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Not "ShabbaT-in-a-Sack":
Thank You
This book was built through workshops given around the world. Not only were the stories and the ideas honed through trying to teach them over and
over, but, more importantly, most of the good ideas came from the teachers and educators who participated. It started out as a research paper and wound up as something practical. That is always nice.
Jewish Parents: A Teacher's Guide started out because we at the Shirley and Arthur Whizin Institute for Jewish Family Life were interested in the actual practices of family education being manifest in the field. We knew that at our Institute and among our colleagues, we were busy pushing the envelope of what could be done with the tools, insights, assumptions, and practices we call "family education." But, we were interested in the diffusion of those ideas in the "outback" to the actual "line workers." In other words, we were interested in how the "state-of-the practice" contrasted with the "state-of-the art." So, Joel went into a lot of communities and taught "Jewish
Parents: A Teacher's Guide" workshops and also used Torah Aura's electronic communications network to ask teachers, center folks, educators, etc. to share with us the best of their work. Ron, meanwhile, kept his
eyes and his contacts open. We did what is called a snowball sample. We asked not only "Tell us your good stuff" but also, "Tell us who else is doing good stuff." Then we called them and asked the same questions. We
did three years of such looking.
We found two things: (1) There is a lot of "Shabbat-in-a-Sack," and (2) there is all the other stuff we crammed into this book.
"Shabbat-in-a-Sack" is one of a bunch of names for the most basic of family education practices. It is one or more variations of a program where a
bag, basket, box of Friday night paraphernalia and instructions are sent home to each family in the class in rotation (sort of like taking the class hamster for the weekend). The good news is, "each family is
invited to make Shabbat." (Then they return Shabbat so the next family can have it.) The bad news is the meta-message that Shabbat is a once-a-year experience. We've debated Shabbat-in-a-Sack a lot. Basically, the
two schools in our discussion were [1] "it is bad for the Jews" because it doesn't really root Shabbat in the home and [2] "at least it is a beginning" from which Shabbat can grow. None of us was happy that this was
the single most predominant program out there. The good news, however, is all the wonderfully creative NOT Shabbat-in-a-Sack stuff we have found and put in this book.
BUT—if you are a Shabbat-in-a-Sack lover or practitioner, we've even included one really creative variation (just to prove there is always a good
way to do things). Take a look at Nachama Skolnik Moskowitz's Note on her account about the "Story Bears."
We would like to thank Atlanta where we held the first Jewish Parents: A Teacher's Guide Workshop. We would also like to thank the groups of
teachers we have worked with literally from Oxford, England to Seattle, Washington—from Alaska to Hawaii, too. And, everywhere, from every group of teachers we worked with—thanks for the inspiration of your
creativity and tenacity, dedication and persistence. Everywhere we went, even when the ideas were not the most adaptable—we encountered a wonderful spirit of experimentation and exploration. The ongoing experience
of the energy Jewish teachers invest in succeeding and making a difference was our reward from this process.
We would like to thank the following:
The Members of the Whizin Team: Janice Alper, Harlene Appelman, Adrianne Bank, Risa Gruberger, Vicky Kelman, Jo Kay, Joan Kaye, Esther Netter, Rachel Sisk, Sally Weber, Bruce Whizin, Shelley Whizin.
The Members of the Torah Aura Team: Deborah Greenbaum, Debi Rowe, Deena Bloomstone, Jane Golub.
Contributors: Carol Starin, Susie Wolfson, Sharon Halper, Terry Kalet, Ettie Davis, Donna Gordon Blankinship, Rabbi Cherie Koller-Fox, Treasure Cohen, Shirley Barish, Irene Bolton, Andy German, Susan Fish, Ellen Brosbe, Elise Cohen, Sharon Lerner, Steffi Aronson Karp, Laura Harari, Elaine Rubinstein, Ziva Green-Kredow, Ralph Moses, Dorit Lehavy, Orna Levinson, Sima Cohen, Rosanne and Allan Arnet, Claudia Shaifo, Vic Levinson, Hariet Hunter, Reilly Coleman, The Kindergarten of the Heschel Day School, Patti Kroll, Joan Carr, Jessie Kerr-Whitt, Cantor Sheldon Levin, Lisa Goldstein, Harriet Rossetto, Daniel Nussbaum II, Flor Kupferman, David Parker, Linda Forest, Michelle Stansburry, Shelley Siegel, Jeremy Wilgus, Nachama Skolnik Moskowitz, Sandy McDermet, Sandy Rosenfield, Lisa Slobodow, Sally Ann Wollace, Jeffrey S. Hersh, Lisa J. Goldstein, David Barany, The Jacksonville Jewish Center, Eileen Ettinger.
