Israel – A Floor, But Not a Ceiling

From Crying To Dancing: Living Through History on Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut

[NOTE: This blog post comes from my daughter, Maytal Mitzmacher, near the end of her Grade 10 spring semester abroad in Tichon Ramah Yerushalayim or TRY, a program operated by Ramah Israel.]

On Yom HaZikaron we went to the Tekkes run by Masa in the evening. It was a very crowded place, and we saw a lot of people we knew. It felt a bit strange because we were excited to see people but the mood was meant to be more somber. It didn’t click for a lot of us until the Tekkes began. For some, it was our first time experiencing this in Israel. There were a lot of meaningful stories from October 7th and other incidents and it was emotional to hear the stories through song and dance and testimonials so that everyone could find a way to connect. The Masa Tekkes helped us prepare for the following day.

On Monday, we joined the Tekkes on the Chava planned by students living here. It honored those who lived here who we lost from past generations. Even though it was in Hebrew, we were still able to connect because it’s the place we’ve been living for the past four months. There was so much emotion in each speaker, that we felt intensely the pain of this year. They also prepared poems, the orchestra played and students sang. Later that day, we went to Har Herzl. Though we had been there once before, it was very different. This time, it was shoulder to shoulder and we visited the same graves, many of which had people sitting beside them mourning their losses. It was overwhelming how many people were there, and though some graves had nobody beside them, all had flowers. We also saw a huge group of people praying around a brand-new grave. It was powerful to be a part of this and experience this with the people of Israel.

Yom HaAtzmaut comes right after Yom HaZikaron. The switch happened in the evening, and we were getting excited to be able to celebrate. We had to switch our mood instantly, thinking of two things so different from one another. To go from thinking of those we’ve lost to celebrating our state is really hard. The immediate switch is hard to process and some people needed more time without feeling the rush. I feel that a day in between would be helpful so that people can be in a proper state of mind to celebrate Israel and enjoy the day. This year, everything was toned down and Yom Haaztmaut was not as celebratory as there are losses that are very recent. We still celebrated but it was hard to go from seeing pictures of hostages to singing upbeat songs. I needed more time to think and switch moods. The mood this year made celebrating more complicated. Even though we are trying to mourn properly, we still have our state and it’s still something we should want to celebrate. Even though there are still horrible things happening, we’re continuing to mourn and pray while appreciating all that we still have and move into another, better year for Israel.

Coming to Israel, knowing there’s a war with everything happening, the 14 of us still chose to come this semester. People thought we were crazy for coming, or they were super proud and impressed with us. We’ve been told countless times that we’re the best of the best for being here right now. Even though we haven’t been able to do everything, it hasn’t changed the way we feel about Israel. We’ve had an experience unlike any other, we lived through this and are able to see firsthand what real life and experiences that we can continue to tell others. We got to live through history and being here is also part of our story and our relationship with Israel. We’ve connected MORE, and our love for Israel has grown immensely. We belong here.

Next Year In…Jerusalem? Preparing for Passover Post-October 7th

Not the WhatsApp I wanted to receive. Not the history I was hoping to repeat.

In May of 2021, I wrote a blog post with a similar text from my older daughter during her semester of Grade 10 studying abroad in Israel. As worried as I was then, those seem like the good old days compared to now.

I know that it is becoming commonplace to ask, “How X is different post-October 7th?” and clearly a holiday that is synonymous with “How is this night different from all other nights?” lends itself to that exact formulation. Tack on the “Next Year in Jerusalem” that – again – may spark questions or conversation in a “normal” year and the idea of preparing to lead a “Post-October 7th Passover Seder” seems…well…like something I wouldn’t mind passing…over. I don’t know how any of us are doing it. We are running model seders and preparing for Passover while drones and missiles are flying towards Israel. We are emotionally exhausted from the trauma of the last six months – while still not recovered from the trauma of the last three years.

I love the Passover Seder. It is pedagogical perfection and I enjoy thinking about which new readings and tunes and discussion prompts and parody songs to incorporate. For years and years, we have spent Passover in Las Vegas (where better than a desert?) celebrating with, first, with my parents and, now, with my mother. I typically spend the flight out finishing my preparations and looking forward to the seders with great anticipation. This year? We are going to synagogue the first night and keeping it small the second. We will have one eye on the Haggadah and one eye towards our phones which would otherwise by away for the chag, but this year need to be nearby God forbid.

