It is heartening to know, after reading the perspectives of the creative day school leaders who have challenged us in this issue of Gleanings, that there are many who can act both boldly and thoughtfully to help us envision a future for our day schools that our community and our world so badly need. Among their prescriptions is a renewed commitment to pluralism, embrace of diversity, and leadership driven by curiosity and engaged listening. Yet, they also call us to action in a manner that forces us to embrace our roles as day school leaders and supporters much differently then we have been. Will we heed the call?

In the 15 years since the groundbreaking publication of Visions of Jewish Education by Seymour Fox (z”l), Israel Scheffler (z”l), and Daniel Marom, we have had much opportunity to consider how schools must respond to the rapidly evolving ways in which we define our Jewish identifications and educational engagements. I, and the authors in this issue of Gleanings, argue that to secure the future of Jewish day schools, our visions must be more nuanced and deeper than they have been. In doing so, we have considered alternate models of educated Jews. However, did we forget to begin with our learners and their families? Put another way, have we tended to focus too much on how our programs would prepare our alumni to be leaders within our existing Jewish communities and not focus on asking, “What are the kinds of communities our graduates would like to be a part of and perhaps even create?”

Driven by a focus on a knowledge and skill based curricula, we may have not sufficiently considered how we would engage our students in developmentally appropriate ways so that classroom experiences would be meaningful throughout students’ day school careers.

How well are we listening to our constituencies? Do our conversations as educational leaders reflect the conversations our families want to be having? Questions about, for example, the diversity of our schools—real or perceived—have long been a deciding factor in the non-Orthodox world as parents look to the larger communities in which our students will live. Ben Mann asked us to move beyond our comfort zones, to go beyond our goals of developing perhaps superficial interactions in the larger world, and to begin to examine our own need for communal growth. Does the culture of our schools genuinely reflect the culture of our communities particularly if they include Sephardi or Latino communities? Are we attending to the differing needs of those who have chosen Judaism and those who are still on their journeys toward Judaism?

How well are we listening to ourselves and our own vulnerabilities? Consider these experiences of some senior day school leaders:

An Orthodox rabbi who is a head of school describes his ongoing anxiety when he leads services, growing, he believes, from a sense of having missed out on internalizing much about the liturgy during his childhood when his family arrived at services in time for Aleinu.

An administrator who is a Jew by choice acknowledges that she often feels distant from the community when she encounters texts that describe ancestral lineages that she does not share.

A school head describes the isolation he felt as a single father of an infant both in terms of parenting support from peers and assumptions about why he might be a solo parent.

A self-identified Tunisian Jew, feeling marginalized because the scholarship and liturgy of his community is not central to Jewish educational curricula, says that he is scared that the Jewish world he loves will not exist for his grandchildren.

Including others isn’t just about curriculum, it’s about going deeper. It’s about returning to those leaders—like those just mentioned—who have felt they are at the periphery of the community at different points in their lives. In many ways, DSLTI provides a laboratory for building a kehillah kedoshah among a remarkably diverse group of Jewish educators, a gathering place to examine the impact of all the experiences and anxieties described at the beginning of this piece. The theoretical commitment to pluralism within this one particular program is challenged by the need to move past assumptions that we believe others have about us and to find ways to engage others deeply about belief and practice without offending. Let’s be honest. It is easier to have conversations about vision and marketing and even to deliver difficult messages to staff members or parents than it is to be vulnerable about our deeply held beliefs, to share how we may feel we have been misunderstood within the larger Jewish community. Yet these critical conversations may be the most important ones for us to be having.

If DSLTI were really to be a laboratory for experiences that go to the heart of deep Jewish engagement and truly address a vision of Jewish education that places the whole person at the center, we need to move beyond our comfort zones to address those issues that have left us uncomfortable.

So we tried a bit harder. This past summer our current cohort engaged in dialogue around two central questions:

• What do you wish others understood about your personal Jewish practice, beliefs, or experience?
• What would you love to better understand about Jews whose practice is described as _______?

