Purposeful and Powerful Outcomes-Driven Jewish Education

Toward the end of his informative and thought-provoking article, Dr. Barry Holtz describes “the business of Jewish education”—and the business of education more broadly—as the business of teaching skills and imparting knowledge. He explains that learning certain skills (how to lead birkat hamazon) or attaining certain knowledge (what the words of birkat hamazon mean) does not guarantee that students will like to or want to say birkat hamazon. I argue that, in fact, the business of Jewish education is broader than Dr. Holtz suggests, and the outcomes we seek should be more proximate.

Purpose. In general education literature, there is at least a century-old debate about the purposes of school, ranging from socialization, Americanization, job-skill attainment, and college preparation to civic participation, resistance to oppression, personal redemption, and a host of other sometimes competing or complementary purposes. Over a decade ago, I examined this question through a study of the underground schools in the Warsaw Ghetto during the Holocaust: an extreme case to be sure, but one which presents a powerful case of schooling for not only skills and knowledge but also for beliefs and commitments. The case also reminds us that the purposes of school are often shaped by external forces beyond our control. In the Warsaw Ghetto, sometimes deliberately and sometimes unintentionally, students in underground schools learned both content and skills, and developed beliefs and commitments. Beliefs about and commitments to a vision of survival, self determination, and Jewish flourishing were nurtured through specific curricular material, activities, and role modeling.

Educational experiences are always teaching students beliefs and commitments—beliefs about who one is and is not, where one belongs and does not, and what is and is not valued.

One formulation (from the AVI CHAI playbook). Jewish learning environments, of all types and in all settings, have multiple, and some uniquely Jewish, purposes. On their best days, Jewish day schools, in particular, are places where learners:

1. Master Jewish history, Hebrew, and sacred texts;

2. Learn Jewish ritual, leadership, and communal skills, and learn to understand their American lives through a Jewish lens (and vice versa);

3. Develop the beliefs that they are part of a distinctive Jewish people, connected to the State of Israel, and bound to other Jews;

4. Cultivate commitments to ongoing Jewish learning and spiritual growth, developing their dual identities, and taking responsibility for transmitting their Jewish heritage to future generations; and

5. Practice bringing Jewish values and wisdom into the discourse of humankind.

Broadening Holtz then, the Jewish education enterprise is, therefore, in the knowledge, skills, beliefs, and commitments business.

Why in-marriage can’t be used as a measure of the effectiveness of Jewish education. In his article, Holtz explains that vast philanthropic investments in Jewish education materialized after the 1990 NJPS reported a 52 percent intermarriage rate among Jews and the release of “A Time to Act.” In 2013, the Pew Research Center Survey of US Jews found that 58 percent of Jews married between 2005 and 2013 were married to a non-Jewish spouse. Are we to conclude from the uptick that the Jewish education enterprise has failed?

In education, purpose is and must be the Guiding Star. It fashions our organizational structures and cultures. It guides leadership, hiring, curriculum, and pedagogy. It provides vision for special programs, projects, and lesson plans. It provides scaffolding for student assessments, teacher evaluations, and discipline policies. Jewish educational programs are not specifically designed to promote in-marriage, and thus should not be measured by in-marriage rates. Doing so misguides Jewish education’s content, pedagogies, structures, cultures, and measures of success.

Outcomes and measures. Learner outcomes should be the natural extensions of purpose and will vary accordingly.

The content and skill outcomes—however specified—are easily measured (if the will and the standards are there), and belief and commitment outcomes can also be fairly easy to measure, especially if clearly articulated at the outset and if measured close to the time when the school ceases to have influence over the student. Thus, we must view as the purpose of schools to produce certain kinds of graduates on graduation day, not graduates who, 10 or 20 years later, will make one specific decision or another.

Most important, belief and commitment outcomes have to be interpreted with humility. Individual characteristics and family background are highly associated with student success in school. Knowledge and skills well learned and practiced can have real staying power with students, especially if called upon frequently and built upon in subsequent learning environments. So too beliefs and commitments, but they can also evolve, change, or upend when tested.

So why bother? If, for example, a student’s belief in the centrality of the State of Israel to Judaism is highly influenced by family background and may be susceptible to change in the face of competing beliefs, one might argue that perhaps it is futile to invest precious time and resources in a thoughtfully developed Israel education program. I argue that it is not. Developing beliefs is a basic feature of what our minds do, and students are creating the building blocks of what will become their personal identity. If, over many years, learners’ developing beliefs and commitments are aligned with the knowledge and skills they are acquiring and consistent with other beliefs and commitments they hold, they build a strong identity.

John Dewey wrote that, “Education is not preparation for life, but life itself.” That is to say, the process of teaching and learning is itself a text that students learn. And the classroom and school environment is itself a world in which students live. Thus, when students are in a learning environment that both shapes and tests beliefs and commitments, these challenges are real-world opportunities for growth, for strengthening some beliefs, and for abandoning others. In the best education settings, learners wrestle with beliefs and commitments (as they do with content and skills) in a deliberate environment characterized by rigor, respect, and love. If we do our jobs correctly, they will wrestle for the entirety of their lives.

What does this mean for philanthropy? To be clear, Jewish kids who have Jewish knowledge, commitments, and social circles are less likely to intermarry than kids who don’t (particularly if marriage market forces are in their favor). Jewish education, therefore, is a sound philanthropic investment for those interested in promoting in-marriage—and the more intensive and immersive the better.

Thus, my argument is not that Jewish education has no role to play when Jews make marital decisions, rather that philanthropists ought not assign it that. In fact, philanthropists ought not assign any particular purpose to Jewish education that Jewish education doesn’t assign to itself. Let each Jewish educational institution find its own Guiding Star. Let each create the powerful contexts for learning and growing guided by that articulated purpose. Let each create gloriously distinctive Jewish environments with social, intellectual, emotional, physical, and spiritual content and character drawn from our texts and traditions. Let each nurture student understanding and skills, beliefs and commitments. Let each teach the words and meaning of birkat hamazon, and let students’ young hearts dance when they sing it together. Many will want to lead it tomorrow.

Dr. Susan M. Kardos is senior director, strategy and education planning, at The AVI CHAI Foundation.