Barbie, The Hero's Journey, and the Jewish Calendar

Shabbat Drash - Re'eh - August 11, 2023 - 25 Av 5783

Rabbi Nicki Greninger

(sing)

I went to the doctor.

I went to the mountains.

I looked to the children.

I drank from the fountains.

There’s more than one answer to these questions

Pointing me in a crooked line….

Like everyone else, it seems, I’m on a Barbie high (and can’t stop singing Closer to Fine, by the Indigo Girls, which is sung in the movie). I saw the new Barbie movie with a friend right when it came out, and I saw it again last weekend with my daughter and my dad. I’ll try not to give any spoilers away tonight, but I will say one thing - Go see it!!  There is so much to unpack in the movie, not to mention the fact that the creator of Barbie - Ruth Handler - was a Jewish woman from my hometown of Denver, Colorado.

One of the many feminist moves of the movie is to turn Barbie’s story into a “hero’s journey.” 

Greta Gerwig - the brilliant director and writer - takes a plastic, fake woman and has her go on an adventure: leaving her home, learning important lessons, and ending up transformed by the experience. At the end of the movie - no spoilers! - Barbie is on the precipice of a new beginning.

The opening of this week’s Torah portion reminds me a bit of the Barbie movie, as Moses and the Israelites stand on the precipice of the Promised Land, and Moses says to the people, on behalf of God: “Re’eh!” “See! This day I set before you blessing and curse.”  In other words, you are about to enter a new land, a new moment in the history of this people, and you have a choice about how you want to act. 

In this messy and complicated world, will you choose to act in ways that lead to blessing? Or to curses?

Right now we are at a liminal moment in the Jewish calendar, a moment that relates to both Barbie and this Torah portion. Two and a half weeks ago was Tisha B’av - the saddest day on the Jewish calendar, a day when we leaned into despair, and we mourned for all the destruction in the world and the harm caused to the Jewish people. We sank into the pit. 

But instead of staying in that dark place, we began to move out of it. You can’t stay flat on your face forever. 

There are seven weeks between Tisha B’av and Rosh Hashanah, and those weeks are called the 7 Weeks of Consolation.  We are in those 7 weeks of Consolation right now. We do not stay in the place of pain and desolation and despair, even though we may want to. Yes, we look around the world and notice what a mess it has been, what an absolute mess it is in our time, too. (As Barbie discovers!) But in the cycle of Jewish time, we don’t stay in that emotional state for long. 

After despair in the Jewish calendar comes comfort, consolation.  

Sometimes we can pick ourselves up from that place of despair without help. But most of the time, we can’t do it alone.  We need help.

In Jewish tradition, there are prophetic readings for the 7 weeks after Tisha B’av, including Isaiah chapter 40, when God calls out to us, “Nachamu! Nachamu ami! Be comforted! Be comforted, my People!” God is here to comfort us.

And because sometimes we aren’t sure if we believe in God. Or we aren’t sure about our relationship with God, we may encounter the Divine through our relationships with other people… and so, sometimes comfort comes from other people. 

Let’s do a short thought experiment. Close your eyes and think of a time when you were really in a dark time in your life.  Not a time of clinical depression, but just … a rough time in your life. What gave you comfort? Who gave you comfort? Who reached out their hand and helped walk you through that difficult time? Who helped you feel loved?  Who (or what) helped you leave despair behind? (Open your eyes)

We are in the 7 weeks of consolation - of comfort - right now, so it is the perfect time to seek out comfort. Sometimes we seek comfort in prayer, in moments of spirituality, connection to God. Sometimes we find comfort in nature, in music, in art, in a good book. In the loving embrace of a family member or friend. 

But comfort isn’t just about feeling better, or feeling good. Comfort helps us move out of the place of darkness and despair, and move toward hope. Move toward action. 

Next week we begin the Hebrew month of Elul, which is the month that leads us to Rosh Hashanah. It is customary in the month of Elul for Jews to go through a process of introspection.  To look at our lives and ask hard questions: 

Who am I? 

