Jewish education

Jews with a Mission

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When I accepted an invitation from the Israeli organization, Tevel B’Tzedek, to travel to Haiti a few months after the devastating earthquake in 2010 and to do some teaching for their disaster-relief team on the ground, little did I know that it would lead to one of the most fulfilling projects of my rabbinic career. The Israelis were doing amazing work under the most difficult circumstances, as Israelis have done all around the globe in similar situations. My contribution was to bring some Judaic context to the work taking place in one of the poorest countries in the world.

As it turned out, the interest in my teaching went beyond the Israelis. At a time when Jews are at risk in many parts of the globe because of rising anti-Semitism, Haitians treat Jews as if they had just walked out of the pages of the Bible. Haitian Christians identify powerfully with the story of the Israelites coming out of Egyptian enslavement and being led by God to the Promised Land. It reflects their deepest aspirations for themselves since Haitians have not only been victimized by natural disasters, but by 100 years of political tyranny and a dysfunctional civil society.

This article appeared online in Evolve: Groundbreaking Jewish Conversations (Reconstructing Judaism) on February 19, 2019.

In several of my presentations to Haitians, my translator was a young minister named Johnny Felix. In his early 30s and with a smile that can light up a room, Pastor Johnny founded a church and a school in Leogane, literally out of nothing. I spent some time in his community and with the students in his school, and felt that with a little help, Pastor Johnny could actually make a big difference in the lives of these children. Less than 50 percent of Haitian children go to any elementary school at all!

Upon return home, I spoke about my experience from the bimah of the congregation where I am the founding rabbi: Adat Shalom Reconstructionist Congregation in Bethesda, Md. I proposed that we undertake a project related to Haiti with the primary mission of supporting Pastor Johnny’s NICL School, which at the time served 150 children in kindergarten through sixth grade (the school has now grown to almost 200 students). So as not to repeat the mistakes of so much post-disaster aid that is common in our society where tons of money comes into a poor country and then, within a year, all aid dries up, the requirement was that families commit to five years of funding at a relatively modest level of $100 annually.

Adat Shalom’s “Haiti Project” is now going into its seventh year. More than 100 Adat Shalom households now contribute $100 a year for five years, which allows us to support Pastor Johnny’s NICL School in Leogane. We call them “Haiti Partners.” As a result of this generosity, we are able to send between $5,000 and $8,000 per year to fund scholarships for student tuition, purchase equipment for the school and underwrite the school’s core budget. Pastor Johnny, who has almost single-handedly created the NICL school and a congregation in Leogane, said to me that Adat Shalom was sent to him by God. As much as that might hit our ears a bit strangely, there is no way to do the work that Pastor Johnny does day in and day out against overwhelming odds without such a “leap of faith.”

But what started out as a fundraising project with an interesting “development world” angle to it changed markedly a few months into our first campaign. A member of Adat Shalom named Pam Sommers approached me and said: “I already signed up to be a ‘Haiti Partner.’ I want to go to Haiti and do hands-on work on the ground like you did, Rabbi Sid.”

I responded: “You find a minyan of Adat Shalom members who are willing to go as well, and I will commit to lead the trip.”

Wouldn’t you know it? Pam got 16 people to go, a combination of adults and young people between the ages of 14 and 30.

In December 2018, I accompanied the fifth Adat Shalom Service Mission to Haiti. We now go every other year during winter break, when the weather is bearable in Haiti and kids in the United States are out of school. Every mission has had a wonderful mix of youth and adults. The families who have brought their children talk about it as the best thing they ever did with their family in terms of values learned, time spent and sense of fulfillment achieved. One family signed up with a bit of anxiety since this was going to take the place of their annual family trip to Cancun during winter break. Several years later, the family still talks about their Haiti experience. The trips to Cancun are more or less forgettable.

