119, 122, 125, 126, 128–130, 174 Discrepancy (in schema change) 33, 39, 70, 72, 104, 173, 174 Discussion: affective issues, 136n4; in classroom, 75, 84–85, 87–89, 91, 92, 117, 122, 143; about communal ritual practices, 61, 109, 110, 113; developmental, 96n28, 104, 129, 131, 136; of Jewish texts, 63n20; minyan, 57, 59, 97, 112; as part of curriculum, 63, 64, 162, 165–167; as reflection, 80, 81n16, 98–101; about school, 46, 48, 159; Shabbat activity, 5, 6, 45, 47, 83; shemirat halashon activity, 94; student-led, 49, 55, 102n32, 148–149; tefillah, 119 Distancing (in schema change) 33, 35, 36, 39, 69, 71, 73, 77, 83, 85, 104, 107, 109, 114, 124, 136, 137, 174 Diversity 6, 26, 28, 37, 53, 60, 62, 65, 104–107, 110, 111, 115, 119n7, 124, 130, 150, 159, 160, 163, 164, 174, 175 Dorff, Elliot N. 119 Dorph, Sheldon 21 Eck, Diana L. 106, 107, 125 Ecology (developmental) 89, 96 Elias, Maurice J. 23, 29, 71, 90, 157, 158, 176, 179, 182 Ellenson, David 73n5, 101 Emotion/affect viii, xi, 11, 12, 14–18, 23–26, 28–32, 46, 47, 49, 55, 71, 77,

 198 

INDE X

80, 83, 92, 93, 105, 116, 119, 127, 132, 134, 135, 137, 138, 140, 152– 154, 162, 172, 179 Encompassing settings 23, 71, 89, 91, 173, 175, 176, 179 Erikson, Erik 114 Experiential education 9, 23, 24, 27, 59, 139, 155. See also Informal education. Experiential educator (EE) 2, 2n1, 3, 4, 6–10, 55, 56, 83, 85, 86, 92, 95, 98n29, 158–160, 160n2, 167–171, 171n6, 181, 182 Extra-curricular activities 91 Ezra 183 Feinberg, Walter 76, 106, 121, 122, 127–130, 140, 175 Fox, Seymour 16, 24, 34 Gara, Michael A. 31, 32 Generalization 34, 119 Glazer, Steven 127, 127n11, 128 Hansen, David T. 13, 130 Havdalah 6, 6n7, 7, 45, 70, 118 Hawkins J. David 177 Head of school (HOS) 1–4, 6, 42, 43, 46, 48, 50–56, 58–61, 76, 82, 111, 128, 168 Heschel, Abraham J. 71 Hevruta 20, 73, 73n4, 74, 74n6, 75n7, 76, 85 Hillel (campus centers) viii, 21, 25 Hoffer, Thomas 115 Holistic (Jewish) education 15, 20, 132 Horowitz, Bethamie 28–30, 36 Identity, 30–39, 69, 131, 136n4, 150, 155, 158, 172–180; imposition of, 122, 127; influences on, 20, 67, 90, 107, 182; outcomes, 28, 71, 136; reflection on, 79, 84, 88, 91, 99, 103n34; religious, 106, 126; shaping of, 61, 80, 100, 114; within community, 104, 116, 123

Identity foreclosure 127 Informal education ix, x, 8, 9, 20, 21, 26–28, 95, 131, 132, 160, 172. See also Experiential education. Ingall, Carol K. 90, 98 Integration (curricular) 20, 84, 101, 102, 180 Intention(ality) 27, 28, 30, 58, 127, 153, 165 Interpersonal ix, 5, 12n1, 16, 22, 41, 43, 49, 74n6, 76, 77, 81, 83, 97, 104, 128, 135, 152, 155, 156 Intersubjectivity 129, 140 Intrapersonal 45, 46, 118, 152 Isaac Academy 54, 60, 67, 72, 81, 82, 95, 110, 113, 118, 119, 126, 129, 140, 147 Israel(i)/Zionist viii, 3, 5, 21, 22, 34, 45, 54, 54n12, 71, 84, 88, 101, 116, 117, 150, 162, 174, 179 Jacob Academy 58–60, 62, 65, 67, 76, 82, 86, 89, 115, 118, 119, 126, 129 Jeffs, Tony 80, 99, 102, 135n2 Jewish developmental education (JDE) 135–137, 155, 166, 167, 170, 171, 173 Jewish developmental process knowledge (JDPK) 157–159, 161 Jewish identity ix, 10, 19, 29, 35–39, 54, 59, 67, 72, 84, 85, 89, 94, 95, 98, 102, 102n32, 114, 123, 150, 152, 156, 157 Jewish Theological Seminary (JTS) vii–x, 54 Kass, Sarah 181 Kelly, George 131 Kelly, James 129 Kent, Orit 73, 75n7 Kessler, Rachael 13 King, Martin Luther 139 King, Pamela 139, 140 Kira 183 Kosher/Kashrut 54, 54n13, 86, 86n20, 88, 107, 109–111