How have I acted in the world in the last year? 

Who do I want to be? 

How can I change 

so that I can become the person I really, truly want to be? 

The person I know deep down I CAN be? 

That is the hard work of Elul. 

The work that begins where comfort ends. 

Because that work is deeply uncomfortable. 

It is challenging. 

It asks us to change ourselves, 

and in doing so, to change the world. 

This, friends, is the hero’s journey.  

Like Barbie - and so many others in film and literature who go on a hero’s journey - we too are on a hero’s journey. But we don’t go on this journey alone, and we don’t go on this journey once in our lives.  We go on this journey every single year, as a Jewish community.  We move out of the place of comfort to a place of learning and growth and change. A place of transformation.

The image you see looks like a circle, and you might think that the “hero” ends in the place they began. But in reality, the hero’s journey is more of a spiral. 

The hero is not the same person at the end of the journey. They have been transformed, and they are ready to begin a new adventure, a new journey. 

As we sing each year at Rosh Hashanah, (sing) “Return again, return again, return to the land of your soul.”

As we look ahead to Elul next week, and Rosh Hashanah just a month after that, it is time to start asking ourselves:

What will we work on this year? 

Dismantling patriarchy? 

Advancing feminism? 

Fighting for democracy in Israel? 

Working toward racial justice?  

Reproductive freedom?

Reducing global warming?

There is so much pain in the world. 

So much that is broken. 

It is frighteningly easy to fall into despair. 

This Shabbat, 

and in these weeks of consolation, 

let us seek comfort.  

Let us not stay flat on our faces.  

Oh God, help us know we are not alone. Help us seek comfort in You, in one another, in a community of those who share our values. And then, like Barbie, may we be moved to change ourselves, so we can then change the world.

(Cantor Korn leads "Nachamu Nachamu" by Elana Arian)

"Rabbi, I have to admit, I'm not 'religious.'"

In my role as educator, I often meet with people who are thinking about joining my synagogue, Temple Isaiah.  Perhaps they have kids and are thinking about starting JQuest. Or they have been coming to Tot Shabbat and want to learn more about Temple Isaiah membership.  Whatever their story, there is one theme that comes up again and again in those meetings with prospective members: “Rabbi, I have to admit, I’m not religious.”  

With trepidation, with guilt, with embarrassment, and sometimes a whole variety of other emotions I can’t quite pinpoint, they say to me: “I’m not religious.”  People want me to know that while they may be interested in joining Temple Isaiah, I should not mistake them for “religious.” 

 

But what does that mean? 

 

And so, I ask, kindly and with a smile.  “When you say you’re ‘not religious,’ can you help me understand what you mean by that?”  I’ve asked a version of that question over and over, and these are some of the answers I hear:

 

“I’m more of a ‘cultural Jew.’”

 

“I’m not sure, I just don’t think I’m very religious.”

 

“I want my children to learn the [Jewish] traditions, but…”

 

“I’m a very open-minded person.”

 

Frequently, people don’t really know how to articulate what they mean by “not religious,” so I try to give them some language, some possibilities for what they mean.

 

“Perhaps it means you don’t like going to services?”  “You’re not as interested in the ‘God’ part of Judaism?”  “You’re not sure you believe in God?” “You don’t consider yourself ritually observant?”

 

I think sometimes what they’re saying (underneath it all) is, “Rabbi, I am Jewish and I want to be connected to Jewish community.  I want to understand what it means to be Jewish and I want my kids to develop Jewish identities.  But I am nervous about joining a synagogue.  I don’t want to seem too ‘religious,’ or be seen as a ‘religious’ person.’”

 

The same is true for adults (without kids, or with grown kids) who are seeking Jewish community and/or learning.  Sometimes there is trepidation, as they don't want to seem - or be seen as - “too religious.”  But they do want to learn, connect, grow.

 

Does this resonate for you?  Do you feel this way? 