And thank you—and we are sorry—to anyone who helped and whose name we excluded by mistake.And I would like to thank my editor and co-author Ron
Wolfson who helped tune this work and merge his energy and vision into this project. No one understands how to work with families as well as Ron does. His help was invaluable.
Joel Lurie Grishaver
Erev Shavuot, 5756
A Glimpse of the Messiah
[An Opening Fantasy] A teacher gets a message in her box to call the parent of a difficult student with whom there have been a number of escalating
incidents—and then a real behavior crisis. The note asks the teacher to call the parent. She holds her breath and dials the number. When the phone is answered, you can see her flinch a little bit. After less than a
minute of small talk, the parent gets down to business. The teacher braces herself—if you watch, you can see the defense lining up.
The parent surprises her and says, "Here is what I would like to do. We've been hearing some interesting things at the dinner table. I'd like to
tell you what we've heard, then listen while you tell me what you know. Then I'd like to put our heads together—and see what we can figure out to do from here."
Forget all that nonsense about the Messiah sitting in the gates of Rome working with a band aid box. Ignore the fantasy of the Messiah as Shabbat
inspector looking for the second time. Here is our truth: "When five parents with kids in Jewish schools work with teachers in that way, the Messiah will be here."
This book is all about making that possible.
Chapter 1
Parents are Not the Enemy
"The Farmers and the Cowboys can be Friends"
[Joel's Opening Rap]: If someday, somehow, someone makes a movie out of my Hebrew School Comedy script it will contain a great "case of
mistaken identity" sequence. The script is Hebrew School as a mystery-action-adventure-comedy thriller (anything but a monster movie). It is no Hebrew School horror show. This is the important sequence:
Junior walks into class late, without books, and tells the teacher he is there today because there was nothing else important for him to do, but for
the next two weeks his parents are taking him elsewhere because they know that is more important. (The teacher mutters something nasty about parents and soccer practice under her breath.) What then follows is the
rest of a really good lesson about Jewish insights into ending homelessness.
After class, Junior gets into the car and in grunted responses to his parents' questions, tells his folks that it was: "Boring!" "Holidays—again!"
"Still picking on me!" The father mutters, "Just like when I went to Hebrew school."
In a series of cross-dissolves—scenes of class—scenes of carpools which fade into each other—Junior's restatements of the truth (as he sees it)
manage to drive a wedge between parents and teacher. In his descriptions, the Hebrew school classroom is run by graduates of the Marquis de Sade Institute for Jewish Teaching. According to his accounts, his parents
have been taking Jewish motivational classes with Torquemada.
Meanwhile, the teacher, who also has a real life on the side, one other than Hebrew School hag, shows up a couple of times a week (between driving
her own kids' carpools) to share her love for things Jewish with the next generation. The teacher is getting more and more frustrated—and is seriously thinking about quitting. She teaches lots of Juniors and often
says, "Who needs this?"
Meanwhile, the parents, who may not be Satmar Hasidim, but who are legitimately committed to transmitting their positive sense of Jewishness
to their children, are thinking about pulling them out of Hebrew School because the negative experiences there are destroying their children's love of being Jewish (which was so strong when they were little).
Meanwhile, Junior is figuring that soon he will be able to sleep late on Sunday mornings and hang out with the guys more afternoons a week.
In my comedy, the teacher and the parents are trapped in an elevator together and share their problems (the parents not knowing that this teacher is Junior's teacher, and the teacher not knowing that these parents are Junior's parents). It is an encounter rich in support, understanding, and growth for each of them. They do an "if only you were Junior's teacher"—"if only you were the parents of the kids I teach" farewell. The sequence ends with Junior getting his come-uppance at Family Education Day the following Sunday.