I have never had the pleasure of spending a Passover in Israel. I am blessed that come this year, both my daughters will have at least once in their lives been able to not just say, “Next Year in Jerusalem,” but to actually do it. Even this year, even now, I am more grateful than scared. I feel more blessed that Maytal is having this experience than concerned. I know the small dose of empathy this experience is providing me with as my daughter is tucked in her cocoon of safety in Jerusalem does not compare with those whose worries for friends and family are more serious and more present.

This is the part of the blog where typically I push out a pre-Passover blog post that shares (updated) thoughts about how one goes about planning a proper seder. And if you have the bandwidth and headspace to take that on this year, I encourage you to click here and take what is meaningful. But if you don’t…if kashering and gathering and pulling out the Maxwell House or Haggadah-Of-Your-Choice is the best you can do under the circumstances then let this be one of those years where good enough is truly good enough.

I typically encourage the addition of a “Fifth Question” as a way of ensuring the conversation around the seder table is more than script-reading, but this year, I carry but one unanswerable question in my heart: When will peace come to our beloved Israel?

Next Year in Jerusalem? Yes, of course. But right now I am worried about next week and next month…

Chag kasher v’sameach. Chag Pesach Sameach. Am Yisrael Chai.

If Not Now: My Daughter in Israel

One of my concerns about October 7th once the security concerns began to be addressed wasn’t about the weeks in front of us, but the months. For a good stretch of time, the focus on Israel was overwhelming in every sense of that word. We had a fundamental imperative to both be and feel safe. There was education to provide our students. There were displaced Israeli children to absorb and to welcome. There were rallies for solidarity and rallies for advocacy. There were media requests and a need for thought-leadership. And yet, we knew that there was inevitably going to come a time when people’s natural attention spans and bandwidth for crisis was going to yield to a shift and perhaps create a fracture. And perhaps we are at, or nearing that time…

It isn’t to suggest that our (the school‘s) attention is waning or certainly not that our eye has moved off the ball of security even an iota. It is, however, to suggest that people have begun to walk down different paths of engagement depending on their personal connections and experiences. At our school, we still have teachers and families who are awaiting news of hostages and serving on the front lines of Gaza. We still have siblings and friends experiencing anti-Semitism in their public schools, workplaces and neighborhoods. We are still teaching “current events”, praying, raising money and engaging in acts of social justice. But as time inches forward, I think it is fair to say that it simply isn’t top of mind for each and every person as it was…and I state that as a fact of human nature, not a judgement.

I am experiencing the way the heartstrings can be strung and restrung through my parenting. When we made the decision as a family to stay here in Ottawa for our daughters’ high school years, in a place without a true Jewish high school, we committed to a variety of educational experiences that would build a bridge from their rigorous Jewish day school foundation to their studies in university. One of those experiences was to spend a semester of Grade 10 studying in Israel. And that decision got a lot more complicated since Maytal was scheduled to leave for Jerusalem in January.

Our older daughter’s experience was curtailed and compromised by COVID, but she did go. Our girls are Ramahniks through and through, and although there are other programs, Tichon Ramah Yerushalayim (TRY), was our only choice. Normally there are upwards of 60-80 teens with a healthy Canadian cohort. We were looking forward to Maytal getting to have the “full TRY” and then October 7th…

After months of wondering about whether the trip would go, and then worrying about whether sending her was the right choice, we made the family decision – with Maytal as its fiercest champion – that despite the number of students barely in the teens, and without a single other Canadian participating, that now really was the time. (It very much felt like a true, “If not now, when” moment.) And so we found ourselves a couple of weeks ago gathering with other families at Newark Airport to send our children to a very different Israel than the one we knew months ago.

Let me pause to state something obvious. Maytal is in a bubble of privileged North American teens in Jerusalem. She will only travel to the safest of places under the safest of conditions. She is not living in a city near the border and we are not comparing our concerns for her wellbeing to those who are truly living in harm’s way. Not for a moment. That doesn’t mean, however, that we don’t think she is brave for choosing this time to be in Israel. (It also won’t stop my mother from worrying herself sleepless until she returns in May.)