 

The problem here stems from a question of what Judaism is. Is Judaism a religion?  Well, yes, but … it’s also a people, a nation, a culture, a tradition, a family.  Judaism has been called a “race” (in Nazi Germany); it’s been called a “civilization” (by Mordechai Kaplan); my teacher Rabbi Larry Hoffman calls Judaism a “conversation” - i.e. to be Jewish is to be part of the Jewish Conversation that has been taking place for thousands of years. 

 

Further problems come from connotations of the word “religious.”  We live in a time and place where sometimes people associate “religious” with “close-minded” or “extremist” or “un-enlightened.”  

 

So people come to me saying - I am open-minded, I am tolerant, I am educated, I am enlightened.  I am also Jewish, and I am trying to find a way to be part of Jewish community and embrace Judaism in a way that feels comfortable for me and my family.

 

The question I’ve been asking myself is, “What does this mean for Jewish education?”  How can we make it easier for people to access Jewish learning, without trepidation about the term “religious”? 

 

We changed the name of our youth education program from “religious school” to “JQuest” intentionally.  (See http://rabbigreninger.blogspot.com/2015/09/why-jquest-instead-of-religious-school.html for more about that change) How else could we make it easier for people to feel comfortable and confident approaching me (or any rabbi / cantor / Jewish educator) looking to deepen their Jewish connections?  Is this an issue of PR / marketing, assuring people that they don’t have to see themselves as “religious” to find meaning and depth and connection in Judaism and Jewish learning?  Or is it a matter of education first and foremost - helping people learn more about Judaism, and in so doing, realize that the term “religious” is inadequate after all? 

 

If you have thoughts about any of this, please send them my way. I’d love to hear from you.  Or, if you know someone thinking about Jewish learning but do not see themselves as “religious,” please send them this article to let them know they’re not alone!

Helpful Articles about Current Events in Israel

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How an American Left Lens Can Get Israel Wrong

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Regardless of our politics, we must agree that these two people desperately need to achieve a peaceful coexistence. For those who care about human dignity, about peace, and about truth, there is a role for us to play in supporting those who actually live here and are working to build a better future for both people."

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What I Learned about Tefillah Education During a Pandemic

In the last year, Jewish educators have worked hard to transform Jewish learning into something manageable and soul-lifting in these uncertain and challenging times.  We have tried to look for ways to adapt in-person learning to online learning, to engage students, and to develop meaningful relationships.  I am by nature an optimist, and I try to find the good in people and situations.  I’m a big believer in silver linings, and we have definitely discovered some “covid keepers” - changes from this year that we’ll keep even when the pandemic is over.  

But during the pandemic I have also learned something critical: there is absolutely no substitute for in-person tefillah (prayer), especially for kids who are learning how to pray.  

Praying is hard.  Learning to pray is hard.  It’s even harder when it’s in a foreign language (Hebrew) and has set prayers to learn (liturgy).  But learning to pray is not only possible, but can be an exciting part of Jewish education in “normal” times. There is something almost-magical that happens when you’re in a room full of children praying - you hear their voices soar, and you can feel their spirits lift.  As a prayer leader, you know when they are singing along, and you know when you’ve lost them.  You can pivot in the moment because you are getting feedback about the experience - do they need me to slow down? Speed up? Change the melody?  Prayer is a dance, a give-and-take between us and God, and between the shaliach tzibbur (prayer leader) and the pray-ers.  

But so much of that is lost - or impossible - online.

It is hard to pray when you can only hear your own voice.  You feel awkward, self-conscious.  If you don’t know the words that well, it’s uncomfortable to hear yourself mumble along.  When we pray together in person, your voice is subsumed among other voices, and it’s more comfortable to join in, even if you don’t know the prayers very well. You can sing along to a few syllables here and there, eventually more words, and eventually all of it.  You look up to students who are older, who know the words better, who know what to do.  You hear the sounds of people all around you - younger and older, kids and teachers, different voices, different styles.  You can find your place in the sound.  But none of that can happen online.

And so we do our best with tefillah-on-zoom.  We have done our best for a year.  But when this pandemic is over, and we can get back to in-person tefillah (whether outdoors or indoors), we can get back to tefillah education in the way it’s meant to be done - in a group, with people all around you, filling up your spirit, and hearing your voice join others in prayer.