Our discussions only scratched the surface. I was struck by the relief there was among our group of leaders to share their questions in a place where their voices would be honored. Our schools must follow suit and have these important but frequently uncommon conversations. The magnitude of our impact depends on it.

Will we heed the call? Our promise and challenge for Jewish day schools and their future lies in part in bringing the stories and experiences of those feeling uncertain and on the margin to the center, even in denominational contexts that on the surface appear more homogeneous.

We must start by looking closely at ourselves and examining how we can move past our assumptions and oversights about race and culture and practice to genuine curiosity about the stories and vulnerabilities of others in the Jewish community.

We must start by becoming dedicated professional learning communities that explore across disciplines and methodologies and connect to our communities. We must start by moving beyond tefillah practice to mindful tefillah, from design thinking for makerspaces to design thinking for envisioning our Jewish communities.

We must start, as Michael Kay writes, by becoming places of radical menschlichkeit, moving from fear of loss to excitement about honoring the diversity of voices and experiences that could help us thrive for generations to come. Let us heed the call.

Dr. Ray Levi is the director of the Day School Leadership Training Institute at The Davidson School.

The juxtaposition could not be more jarring—or more instructive. Yom Kippur’s Torah reading (as opposed to the ones on Rosh Hashanah that offer vivid insights into the lives of our ancestors) is all about the how and the what and the when of ritual. That it’s a bull for the purification sacrifice and a ram for the burnt offering; that Aaron is dressed in linen and that he’s to bathe himself before dressing—these and so many other instructions serve as a biblical how-to guide.

The haftarah following these very specific directives is Isaiah’s extraordinary (even for a prophet) exhortation to the people, not so much on what to do as how to live. True, there are those commanding pleas to untie the cords of the yoke—to let the oppressed go free, share your bread with the hungry, etc. But while these and all the other searing petitions for changing one’s behavior do invoke specific images and call for particular action, they collectively are asking to go beyond the what and the how and the when—again, the ritual—to make a case for ethical living, the quintessential “how” question.

In case the comparison is too subtle, Isaiah lays it out pretty explicitly: “Is such a fast I desire, a day for people to starve their bodies?” In other words, is the ritual of fasting what is really being asked of you?

“No, this is the fast I desire: to unlock the fetters of wickedness . . . to break off every yoke . . . to take the wretched poor into your home.”

Ritual and the clarity of moral behavior. What we do and why we do it. Our Sages brilliantly coupled these two readings to provide us with a balanced perspective, to teach us that we do indeed need both. One without the other—either one without the other—rings hollow. Heads of school and others in leadership positions recognize that our jobs are comprised of both—the “ritual” of balanced budgets and bureaucratic efficiencies and the legal dictates of hiring and dismissing practices; and the “ethical” imperatives of our positions—the less quantifiable, equally essential role of mentor and role model. Of teacher.

In keeping with all fine-line realities, this should not be misconstrued to imply that morality cannot be found in a balanced budget or in an efficiently run institution. Balancing all those interminable figures by means of an intentional process of weighing true needs against just-as-true needs provides a lesson in morality just as clear and just as profound as the one found in the Tanakh class in which the lessons are overt and explicit.

Decisions, decisions. To posit that both are essential is not only obvious, it’s a philosophical cop-out. Yes, our jobs and the schools in which we exercise our craft demand the “ritual” of spreadsheets and reports and best professional practices. To say otherwise would be absurd. Yet sometimes, in certain contexts, making a determination is an act of moral clarity in and of itself. In that light, and with no disparagement meant to the ritual of our jobs, it’s the other side of the ledger that’s paramount. Even if it’s a 51-49 point difference (irony department: quantifying the relative significance of that which can’t be quantified), the “how” supersedes the “what” if we’re to remain true to our collective mission and vision.