Each ping of the WhatsApp brings news of the next adventure or a picture from the most recent one. She has bonded with her group and has started the experience in full. She is going to have the time of her life and being in Israel – now – will be extraordinarily impactful on her in ways we could guess and ways we cannot imagine. We are blessed to be able to provide her with this opportunity (and grateful to the many people and institutions who helped us make it possible).

But each ping of the WhatsApp also brings anxiety. Each news update on the state of the crisis lands differently than it did a few weeks ago. I don’t feel like I should say this, but I don’t know how to say it differently – obviously as a member of the Jewish People, I always have skin in the game when it comes to Israel. But now, for a short while, I also have flesh and blood. And whether it should or not…it feels different.

I share all of this in the spirit of wanting to ensure that we continue to ask ourselves what is the right amount of space the situation in Israel should continue to occupy – for our school, for our families and for ourselves. I know there is no “right answer” but I guess I hope that whatever newfound insight or empathy (again, I don’t think that is exactly the best word) or perspective having a child of my own living in Israel provides me, that it helps guide me to the right place. And invite you to reflect for what the right amount of space you believe it should occupy as well. Are we doing too much or too little as a community? As a school? (As a family?)

Let me know what you think. Let’s make sure Israel remains in our thoughts and our prayers and our actions even as life inevitably encroaches.

It only gets harder and more complicated the longer it goes.

#StandWithIsrael

#AmYisraelChai

Op-Ed Postscript: People (Still) Read Newspapers & (Some) People ARE Wonderful

On Friday, December 1st, my Op-Ed was published in the Ottawa Citizen.

The following things have happened since…

…that morning an MPP (Member of Provincial Parliament for my American friends) physically came by to hand deliver donut holes to the staff.

…on Monday all our energy was dedicated to…

…sending four buses of students, teachers, parents and alumni to the Canadian Rally for the Jewish People where we stood in solidarity with thousands and thousands in the snow in support of Israel. [If you want to see us in a brief news report, click here.]

…on Tuesday, a (non-Jewish) woman named Isabel G. had a zillion delicious kosher baked goods delivered to our staff.

…on Tuesday, a (non-Jewish) woman named Lauren S. had a beautiful handwritten card and candle sent to us expressing her allyship and solidarity.

…on Tuesday, a (non-Jewish) woman named Mary T., a young 89 year-old resident of an assisted living complex, called the school to see what she could do for us.

And it is only Wednesday…

That doesn’t account for all the Jewish folk I have bumped into since Friday who have gone out of their way to let me know they read, they support, they care, and they, too want to feel like we can do something.

Well.

All of the above counts as something. And more than that, it means everything. You would be surprised – I was – at how much these gestures mean. It seems silly, or maybe it doesn’t, but these simple acts of lovingkindness bring a smile to an otherwise stressed Israeli face, or adds a spring in an otherwise exhausted Jewish step, or comforts a teacher who feels anxious these days – it meaningfully impacts our teachers and our school when we need it most. And who benefits? Happy teachers, happy students! Everyone feels, if just for a moment, better. And that is the best gift any of us can receive during this season, a little light in the darkness.

Chag urim sameach.

BTW – I should have asked for potato chips! [Or did I just manifest a potato chip delivery!]

We look forward to safely welcoming you to this year’s special OJCS Chanukah Family Program! Date and time has been communicated directly to parents and we are looking forward to coming together as an OJCS Family…now more than ever.

BTW – if you like a playlist and a signature cocktail for your celebrations, why don’t you go ahead and make yourself a Chanukah Gelt Martini and vibe to this playlist:

CAT-4 results are in! You can look forward to my way-too-long, covered in way-too-many parts, analysis and breakdown…after Winter Break.

How Did “Going to School” Become an Act of Courage?

I do not have any media training, but I know a good line. And after having done more media hits than I ever would have imagined (and I imagined “zero” so it isn’t that many), the one that seems to resonate the most is the one that still seems the craziest no matter how true:

The choice to open up school should not be considered an act of bravery; the choice to send your children to school should not be considered an act of courage.

