Essential Vulnerabilities: A Thought on Freedom for Our Seders, Our Schools and Our Lives

By: Rabbi Aaron Frank, Associate Principal

As the sun set on Shabbat Parah at Young Israel Ohev Zedek  a few weeks ago, Ms. Shuli Taubes, Machshevet Yisrael Chair here at SAR High School, was leading a discussion on faith with our shul.

She taught the following selection from Chagiga 14b:

 ארבעה נכנסו בפרדס ואלו הן בן עזאי ובן זומא אחר ורבי עקיבא...בן עזאי הציץ   ומת...בן זומא הציץ ונפגע...אחר קיצץ בנטיעות רבי עקיבא יצא בשלום 

The rabbis taught: Four entered Pardes (Paradise): Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma, Acher, and Rabbi Akiva. Ben Azzai gazed at the Divine Presence and died...Ben Zoma gazed and went mad... Acher "cut off his plantings" (i.e., he became a heretic). Rabbi Akiva departed in peace.

I have read and learned the words of many scholars on this text over the years, yet the most powerful commentary I have ever heard on this source came from a man sitting in shul during Ms. Taubes’ talk. He suggested that maybe Rabbi Akiva was able to handle seeing the ultimate Truth of the Divine Presence because of his life experience.  We all know that Rabbi Akiva had not studied Torah until the age of 40.  Being open to, and transformed by, new paradigms was something that he was used to.  He had a strong muscle of openness and receptivity. Because of this, he was able to leave Paradise unscathed, in peace.

Certainly, the concept of openness is something often discussed and debated in our society, our schools and our religious settings. Are we not open minded enough?  Are we too open minded? 

In order to answer those questions, we need to understand what openness really means. Dialogue about openness typically centers around being pluralistic and non-judgmental. However, I think being truly open means something more than that. If we dig a bit deeper, we see that at its root, openness is actually a manifestation of humility, and even more than that, a willingness to even show vulnerability.  When I am receptive to new ideas, to new people and to new truths, I am saying that I am not complete.  My comfort zone is not a totally safe, secure and perfect place.  To be truly open, I need to feel strong enough to leave my structures and be receptive to new voices and ideas that may change and transform what I previously thought to be true. As Parker Palmer writes in his incredible book, The Courage to Teach:

Openness to transcendence is what distinguishes the community of truth from both absolutism and relativism…..it is a complex and eternal dance of intimacy and distance, of speaking and listening, of knowing and not knowing….We must be involved in creating communities where we are willing to be upstaged by the grace of great things.  (p.108)  

Pesach is a night of questions.  Many have said that this questioning is a manifestation of freedom, for slaves cannot question, they must only obey. I would take this a step further. Our questions at the Seder are an expression of our freedom because they show our ability to be receptive to the new paradigms and new realities that may emerge as those questions are answered. Questioning is not just for our children to learn about the truths that we and our tradition hold dear; it is an expression of our willingness to be fallible and to be overwhelmed with truths that may come our way. Indeed, it is only with the confidence and power of freedom that we are able to show our vulnerabilities. Just as our most committed and strong human relationships are enhanced when we are able to expose our vulnerabilities, so too our most committed and strong intellectual and spiritual pursuits are most enriched when we utilize our freedom to truly explore with receptivity and openness. 

On Pesach, just the mere act of opening our doors and inviting every family member and every type of child -- even the the wicked one -- to our table and hearing his or her voice is an act of openness and vulnerability. It may make us realize a truth that we, as individuals, as families or as a Jewish community, may have been responsible for shutting out differing voices in our personal, educational, religious or national conversations.

On Pesach, just the mere act of opening our story and telling of how once we were slaves is an act of openness and vulnerability. And while it leads us to great feelings of salvation, it may also make us realize a truth that we, too, as a people, may be complicit in the enslavement and deep pain of others in our community and in our world. 

While our daily commitments are the expressions of our greatest aspirations, passions and beliefs, sometimes they can also bind, shackle and shut out the new. Whether it is here at SAR with our incredible students, through our ongoing conversations in Machshevet Yisrael, Beit Midrash and History Socratic Seminars (just to name a few) or at our family Seder tables, we need to not only question, but to practice receptivity.