Singing Hashkiveinu with arms around each other

Masks, Zoom Boxes, and What we Reveal about Ourselves: Parashat Vayigash

 It’s 2020 and you want to see someone important in your life, someone whom you do not live with.  Maybe it’s your friend.  Or your child.  Your grandchild.  Your sibling.   If they live far away, there is really only one option - you can see them on a computer.  Okay, so, you do have some choices - do you want to Zoom? Or use Skype? Or FaceTime? Google hangouts?  Whichever platform you choose, you’re going to end up looking at your loved one through a box on a screen.

Let’s say that person lives nearby and it’s during the months when we were not under a complete stay-at-home order.  You decide you want to see them.  How do you do it?  Hopefully, if following safety protocols, you’ll see them outside, distanced, and masked.  

MASKED?  Let’s stop for a minute to think about that word and what it means.  Pre-covid, we used the word “masked” to refer to someone who wants to hide their identity.  To obscure who they are. They literally or metaphorically ‘mask’ themselves.  

And now, we all have masks.  We are all literally wearing masks.  Let's see them!  Go get your mask and put it on for a minute.  

(wait while people get their masks, put them on)

Take a minute and look through all the zoom boxes.  Try to see which faces you recognize and which ones you don’t.  It’s not really fair since we have our names visible on zoom, but if we got rid of all the names, which faces would you recognize?  And which ones would you not know, because they are masked?

Leave them on for a moment.  In this week’s Torah portion, Vayigash, Joseph reveals himself to his brothers.  It’s a dramatic scene (read Gen 45:1-15).

Joseph was not wearing a literal mask, but he was “masked,” metaphorically.  He had assumed an Egyptian identity - Egyptian clothes, hairstyle, even language - so they did not recognize him.  Until he unmasked himself.  He sent the translator out of the room, presumably switching back into his native language of Hebrew.  He tells his brothers who he really is.  He takes off his “mask.”  And everyone weeps.

This is the last Shabbat of 2020, the year of being masked.  So what will happen when, someday, we unmask?  What will be revealed?

Take one last look at everyone in masks.  Now, everyone, take off your masks.  

I’ve heard of someone who prefers to use the word “face covering” to “mask”, because when we cover our faces for safety during this Covid-era, our intention is not to “mask” our identity.  Our intention is just to cover our face to stay safe.  But in covering our faces - with face coverings - we do inadvertently “mask ourselves” sometimes.  It is harder to tell who someone is when they’re wearing a mask.  It is harder to read emotion when we can’t see the lower half of someone’s face.  Yes, we can see the “smize” - the smile with one’s eyes - but still - it’s much harder to have a sense of another person’s feelings while they are covering their face.

The challenges of what’s hidden and what’s revealed are not only related to wearing face coverings, but it’s also an issue on zoom.  We know which parts of our space will be seen on screen, so we make decisions about what will show and what won’t.  We’ve all probably seen pictures like this

https://www.pocket-lint.com/apps/news/153915-funny-real-life-behind-the-scenes-views-from-zoom-meetings

It’s not only a mess on the floor that we might be trying to hide.  We try to project a certain vision of ourselves, curated just so.  It’s not only on zoom.  It’s on Facebook, on phone calls, and more.  We decide what we want to reveal about ourselves.

But what about the mess?  What about the messy side of life, that we ALL have?  Where do reveal that? To whom?  When do we let down our guard to show one another who we really are?  Even all the unpleasant parts?

This year with Covid has been exhausting, isolating, and challenging on many levels.  But one of the challenges has been figuring out how to relate to one another through face coverings, through zoom, through phone calls, and without regular in-person interactions.  What is lost when all we have is a partial face?  Or a full face but contained in a box on screen?

Let us learn from Joseph that there is power in revealing ourselves, even when it makes us weep. 