 199 

INDE X

Krakowski, Moshe 88 Kress, Jeffrey S. 23, 29, 71, 90, 98, 136n3, 157, 158, 160n2, 176, 179

North American Federation of Temple Youth (NFTY) 52, 52n9 Nurius, Paula 71

Lave, Jean 26 Lazarus, Arnold 12 Learning, 12–14, 21–23, 25–29, 34, 38, 60, 65, 71–72, 77, 94–96, 111, 133–135, 154–157, 164, 165, 176– 179, 182; classroom, 79, 86–88, 117; environment and opportunities, 62, 90, 106, 107, 118, 126, 145, 174; hevruta, 20, 20n4, 73, 73n4n5, 74, 74n6; ongoing, 37, 44, 100; prayer, 112, 114; social and emotional, viii, xi, 18, 139, 140, 172 Lebenau, William viii Levisohn, Jon 102

Orthodox vii, viii, 4, 10, 44, 52, 52n9, 53–55, 57, 59, 72, 76, 88, 105, 108, 110, 121, 125, 128, 170 Outcomes (of Jewish education) viii, ix, 9, 11–14, 20, 28–30, 40, 41, 44, 53, 58, 71, 94, 101, 103, 114, 124, 128, 132, 133, 135, 136, 139, 140, 146, 150, 153, 155, 159, 165, 178

Mahoney, Joseph L. 145 Malkus, Mitchel 74n6 Marcia, James 127 Markus, Hazel 71 Maslow, Abraham 137 Matusav, Eugene 73n4 McLaughlin-Volpe, Tracy 32 McTighe, Jay 34 Meier, Deborah 14, 15 Menkowitz, Geoff 182 Merkin, Lauren 181 Moral education 127, 180 Morrow, K. V. 143 Moyer, Bill 120 Mutz, Diana 140 Narrative (life narrative) 37, 38, 79–81, 89, 100 National Center for Innovation and Education 139 National Conference of Synagogue Youth (NCSY) 52, 52n9, 57 Nelkin, Dov 182 Neusner, Jacob 72 Newfeld, Jennifer 182 Nocon, Honorine 24, 26

Pedagogical content knowledge (PCK) 85, 156, 157 Pekarsky, Daniel 166 Pluralism 58–61, 66, 103, 105–111, 118–121, 124, 126, 128, 129, 150, 170 Pomson, Alex 122, 123, 150 Possible selves 70, 71, 78 Prager, Yossi 181 Prayer/services 2n2, 4–6, 8, 15, 16, 19, 27, 29, 35, 44, 44n4, 48, 48n8, 55, 55n14, 57, 59, 61–63, 65, 70, 71, 98, 105, 108, 110, 110n2, 112, 112n6, 113–115, 119, 121, 125, 129, 138, 143, 148, 149, 152, 156, 160, 175 Probert, Mallory 182 Rabbi Eliezer 120n9 Rabbi Joshua 120, 120n9 Rabbi Tarfon 180 RAVSAK 68 Raymond, Rosemary 182 Reflection (self-reflection) 45, 77, 79, 82 Reform/Liberal (Judaism) 4, 5, 9, 44, 48, 52, 52n9, 53, 54, 57, 59, 65, 67, 68, 70, 70n1, 101, 108, 112, 121, 125, 149, 170 Reimer, Joseph (Joe) 7, 22, 23, 27, 34, 35, 78, 114, 131, 136n3, 160n2, 166, 181 Reisman, Bernard 22–24, 155

 200 

INDE X

Reisman, Joel I. 22–24, 155 Relationships, 12n1, 14–16, 31–33, 52, 71, 89, 93, 99, 139–145, 156, 173– 175; community, 109, 118, 122, 123; educational experience, 18, 22, 49, 95; and identity, 80n15, 155, 177, 180; school, 25, 76, 92, 136n3, 148, 162; staff, 8, 166 Robinson, Sara Libby 183 Rogoff, Barbara 26, 73n4 Rosenak, Michael 38, 124 Rosenberg, S. 31, 32 Rousseau 94 Ruah/spirit 6, 13, 15, 25, 28, 43, 56, 58, 67, 99, 99n30n31, 118, 119, 148, 164, 166 Rubin, Leslie 183 Rutgers — The State University of New Jerseyviii, 182 Safety 66, 135, 136n3, 137, 155, 162 Sarason, Seymour B. 66, 177 Schachter-Shalomi, Zalman 78, 78n11, 153 Scheffler, Israel 11, 12, 14, 17, 150 Scheindlin, Laurence 18, 101 Schema 30, 33–36, 39, 41, 68, 70, 73, 78, 78n12, 80n15, 84, 86, 131, 136, 136n4, 144, 149, 172, 178 Schick, Marvin 10 Schnoor, Randal F. 122, 123, 150 Schon, Donald A. 80 Schools, vii, ix, 2, 7–10, 12, 14, 23–25, 40–42, 43, 61–65, 91, 92, 119, 136– 138, 166, 172–178; day, 68, 88, 89, 101; developmental experience, 94, 98, 99, 102n32n33, 165; extracurricular aspects, x, 21, 132n1, 147, 150, 151, 154, 168; focal schools of study, 35, 39–40, 49–55, 57, 67, 72–77, 83–87, 160, 171n6, 182; Jewish, 15–16, 28, 88n22, 96; pluralism in, 104–105, 114–117, 119n7, 121, 125–130; student-teacher relations, 141, 142, 144, 145, 169