This little mental movie is not intended to state that all the problems Jewish teachers have with the parents of their students are exclusively the
result of the children's fabrications. Nor is it to say (as we all have to admit) that all complaints about Jewish schools are exclusively the kids' fantasies. While there is room for some legitimate concern on each
side, the "Truth-of-Truths" about Jewish Parents and Jewish Teachers is that they need to be allies. They have a common agenda which can only be actualized through communication and active partnership.
Let us understand this: No one who teaches in a Jewish school does not want to transmit deep knowledge of and affection for the Jewish tradition—to the best of their abilities—to their students. We all know that the pay is so low and the frustration level so high that no one goes into Jewish teaching for the money. Jewish teaching is all about love and commitment, even if it is seldom perceived that way.
Understand this, too: In a day and an age where more than half of Jewish families provide their children with no Jewish education, paying the money, driving the carpools, having the "yes, you have to go" fights is an act of positive and significant commitment, too. This is profoundly true, even though this is not always the side of parents that teachers seem to meet.
You may not be Mr. Chips, the world's most beloved teacher. They may not be Tevye and Golda, quintessential authentic parents, oozing Judaism with
every step. But, you need each other. This book is a guide to finding that cooperation and understanding.
Louie's Grocery
[Ron's Opening Rap]: My grandfather Louis Paperny (everyone called him "Louie"—I called him "Zaydie") taught me one of the most important
lessons I ever learned about teaching.
Zaydie was a businessman. He had immigrated from Russia to Omaha, Nebraska, in 1905 and to make a living, began selling fruit from a roadside stand.
Over the years, the business grew until he was able to build one of the first modern supermarkets in the Midwest. Its name was Louis Market, but everyone called it "Louie's."
It seemed as if everyone in Omaha knew Louie. One of his favorite things to do was take the "gantze mishpoche" (big family) out to dinner.
The restaurateurs loved him. We all were big eaters and Louie was a big tipper. So, whenever he walked into a restaurant, Louie was warmly greeted and we got the best table. More amazingly, a steady stream of people
would come up to Louie to shake his hand, to say hello... My Zaydie was a real celebrity. As a kid, I never understood why he was so popular.
Today, I know why.
When you shopped at Louis Market, you traded with Louie. Just inside the front door of the store was a place called the "courtesy counter." It was
the first stop for most patrons. You could cash a payroll check. You could return pop bottles. And, you could say "Hi" to Louie. Because that's where he spent most of his day—at the front of the store, greeting his
customers.
Louie knew most of them by first names. He knew their stories—where they worked and where they lived. He knew their families—the names of spouses
and children. And they knew Louie. They knew his four daughters and his four sons-in-law, all equal partners in the business. They saw the grandchildren growing up in the store. They knew of his generosity—how he
contributed food to the orphanage, how he donated the tallest Christmas tree to the Catholic archdiocese, how he would let you buy groceries on credit if you were between jobs or had a run of bad luck. In a time
long before celebrity CEO's, Louie's portrait was painted on the wall above the produce section. If you ever visit Omaha, you can still see it today, even though Louie died twenty years ago.
I once asked him for the secret to his success. In his broken English, he said: "Tataleh, I treat each customer who comes into the store as
if it's the last customer I'll ever have. I treat them like gold...and they come back." He loved them, and they loved him.
The lesson is about greeting and welcoming. It is about extending a hand, opening doors, inviting in. It is about relationship as the foundation for teaching.
Zaydie taught me well. When I first started teaching in an afternoon religious school, I quickly learned that "class" needed to begin well before
the bell rang. I never waited in my room for the students. I would hang out in the lobby, on the ball field, in the hallway, schmoozing with the kids. To this day I begin every class, every parent workshop, every
seminar, every lecture by standing just outside the entrance to the room, greeting my students with a warm welcome. I introduce myself by name ("Hi, I'm Ron!") and ask for the student's name. If there is time, I
will begin some sort of conversation. I will not remember everyone's name, but that brief moment of contact establishes the fact that there is a real person behind the teacher, a person who genuinely desires to
establish a connection between teacher and student. Without that, how can I possibly teach anything?