Of course, practicing receptivity comes with certain dangers and must be done carefully, thoughtfully and responsibly.  When entering into these types of conversations, we need the grounding of our mesorah, the voices of our teachers and role models, and the valuable life lessons we have learned at home and in school. It is essential that they act as a strong force as our guides and our lights along the way.

However, in order to truly be as free as possible, we need to enter into conversations that may not simply validate our preconceived notions, but ones that may even be a bit risky and will allow us to be vulnerable, open and receptive to being upstaged by truths that we otherwise might never have encountered. This Pesach, let us embrace our freedom not only by questioning -- but also by listening with an open ear to potentially transformative answers. 

Torah She’ba’al Peh and Jewish Values

by Mr. Yair Daar - Judaic Studies Staff 

Eventually, every student of the Talmud will (or at least should) ask themselves, and others, the simple question “why?” Why learn Gemara? What is the value in analyzing legal conversations that often contain rejected opinions and halachot that don’t apply to us today? Why can’t we just be told what to do? Many of those who have sought answers to this question have heard some or all of the following: 

Gemara helps us appreciate where our practices come from. There is no substitute for the sharpening of the mind that comes with learning Gemara. Gemara is the ultimate in Talmud Torah because it requires complete dedication of one’s time and intellect. It purifies the mind and the soul because of the effort required to learn it. Because that’s what we do.

And the list goes on.

One angle which I appreciate the more I learn and teach (and that is less-commonly referenced) is that the Torah She’ba’al Peh is a conduit for teaching Jewish values. Our sages’ halakhic thoughts and rulings were not born in a legal vacuum, devoid of religious meaning. The Torah She’ba’al Peh is, by its very essence, driven by the will to actualize Jewish values.

We don’t’ normally think about the Torah She’ba’al Peh in this manner. To many, the Torah She’ba’al Peh is a process in which Jewish sources are analyzed, compared, contrasted, and questioned to determine proper halakhic practice. The outcome is really the important goal, and how we get there almost seems unimportant in the grand scheme. Even the halakhot are commonly viewed from a practical standpoint; that they represent a way of uniting Jews through ritual, and that is all. However, if we view the process and halakhot as a way of transmitting Jewish values, study of the Torah She’ba’al Peh becomes a much more meaningful venture. 

I’d like to provide one example of how this came up in my 9th grade Torah She’ba’al Peh class.

At the end of the 2nd chapter of Masechet Bava Kama, a number of halakhic scenarios and rulings are provided by Rabbah. In one of these situations, Rabbah provides a puzzling ruling:

Rabbah further said: If someone throws an object (belonging to someone else) from the top of the roof while there were underneath mattresses and cushions (for it to land on) which were removed by another person (while the object was in the air), or even if [the one who had thrown it] removed [the mattresses and cushions] himself, there is exemption from payment…

Here, Rabbah rules that the one who damages is completely exempt from payment because neither of his or her actions can be defined as a “destructive act.” The act of throwing the object from the roof doesn’t meet the criteria because when it was released, it was projected to land safely. The act of removing the cushions is not an “act of damage” because it does not involve exerting any force (direct or indirect) on the object itself. 

At first, this ruling seems absurd; how can we exempt someone from damage if this person is completely responsible? However, if we take a values approach, we can make sense of Rabbah’s halakha. 

Perhaps Rabbah is teaching us that there is a Jewish value of avoiding looking for a people to blame when disaster strikes. A society in which blame defines responsibility can become a society where there always must be “someone else” at fault. If so, we can almost always point to one person or event and say “there is the cause!” when in fact, there may not be a true cause, or maybe the fault lies in us. Halakha may require a stricter definition for responsibility due to this value, even at the expense of giving the one responsible a way out in certain situations.

Taking such an approach to this Gemara helped many of my students (but not all) come to grips with Rabbah’s difficult ruling. This approach also facilitated a nice discussion about the importance viewing halakha as “Jewish values put into practice.” It was interesting to see certain students react when faced with the possibility that halakhic observance cannot be divorced from living with Jewish values.