This week, on this last Shabbat of 2020, let us commit to revealing more of ourselves in 2021.  Let us share our aches.  Share our pains.  Share our feelings.  Let us open up emotionally, even if we have to do it while in a zoom box or while wearing face coverings.  Even if ‘hiding’ things on our screen is so easy.  May we reach out to one another in full humanity.  Let the tears flow, as someday, we WILL come back together… God-willing, sometime in 2021, fully vaccinated, and in full health.

And let us say, AMEN!

*this drash was delivered for Temple Isaiah on 12/25/20

Preparing for Religious School in a Pandemic: An Insider's Look

Week after week, those of us who run part-time Jewish education programs have been working hard to figure out what to do this year, and how to make our programs as high-quality as possible, given the circumstances. So what’s it really like to prepare for JQuest (religious school) during a global pandemic?

We began our planning process by hiring our JQuest teachers in late spring to write curricula for the coming year, with three types of learning for each lesson plan / unit:

1) in-person learning
2) at-home learning, synchronous (i.e. “live” on zoom or some other similar platform)
3) at-home learning, asynchronous (i.e. activities students/ families can do at home on their own, not with a “live” teacher)

We also paid teachers for professional development, and we are spending time this summer trying to improve our ability to create the highest-quality, relationship-based online learning that we can.

We are already set up at JQuest with a track system, whereby students choose which learning track they want, so my intention for the fall is that parents/students will be able to select an in-person (outdoor) JQuest track or an at-home JQuest track. The tricky question is how to create those tracks. Here are some of the things I’ve been working on / considering:

1. Enrollment: How many students can we expect? Usually, we have a pretty good idea of how many students to expect in the coming year. We start registration in April, and by June, we have about 90% of our expected enrollment (with the rest trickling in throughout the summer, including families who move to the area and/or decide to join a synagogue as the High Holy Days approach). This year, we started registration in May, and our enrollment has been trickling in since then. Over the course of a couple weeks in July, the Assistant Director and I reached out to all the families who are unenrolled in JQuest '20-'21, but were part of JQuest in '19-'20, to ask about their plans. Here are some of the things we heard:

“If it’s going to be on Zoom, we’re not doing it.” 

“If it’s going to be in person, we’re not doing it.” 

“We’re going to take a year off.” 

“I’m overwhelmed and can’t think about JQuest right now.” 

As you can imagine, we are trying to make decisions about classes and hiring teachers, but our enrollment is very uncertain. Even those who have signed up know they can pull out (and get a full refund) if they’re unhappy with the choices we offer.

2. Teachers: What do teachers want? In addition to 1-1 conversations with teachers, we conducted a survey of teachers to understand their desires and needs. Given the current circumstances and their own individual considerations, do they prefer to teach in person? Online? What days/times could they teach in the coming year, if we need to think outside the usual JQuest schedule?

3. Space and Schedule: If we offer in-person learning, we want to keep group sizes small (10-12 students at most), and the groups outside as much as possible. We are brainstorming how to do that, logistically-speaking. What time will each group meet? Where on our campus can we set up outdoor classrooms? Can we use other off-campus outdoor spaces for our programming? For online learning programs, what times should we offer? How long is a reasonable length of time to expect students to participate in an online class (especially if they’re doing all their secular school classes online as well)? We want to keep the online groups relatively small, too, as it’s easier to engage when there are a smaller number of students in an online class.

4. What should we do about tefillah? Even if we offer in-person classes, we know we cannot do tefillah (communal prayer) in person, due to the risks of transmitting COVID-19 through singing. So when and how will we do tefillah this year? How will the (online) tefillah schedule fit in with the schedule of all the classes?

5. The chicken-and-egg dilemma: How many in-person and how many online classes should we offer? Which days/times? How many teachers do we need, and for how many hours? Our enrollment is uncertain, and parents do not want to sign up until they know what they’re signing up for. But we don’t know which / how many classes to offer, because we don’t know how many students to expect. At some point, we will just make a decision, put the options out there, and see what happens.