[Ron & Joel]: This book has one simple central purpose and that is to share the insights gained in the last ten or so years which inform the way
that Jewish teachers can expand and improve their communication and relationships with their students' parents. We have learned from the family education movement that there are both concrete strategies and
attitudes which can make a difference. And we have learned that if a stronger connection—a classroom-home partnership—can be built, the cause of Torah is advanced. This happens because:
Students have a much greater context, motivation and incentive for taking Jewish learning seriously. When parents are accessible, teachers
have direct access to the help they need.
Parents grow their own Jewish knowledge and commitment by continuing their own Jewish learning both for themselves and to assure their
child(ren)'s success. When we reach parents, we double the impact of each lesson.
Jewish teachers feel more successful by feeling more rooted in the greater school community, more understood, more supported, by experiencing a
greatly enhanced awareness that their work is being done "in a context" which allows them to make a difference. It is very nice when you are appreciated.
Such partnerships create a much greater confluence between that which a Jewish school teaches and that which its families (students included)
actualize as part of their lives. In other words, Judaism has a much greater possibility of becoming not "just a school," but a way of life.
The new wisdom gained from the family education movement is that when teachers realize that not just the child, but the entire family system are
our "clients," the impact of our work is increased me'ah she'arim, a hundred fold.
By transforming our classrooms to not only teach children, but also to reach past them to include parents and even the whole family—sometimes even
bringing the family into the classroom and always trying to send the classroom home—we feel renewed as Jewish teachers and our teaching has greater impact.
The Problem = The Door
Here is a secret. Most of us become Jewish teachers because our classrooms have doors.
We all know that Jewish teachers are not well paid. We all know that we are not publicly treated as a "community treasure" the way the Talmud
suggests. The truth is, there is little that is rewarding about the job, other than the job itself. And, a "door" has usually defined the job we do.
Here is what I mean. As I teacher, I can walk into "my" room, shut the door, and be with "my" class, in "my" classroom. Behind the door is where I
am in control. It is where I am responsible, where I can create and actualize, and where I get to be the hero—without a cavalry. Behind the door is where I can make a difference. When my classroom door is opened by
another adult, I, as a teacher, fear that intruder will have a clipboard in his hand or in her heart.
If it is my principal—I worry about my job. Very few of us are secure enough to think of our supervisors as our coaches (rather than as judge
and jury).
When a parent walks into our room—usually our hearts begin to palpitate. We tend to ask ourselves: "What have I done wrong now?"
While some teachers will deny it, and while some of us get past it, it is a "teacher truth" that we like to be alone in our classrooms, with our
classes, working our magic.
Here, however, is that sword's second edge. The very door which creates the unique space in which we work our magic, also creates the loneliness and
under-appreciation most teachers (Jewish or secular) feel. Our work is never seen. No one really understands what we do. Only our kids are available to give us feedback—and they usually have other agendas. At the
end of the period, when the door is opened and the room empties, we are left alone with our memories. Sometimes they are good enough to sustain us—sometimes not.
Now hear this: There are times and ways those doors can be opened, others can join the conversation, and our classrooms will still remain our
classrooms.
The Trauma of Change
Let's be honest, this book is about change; and change is never easy and never comfortable. In this case:
It means we have to open our classroom doors and let other adults see what we do there. This is difficult for any teacher to do, because our sense of control and privacy is one of the things which led many of us to be teachers. It also means (for good and bad) that the number of times our work is "evaluated" will dramatically increase.
It means more preparation and more work. We wish we could tell you that working with parents, too, takes no extra time. But it does. Communication takes time. Relationships take time. New friendships and partnerships take time. Rethinking your process takes time. Being inclusive takes time. And, the need to compound a growing success is a great time-eating challenge.
It means rethinking many of our assumptions. It means we have to begin to think of a teacher's domain as much larger than the classroom. We
can no longer view the "outside" world as something which either helps or impedes our classroom work. Rather, we have to see our efforts spilling out of the classroom and actively (not just symbolically)
changing those whom they touch.
This change in "attitude" is the toughest part of the whole process. Whether you as teacher are making the decision to "expand" the focus of your
teaching, or whether a principal or committee "has helped you" with this decision—the first step is the longest. It takes a deep breath to think about interfacing more with the most difficult parent of your most
problematic student. Now you can let the breath out. It is like the first leap off the high board at the pool (if you've ever been brave enough to make that leap). Really scary—but very exhilarating. It is a Nahshon moment.