We have brought Pastor Johnny to Adat Shalom twice for visits to interact with our community and with our Torah School. His first visit in 2014 was the first time he had ever been on an airplane. Each time he joined me on the bimah, he taught some songs in French and English, and shared with our community how much Adat Shalom was a lifeline for the students of his school. In turn, Adat Shalom members are extremely proud of the project. In our foyer, there is a wall dedicated to the project with photos from our missions. One member wrote me a note saying that she herself could never participate in a mission because of the physical demands of the mission, but she is so proud to be a member of a synagogue whose social action was as expansive as supporting a Christian school in Haiti.

The conditions in Haiti are not for the faint of heart. Our accommodations are very modest. The work is hard—hauling cement, moving rocks, painting, bending rebar. Even in December, it is well into the 90s and humid. But we have accomplished so much. During our 2011 and 2012 missions, we worked side by side with Haitians to build houses in Lambi Village to provide shelter for those whose homes collapsed during the 2010 earthquake. In 2014, we went back to Lambi Village to visit. The community was thriving. We were greeted like royalty, each family eager to show us their homes. During the construction, we made makeshift mezuzot of plywood to give to each homeowner. Wouldn’t you know it? The mezuzot were displayed prominently in each home! Guess how that made us feel? Oh. And they also kicked our butt in a game of soccer.

At Pastor Johnny’s NICL compound, we have accomplished a minor miracle. Over the course of two discreet missions, we broke ground and then finished a third structure on the school’s modest campus. Half of it will serve as a dining hall for the students. The second part became a computer lab with 15 work stations—something almost unheard of in this rural part of Haiti. It was made possible because we first funded a solar tower to provide the school with a constant source of electricity. When we first started working there, the school was making do on three to five hours of electricity a day. One of our mission participants had been inspired to fund the creation of the computer lab, which was a major boon to both the students and faculty of the school.

Another proud creation of our Adat Shalom mission was the creation of a vegetable garden that we dedicated and named “Gan HaMazon.” When we dedicated it, Pam Sommers’s husband, Fred Pinkney, actually made the dedication speech in front of the students of the school in their native language, Creole. Many of the 200 students in the school are food insecure, so we focused our attention on that aspect of community development. On our 2016 mission, we ran a day camp from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m. every day for 50 students of the school since it was vacation time. (These families are not going to Cancun). The focus was on how to work in the vegetable garden and food preparation.

On each mission, in a variety of settings, we work side by side with Haitians, and we use that opportunity to gain insight into the challenges they face in their lives. In so many cases, we walk away inspired by the dignity of the Haitians who live in circumstances that are close to what would be our worst nightmare.

The experience is always a deeply spiritual one for us. Every evening after dinner, we gather in the dorm where we stay. We use the time to share the highs and lows of our very intense days, and then to enrich our experience by studying Judaic texts and values from a sourcebook that I put together specifically for our mission. The conversations are wide-ranging. How can Americans be most helpful in a country where poverty, illiteracy and illness are so widespread? How can we help Pastor Johnny and the NICL school become self-sustaining? What are the ethical ramifications of our lives of privilege when compared to the deprivation that is the lot of most Haitians? On our last day, every person has a chance to share something they learned during our mission: a) about how to be most helpful to people in a developing country like Haiti; b) about Judaism and their Jewish identity; and c) about themselves. More than a few of the mission participants talk about the experience as “transformative” and “life-changing.”

When all is said and done, spiritual practice is about connecting to something greater than ourselves. Our mission participants, who may or may not be interested in prayer or meditation, feel much more deeply connected to the Haitians with whom they work, with all of humanity, with the mystery of being by engaging in the practice of literally loving their neighbors as themselves. I know that I, too, have grown immensely from the experience. Much of my activism has focused on tzedek—trying to effect changes in programs and policies through political advocacy. Yet to ground that commitment in acts of hesed (lovingkindness), spending time face to face with some of the most vulnerable people on the planet, is to understand something about one’s own humanity and the common struggle for human dignity that crosses all lines of race, nationality and religion.

I believe that our service missions represent the very best of what we can and should be doing as a Jewish community. The participants become a tightly bonded team during our challenging days on the work site, and we became a family in our “down time” at the dorm. With each passing day, we become more inspired to give of ourselves to help those who have so little, but who live their lives with great dignity and with deep faith.