And yet that is the current state of affairs here in the Jewish Community School in our nation’s capital. We have parents afraid to send their children to school because of the rise of anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism. We have parents from other local schools looking to move their children to our school because of the rise of anti-Semitism. We have welcomed new Israeli families forced to leave Israel because of the events of October 7th. We have all of that at the same time – we are scared to stand together too visibly and we are scared not to stand together so as not to feel invisible. We are devastated by what is happening in Israel and we are depressed by what is happening around the corner. We are defiant and we are resilient and we are confused and we are exhausted…so exhausted.

My favourite picture of the month is the one featured above – new Israeli students gazing at this thing called “snow”. (And they don’t know the half of it.) Our school is so grateful that it is able to make a meaningful contribution at this time by creating a space for Israeli children to be just that – children. To gaze in wonder at the frozen water dripping from the sky at least for a small while not having to wonder about the wider world and what comes next. We are a school, and that is supposed to be a safe place for children. Canadian Jewish Day Schools are not supposed to be shot at overnight, or receive bomb threats, or be protested. The eight year-olds at our Jewish school in Ottawa are not orchestrating the Israel Defense Forces in Gaza. It would never occur to anyone in the Jewish community I know to find a local madrassa in Ottawa and terrorize their children because we are upset at Hamas. How are we living in a world where it makes sense to attempt to terrorize Jewish children for decisions made by a government thousands of miles away? You want to peacefully protest Israel? Go for it. But making parents afraid to send their children to school?

How do we explain to the children in our school what is happening without traumatizing them? We use examples from Jewish history and from Jewish text to nourish and to inspire. We pray and we write letters and we donate and we welcome new Israeli friends. We teach media literacy and fact from fiction. We lobby and we advocate. We stand together.

How do we ensure our children get to be children? We play and we learn Math and we learn French and we learn Science. We have assemblies and we have field trips and we have special programs. We laugh and we sing and we do all the normal things. We stand together.

I don’t know how long this delicate dance will continue. Each day we calibrate how much space this should take up at each grade-level. Each day we muster up the strength to teach and to love our students, even when brokenhearted. Each day we come prepared for noise, but pray for quiet. Each week we share news about security hoping it will be the last week it is needed.

The goal of terrorism is to cause terror and I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t had an effect. But we refuse to stand down or to stand still. This is an inflection point and our children will be shaped by what we do now. Am Yisrael Chai is not a hashtag, but an imperative. Am Yisrael Chai isn’t just the rallies and the marches – however important those things are – it is living a Jewish life in full and in the open. I’ve never been prouder to run a Jewish day school. What we do now ensures that the next generation will stand up and stand with Israel when it inevitably becomes necessary. What we do now helps ensure that there will be an Israel, which with the rise of anti-Semitism reveals itself to be more needed than ever.

It is true that operating a school shouldn’t be an act of courage, but if it is, colour our school courageous – from the admin to the teachers to the office to the security guards to the maintenance people. And it is true that sending your children to school shouldn’t be an act of bravery, but if it is let Am Yisrael Chai be sending your children to a Jewish school open to receive them with loving arms. Each day the school bell rings, the doors open, Jewish children enter with smiles, and we participate in the miracle of Am Yisrael Chai. Today, tomorrow and forever. Ken y’hi ratzon.

Four Better Questions Than “Are You OK?”

Each morning our students enter school to the sounds of Israeli songs of peace…

Each time we do Tefillah we add tehillim (psalms) and/or special prayers for Israel, the IDF and/or the missing and the kidnapped…

Each week we revisit our layers of security according to what is true and communicate carefully and clearly to our families…

Each day we decide how much “current events” should or shouldn’t be part of each particular grade and class…

Each week brings a new rally or vigil…including this weekend…

Each day brings new and worthy charities and causes to support…

Each week brings new Israeli families to our community and to our school…

Each child in our school, each parent in our community, each teacher in our classroom is differently touched by what is happening each and every moment of the day…

…it makes a routine like “weekly blogging” feel like nothing more than spitting into the wind.

