The Call to Reveal: Developing Self-Knowing and Empathy within our Students

By: Dr. Mark Shinar, Director of General Studies

For the past five years, I have taught a twelfth grade English elective called Contemporary American Short Stories. This past year, in addition to the traditional literary analysis that rests at the foundation of the course, I was very interested in studying how the stories that we read and wrote would provide the students with a different type of understanding: an understanding of self. I wanted the stories to teach the students a deeper sense of empathy for others and inspire within them a willingness to share their own personal truths as a way to connect. I have dubbed this notion “The Call to Reveal.” 

As a person who is deeply committed to stories, I have learned that narrative, all narrative, inspires this call to reveal. We make meaning of our lives through the stories that we tell, and when we tell these stories, we also make personal connections. As such, there is not one uniform understanding of any story, and that is how we reach an appreciation for multiple, valid interpretations. By telling stories and revealing pieces of themselves, students learn that they are storied people. They bring their narratives to the table as a way of understanding themselves and their peers, as well as the stories that they have read in class.

To punctuate this point, I added a Performance Poetry unit to the second semester of the course, a time that could easily become less rigorous and demanding for graduating seniors. When I first introduced the unit and its goals to the students, I admit that they reacted with a mixture of incredulity and disdain. There was no way, they almost collectively claimed, that they could write, memorize, and perform a piece of poetry in front of the class. This was not what they had signed up for, and given the fact that it was second semester, the time commitment seemed too high and the task too daunting. 

We persisted, and in doing so, I am proud to say that the students were met with tremendous success. After learning and practicing the skills of performance poetry, which included in-class writing exercises and peer reviews, and watching countless video performances on YouTube, the students received their assignment. 

• The Topic of the Poem: “You Don’t Know Me”
• The Assignment: A 2-3 minute performance piece, written and memorized. Students were required to incorporate rich language and poetic devices, pay attention to the elements of performance that they had learned, and most importantly, honor The Call to Reveal.
• The Promise: Over the week of performances, the class would transform into an audience; all readings were met with gentle snaps instead of raucous applause, and all voices and ideas were honored and supported.

On the whole, the poems, which ranged from charmingly funny to seriously poignant, were extremely moving. The support that the students gave one another throughout the process was also remarkably noteworthy. After the performances, I asked the kids to write self-reflective pieces that also evaluated the effectiveness of the unit itself. Here are a few of the comments that I received from the seniors:

• By showing us videos of performances, I got very excited about creating my own poem, and I was motivated to do so. At first, I did not think that I could do it because it seemed impossible, but in the end, I learned a lot about myself and what I can do.
• The performance poetry unit was amazing. I wish it went on for longer. That week was very special for everyone in the class because everyone opened up, and it taught us so much about each person and about ourselves. Public speaking is difficult for me and so was performing the poem, but I am so happy I was able to do it. I really feel like I accomplished something. I think performance poetry is such an amazing art and it really lets the poet open up in a safe space – which is the same goal as short stories, and all literature – the call to reveal. 
• I was able to uncover more about myself than I would have thought. I also didn’t realize that I could write good stories that meant a lot to me. But, I was really able to know myself when I wrote my slam poem. I was able to show the class something about myself that I really care about.
• I do not have to tell you, because you already know, but performance poetry was SUCH a hit. I can admit it now, because the assignment is over, but I wrote my poem two days before performing it. The weeks before that I was working on an entirely different poem that I planned on performing. It was not really a call to reveal, it was not so personal, but it was safe. Your class has taught me that “safe” rarely produces a powerful paper. Being risky and vulnerable is what makes a topic endearing.  
• One of the most surprising units in the course was the poetry unit. Most of the class was appalled by the idea, and I was no exception. I rarely voice my personal opinions or take time to reflect on myself. The poem made me think about certain aspects of my character that I have never given time to think about. The poem may have been intended to educate my classmates on who I am, but it simultaneously educated me on who I am. 
• Of course, as with most of my classmates, the performance poetry unit was my favorite because it combined writing ability, creativity, and empathy all in one assignment.           