Finally, we take great pride in “walking the talk” of Torah. We aren’t just talking about Jewish values; we are living those values every day. In a sermon I once delivered at Pastor Johnny’s church on Sunday morning, I said that despite the differences in nationality, race, religion and socio-economic status that separate us and the Haitians who were our hosts, three things tie us together. Both communities are faith communities committed to hesed, acts of lovingkindness; tzedek, acts of justice; and shalom, acts that advance spiritual wholeness and peace.

At a time when synagogues are losing market share and Next Gen Jews are deeply ambivalent about how much they are prepared to identify as Jews, I can testify that this kind of service mission is a game-changer. Synagogue leaders should think seriously about sponsoring both domestic and international service missions. It allows Jews to act on their values and also serves to connect Jews with the most vulnerable people in the world, a central teaching of Torah.

Outside In: Jewish Education that Matters

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Jon Woocher and I both grew up on the South Shore of Long Island. His father was my childhood dentist and our parents were friends. Ironically, we did not know each other from our childhood; we only discovered that connection when we began to collaborate as professionals.

Even before I knew Jon, his book, Sacred Survival: The Civil Religion of American Jews, which came out in 1986, had a big impact on my thinking. He understood, as few others did, that a religious heritage could manifest itself not just in people’s patterns of religious observance, but also in their civic behavior. In fact, if our metrics were synagogue attendance, belief in God, and religious observance, Jews would be described as among the least conventionally religious ethnic groups in America.

Yet Jews are, arguably, the most civically engaged ethnic group America has ever seen. That is true both in the way that the Jewish community organizes itself (e.g., the Federation system, ties to Israel and world Jewry, educational institutions, social service agencies, and thousands of Jewish non-profits serving every cause under the sun), as well as the way Jews are over-represented in the social, political, and civic institutions that underpin American society.

This article appeared in Gleanings, Vol. 5, No. 1, Spring 2018 published by The William Davidson School of Education at the Jewish Theological Seminary. The issue was titled, “Jewish Education to Help Us Thrive” and was dedicated to the memory of Dr. Jonathan Woocher, one of the leading figures in Jewish education of the past 50 years.

When PANIM: The Institute for Jewish Leadership and Values was founded in 1988, Jon headed up the Jewish Education Service of North America (JESNA), and I asked him to serve on PANIM’s Advisory Board. His enthusiasm was precisely the kind of validation that a young social entrepreneur needs. A few years later, JESNA would become the cosponsor for PANIM’s Jewish Civic Initiative, what would become (at the time) the largest Jewish service-learning initiative in the country. Our working relationship continued for over 25 years, a time he reflects upon in the chapter he wrote for my book, Jewish Megatrends: Charting the Course of the American Jewish Future (2013). Jon’s chapter, entitled, “Jewish Education: From Continuity to Meaning” argued that the key question facing the field of Jewish education today is not group preservation but rather conveying a sense of personal meaning.

PANIM’s mission was to inspire young people to assume leadership roles on the local, national, and international stage and to be activists on issues of concern to the Jewish people and to the world at large. The methodology involved integrating Jewish learning, Jewish values, and social responsibility. In effect, PANIM was a beta test in using Judaism as a vehicle for individuals to live thriving, meaningful lives.

It is worth reflecting on how PANIM attracted thousands of Jewish teens to a fairly serious Jewish educational program at a time when the vast majority of teens were not flocking to such structured Jewish educational programs as Hebrew high schools or synagogue post-confirmation classes. One, the program was billed as a “trip to Washington D.C. to explore politics, social justice, and service.” This is what got most of our participants to sign up. Two, we planned the experience to be personally transformational. Our aim was for PANIM to change the way that these young people would forever understand the relationship between their Jewish identity and their responsibility to the world. We were, in effect, following Jon’s prescriptions for what Jewish education and should be aiming for.