He is the Jewish hero (according to the midrash) who had to leap into the Red Sea before it would divide. Sometimes you have to jump. You can do it! If you can deal with kids—parents are a cinch.
For me, family education is Torah as oobleck, Torah oozing and fitting in everywhere. [For those of you who know Dr. Seuss. If not, find and
enjoy Bartholomew and the Oobleck, by Dr. Seuss. Think of it as a midrash on Torah.]
The bottom line is this: Involving parents means changing our practices and our attitudes. It means more work—but it also means a greater
potential for a much deeper and richer success. It provides much greater assurances of a positive Jewish future.
A Final Truth: To feel comfortable with parents involved in your class, you have to feel comfortable with yourself as a teacher. You need to get past the need to "hide" your work—because it will not hold up. [Every classroom teacher—Jewish, non-Jewish, brand-new, or veteran—has his or her own version of "stage-fright."]
Once you've linked your classroom to the home, and enlarged your learning community, you will feel better about yourself as a teacher. It is good to have students. It is even better to have friends and partners.
You can do this!
Jo Kay's Tips Regarding Teachers & Teacher Training
Staffing is crucial in planning and developing Family Education Programs. What should you be looking for in a teacher/coordinator, etc.? Here are
some thoughts gleaned from research begun on the PACE Family Education Program.
Not all excellent teachers of children will be excellent teachers of adult groups (the reverse is also true).
Therefore, when working with groups of combined ages, it is helpful to have someone who:
1.Is a good group facilitator (knows group dynamics)
2.Can be non-judgmental
3.Is truly interested in working with the whole family
4.Is willing and able to be a Jewish role model
5.Is willing to share personal Jewish experiences
6.Is willing to share personal parenting experiences
7.Can listen and respond to student needs
8.Cares about the families
9.Doesn't request that the families do anything they are not prepared to do
10.Has a stake in the success of the program
Most Jewish Parents Still Have Pimples on Their Souls
Or—how am I supposed to work with my students' parents when I am scared of—or angry at—them?
[Ron's Comment]: Joel, there is an overriding assumption here that all (most) parents hated Hebrew School and all (most) kids think Hebrew school is torture. Can't we tone it down just a bit? You've overdone it. We don't want to turn them off.
[Joel's Comment]: Ron, you're right that there are good and positive parents. You're right that there are kids who love their Jewish education. This needs to be stated—and restated. Yet, the story of "I hated it and I had to go"—"You'll hate it and have to go, too."—is so ubiquitous that it needs to be dealt with.
[Jo Kay's Comments]: Whenever I begin to work with teachers who will
be working with family or with parents, and they express some apprehension about the job, which is normal, I usually share my own experiences with them. I have been able to overcome my fears of working with
adults by beginning with the disclaimer "I am not an expert on this subject. But, I love to study and to learn. I will search for resources and we will study together." This helps me feel comfortable and
just be myself.
When it comes to their Jewishness, most Jewish adults are still teenagers—and just barely teenagers at that. Here is the deal.
Most Jews stop their Jewish education right after their Bar/Bat Mitzvah celebrations. Even though they are grown and are sending their own children
to Jewish schools, when they look in the "Jewish" mirror, they still see a Jewish kid in need of Clearasil®. In most ways, their Jewish part is only a hair's breadth past twelve. When they look at you, their kid's Jewish teacher, they still see their own Jewish teacher. (If, for whichever reason, they never had a Jewish teacher, their ambivalence is even more complex!) In their hearts, they still believe they are Hebrew School failures, Jewish impostors rather than legitimate adult Jews—-and davka they have been kept after school because of their behavior. We, as the symbolic every-teacher, sometimes make them feel stupid, bad, and bored—all at the same time.
Most Jewish parents have to deal with three things when they face us:
Their own ambivalent or even bad memories of Jewish schooling. In St. Paul, (and probably a lot of other cities) graduates of the Talmud Torah, the community Hebrew school, refer to it as "Talmud Terror." Each time they do, they suggest, often without kidding, that their Jewish education was a horrific experience.
Their own sense of Jewish inadequacy.
Their embarrassment over their children's forthcoming Hebrew School failure (for which they feel ultimately responsible.)