When writing creatively, students tend to place themselves as the heroes in their own stories, but the narratives that help them grow the most are much more grueling and uncomfortable. They are the ones that push them to reveal their shortcomings, as well as their victories; to acknowledge and honor the valleys, not just the peaks. What surprised me most about this unit is not how well the students did with the assignment, but that it showed us, myself included, how the writing of story can reorient students towards a better understanding of themselves and their peers. Stories, whether they are fiction or not, help us make meaning out of our lives. They push us towards a heightened level of awareness of how we listen to others, empathize with them, and understand their perspectives to be as equal and as valid as our own. In the end, the students’ lives became that much more enriched by truly listening and learning from the stories that surround them every day.

Seeking the Right Jewish Fit for My College Experience

By: Ms. Marjorie Jacobs, Director of College Counseling

College choice is a matter of much discussion in the College Counseling Center at SAR High School and tailoring that choice to the religious life of our community is perhaps the greatest challenge confronting observant Jewish students.  While many are enticed by the choice of college as an opportunity to select the ‘best’ (most selective) college, after reflection that broad choice narrows down significantly to focus on colleges that are the ‘best’ fit, ones that offer lifestyle options that more seamlessly match the traditions of our community.  

While each year the options for Jewish life on campus broaden and colleges are adding kosher meal plans one-by-one, the heart and soul of a Jewish community is not merely the dietary requirements of our community; it resides in the day-to-day experiences of our students.  The opportunity to venture beyond the twenty or so colleges that are known to have vibrant Jewish communities is enticing; yet, realistically, our students who select these options often find themselves confronting unsustainable and unacceptable lifestyle choices. Parents look to the college counselors for support in the perplexing, seemingly daunting, process. Students, on the other hand, are more adventurous, more inclined to experiment and more confident that they will ‘make it work’ on diverse campuses.  It is not unusual for students to go to Israel for a year and return deeply concerned about the campus they have selected.  Perhaps the year of maturation, living independently for the first time and/or the religious connections reinforced during that intense experience have transformed their view and tempered their certainty.  

At SAR, our guidelines for college selection include a strong focus on the Jewish community. Students are encouraged to spend a regular Shabbat on campus instead of or in addition to an organized Shabbaton experience.  We suggest that our students connect with other observant students on campus, not merely SAR graduates, but also those who represent a cross section of Jewish students.  Since daily life does involve tefillah and kashrut among other things, dining as well as joining in the daily communal experience sheds light on the life of students.  Given the luxury of a strong Jewish community both at school and at home, it is sometimes difficult for students to imagine life in the secular world of college.  Respecting diversity and seeking to interface meaningfully with those from other communities are values that SAR nurtures, but we do so within a context of a meaningful Jewish communal experience.  We see the Jewish community on campus as both a support and a guide through the college journey, a journey that represents the passage from adolescence into adulthood.

The ‘Right Jewish Fit for My College Experience’ is truly the most serious consideration students have as they seek to match their intellectual, social and ultimately career goals through their college experience.  The SAR college counseling team is acutely aware of the important role we play and are committed to helping our students through this process.

אשר קדשנו במצוותיו וצונו On Teaching Commandedness

By: Ms. Lisa Schlaff, Assistant Principal

              My favorite pasuk in Tanakh to teach is Devarim 5,13:

Here’s why: In Sefer Devarim we are commanded to keep Shabbat in order to let our slaves rest. We are not going to let our slaves rest if we are not resting ourselves; the commandment that everyone must rest is only to ensure that the weak in society are looked after. Shabbat, often thought of as the ultimate mitzvah between man and God, is defined here as a means for fulfilling our mission to create a just society.

This is a powerful concept to teach. The notion that underlying many of the mitzvot we often categorize as between man and God is God’s call for us to better the world gives us a deeper sense of their purpose. Kashrut can be understood as a condemnation of cruelty; the laws of purity can be understood as testifying to the value of life, and even tzizit can be understood as a statement that in the eyes of God all members of society are equal. In fact, I find the categorization of mitzvot into those “between man and God” and those “between man and man,”  which we now take for granted, to be an unhelpful one. It obscures the powerful expressions of justice inherent in the mitzvot. It leaves us to understand certain mitzvot as arbitrary rituals of obedience when in truth they are really about our mission to better the world.