Two weeks ago, I blogged explicitly on the pain and sadness we are experiencing as a result of the terrorist attacks on our beloved Israel. It felt important to say those words and, maybe, it provided me with a hint of catharsis.

Last week, I blogged about the launch of our school’s new “Goal-Setting Conferences” coming in a few weeks. It felt important to share a truly meaningful change in our school’s approach to parent and student engagement, and, maybe, it provided me with a hint of normalcy.

This week? I feel stuck.

All the blog posts have already been written.

I could write about the coming dissonance between those who have already started to move on a bit and those who are still sitting still in the thick of it. This is true for our students, our teachers, our parents, our community and – for sure- the wider world. But someone smarter than I has already written it.

I could write about the challenges our alumni are experiencing in high schools and universities throughout Canada (including my own daughters) with anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism and leaders too careful (or too scared) to call it by its name. But everyone is writing about that and ten minutes of doomscrolling on X (Twitter) is more than enough.

I could write about the impact of trauma on leaders of Jewish schools and institutions. But I just came back from a Day School Leadership Training Institute (DSLTI) Retreat on this topic and there are books and articles you can Google that will tell you all you need to know.

Or.

I could write my first “Tour of the OJCS Blogosphere” where I highlight the amazing work that our teachers and students produce and share with the world. But it just doesn’t feel like this is the time for that kind of post. (Don’t worry…that post is coming one of these weeks.)

Or.

I could skip a week. I could give myself permission not to blog. Other than my mother, my wife, my friend Nancy and my Aunt Donna…I mean…

Of course, I’m nearly 500 words in now so I guess that’s out.

So here is what I will do. A simple request. If you are feeling like asking people if they are okay feels a bit trite or tone-deaf these days, but you want to show that you care…please take time this week to ask all the people you care about in your life, these four questions (yes, of course it had to be “four questions”):

Are you getting enough sleep?
Are you getting enough exercise or fresh air?
Are you eating healthily and properly?
What can I do?

If we can each do that for a few people in our lives this week, maybe, just maybe, it will be a slightly better week than the one before.

Ken y’hi ratzon.

The Question That Broke My Heart

“Dr. Mitzmacher…what if Israel is destroyed? What happens to the Jewish People? What happens to us?”

This is a real question that a child – multiple children – asked me at a Middle School Town Hall on Tuesday morning. In 2023. Seventy-five years after the modern State of Israel came into existence. And I have been gutted ever since…

I can tell you what I said, hoping and believing it to be true. I said that he should not be trying to carry the weight of such a thing right now. That as awful as it all is, and still may be, that he doesn’t have to worry that there won’t be an Israel. And then I paused. And then I said that it is also true that for thousands of years there was a Jewish People without an Israel and that the true lesson of Jewish History is that we survive, we carry forward, we rebuild, and we thrive. No matter what. Always and forever. Am Yisrael Chai. That’s what I said. And at no point in my life did I ever believe for a nanosecond that it might not be true. And in my heart of hearts, I don’t believe it now. But my belief is wrapped in fear and doubt.

This is not a blog post where I share resources.

I have been overwhelmed with requests from Jewish teachers in public and private schools, from Jewish parents from the larger Ottawa Jewish Community, and from public and private schools themselves – all looking for resources, for ideas, and in some cases for direct help in teaching, in facilitating experiences, talking with kids and families, etc. And it is my pleasure to be of service. I’d like to think the “Community” in the Ottawa Jewish Community School is more than just an adjective describing who is in our school, but for who we serve as a school. I will continue to do whatever I can in support of larger Jewish Ottawa.

This is not a blog post where I make you feel better.

I have a GoogleDoc whose entire purpose is keeping track of who in our OJCS Extended Family has been called into duty, kidnapped or murdered. How is that possible? The only thing worse than having to create the document is to have to keep editing it, and not for the better. Because of our school’s significant number of Israeli families and faculty, there is not one child or adult at OJCS who does not personally know someone who is directly impacted by the ongoing tragedy in Israel. Not one. Consciously or not; known or not – these last days have been a delicate dance between the need to provide our students with a sense of normalcy and safety and joy, and the reality that many of our students – and parents and teachers – are struggling with sadness and trauma. I don’t know that we are getting it right, but we are doing our best.