Not every unit of thought or halakha mentioned in the Gemara is driven by an easily-detectable value or set of values. However, we owe it to ourselves, our students, and our children to be on the lookout for meaning in our religious learning and rituals. This is the true tradition of the the Torah She’ba’al Peh and the one to pass on to the next generation.

Reflections on Fire, Creativity and the Miracle of Chanukah

By: Ms. Shira Hecht-Koller, Judaic Studies Teacher

We strike a match, ignite a flame, gaze into the fire, reflect, think and celebrate. Like we do each week as we welcome and bid farewell to Shabbat, today, and for eight days, for a few moments we will pause from our hectic routines, put aside the “to-do” lists of our Google drives and stop to reflect on life through the lens of the flame.

I have always been mesmerized by fire. The allure and power of the dancing flame seems to stand at odds with fire as a most basic part of nature. It is an elemental force that is entirely natural, yet we know how to harness and control it, as is evident in some of our most basic behaviors: humans are alone in the world in cooking their food before eating it. With the help of fire, we turn inedible meat into a substance that sustains and nurtures us and one that has allowed us to develop in sophisticated and unimaginable ways. Fire, then, is a marker of our progress and a creator of our culture.

As we celebrate Chanukah, the symbol of the fire, so foundational in our tradition, is what we

focus all of our attention upon. Lighting candles is the one mitzvah that we are commanded to keep, and it is directly connected to the miracle related in the gemara (Shabbat 21b) – the candles commemorating the lights of the miracle that took place in the Beit ha-Mikdash 2178 years ago.

Interestingly, the gemara does not say that a festival was instituted because of the victory over the Seleucid army; instead, we commemorate a miracle, a small detail really, that took place within the broader context of that victory. Why does the gemara focus on this detail, rather than explaining the entire narrative? The light of the menorah was important, but it was the military victory, and the resulting political independence that were the primary events of the story of Chanukah! This is clear from the narratives as found in the two books of Maccabees, as well as from the brief version recited in ‘al ha-nisim, which focuses on the military victory, and the Rambam’s retelling of the story at the beginning of the laws of Chanukah, which focuses on the political accomplishments.

Rav Ezra Bick of Yeshivat Har Etzion suggests, that we focus on the candles as a way of framing the broader narrative, as providing a lens through which to see the whole story. At a time in our religious history when there appeared not to be enough spirit to continue, when the old ways were virtually dead, when the flame was almost entirely extinguished, a small spark survived and that was enough to fuel the flames of growth, potential and renewal.

When it comes to learning about, watching and celebrating the miracle of Chanukah with our children and with our students, we are reminded, day after day, and one creative achievement of theirs after the next, that all that is needed is for them to have the spark from within and then fan the creativity and watch it flourish. Immersing ourselves in the educational life, culture and spiritual community that is SAR High School allows us to witness this on a daily basis. Our building is constantly permeated with the noise of intellectual rigor, the depth of spiritual questing, and the colors, scents and sounds of creative accomplishments. One need only walk the floors, or stand in the middle of the Beit Midrash and look up, to feel it and sense it. One of our primary goals, then, as an educational institution, is collaboratively figuring out how to best inspire and ignite the passion and creativity.

This is done in varied and thoughtful ways by our community of educators. It is first and foremost reflected in our dual curriculum that is diverse and individualized, with multiple opportunities for student choice, as well as student input. Our upper-classmen are provided ample opportunities for elective classes, in both Judaic and secular studies, with many of those classes involving culminating creative projects and presentations. Students who are interested in song, can elect to take a class on niggunim and nusach tefilla; those who want to explore halakhic topics in a more hands-on environment, can opt to take a Halakha Lab class; students interested in art, can learn in the Drawing from the Text class, where foundational Jewish texts are analyzed and explored through the medium of charcoal and paint; students interested in media can take a Middot Through Media class which integrates contemporary culture with fundamental values and lessons of life; and students interested in science and ethics can opt for a class in Comparative Medical Ethics, and engage with broader questions of technology, medicine and Rabbinic law. The list is long and the offerings diverse, presented as a palette of different colors, affording the students a chance to pick up a brush and paint their own individual canvases.