Students love learning this pasuk because it makes sense. They love learning it because it helps redefine something we do blindly as something that has societal value. And they love learning it because it is fascinating to engage in discussion about what it means to keep Shabbat nowadays in order that “our slaves may rest.”

And yet, as much as this approach to mitzvot speaks to all of us, it concerns me. My responsibility as an educator is to convey to students a sense of how mitzvot further our mission in the world, and that at their core, mitzvot are about being good. But it is also my responsibility to convey a sense of commandedness; that God instructs us not only to be good, but that God sets the parameters of what good is, that we are not left to determine for our individual selves what we think good should be. Our understanding must be grounded in the teachings of God’s laws. I am commanded to create a just society. While I may have my own ideas of what a just society would be and how to go about creating it, the society I am commanded to create is the one that embodies justice as defined by God. And I am part of a tradition that for thousands of years has been trying to define the contours of that path.

So I try not to draw a distinction between mitzvot that are God-focused and mitzvot that are more overtly ethical in nature. My starting point is helping students understand that mitzvot are about goodness, and my ending point is that we alone don’t define what goodness is. The beginning is easy and affirms our inherent sense of justice; the second is difficult and rails against our sense of individual autonomy. Especially if you are a teenager.

How do we teach commandedness in a world in which individual autonomy is paramount? I do not pretend to have the answer to this question, but I will offer two suggestions that have been percolating lately.

1. Increase our focus on halakha: We need to teach halakha not only so that students know how to properly observe shabbat or kashrut, but so that they see themselves as insiders to an intricate system the very basis of which is commandedness. The more discourse there is about halakha, the more natural it becomes to feel “commanded.”

2. Say “I don’t know” more often: We need to model the notion that we don’t have all of the answers. There are certain things we do simply out of a sense of obligation and it is important to make that explicit to students. Showing our students that we live our lives with a sense of commandedness resonates powerfully, because it is true.

And so when I teach Devarim 5,13 we discuss what it means to create a just society, but also how different and more powerful that meaning becomes when the creation of a just society is a commandment. We discuss the notion that mitzvot are so much greater than my individual needs, and yet protect my individual needs. And we discuss the fact that while we bless God for the commandments, being commanded is in itself, a blessing.

TEACHING BY EXAMPLE

By: Mr. Yair Daar, Judaic Studies Teacher

While learning the laws of Shabbat with one of my classes, I encountered the following challenge: As important as it is to discuss the values behind and purposes of certain mitzvot, what happens when many details of a mitzvah don’t support its purpose (or at least not in an obvious manner)?  I didn’t want my students to get the impression that halacha is disconnected from and ignorant of the purpose of each mitzvah.

For example, we learned in class that an essential part of Shabbat is shifting our focus from what we create to focusing on simply being. This accounts for the definition of melacha (literally: “work” - the word used by the Torah for the actions prohibited on Shabbat) as being creative activity, and not simply hard work. However, refraining from ripping toilet paper doesn’t exactly scream “existential awareness,” and sorting a pile of socks does not exactly come across as creative. To many students, this might mean that Hilchot Shabbat are as “out of touch,” and “outdated” as the Rabbis who initiated them. Although we might intuit that this critique is unfair and untrue, how do we properly defend the detail-oriented practice of Halacha?

I presented two solutions to my students. I would like to share one of the answers here, as it is intimately connected with the chag of Pesach.

An intriguing aspect of the Pesach Seder is the encouraging of kushyot. As opposed to presenting questions asked out of curiosity, the required reading of the night challenges the practices of the seder. When we ask why this night is different, we are actually asking “Why would we act this way if it’s out of the norm and seemingly senseless?” The four questions challenge us to defend the mitzvot of the night and explain the purpose of our aberrant behavior. Is this really a prudent approach to promote among our youth?

The solution to this problem provides us with an critical aspect of chinuch. Namely, if we teach by example, we need not fear challenges to faith; if such is the case, we can actually encourage kushyot.

To me, teaching by example is the number one pedagogical lesson of the Seder. The Haggadah is replete with examples. We eat marror to teach about the bitterness and we recline with wine to demonstrate freedom. Our actions represent both slavery and freedom because the transition from one to another is the story. These represent just a few instances; viewing the rituals of the night through this lens helps us appreciate the meaning behind a number of the parts of the Seder.