A key principle that guided our entire educational methodology was this: Every concept had to be developed from the outside in, not from the inside out. An “inside-out” methodology assumes that a Jewish value, a biblical quotation, or a Jewish rabbinic text will have inherent significance to students. That is the approach that typifies most Jewish educational strategies in conventional Jewish institutions. We, however, made no such assumption about our teen participants. In fact, we assumed that they came to us skeptical of the relevance of Jewish texts and values. The outside-in methodology had a different starting point: “How does X (e.g., human rights, poverty, discrimination, climate change, war, hunger, refugees) affect the world you live in and how can you make a positive difference?”

Few things are more motivating to a teenager than to be empowered to make a difference in the world. PANIM’s programs ended with meetings on Capitol Hill and with members of Congress. We challenged teens to exercise their democratic right to petition public officials. The primary tool they had for these meetings was the information they garnered during our policy sessions. Given that virtually every public policy issue has a moral/ethical dimension, the integration of Jewish wisdom was therefore organic and welcomed. Every educational unit we developed and curriculum we published integrated the wisdom of the Jewish tradition with analysis of social and political issues that would dramatically impact the world these teens were about to inherit.

We didn’t have to preach Jewish pride to our teens; rather, they instinctively understood that their heritage included generations of wisdom about how we need to repair a broken world. Thus, they learned that Jewish people were among the most politically engaged citizens of America. Jews learned the hard way what can result when political regimes don’t protect the most vulnerable among us.

Jon often used the term “civil religion.” It involves asking, “How will Jews behave toward each other with people of other faith and ethnic backgrounds and with the people and institutions that lead our society and the world?”

Every Jewish school, synagogue, and organization would do well to take a step back and ask whether or not they are advancing a Jewish framework that matters to their respective constituencies, and how they can practice “outside in.” This is what gives people a sense of meaning and purpose. This is what releases the power of Judaism to help people flourish and thrive. When this is offered by Jewish institutions, the identity and continuity questions take care of themselves.

Covenant Award Acceptance Speech

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Philadelphia, PA
November 21, 2002

I need to start with something of a heresy for a Reconstructionist rabbi. With every passing year, I am increasingly aware of the hand of God in my life. The latest evidence was this morning, as I attended a morning experience with Storahtelling, a new dramatic performance group that brings the Torah to life through interactive presentation. Not yet being Friday, I had not even focused on the week’s Torah portion when the leader of Storahtelling invited for an aliyah to the Torah all those who had collected battle scars, inner or outer, in their attempts to bring about something they desperately wanted to achieve on their life journey. I immediately identified. In coming to the Torah, we would be linked to our ancestor, Jacob, who, in the reading, wrestled with a divine being, became Israel (one who wrestled with God), and was left with a lifelong limp as a result.

So here I am standing at the Torah, which was being read by, of all people, an alumnus of our Panim el Panim program who is currently studying to be a Jewish educator. She is reading the weekly portion of Vayishlach on the day that would later feature my receipt of the coveted Covenant Award for my contributions to the field of Jewish education, primarily through the vehicle of the organization I founded, PANIM. And the first verse reads: “Jacob called that place Peniel, for it was in that place that he encountered God, panim el panim (face to face), and survived”!

My life is indeed blessed.

* * *

We read in the Talmud, tractate Ketubot, priat baal chov mitzvah, “the acknowledgment and settling of debt is a mitzvah, a religious obligation.”

Standing here today, I am keenly aware of how large my ledger of debt is. Noone who has enjoyed the success that has come my way does so without help. So, allow me to chalk up a mitzvah this afternoon (I can use all that I can get) by acknowledging some debts, to many people who fill this room:

  • to my parents, who gave me both a strong Jewish education and identity and then let me find my own path;
  • to the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College and Reconstructionist movement which gave a refugee from an Orthodox yeshiva a new perspective on how Judaism could be made relevant to the American Jewish community;
  • to members of both congregations I had the privilege to serve, Beth Israel of Media, PA and Adat Shalom Reconstructionist Congregation of Bethesda, MD. We proved that Judaism could be joyful, soulful and powerful, all at the same time.
  • to members of my staff, past and present, at PANIM who tolerate my maniacal passion to try to undertake way too many projects in way too little time, and then help me do it;
  • to members of my PANIM board who believed in me and who have been my partners in creating a significant new organization in American Jewish life, starting from nothing;
  • to Jon Woocher and the JESNA staff who gave so much support to our programs early on, providing important endorsement and credibility;
  • to Shulamith Elster, a treasure to the field of Jewish education and a mentor I am lucky to have down the hall from my office;
  • to the Covenant Foundation, which first invested in PANIM in 1996 with a grant to launch the Jewish Civics Initiative, now the largest Jewish community service program in the country, and which now honors my work and achievements. Truth be told, I see my work as sacred, as a calling. Every day I feel privileged to be engaged in the work of Jewish education, tikkun olam and strengthening the fabric of the Jewish people and the Jewish community. The recognition bestowed on me by the Covenant Foundation today, is just a bonus.
  • last, but certainly not least, to my wife, Sandy and my children, Danny, Joel and Jennifer. The kind of work that so many of us in this room do, cannot be sustained without love. My wife and family are a never ending source of support and love without which none of my work would make sense, nor be possible.

I want to take advantage of this distinguished and accomplished audience for a few minutes to share three lessons that I have learned in the course of my work in the community. I share it because I believe and hope that it might be instructive for how we, as a community of faith and of fate, might conduct ourselves in the future. The three lessons are:

  1. It shouldn’t be so hard
  2. It shouldn’t be so easy
  3. It isn’t just about Jewish education

1. It shouldn’t be so hard

When I set out to launch, what has become, PANIM in the late 1980’s, I had a fair amount of professional experience, a good reputation and a solid business plan. Yet years went by until I could find philanthropists and foundations to invest in me and in the idea. There is truth to the saying that success is a product of 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration, but someone should re-do the math because it also takes 20% worth of good luck as well. I shudder to think how many good ideas our community has lost out on because we have not been open to entrepreneurial creativity. Thank goodness for new projects like JESNA’s Bikkurim program and the Joshua Venture, which now serve as incubators for such creativity. We need to do more to support social entrepreneurship in the Jewish community. The Jewish community’s greatest asset is that there are a lot of smart Jews out there. We need to find better ways to channel their smarts to benefit our community.

2. It shouldn’t be so easy

Jewish education today can be characterized as small islands of success in a sea of failure. The reality is that it doesn’t take all that much to connect with Jewish teens. We need to spend more time trying to enter their world and less time trying to shoehorn them into ours. I once read a story about a magic coat. It would fit any person of any size perfectly once they put it on. Jewish tradition is like that magic coat. It is a treasure of wisdom and insight if only we try to put it on. We live in a world in which people spend a lifetime and small fortunes to find wisdom and insight. If educators took a bit more time to listen to their charges, they would be astounded by how many young people would be willing to try on the magic coat of the Jewish tradition. … And the coat would be worn for generations to come.

3. It isn’t just about Jewish education

We need to rethink what we mean by “Jewish education”. Let us remember that Jewish education is a means, not an end in itself. Two percent of the Jewish people care about Jewish education. Ninety-plus percent of the Jewish people care about making some contribution to making the world a better place. Our job as Jewish educators is to provide Jews with the language to understand what is Jewish about caring for the stanger (ahavat ger); helping the most vulnerable members of our society (hakem takim imo); speaking truth to power (hocheach tocheach); wiping out intolerance, bigotry and prejudice because we understand that within every person is a spark of God (tzelem elohim). These values reveal the purpose of our tradition. When Jews start to see that the purpose of Jewish education is to make these values manifest in the world, we won’t have to go running in search of a vanishing Jewish population. Jews will, instead, be running after us for we hold the key to making their lives filled with meaning and purpose.

Friends, the purpose of Jewish education is not to make more Jews, more Jewish. It is, in the words of the mishna, to create a world of din, emet and shalom , a world of justice, truth and peace. Ironically, when we focus on that as the goal, we will have more success at making more Jews more Jewish than we ever dreamed possible.