Our Seniors have already started thinking about and planning for their capstone Senior Exploration projects where they can choose to do fieldwork, independently generate creative projects, or work on individualized research. We present them with options, pair them with faculty mentors, guide them and watch them flourish. In many ways, our robust faculty Professional Development program mirrors the desires, goals and expectations that we have for our Seniors. All faculty members are currently in the midst of either individual or collaborative projects, which cross disciplines, enabling us to tap into the ideas, creativity and strengths of our colleagues and friends.

While the creative and collaborative energy is felt on a daily basis, it is heightened and felt most acutely during the days of Chanukah, when we celebrated with our Macca “Bee”/Color War. The competitive energy and spirit burst forth in the form of song, music, animation, photography, poetry-slams, dramatic improvisation, iron-chef competitions, literature and sport, all framed within a context of Torah and values central to our mission. There is palpable energy and messy, creative wonder that builds strength and community. It is awe-inspiring in a way that is deeply rooted in our tradition. Students and teachers alike draw inspiration from one another to grow, flourish, renew and lead. We just need to stop for a moment, gaze into the dancing flames and remind ourselves of the opportunities. Seemingly miraculous, the possibilities are endless.

Creating a Service Community

By: Ms. Ora Meier, Chesed Coordinator, English/Art History Teacher

Many people often ask me: Why does SAR engage students and faculty in school-wide, organized group volunteering for over 25 partnering agencies? Couldn’t we just focus on student’s individual chesed activities or hours?  To answer this, it is important to consider how SAR’s model of collaboration in the classroom is applied to create a community of givers in the field.

Throughout the course of the academic year, SAR chesed activities include four grade-wide chesed days and over 50 advisory chesed trips, in addition to the ongoing activities of our eight different chesed clubs.  Each chesed day presents a diverse range of options where every advisory can choose a chesed trip that speaks to the group’s specific interests.  

SAR is unique because we allow individuals to select how they would like to spend their grade chesed day, and we invite advisories to choose their chesed trips.  At the very moment that an advisory group begins the conversation about how they would like to spend their time volunteering, they have created, within their group, a service-driven community.  During this initial conversation, a student may share a favorite memory about a previous volunteering opportunity, or an advisor may reveal a surprising talent that may benefit the service experience.  Some of these conversations often lead to students sharing honest concerns or fears that they might have when engaging with particular populations.  After this brainstorming session, the advisory selects their chesed trip and thus becomes more of a cohesive unit, inspired to give to others in a way that matches the talents and skills of the group members.  Ultimately, the key to successful team building is guided by the purpose of serving others. 

The strength of SAR’s chesed program is that the direct volunteering experiences are  transformative.  SAR partners with New York service agencies to address needs that include children’s supports, homelessness and hunger, hospitals and health, senior centers and nursing homes, and parks and nature.  At the start of the year, there is a planning meeting with each of the partnering agencies to both identify their respective specific needs for the year, as well as to discuss the opportunities and strengths that our students and faculty can provide.

Diverse options and collaborative team building is consistently our goal.  We want to make sure that there are volunteering options for every kind of student and teacher.  For example, there are students who are only interested in working with children (whether hospitalized, in a Head Start preschool, or a public school in an underprivileged neighborhood).  There are others who are committed to addressing poverty in New York City, through volunteering at soup kitchens or other food-related sites.  By the end of every month, we are proud to say that the SAR community has had a direct impact on helping those in need throughout New York City. 

Early last week, in preparation for the Twelfth Grade Chesed Day and an advisory chesed trip to Montefiore Children’s Hospital, Yoram Roschwalb and I began sorting the Thanksgiving-related craft items purchased from Oriental Trading.  For a brief moment, the colorful scratch leaves, fall stamps and “tree of thanks” frame kits didn’t seem as exciting in the box as when we had placed the order.  That instant of doubt dissipated when we began discussing each project and picturing our SAR students in action, transforming the basic items into an engaging, fun and memorable experience for the patients that they would soon meet.  I was invigorated by the knowledge that those who would lead these projects had requested one of their top choices for volunteering, and would, no doubt, accomplish its goals.

This Thanksgiving, consider how the SAR community chesed model can begin a new conversation about what it means to give, both individually and together, as a family.