A case in point: allocating resources for inclusion—special training, smaller student/teacher ratios, additional specialists—is often criticized as an example of woefully poor administrative judgment—simply too many dollars aiding too few students. Choosing to see budgets as a zero-sum truism may be ritualistically prudent and accepting the conventional paradigm (“It’s just too expensive.”) may pay homage to bureaucratic expedience, but it’s decidedly not in keeping with a prophetic heritage. DSLTI is rightly fond of describing the head of school as the “keeper of the Jewish mission” and the “educational visionary.” Allegiance to that mission and that vision is exemplified by replacing the old axiom (“too expensive”) with a new one (“It’s worth it. Let’s figure out how to pay for it.”)

I’m leery of the comparison (at least it’s not another Heads-are-like-Moshe allusion), but if Isaiah doesn’t do it for you, there’s another primary source that’s a close second—Aaron Sorkin. At the end of The American President, Andrew Shepherd (Michael Douglas) responds to a question about his political rival’s characterization of him: “For the last couple of months, Senator Rumson has suggested that being president of this country was, to a certain extent, about character . . . I have been here three years and three days, and I can tell you without hesitation: being president of this country is entirely about character.”

Again, a caveat: trains running on time is not only not unimportant—it really is essential. (Along with carrying a rather tarnished pedigree, the metaphor of Mussolini’s efficient trains is most likely a fiction, which may suggest its own moral.) Very few of those Big Ticket (aka the truly important) items will ever see the light of day if not for smooth and competent management. Just as the kevah of ritual allows for the kavanah of purpose, the management of our schools paves the way for the development of enthusiastically engaged, proudly knowledgeable Jews. But if we’re to “err” ever so slightly in one direction over the other; if we’re to put a drop more of our attention and energy and mindfulness in one of those glasses, I’ll side with Isaiah. Or at least Michael Douglas.

Jerry Isaak-Shapiro is a graduate of the Mandel Jerusalem Fellows and has served as head of school of the Agnon School (renamed in 2015 as Joseph & Florence Mandel Jewish Day School) since 2003. Jerry has been a mentor in RAVSAK’s Sulam leadership program and continues to serve as a mentor in DSLTI. For 10 years he was the executive producer and host/moderator of A Jewish Perspective, seen on San Francisco’s NBC-affiliate channel four, and was the San Francisco Jewish community’s Middle East specialist for six years.

White supremacists and neo-Nazis marched this summer through the streets of Charlottesville, Virginia. They ostensibly protested the removal of a monument honoring a Confederate general, yet their chants of “Jews will not replace us” suggested a broader agenda of hate. What will we, as Jewish educators, tell our students about such public expressions of racism mixed with anti-Semitism? What impact should such terrifying expressions of hate have specifically on us, on our educational and religious aspirations, and on our Jewish day school communities and our students? 

As a day school leader at the Solomon Schechter School of Manhattan, I am compelled to respond to these events by creating learning communities and experiences that will prepare my students to be successful in a racially and ethnically diverse world. I hope to empower them to be positive agents for change that will help lead us toward a more just society. To do that, my colleagues and I need to help our students see beyond public displays of hate by avowed white supremacists to more easily ignored systems that perpetuate racism. We need to start with our own predominantly White, Ashkenazi school community, where a “colorblind” approach to education risks perpetuating false assumptions about American and Jewish culture and history—such as the implicit and explicit message that being White is the norm against which individual and ethnic value is measured. 

We must start talking about race. We should ask ourselves: 

• What do we hope our students will understand about their racial identities? 
• What do we want them to think and feel about racism when they encounter it? 
• Why doesn’t our school community reflect the racial diversity of the larger Jewish community of New York City?
• How does what we do at school offer them the opportunity to explore these questions? 

Our Jewish values compel us to talk about race. We believe that all human beings are created in the image of God (b’tzelem Elohim) and, as such, deserve to be treated with care and respect. This value calls on us to bring our biases to the surface and see past cultural blinders to the holiness within each human being. We also believe in klal Yisrael, maintaining positive and supportive relationships with Jews of all sorts. The Jewish community is racially diverse. According to the American Jewish Population Project of the Steinhardt Social Research at Brandeis University, at least 11 percent of Jews in the United States are people of color. Our commitment to klal Yisrael compels us to create Jewish communities where all of us are welcomed, seen, and valued. 

