Poetry Pedagogy: On Discovering Poetry in Our World and Traditions

By: Mr. Hillel Broder, English Faculty 

What makes a poem a poem? Must a poem have a rhyme scheme, follow a poetic tradition, or contain a particular poetic technique? Must it be written by an author whose intention is that it be read as poetry?

Teaching both the writing and reading of poetry is no easy task: too often, students assume that a poem must rhyme, possess a certain form or shape, contain parallelism or metaphor, or present as enigmatic or riddling in its meaning. No wonder that the study and creation of poetry are both perceived from the outside as arcane tasks or obscure pursuits.

In teaching poetry, then, I begin with the opposite assumption: poetry is not a lofty or obscure art form that is only achieved by the most eclectic or romantic. Just the opposite, in fact—poetry is the very music that underlies all language; it is the confluence of cadence, coinage, and sheer surprise that we find in pop songs and sonnets alike.

To start, I ask students to find poetry in everyday, mundane, and “low brow” language. They might find a startling, alliterative phrase in a news report headline, magazine ad, or television show title. They might locate an isolated but embedded rhetorical flourish that moves, entertains, or inspires within a sea of facts, technicalities, or clichés.

None of this is new in the history of poetry, in particular, and in the arts, in general. Building poetry from the language all around us is akin to the work of the museum curator and collage artist. And discovering poetry underlying certain linguistic expression takes a certain confidence—it is to read the world and all of its “Stop!” signs—with a certain poetic lens. The Russian Formalists described this essential literariness underlying poetry as that which defamiliarizes the familiar—that which makes the familiar, new.

In our world of verbal expression, popular songs and avant-garde poetry alike have been crafted out of new constellations of found and collaged language—on a personal note, my grandmother’s cousin, Robert Feldman, jotted down the hit single “My Boyfriend’s Back” on a bar napkin after overhearing that song’s chorus shrieked overhead. And of course, T.S. Eliot’s modernist poetry is built on a tradition of allusion, as much as John Ashberry’s Tennis Court Oath and Hart Seely’s Existential Poetry of Donald Rumsfeld draw on the language of popular media and politicians, respectively, in a tradition of satirical form.

This is not to say that poetry is solely an attempt to build upon a consolidated literary canon, or an ironic political jab. Nor is it solely a recreational form—a leisurely activity of recollecting experience in tranquility as Wordsworth might have it, or an expressive means for the obfuscating riddler and wit.

On the contrary: As engaged Jews, our students appreciate the complex historical engagement with the immediacy of our verse, as a language of the soul at its most immediate and most pressed —in the cries of David in Psalms and the laments of Ecclesiastes, we derive the very prayers that we harness when most fragmented and broken. In more modern terms, the fragmented rhythms of Paul Celan’s “Deathfugue” in Auschwitz, and in contemporary terms, the simply arranged lists of names in Billy Collins’s 9/11 commemoration “Names” speak directly to loss, to the experience of shattered selves and stories. If anything—and against the infamous pronouncement of Theodor Adorno to the contrary—there might only be poetry after Auschwitz, as poetry doesn’t demand that we impose meaning, form, or narrative.

Our challenge, as students and teachers familiar with Jewish texts, might mean making these comfortable works strange to us—so that we might hear their poetry anew. Instead of reading through the usually paragraphed Siddur or abstracting the Bible’s narrative arcs and moral principles, how might our students hear and speak the rhythms, the strikingly spun repetitions, and the shocking language in these traditional texts? How might they hear the song underlying the Bible, and the music in our Siddur? They might start, as I have suggested above, by collaging, translating, and elaborating upon the striking phrases in Psalms in the form of a found poem, thereby generating their own prayerful intentions (kavanot)—and prayers—within the bounds of the tradition. Later, they might find the unfamiliar and strange—or the familiar and moving—poetry in the language of the Siddur itself through a mindfully versified recitation.

These are some of the exercises that I envision in the Jewish humanities and arts: students rendering their own translations of the Siddur and building their own personalization of the siddur through translation work of liturgy into poetry. And in a similar vein, these are some of the questions that I encourage aspiring performance poets to consider in writing religious poetry for a Sermon Slam: How might they discover their tradition’s spoken rhythms and rhetorical forms when crafting their own verses of exaltation and lamentation?