Preparing For The Rest of the 21st Century

By: Rabbi Avi Bloom, Director of Technology Integration

For the last few months media has been rife with stories about the surge in one-to-one device programs in schools, and technology integration in general.  One-to-one, or 1:1, refers to a model in which each student is equipped with a computer, tablet, or other personal electronic device to use as part of his/her educational toolbox.  Often, the public conversation on these issues has focused on devices when it ought to be about effective education and pedagogy.

Technology can have a transformative impact on the way students learn, think, create, apply and concretize the knowledge and skills that we are trying to impart.  While the hardware is essential, it is not the most crucial element in ensuring educational success. Just purchasing iPads does not change education. The most important conversation is about educational impact, not technological change.  In order to use technology successfully, we must be committed to discussing how we teach, what we teach, why we teach it, and how technology can help.  We must grapple with the question of why is it important to bring technology into the classroom? 

At SAR HS, our technology strategy directly reflects our educational mission, which values the unique needs of each learner, and the importance of student creativity and collaboration in the learning process.  We are engaged in ongoing conversations about how technology can be used to help support our mission.  Our student 1:1 device initiative, currently in place in the ninth grade, is one example of the link between our strategy and mission. The program offers students and teachers opportunities for real-time collaboration, enhanced options for creative expression, and opportunities to individualize and personalize the learning to meet the needs of each individual student.  Each teacher decides how technology is best suited to his/her educational goals.  Our ninth grade Gemara classes are already using the iPads to record and practice Gemara reading, and digitally annotate Gemara text.  Similar technology innovation is happening across all                                                               subjects and departments. 

Ultimately, successful technology integration means having conversations in which technology and pedagogy cannot be separated.  We need to continue to talk about devices, and how to use them, in light of our goals and expectations for our students.  We also need to continue to develop new goals, based on emerging technologies that did not exist even as recently as a year ago.  We must continue to refine our goals and strategies in light of what technology affords us and the world in which our students live.  

Mr. Goodman's AP Biology class uses 3D modeling software
to explore secondary structures of proteins.

Putting devices in students hands is a critical step in creating a more individualized, creative, collaborative, learning environment.  However, it is only a piece of the process.  Ultimately, it comes back to the question of ‘how’.  How innovative, willing and flexible are educators and institutions to think in new ways about educational goals and practices?  How can we use technology to help us achieve our current goals?  How do our goals need to evolve in light of technology?  How can we continue to ensure that our students are best prepared for a world that is changing rapidly and difficult to predict?  How can we adapt our curriculum to reflect our changing world?  

These are some of the questions we have been asking and answering in our classrooms, meetings, and hallways and we invite you to join the conversation.

Reflections from My Summer in Israel

By: Dr. Tammy Jacobowitz, Tanakh Department Chair

When I asked my children what I should tell the students of SAR High School about our summer in Israel, I got two pieces of advice:

1. Don’t make it seem that scary.

2. Don’t get too emotional.

The truth is, since I got back from my summer in Israel just a few weeks ago, I have thought long and hard about what to share about my experience there. Of all the times that I have been to Israel, and thank God, I have been blessed to have been in Israel many times, this past summer was different. What I felt there and saw there and learned there were of a different order than any other trip, and I want to tell people about it, if only to explain why I feel and think differently now about Israel, about being Jewish, about chesed, about empathy, and about war.

But  most of the time, I have felt like a kid back from sleepaway camp, unable to find words to explain why I feel so changed, and looking at everyone around me like they just won’t get it.

But I will try.

This summer in Israel, I learned the true meaning of 90 seconds. What it feels like to hear a wailing siren in the middle of the night, a sound that rips me apart in the inside like the first blast of the shofar, to drag my sleeping children down to an underground bomb shelter, to hold them all as tight as my arms will allow, and to sing them back to sleep, even if it takes hours, when the only thing I have to help them is my voice and my presence.

And yet, this summer in Israel, I heard the knocks on the door from strangers in my building, eager and willing to help anyone with kids down to the miklat.  I saw the smiles of unfamiliar people in the bomb shelter, a woman who the next day brought down rugs and snacks and paint, for the next time, so the kids won’t be scared. I felt the connectedness of Am Yisrael, when everyone cares for each other during those 90 seconds, the ten minutes of waiting until it is safe, and the days that follow.