If we teach our students and children by showing them the beauty of a life of Torah and Mitzvot, the positive effects should be numerous. We will not only demonstrate how to act, but we engender positive feelings. A deep sense of respect and appreciation for Judaism is essential to remaining a committed Jew. Additionally, a cycle of positive outcomes is at play here; when we set the right example, it strengthens our own commitment and creates an even more powerful example. This is exactly why the knowledge of the participants is irrelevant at the Seder. The Haggadah is about strengthening our own appreciation for becoming God’s faithful people; the goal is not to simply learn what happened.

Now we can solve our original problem. How do we expect our children and students to appreciate intricate halachot with such a wide gap between each detail and the overall mitzvah? One solution is to help them develop a general sense of appreciation. Understanding the meaning behind each detail should then become irrelevant, or at least less essential. When you know that something works, you don’t need to concern yourself with asking “why”. Or, if you do feel the need to ask, not finding the answer shouldn’t derail your faith.

So, before discussing Hilchot Shabbat, I asked my students to raise their hands if they were happy to have Shabbat in their lives. Every single student in the class concurred and provided reasons other than not having school. If their appreciation for Shabbat is a given, they should have a resulting respect for all the laws that make Shabbat what it is. Moreover, whether or not someone living in a halacha-oriented community keeps all the laws of Shabbat is not essential to appreciate these laws. The conscious and unconscious impact the laws of Shabbat have on each individual and the community as a whole is immeasurable. We may not understand how it all works, but we can still trust that a certain seder exists.

At this point, the lesson is clear. For our children and students to appreciate the rituals and beliefs of a Torah lifestyle, we must first demonstrate to them the beauty of such a life. Understanding this principle can help us turn contentious discussions into edifying experiences.  A life full of faith-challenges can become a nuanced and meaningful existence. As success in this endeavor is crucial, we all - parent and teacher alike - should feel responsible to set the right example.

GOD IN THE CLASSROOM

By: Mr. Simon Fleischer, English Teacher and Co-Department Chair

As a card carrying member of our school’s “Grand Conversation” club, I embrace the idea that my English classes-- and not just my Jewish Philosophy classes-- must become spaces for spiritual as well as academic growth. I foreground this value in the work I assign, the conversations we have, and the language I use. I am not uncomfortable with this emphasis, and I do not ask myself whether to present my classroom as a space for spiritual growth; in fact, this emphasis is part of why I am so proud to teach at SAR. I do wonder, however, about the language with which I introduce this emphasis. 

An example: I have a student who excels at giving feedback to his peers. When his classmates share their work, he is often the first to offer praise, which he does with an open heart, out of a genuine desire to express his admiration. Watching him respond to his classmates, I am aware of how he helps transform our class into a sacred space, a space of listening and connection. Moved by his comments, and picking up on our school’s religious guidance theme this year, I finally said: “I am so impressed by the anava you show when you support your classmates.” And while true and good and relevant, this response did little to direct our sensibilities toward greater religious wakefulness; rather, it was more of a feel-good moment, a pat-yourself-on-the-back moment. As a response, I worry that it left us feeling far too comfortable to be meaningful in a lasting way.

I imagine what it might have felt like to respond more directly, to say, “when you speak to your classmates soul-to-soul, like you just did, you bring God into our classroom and make it a more holy space.” I am less comfortable speaking this way, and I think my students would be less comfortable if I spoke to them this way. This language feels paradoxically familiar and distant. On the one hand, I am an English speaker through and through; English is the language that most directly expresses my inner world. On the other hand, both because of this directness, as well as because of its associations with the Christian world, this language makes me uncomfortable. It is both too intimate and too foreign. 

In my classes, however, discomfort is a powerful tool; in its absence, there is no growth. If I want my students to really hear the message of the Grand Conversation, then I need to frame it in terms that make them uncomfortable-- and, certainly, my own discomfort is a good litmus test for theirs. 