At Schechter Manhattan, we are taking steps to examine our racial knowledge, increase our inclusiveness, and implement efforts to be an anti-racist institution. We have partnered with Be’chol Lashon—an organization that provides opportunities for Jewish professionals to actively engage in conversations about race, ethnicity, and identity in the context of Jews as a multicultural people in America—to help us plan professional development workshops for our teachers so that they can: 

• Think about their own racial identities; 
• Analyze the politics of race in America;
• Raise awareness of race in a Jewish context; and 
• Create an environment of inquiry and openness to talk and encourage discussions about race and its impact on individuals and the community. 

Our hope is to open up avenues for Schechter Manhattan teachers to think critically about our curricular and instructional decisions through the lens of what we hope our students will understand about race. 

I want Schechter Manhattan to be an anti-racist Jewish day school, one in which students and faculty have opportunities to consider their racial identity, where the racial diversity of the Jewish community is reflected and valued, and where graduates have the knowledge, skills, and dispositions to be successful in a racially diverse world and to be positive agents of change toward a more just society. 

Our racial awareness work is also happening among our parents. Last year a group of parents stepped forward to lead a Conversations About Race Committee to discuss how they talk with their children about race in their lives. At one event, parents shared personal stories of how they talked about race growing up, in their family and community contexts, and then considered ways they can talk to their own children about race and racism. The dialogue brought both sadness and frustration, as well as a commitment to growth in racial awareness. The committee continues to disseminate useful information to Schechter Manhattan parents and plans to have more opportunities for parents to learn together. 

Certainly, racial awareness is but one of many intersecting aspects of our students’ lives. This specific work must be integrated within our broader mission to nurture young people with strongly grounded Jewish identities. But it is our aspiration to inculcate Jewish values and inspire our students to make Jewish commitments that makes teaching them about race and racism so important. We should be leading toward anti-racist Jewish day school communities because it is an expression of our Jewish obligations to care for others and pursue justice.

When anti-Semitic hatred is spread by white supremacists, I am reminded of how important those obligations are. Let’s use this critical moment in time to compel us to make our day schools more race conscious so we can root out racism wherever it exists. 

Benjamin Mann is the head of school of the Solomon Schechter School of Manhattan. For nine years, Ben worked as the head of middle school and Jewish studies coordinator at Schechter Manhattan. Prior to that he taught humash and served as middle school coordinator of special services and Judaic studies curriculum at the Solomon Schechter Day School of Bergen County. Ben is currently pursuing doctoral studies at The Davidson School and is a DSLTI alum.

Let us be honest with ourselves. Non-Orthodox Jewish day schools in the United States are at risk of becoming dinosaurs. Many Jews consider us parochial, insular, and as particularistic institutions in an increasingly universalistic world. Even as there is a rise in explicitly expressed anti-Semitism across this nation, the spirit of the communities in which many of us reside is still characterized by diversity, integration, universalism, and freedom. As a result, many Jews in these communities do not perceive Jewish day schools as reflecting these ideals.

The seismic shifts in both my home community and on the national level are telling: the number of Jewish preschools and non-Orthodox synagogues in greater Boston has decreased dramatically in the last few years, while formerly separate day school networks have combined to form one national organization. Moreover, the cost of private education continues to present an insurmountable challenge for many families. The National Association of Independent Schools’ data offers clear evidence that the number of families attending private schools has declined sharply as fewer in the middle class can afford it.

With interest and enrollment shrinking, day schools are in the precarious position of being at the nexus of two waning endeavors: the commitment to traditional Jewish institutions and the ability to pay for private schools. As things stand, there is more and more pressure on day schools to prove their raison-d’être. And yet, from my vantage point, non-Orthodox Jewish day schools remain a critical part of the Jewish fabric of our communities, and therefore I argue here that we must remain committed to this sacred work.

We must ask complex questions: Why are we here? What are we trying to accomplish? What can (and what do) we offer our children that is different from the schools around us? How do we prepare our children for an increasingly diverse, rapidly changing world? I believe the responsibility to respond thoughtfully, intentionally, strategically, and sustainably to these questions is shared by both day schools and the broader Jewish communities they serve.