This summer in Israel, I spoke incessantly to my children about rockets and launching pads, about rifles and mortars, about safe rooms and Army service and guards and guns and dying children in Gaza. We watched a YouTube video about the Iron Dome. They asked questions that I could barely answer, and if I could, my heart was breaking while I did. My 7 year old asked: How does the Israeli army know who is Hamas and who isn't when they attack? Why don't we tell everyone who is not Hamas in Gaza to come to Israel, and then everyone who is Hamas can stay there to fight?

And yet, this summer in Israel, we returned from a week of traveling up North, learning about mosaics and hiking in water, imagining life from the time of the second Beit Hamikdash and eating as much ice cream as we could— and my children decided on their own to raise money for the soldiers who had been dying all week. On their own, they went to the makolet, bought lemons and sugar, and sold lemonade at our park למען החיילים. Young and old came over to see the stand run by American children, donated money, told them “kol hakavod”. They raised 100 dollars for the Lone Soldier Organization. They told me it was the best part of their summer.

This summer in Israel, as we walked across Yerushalyaim on Shabbat, we took note of good spots to hide if there were a siren, and we breathed a collective sigh of relief every time we made it back to a building with a known miklat. Our itinerary kept changing, and there were places we were too scared to go. I did not go visit close friends in Beer Sheva, but with trepidation, paid a shiva call to an old friend in Ashdod. Every day, every choice came with it a low dose of anxiety, an unknown, and a sense of relief when all was okay.

This summer in Israel, I took long walks with my children in the streets of Yerushalayim, meeting friends whose husbands were fighting in Gaza, and who greeted us with strength, joy and love. On our walks, I told my kids stories about the people whose names were on the street signs, so that they would know that Jewish history and Jewish present permeate Jerusalem and Israel.

To view this on YouTube click here.

As I wrote in my journal in July:

In America, stories about Jews under attack and near annihilation are stories. Stories that generate holidays we love. Stories to tell at the table while we eat latkes and hamentaschen, and dip lettuce into delicious haroset.  But here, in Israel, the stories recede from the playbook and overcrowd the space. It is hard to tell what is now and what is then.

This summer in Israel, I felt like I was living inside Jewish history in a way that is unparalleled in America. And with the pain and the fear and the sadness, there was tremendous power in the connectedness, the sense of family that is a reality in Israel under crisis. As American Jews, we may live most of the time far away from Israel, but we are a part of the story, when we go, and when we call, and when we fight for Israel from here.

Parents as Partners

By: Rabbi Tully Harcsztark, Principal

Since Jews arrived on the great shores of the United States of America, Orthodox parents have worried about how to successfully transmit the values and practices of a rich Halakhic life to the next generation of American Jewish children. Of course, as the generations have passed, Jews have been increasingly accepted into American society. We and our children see ourselves as fully integrated into the surrounding culture, and freedom abounds. And with increased freedom and integration comes deep challenges. With each successive generation comes more choice, more comfort, greater freedoms. Religious transmission is more difficult than ever to achieve.

Or so we thought. In 2013, Vern Bengston, professor at the University of Southern California, along with two colleagues, published the results of a thirty five year study in which he interviewed over 3500 people spanning four generations of each interviewed family, exploring the challenges and successes of religious transmission in the U.S. (Here is a link  to the description of the book) The team interviewed members representing the major religions in the country. Some of the results were surprising while others confirmed our common sense. I share with you a few of the highlights.

• The three religions most successful at transmitting their values to the next generation: Mormons (highest), Jews and Evangelical Christians, the so called "high boundary" religions. 
• The team was surprised to find that 6 of 10 children follow in their parents religious footsteps, something they considered to be a high rate of success. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the high boundary religions did not see that statistic as very successful; the Evangelical minister quoted in the study focused on the 40%, the cup half empty, rather than on the success. We can relate...
• Most importantly: the rate of success of families in transmitting their values to the next generation has not changed over the generations. That means that although we might think that kids don't listen to their parents as much as they used to, that is not the case when it comes to religious transmission. Today's children are following in the footsteps of their parents to the same degree that they did in the previous two generations. In fact, although there are more "nones" (non believers) than there were in the previous generation, even the nones, in a high percentage of cases, have actually internalized the skepticism or atheism of their parents; atheism, too, can be transmitted to the next generation!