In this spirit, I recently decided to start using the word “God” in lieu of “Hashem”; I just don’t think “Hashem” is as potent. “Hashem” is so axiomatic that it is almost idiomatic. As a word, it folds into our Jewish discourse so naturally, it tends to slip by without challenging me. Worse still, I worry that it is too easy for me to hide behind “Hashem”; the rhetoric of frumkeit sometimes obfuscates spirituality. “God,” by contrast, is comparatively startling. I can’t help but look at it. On some level, I associate “God,” as a word, with the Tim Tebows of the world, neither Jewish enough nor sophisticated enough. But it is precisely because of these associations that I want to start using the word “God” in my classes. 

In Baba Bathra, Rav Shesheth is described as believing that although the Shechinah is in all places, when he davened he used to say to his attendant: “ ‘Set me facing any way except the east.’ And this was not because the Shechinah is not there, but because the Minim  prescribe turning to the east.” Rav Shesheth’s view symbolically prioritizes the promotion of religious truth over the representation, in our tefillah stance, of God’s omnipresence. This perspective, however, simultaneously creates a symbolic space empty of God’s presence; in the east, we do not see God, because we are reluctant to look for God there. 

I am not interested in becoming what my father would have called a “holy roller,” so invested in the rhetoric of God’s presence that it becomes comical. But I am invested in the productive discomfort that might arise in my classes when I direct my students gaze toward God, as well as my own, in a more self-conscious manner. I worry that the academic routines and demands that are the necessary backdrop of my classes willy nilly transform them into a space in which we fail to look for God, analogous to Rav Shesheth’s “east.” I do not want to abdicate the potentially sacred spaces of my classrooms. 

The question, then, is not theological but strategic; what words can best direct our attention to God’s presence in our classrooms? Perhaps more broadly stated, how can we speak in a way that brings God more fully into our world?

Adolescents and Alcohol: What Exactly Is At Risk?

By: Dr. Russell Hoffman, School Psychologist

With Purim fast approaching, it makes sense for us to pause and consider the messages we send - directly as well as unintentionally - to our children/students about alcohol. When parents and teachers express concern about adolescents’ recreational use of alcohol, what are we really worried about?  If we recall times when we experimented with alcohol or drank socially as teenagers without incident, does that mean that it would be hypocritical to deny our kids the same opportunity?

There are few certainties or 1:1 correspondences in Health science and education.  Health education means playing the odds and seizing opportunities to skew the odds in your favor.  In other words, adolescent alcohol use does not necessarily mean that teens who drink will run into trouble, but it does mean two important things: (1) drinking in adolescence raises the risk of alcohol-related problems, and (2) abstaining from alcohol during adolescence actually increases the odds that you will have a healthy developmental outcome.  As we tell students during Health class, deciding to abstain from drinking alcohol (and using other drugs) during adolescence is one of the few things that they can actually do to minimize their risk for substance related problems in life (i.e., addiction, legal trouble, relationship problems, etc.)  Teenagers often have a distorted sense of what they can control - they believe (erroneously) that they can partake in drinking or drugs and avoid the negative consequences that they have been warned about.  Those consequences are based on factors - such as genetic vulnerability, bad luck, random coincidence, etc. - that are not within their ability to control. This illusion of control often leads teenagers to minimize the risks inherent in some of the choices they make and to devalue or ignore important information in their decision-making. When we discuss this issue with students in school, we try to emphasize that while using alcohol is not the worst thing a person can do, the decision to not use alcohol or other substances, at least until they are older, is the one thing that has actually been shown to correlate with positive, healthier developmental outcomes later in life.

During a recent discussion with students in school, an astute student pointed out that this correlation may not be so important.  Couldn’t it simply mean, asked the student, that the group of people who choose to use alcohol as teenagers are just more predisposed to make the kinds of choices in life that also lead to those negative outcomes?  In other words, how do we know that the early use of alcohol has any causal connection to problems later in life.  Great question!  Most researchers validate the causal relationship between these two variables based on what we know about adolescent brain development.  The brain is one of the last bodily organs/systems to fully mature.  Furthermore, the last area of the brain to reach full developmental maturity is the prefrontal cortex, which is the brain region responsible for, among other things, critical reasoning and exercising judgement.  During adolescence and into early adulthood, the brain is still developing and establishing neural networks in this crucial area; full brain maturity is typically achieved during one’s early-to-mid 20’s.  So, for teenagers, using alcohol or other drugs means introducing a mind-altering substance during a developmental stage of growth - a time when their brains are more vulnerable.  This is very likely the reason for the correlation between the early onset of alcohol use and the negative outcomes in adulthood.  When teenagers abstain from substance use and postpone it until early adulthood, they not only protect their brain development, but they also benefit from the additional years of life experience that they accrue in the interim, experience that they can draw on to make wiser decisions as adults.