In regards to purpose and presence, research has already shown that future lay and professional leaders of the Jewish community are far more likely to come from day schools. Our collective future thus demands strong Jewish days schools. Moreover, those who currently work for the Jewish community need—and deserve—a top-notch school for their own children.

To state the obvious: Jewish day schools need to continue to be academically excellent in order to prepare our children for the world they will enter, and we must promote this excellence as a core rationale to prospective families.

We must embrace and institute educational programs that reflect current advances from general education. We need to read, research, and respond to the most cutting-edge ideas and practices in the classroom. For us, this means teaching engineering and robotics as part of our expanded and integrated STEAM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Arts, and Math) program, and incorporating instructional strategies that serve the increasingly diverse academic needs of our student body.

Academic excellence is critical, but it is not sufficient. We hold as our sacred missions the development of our children’s spiritual and emotional growth, alongside their intellectual development. For example, at Boston’s Jewish Community Day School (JCDS), we are one of three Jewish day schools in the country currently engaged in a pilot partnership with the Institute for Jewish Spirituality in which we are bringing mindfulness practices to our students, faculty, and staff. We have also created a comprehensive framework for teaching the Habits of Heart and Mind that enable our students to develop a strong sense of individual identity and the know-how to contribute to our pluralistic community with integrity, empathy, and humility.

Jewish day schools should also work to broaden the community of Jewish people we welcome into our buildings and at the same time engage more authentically with the world beyond our walls. As a former executive coach once shared with me, “We need to figure out how to be more like Netflix and less like Blockbuster.” We need to courageously adapt to, and innovate within, a shifting Jewish landscape, or we will be out of business.

At JCDS, we think proactively about how to be a welcoming space for the richly diverse Jewish population of greater Boston. We have made a concerted effort to be a school for families, including interfaith families, who share a commitment to raising Jewish children. We count ourselves fortunate to have families that represent a diverse range of Jewish ritual practice, observance, and beliefs, as well as ethnicity, socioeconomic status, race, and family structure.

If we are living up to our highest purpose as Jewish day schools, broadening our tent is a start, but it’s not enough. We must explicitly teach our children how to engage with difference. A presence of diversity in schools does not actually mean that children are interacting with those different from themselves. At our intentionally pluralistic school, we prioritize teaching our children how to accept and to engage with people different from themselves. We explicitly and repeatedly offer our students the opportunities to develop the requisite skills, capacities, and inclinations to accomplish this. Once acquired, JCDS students have these skills for a lifetime. Thus, as our children grow, they are able to apply what they have navigated in the particular to the context of the universal.

There is much that we as Jewish day schools can do to remain relevant, fulfill our missions, and enact our values. And yet, despite our best efforts, we do not have the necessary financial resources to accomplish our goals. A community-wide response is needed. Schools, particularly small schools, cannot bear this responsibility alone. Many current parents at JCDS, for example, are already struggling to make tuition payments and are unlikely to give large gifts to the school’s annual fund.

I am concerned these issues will only worsen without serious investment from the broader community who can contribute meaningful resources to the schools that shape our children’s futures. There is great urgency to this now. If wealthy benefactors and thought leaders within a community care about the caliber of future Jewish leaders, if they seek to attract compelling Jewish communal professionals, and if they wish to create a vibrant, engaged and sustainable Jewish community, then they should be supporting their local day school and the national programs that support them, regardless of whether their own children or grandchildren attend.

I am hopeful that our future is bright and therefore remain as committed to this sacred work as ever. I feel confident that we will discover new, creative ways to use the current challenges as an opportunity to strengthen our institutions and communities, for our children. I can’t wait to see where we go.

Dr. Susie Tanchel is head of school at Boston’s Jewish Community Day School and a DSLTI alum. Dr. Tanchel holds a BA and PhD from Brandeis University. She has taught in pre-service teacher education programs, as well as many adult education classes in the greater Boston area.