And teachers…

The hardest thing we ask our teachers to do is to come to work with broken and heavy hearts and be present for our children. For some the distraction of work is welcome, for some the smiles of children a salve, but for most the anxiety and the fear and the pain are right below the surface. All through the week, teachers have had to pause, to take a break so they can break down, and to put themselves back together. Spontaneous moments of solidarity, wordless hugs and tearful nods of mutual recognition dot the day. I have never been more proud to work in a Jewish school. For those of us who believe education is a calling, it is to this that we have been called. And our teachers not only answer the call, they do so with love.

This is not a blog post about security.

Those conversations are internally focused for all the right reasons. There is nothing more important than ensuring the physical and psychological wellbeing of our students. Our entire concentric circle of community from school outwards to country is united in this effort and it makes me proud to be a Jew and a soon-to-be Canadian.

This is going to get harder…

And I don’t just mean the war effort on the ground in Israel, but yes. Each day that goes on we have to calibrate the correct amount of space for this to occupy in school. Too much space can be overwhelming. Not enough space can be disrespectful and tone-deaf. Different grades will require a different calibration; individual children will differ in their needs and wants. “Standing With Israel” today feels like a clear call to action. It will likely be less clear what it means day-to-day, the longer this tragedy unfolds. All I can tell you is that we are paying attention and we are trying to get it right.

What can we do?

The impulse when faced with such overwhelming feelings is to do something. But what? Social media is presenting a dizzying, and sometimes conflicting, array of donation opportunities and drives. As we try to move forward, our school will be paying attention to the following buckets of activities:

Providing accurate, age-and-stage appropriate information.
Creating space for reflection, questions and sharing of feelings.
Offering direct service to students, teachers and families who are coping with trauma.
Praying – using contemporary prayers and blessings for Israel, the IDF, the kidnapped and the missing, etc., and traditional modes, such as the chanting of Tehillim (Psalms) as is done during times of communal distress.
As appropriate, raising money, writing cards, and taking other hands-on measures in direct support of the local and international Israeli community.

But for now, on this day when hate has been called down upon us, I choose otherwise. I choose this school – safe, open, and proudly Zionistic throughout its entire history, but never more than now. I choose this community – standing in unambiguous solidarity with its Israeli and Jewish brothers and sisters. I choose this country – whose political leadership of all parties have offered the strongest rebuke of terrorism and support for Israel that I can remember hearing. I choose a life filled with Judaism and suffused with Israel. And I choose love. Tonight after we light the Shabbat candles, my wife and I will bless our daughter as we have done each Shabbat of her life. We do this knowing how lucky we are to be able to do it, grateful for our blessings, devastated for those families no longer with parents to bless children, or children to be blessed. That’s all I can do. And I pray it is enough.

Am Yisrael Chai.

I Didn’t Want to Have to Write an Israel Blog Post

I found myself nudged early last week – and justly so – by my Jewish Studies Faculty for not having quickly issued a statement about the situation in Israel. It wasn’t that I wasn’t paying close attention. I just shared last month my perspective (and my pride) about having my older daughter studying in Jerusalem. I always try to pay attention to what is happening in Israel, but I have naturally been paying even-closer-attention since she arrived. I knew as soon as anyone about the current escalation of violence through the WhatsApp message you can see above. I knew and I cared and yet still I delayed speaking. Why?

Well, I guess that similar to other issues of national or international import, I am never entirely certain whether it is an appropriate use of my small slice of the blogosphere to add to a conversation in which I bring no particular expertise and no concrete suggestions. Is there something I can say or offer that will help address what is going on in Israel right now and how we could or should respond? Do I have something critical to share with our school community about how to process and discuss current events?

The truth is that our school is taught by talented and bright professionals who have access to a myriad of resources. Our community (in concentric circles of city, province, country and international) provides all kinds of additional expertise which I do my best to funnel to our families, teachers and alumni. I can be a hub for sharing inwards and a megaphone for sharing outwards, but I certainly don’t think that I have an answer or a perspective that will move the needle in anyone’s conversation or advocacy.

And yet…

Saying nothing at all doesn’t feel right either. As a Jewish educator – as a Jew – I believe it is appropriate to speak purely from the heart about Israel…

…a place that changed my life in 1988.