Just as Esther had to take a risk and engage the king in an awkward but vital conversation, we urge parents to talk to their children about the role of alcohol in the upcoming holiday of Purim and about their values and expectations for their children's behavior.  The information above is intended to help facilitate these conversations between parents and children.  May we all enjoy a joyous and uplifting Purim!

http://pubs.niaaa.nih.gov/publications/arh284/258-268.pdf

What is Your Jewish Identity Story?

By: Rabbi Shmuel Hain, Rosh Beit Midrash

Second semester of senior year presents some well-documented educational challenges. But instead of surrendering to senioritis, SAR High School utilizes the freedom of this post-college acceptance/pre-graduation stage by offering seniors the opportunity to grow intellectually, emotionally, and experientially. One way we do this is through our innovative Jewish Identity course, a staple of second semester senior life at SAR High School.

Jewish Identity is comprised of two curricular pieces. The Modern Jewish History class, taught by our outstanding History teachers, examines the Holocaust and the advent of the State of Israel, with an eye towards how these events shape who we are as Jews living in America today. The Jewish Identity curriculum, developed by Mr. Simon Fleischer and taught by Limmudei Kodesh and General Studies faculty, consists of readings and discussions around several topics central to what it means to be a college-age Modern Orthodox Jew in the world today. These topics include: Chosenness and its implications for interactions with non-Jews, Torah Mi-Sinai and Biblical criticism, how to relate to Jews across the religious and denominational spectrum, and feminism and Orthodoxy, among others. The readings encourage thoughtful discussion about each of these topics and are usually followed by a written component which helps students summarize their own thoughts on each unit.

This year, our Jewish Identity class has engaged in a new and meaningful ritual: personal Jewish Identity moments. During readings or discussions, students or teachers may share their family's Jewish Identity story. During a discussion about philosophical Modern Orthodoxy vs. behavioral Modern Orthodoxy, one student began telling the story of his great grandmother in communist Russia who ate fowl once a year when her family had the opportunity and fortitude to perform ritual slaughter in private. The student related how this family story shaped his parents’ decision to live by their ideals and become more observant Jews in America. While reading about different views on what the Jews actually received at Sinai, we encountered the perspective of R’ Mendel of Rymanov, a Hasidic master who also happens to be the great, great, great grandfather of one of the students in the class. To help students understand the shift in denominational numbers, I shared with students some of the obstacles my father faced as a young Orthodox Rabbi in Houston, Texas in the 1970’s and added details of his upbringing in Danville, VA in the 50’s as contrasted with my mother's youth in Scranton, PA.

These personal narratives have added a powerful dimension to our Jewish Identity class. In addition to empowering students to navigate the issues they will confront in the future on college campuses and beyond, students are capable of looking back at their own family lore to see how these narratives have shaped their own Jewish identity. 

There are additional benefits for students who share their family narratives. Recent research has demonstrated the importance of families developing strong narratives. Several studies have shown that families who develop these narratives by sharing even the "hard-to-tell" stories are much more likely to develop more resilient children as well as closer bonds with each other. See several research papers here: http://www.marial.emory.edu/research/. For an excellent summary, see: the-family-stories-that-bind-us-.

These Jewish Identity student narratives have also reinforced for me what makes the Seder and the telling and re-telling of the great national Jewish story such an important, and compelling ritual. The Seder represents the great oscillating narrative of the Jewish People, with moments of ignominy alternating with moments of triumph and joy which together, help perpetuate our Jewish identity. 

So whether you are a parent of a senior about to graduate or of an 8th grader about to embark on the high school journey, reflect on, and share with your loved ones, your family's Jewish Identity story: What family events and values brought you to this particular moment and how can these narratives inspire you and your loved ones to lead lives suffused with meaning and mission?