6. Flexibility is key: Even though we are planning for in-person JQuest options along with online options, we know that we might not be able to operate in person when we start in early October - whether due to county/state regulations, health & safety considerations by our synagogue leadership, or a whole host of other reasons. In that case, we may have to pivot to online learning for all students, which may mean a drop in enrollment. On the other hand, something may change that would allow us to pivot to a more regular in-person JQuest program (a COVID-19 vaccine, of course! Or an effective COVID-19 treatment, or fast/easy/cheap COVID-19 testing, or who knows what else). The future is uncertain, and we have to be nimble enough to make changes quickly and smoothly, at any point in the school year.

***

It is not easy being an educator at this time. It is not easy being a parent, either. We all need something stable to count on during these uncertain times, and even though it’s hard, I’m grateful to be a Jewish educator because Jewish education can be the pillar of strength we all need. Jewish learning and Jewish community have sustained the Jewish people for thousands of years - including through wars, pogroms, and pandemics. By connecting with each other, as well as with the holidays, themes, and texts of our tradition, we learn resilience, courage, strength, and patience. The deep well of wisdom in Judaism is especially meaningful when we face turbulence in our lives and in the world around us.

It may be complicated putting the pieces together, but I am committed to creating a Jewish education program that will be a wonderful year of creative learning and community-building, with extraordinary teachers and meaningful friendships. May we go from strength to strength!

What to do about schools: An Elu v'Elu Perspective

Elu v’Elu

In this intense and emotional time, an image is making its way around the internet, with a variety of feelings / perspectives on the question of whether and how schools should open for the 2020-2021 school year:

In Judaism, we have a concept for this, called “Elu v’elu,” which literally means “these and these” and is described as follows by the Lippman Kanfer Foundation for Living Torah:

In the 1st century B. C. E. there were two great Schools of Jewish thought: the School of Hillel and the School of Shammai. They often disagreed. Shammai’s School liked to regulate, circumscribe, define.  Hillel’s kept things more open, favoring flexibility and inclusivity.  One time, as told in the Talmud’s tractate Eruvin, the Rabbis debated endlessly and could not decide which opinion to follow, since both sides had valid arguments. Finally a voice came from Heaven, saying ‘both these and those – elu v’elu – are the words of the living God.’

As Jews, we maintain it is possible to hold multiple truths, and we celebrate having a BOTH/AND perspective.  It is possible that multiple – even conflicting – viewpoints can be correct and contain seeds of holiness.  In the great debate about schools, we must keep this in mind and not succumb to an EITHER/OR or US/THEM mentality.  Our President has tried to politicize the question of whether and how to open schools, but this is not a straightforward either/or situation.  It is not a question of whether schools should open at all, or whether schools should open in person or not.  This is an Elu v’Elu situation.  There are multiple, conflicting truths.  We must yield a both/and perspective. Elu v’elu.

Others have articulated these viewpoints ad nauseum, but since so many of my Facebook friends are teachers (of all kinds) and/or parents (of all kinds), I thought I’d share my personal Elu v’elu perspective:

It is better for students to learn in person

While online / at-home learning is possible, I would argue that in-person learning is a preferable way to do education, particularly for social-emotional learning and growth, and for building relationships.

There are those for whom attending school in person may not work

This includes families with adults and/or children who are immunocompromised, and/or those who do not feel comfortable sending their children to school in person during the pandemic (for any reason).

There are those for whom attending school in person is critical

This includes families whose adult(s) cannot work from home, who do not have sufficient technology to do at-home schooling, who rely on school for essential childcare, students with special needs, where there is abuse in the home, and all those who are eager to send their children to school during the pandemic (for any reason). School /childcare is an “essential service” and should be thought of that way.

In making school plans, we must consider the health, safety, and well-being of teachers and all school staff/administration, as well as the health, safety, and well-being of children and their parents.

This is crucial.