When we choose to do the full job of Jewish teacher today—and that job involves working with parents, too—one of our first responsibilities is to
help many of them get over the past—and see us as who we are (rather than as who they remember us to be.)
So let's talk about parents.
A simple question: "Why do parents today send their kids to Hebrew/Sunday/Day
School—especially when most of them don't seem to act in ways that support a Jewish school?"
The answer: "Most of them don't."
Today, depending on whose figures you are reading, less than 50% of Jewish kids receive any substantive Jewish education. (Though for me, Steven M.
Cohen argues effectively that something close to 90% have at least one contact point with organized Jewish life at least once in their childhood.)
So let us re-ask: "Why are the kids we teach being sent to Jewish schools?" Why would a generation of Jewish kids who hated Hebrew School and
who swore that when they grew up they would never subject their children to the same kind of "torture," become the parents of the kids who now claim to be suffering in our classrooms? To answer this question—we need
to look at "The Parent Part" and "The Jewish Parent Part."
The Parent Part: The Marble Maze of Child Rearing
It is hard to be a parent today. Our friend Sam Joseph tells the story of one of his friends who keeps an empty peanut butter jar on the bookcase in
the living room. Every time he loses control and "yells" at his toddler, he puts ten dollars in the jar and says "This is for your psychiatrist when you're sixteen."
It is hard to be a parent today: AIDS. Cults. Drugs. Gangs. Being a parent
today is terrifying. It is like one of those wooden marble-mazes, where by turning the two knobs on the side, you try to guide the marble from start to finish, but there are all these holes which want to suck your
marble in and take it out of the game. There is teenage pregnancy, teenage alcoholism, teenage suicide, autoerotic asphyxia, anorexia, drunk drivers, Satanism, child abuse, drive-by shootings and more. Every day
Oprah, Sally Jessy and Geraldo chronicle the ever-shrinking odds that any parent can ever successfully bring a child to full-term adulthood. Everything in the world today seems to be addictive, dangerous, toxic or
full of the bad kind of cholesterol. We now know enough to fear every teacher, to panic over what's in the apple juice, to tremble at the dangers of television and computers and especially video games—the air, the
water, and the times are all poisoned.
What compounds and further frustrates the whole thing is that just about every parent feels—but can't admit, often, even to themselves—that they
(just like their parents) are inadequate. They all know that a real parent, a good parent, could succeed. But, in this age, all of us "know" we are just the dysfunctional inheritors of a dysfunctional family
heritage. We do the best we can. We have our moments. And we live with the deep hidden fear that we don't have what it takes—that it won't be enough. It is hard to be a parent today.
The fact that most parents do pretty good jobs—and the truth that raising kids has a lot of tolerance for errors—doesn't often impact on parental
feelings. Many parents I know are shocked at watching themselves become a second-rate impersonation of their own parents. They feel like kids still dressing up in their parents' clothes and attitudes. They confess:
"I never thought you'd ever hear me say that." They remind themselves that they had promised "to remember what it was like" when they got to be parents, that they had "promised to be different." The problem today is
the word "no." In the days of Donna Reed and Father Knows Best, parents got to use words like "disappointed" and give advice. Today, parents are stuck saying "no" a lot, or not saying "no" and thinking
they should have—or even more often, looking for permission to say the "no" they think they should say, but don't want to or are afraid to. In a time where parenting requires great authority, the inner security
needed to make and enforce judgments is in short supply. This is the age of No One (except the Religious Right) Knows Best, and Mother Does the Best She Can.
Yet, today, it is much harder for a parent to "Just Say No." Once there seemed to be a secret coven of parents who met at midnight in the glen and
decided the things to which all of them would say "No." They even seemed to decide which things they would forbid, which things they would forbid but let their kids get away with, and which things they would forbid
and make sure that no kid could ever successfully experience. Today, everything seems to be permitted by some parents. Some kids seem to get away with everything. Each parent often feels as if he or she is the last
one on the block who is trying the hold off the Vandals, the Goths, and the Visigoths. In an age which needs much more "No," despite the preponderance of DARE T-shirts, "No" is much harder to say, mean, enforce and
explain when you have to say: "Pass the latch-key please!"
No wonder parents are so confused! Parenting is very hard.
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