Those are some interesting stats. Undoubtedly his most important conclusion: Family matters! Although many people think that family has less influence than in the past, Bergston concludes that family matters today as much as it ever has. Some children internalize family values immediately and others take a more circuitous route. But parents (and grandparents) are of crucial importance to religious transmission.

What elements are crucial for successful religious transmission? Here are three important elements that the team highlights:

1. Parental warmth is key: Supportive, loving and present (i.e, available and not distracted) parents are crucial to successful transmission. (And “warm” does not mean “soft” or overly tolerant) This is not directly related to religious issues. Rather, warm parenting in general is, on its own, important for religious transmission. That's what makes it so powerful. The percentage of successful transmission decreases when parents are pressured to be less attentive because of financial difficulty, marital strife or illness. These are not always in our control. But it speaks to how diligent we need to be even during our most challenging times. 
2. Role modeling, actual practice, is of great significance. Children internalize what they see their parents doing. The obvious corollary: hypocrisy is a big turn off for kids. 
3. Striking the balance - too much parental pressure backfires; too little does not communicate the value or behavior. It is not easy to strike the balance but parents must be careful to watch for signs of either extreme. 

So what does this mean for us?

For me, as an educator, this study highlights the importance of school and family working together as we strive for religious growth for our children. Both school and family are dedicated to transmitting the values of a rich Jewish life to our children. We have shared aspirations for our kids. And the three key elements mentioned above are as crucial for teachers and administrators as they are for parents. For me, this points in the direction of increased partnership, of shared strategy and dialogue between home and school around the issue of religious transmission.

But we don’t talk to each other nearly enough about the successes and the real challenges of transmission. We talk about teachers and grades and curriculum. We talk about college and yeshivot in Israel. We talk about our new tefilah program or the new Beit Midrash curriculum. And all these are important parts of the puzzle. But we don’t yet talk to each other in a deep and trusting way, sharing our strategies, challenges and hesitations of religious transmission. Sometimes, a teacher or administrator in a school (any school) will say, “if the child’s parents would only….” No less often, parents might say “I wish the school would…”

Let’s take tefilah as an example. In school, we have our structures: we try our different minyanim, we teach the meaning of tefillot. We gather for hallel and we encourage students to daven three times a day. And parents have structures of meaning too: parents walk to shul with their children, daven with them, some remind their children to daven on the weekend, some push their children to go to minyan. This is something that is important, in a wide variety of ways to many of us.

But we have no opportunity to talk about it. To learn from each other. To build together.

Here’s what I think we should try: we should structure a dialogue, a “slightly-less-grand conversation” where small groups of parents and staff meet to talk to each other about tefilah. I imagine 10-15 people around a table in someone’s home, reading a shared text as a springboard to conversation about tefilah. And we talk. How do WE engage tefilah? What is OUR practice? What are OUR beliefs and hesitations? How many times a Shabbat do we go to shul? What do we expect of our children? How has that shaped the ways that we interact with our kids, as parents and teachers, around tefilah? How much do we push our kids to daven? Do we think it is their decision as to how to engage or ours to teach them how to engage?

There would be much to discuss. I suspect there would be enough to keep us going for a lifetime. It is something that goes to the heart of our Jewish beings. And we are so accustomed to attending classes and learning texts, of going to shiurim and listening to the rabbi, that we do not have opportunity to talk to each other, draw strength from each other, lean on each other, complement each other and develop a stronger shared mission and strategy to best achieve, as a community, the religious transmission that we strive to build.

Our intuition, I think, tells us this: when we work together, when we problem solve together, when we talk, we are that much stronger. What I am suggesting: I propose the idea of “communities of dialogue”, small groups to talk about both theory and practice, adults and children, texts and contexts, about tefilah and about other issues of religious transmission. I think it will make us stronger.

What do you think?