Schwab, J. J. 98, 157 Self-schema 30n7, 31, 33, 35, 39, 68, 72, 78–81, 83–85, 89, 91, 99, 102, 103, 103n34, 137, 155, 157, 177, 179 Shabbat 1–5, 5n3n5, 6, 44, 45, 54, 57, 58, 61, 62, 70, 81, 81n16, 95, 108– 110, 118, 125, 126, 138, 144, 147, 163, 164, 169, 170, 173–175, 183 Shabbaton(im), 2, 6–10, 38, 42–45, 54– 59, 81n16, 94, 116–119, 136–140, 158–160, 160n2, 164; activities and rituals, 47, 65, 72, 82, 83, 112–113, 126, 152; community, 1, 49, 61, 62, 62n19, 144, 174; importance of, 52, 70, 95, 175; leadership, 66, 108–110, 128, 146–149, 151; planning and scheduling, 51, 166, 168, 182; student development, 81, 85, 89, 91, 98–100 Shapiro, H. Svi 175, 176, 179 Shargel, Rebecca 182 Shevitz, Suzan L. 65, 110, 115, 116 Shulman, Lee 19, 20, 72, 87, 88, 156, 157 Silberman-Keller, Diana 22 Simon, Katherine G. 84 Situated learning 27 Smerkar, Claire 115 Smith, Christian 90, 141, 142 Smith, Mark K. 24, 80, 95, 99, 102, 135n2 Social and emotional learning ix, 12, 26 Socialization 23, 27, 124, 176 Solmsen, Bradley 7, 181 Spirituality 13–15, 18, 90, 101, 119, 164 Sports/teams 1, 2, 5, 41, 43, 59, 71, 90, 91, 116, 117, 129, 141, 144, 151, 169 Student leadership (madrikhim) 55– 58, 82, 89, 110, 140, 146–149, 162, 163 Styles, M. B. 143

 201 

INDE X

Synagogue/temple viin1, viii, 15, 27, 42, 48, 52, 52n9, 54, 57, 70, 72, 90, 125, 126, 142, 144, 150, 174, 175, 179 Talmud 6, 44, 65, 72n3, 74, 76, 120, 120n9, 129, 180n1 Tanchel, Susan E. 83 Teachable moments 96, 97 Text/text study 5, 6, 16, 19, 20, 20n4, 21, 37, 47, 53, 54, 63n20, 64, 65, 67n21, 71, 72, 74–77, 83n18, 85, 95, 98, 119–121, 129, 135, 151 Tierney, John 78n11 Tikkun olam / Social action 22, 41, 43, 44, 91, 95, 116, 118, 119n7, 126, 175 Toma, Chikako 75 Torah 5, 16, 18, 20, 20n3, 29, 38, 44, 44n5, 47, 53n10, 60, 64, 71, 72, 102, 111, 126, 144, 146, 151, 162 Trips/travel 8, 21, 41, 59, 94, 116, 117, 123, 132n1, 150, 153, 166, 167, 169 Twersky, Isadore 17 Uncoverage 34 United Synagogue Youth (USY) 52, 52n9

Values 19, 20–22, 30, 37, 43, 44, 46, 53, 59, 62, 67, 78, 90, 91, 95, 106, 111, 115, 121, 126, 140, 152, 153, 165– 167, 176 Vedol, Sharona 183 Veverka, Fayette B. 126 Villarruel, Fransisco A. 145 Vision x, 15–18, 24, 25, 43, 44, 46, 61, 67, 101, 107, 112, 121, 129, 134, 139, 157, 165, 166, 169, 176, 177 Vygotsky, Lev S. 79, 131 Walker, Joyce 90, 143, 145 Warshaviak, Miriam 181 Wasserfall, Rahel 65, 110, 115, 116 Wertheimer, Jack 90 Wertsch, James V. 75 White, Cynthia 73n4 Wiggins, Grant 34 William Davidson Graduate School of Jewish Education vii, x, xi, 182 Woocher, Jonathan S. 149 Woocher, Meredith L. 121 Wurdinger, Scott D. 27 Youth groups viii, ix, x, 3, 4, 6, 21, 23, 25, 34, 52n9, 55, 90, 117 Zeldin, Michael 23

 202