Children do not seem to be spreaders / super-spreaders of COVID-19

While more research needs to be conducted and we cannot yet know for sure, so far the academic studies I’ve read on this question have all reached the conclusion that children are very rarely spreaders (and certainly not super-spreaders) of COVID-19.  This includes studies from around the world, particularly focused on preschool and elementary-school children, including an (unscientific) study of children in “essential childcare” during the initial shelter-in-place orders. More specifically, early research seems to show that the spread of COVID-19 is rare from child-to-child or child-to-adult.  Contact tracing has shown that children who have tested positive for COVID-19 almost always contracted it from an adult, and the vast majority of children contracted it from an adult in their own household (and did not pass it on to others in their school /childcare setting). 

We must try to give families and teachers options.

Some families are desperate for schools to open.  Others cannot imagine sending their children to school.  Some teachers want to teach in person.  Some teachers do not want (or cannot) teach in person. If at all possible, I think the best solution is to offer several options, as, for example, the Dublin school district has set out to do.   In addition to installing cameras in classrooms so that students can view the in-person learning, I’d recommend schools set up online-only classes in which teachers who cannot (or do not want) to teach in person teach those online classes.  This may not work very well (or at all) for preschool or Grades K-2, but it’s certainly an option for grades 3-8, and we can think creatively about offering some form of at-home learning for those younger children, led by teachers who cannot or do not want to teach in person.

We must respect the choices that parents, teachers, and school administrators make.

If we do offer choices, we must then remember the “elu v’elu” perspective in honoring the different choices people make.  These are very hard choices, and each person has many factors to consider in making personal choices.  You are not a bad person if you choose to send your children to school.  You are not a bad person if you choose to keep your kids home and do school-from-home.  You are not a bad person if you are a teacher and teach in person.  You are not a bad person if you are a teacher and make the decision not to teach this year, or not to teach in person.  School administrators have heart-breakingly hard decisions to make, and each school and each community has different factors to consider.  Directors and administrators are doing their best in an unbelievably challenging time, and we should do our best not to demonize them but to support and work with them to make these difficult choices and plans.

The logistics are complicated, especially for larger schools

I recognize a choice-option is complicated and would be easier in smaller schools.  That doesn’t mean it’s impossible. 

This all costs money and we have to explore all possible funding sources. 

I don’t know what those funding sources are – governmental, private foundations, individual philanthropists – but the optimist in me says that if there’s a will, there’s a way.  In my ideal world, funding for the “choice” option would not happen locally (school to school), but more broadly (perhaps state by state or city by city) so that funds could be raised for ALL schools and not just those in wealthier areas/communities. This may be a pipedream, but if we don’t put options out there, we’ll never make any forward progress.  And we need leadership for this.  Who will be the leaders for this work?  Is it you? 

Education (and childcare) is an essential service

Even if we move to a full shut-down / shelter-in-place again, I would advocate for in-person schools / childcare to remain open as an option for those who choose (or need) it, with teachers/staff who feel comfortable continuing in person (as with other essential workers like grocery store employees, health care workers, etc.).  This is especially true for preschools and elementary schools (perhaps middle schools, too). Online / at-home learning could be expanded for those who – at that point – choose to or need to stop attending in person.

Difficult does not mean impossible

All of this is incredibly complicated.  As someone who runs an education program for 375 students, I understand well the logistical nightmare of the current moment.  And yet, we cannot give up, or give up hope.  It is not helpful to reduce this dilemma to an either/or conversation, or demonize those with different perspectives than we have. 

Elu v’Elu -> Lech L’cha

We can approach this conversation with the Jewish concept of Elu v’elu – these and these are the living words of God.  We can honor different viewpoints, and take all those viewpoints into account in this thorny conversation.

And yet, at some point, we will have to move forward and make decisions.  There is another Jewish concept that can help us here.  In the Torah, God tells Abraham “Lech L’cha!”  “Go!” “Go to a land that I will show you” (i.e. go on a journey to a place you do not yet know, a journey without a clearly-defined destination). Sometimes we have to be like Abraham, we have to just “go forth” and give something a try, even if the journey is to an “unknown land." 

And as we make our way forward, we can hold hands (metaphorically!), honor different viewpoints, and support one another along the difficult path ahead.