In so doing, we might reorient our relationship with the Bible and Siddur, and thereby reorient our own selves. For our traditional texts stand as a reorienting mirror, reminding us of our sometimes unfamiliar potential within.

A Season for Questions

By: Rabbi Kenneth Birnbaum, Performing Arts Department Chair 

It’s Monday evening, cold and dark during these winter months. Yet, as most of the school community boards their buses and carpools for the commute home, there is a group of seniors who are just beginning their SAR day. This group of seniors, all survivors of the Holocaust, are members of SAR High School’s inaugural Witness Theater program.

Witness Theater, a program conceived of by Irit and Ezra Dagan in collaboration with JDC-Eshel in Israel and currently run in the US in conjunction with the UJA and Selfhelp, pairs Holocaust survivors with high school juniors and seniors in a therapeutic and collaborative environment. Working with social workers, a drama therapist, and a drama director, the Holocaust survivors share their rich and often horrific experiences with the students and collaborate with them to create a dramatic presentation that reflects each of their unique stories and experiences.

The Torah commands us: שְׁאַל אָבִיךָ וְיַגֵּדְךָ זְקֵנֶיךָ וְיֹאמְרוּ לָךְ: “Ask your father, and he will teach you; your elders, and they will inform you.” In this season of asking questions, just following the Passover holiday, we are commanded to ask questions of those who came before us. And yet, what are we supposed to do when we know the questions have no answers and the conversations are too painful?

Each week since the start of the year, our group of students work with the survivors to revisit their painful memories. All at once, the kids are transported back to Heidelberg at a Nazi youth rally, on the death march from Auschwitz, or imprisoned in Theresienstadt. We experience each of these events through the lens of an eyewitness who relives and sculpts the scene before our very eyes. We are introduced to beloved parents, siblings, and friends, many of whom were killed long before our students were born. We discover emotions we never knew we had nor had the desire to feel. Guided by drama therapist, Jessica Asch and our drama director, Dorit Katzenelenbogen, we ask probing questions. What was your father’s posture like during the selection? What did it feel like to wear a yellow star? How did you hug your parents goodbye when you were separated for the final time? We ask challenging questions, and we do our best to hold on to uncomfortable, incomprehensible answers. The survivors are supported by the wonderful social workers of Selfhelp, Roni Miller and Mikhaila Goldman. The group of survivors, students, and staff support and nurture each other through this process, a journey of self reflection, history, pain, tears, and joy.

The survivors ask questions as well. Is it fair to burden the next generation with our stories? How can we share our nightmares, the horrors of the past, with these beautiful children? On these cold winter nights, both students and survivors bask in the warmth and mutual strength provided by the conversation between the generations. Students look to the survivors who provide meaning and perspective. Survivors look to the students who provide hope for the future and proof that Hitler did not complete his task.

After dinner and casual conversation, we jump into the process of reimagining the past. There are warm ups. A favorite - placing an empty box in the middle of the circle as we name and symbolically place our stresses or concerns into the box in an effort to unburden ourselves. In the beginning of the process, this would lead us into taking the detailed testimony of each of the survivors in the group. Later, this becomes the space where we reenact the events of the past based on a script culled from the testimony of the survivors. 

We are currently in the process of rehearsing as we prepare for our performances on Yom HaShoah, April 15th for the SAR community and April 16th for the SAR HS students. I have no doubt that the performances will be special - a unique event not to be missed. Tears will be shed, and we will experience the horrors of first hand accounts of the Holocaust, as well as the bittersweet joys of survival. However, that is only the public face of Witness Theater. The private face of Witness Theater, the weekly meetings, is what truly makes the program special: a program where warm food is the appetizer for warm and spirited dialogue. Here is where senior and student converse over the most important questions and the most superficial. We explore the past as we also bond over the present. How are your grandchildren? How was that AP Biology test? At Witness Theater, these questions are no less important. Deep, lifelong friendships are formed. 

Through it all, we’ve learned that the most important question that a younger generation might ask an older one is: How was your week?

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.