…a place that changed it again in 1992.

…a place that changed it once again in 1997 and 1998.

…a place in 2021 that I have sent my older daughter to study, and will do the same for my younger one when she, too, reaches Grade 10 in 2024.

…a place that I anxiously await revisiting.

Because like a lot of Jews of my generation, a teen Israel experience (along with camp) was a crucial step on my Jewish journey. It also was my very first job in Jewish education.

I’ve shared this first part before. I first went to Israel in 1988 as part of our local Federation’s teen tour. It was an extraordinary experience and I met friends that summer that I am still close with today. I returned to Israel in 1992 as part of a NFTY in Israel summer experience. (Yes, that is a bandana over my long, long hair.)

My very first job in Jewish education was working for the Bureau of Jewish Education of Greater Los Angles (BJE-LA) running teen programs, paramount of which was the LA Summer-in-Israel Ulpan. I cannot provide a link to the program because, unfortunately, it no longer exists, but for many years it was a signature summer-in-Israel program combining the regular touring experiences of other trips with an actual Hebrew ulpan for which students received high school and college credit. I spent the summers of 1997 and 1998 leading this trip and having an opportunity to provide teens with the experiences I had been blessed to have as a teen myself.

The power of the Israel experience is real.

That’s why we visit. That’s why so many do our first or second b’nai mitzvah there. That’s why we have Federation and synagogue missions. That’s why we send our Jewish day school classes (like I hope we will one day do here at OJCS). That’s why we send our teachers for professional development. That’s why we make aliyah.

That’s why the current situation is heartbreaking.

I have no interest in injecting politics of any kind. I have my beliefs and I am sure you do as well. I don’t know what the answers are to safeguard our homeland, our beating heart. I’m not even sure that I even know the questions. I am sure that the opportunity to experience Israel transformed me and the opportunity to provide that experience to others transformed me just as thoroughly. To contemplate the idea that one day it could prove too unsafe to visit stirs my soul to anger. To wonder if one day it could prove impossible shakes me to my core.

Our daily prayers call upon us to face our sacred ancestral home. May a day come when peace envelopes our home, our Israel.

And may that day come without delay…

A Parent’s Perspective on a Teen Israel Experience

I think after last week’s blog post was rendered moot by outside events within hours of publication, you’ll forgive me for seeking comfort in a non-COVID and pretty much a non-OJCS conversation…and I like the idea of talking about Israel as we just commemorated Yom HaZikaron and are now celebrating Yom Ha’Atzmaut.

My oldest daughter, Eliana, pictured above in the middle, arrived this week to Jerusalem where she was supposed to be spending her spring semester of Grade 10 as part of the TRY (Tichon Ramah Yisrael) Program. With her bags packed since January, the universe finally aligned itself this week, and teenagers from all over North America have finally found their way to Israel. Leaving aside the impossibility that I could be old enough to have a daughter old enough to be doing this, I thought it might be a good opportunity – especially since teen Israel experiences that aren’t the March of the Living aren’t particularly well-embedded in the culture here in Ottawa – to make a pitch and a plea for teen Israel experiences. (And, yes, I am aware that lots of Canadian Jewish day schools do have Israel trips, and yes, I would LOVE to see us eventually do that here in Grade 8. But that’s a different post for a different time.)

Like a lot of Jews of my generation, a teen Israel experience (along with Jewish summer camp) was a crucial step on my Jewish journey. It also was my very first job in Jewish education.

I first went to Israel in 1988 as part of our local Federation’s teen tour. It was an extraordinary experience and I met friends that summer that I am still close with today. I returned to Israel in 1992 as part of a NFTY in Israel summer experience. My very first job in Jewish education was working for the Bureau of Jewish Education of Greater Los Angeles (BJE-LA) running teen programs, paramount of which was the LA Summer-in-Israel Ulpan. I cannot provide a link to the program because, unfortunately, it no longer exists, but for many years it was a signature summer-in-Israel program combining the regular touring experiences of other trips with an actual Hebrew ulpan for which students received high school and college credit. I spent the summers of 1997 and 1998 leading this trip and having an opportunity to provide teens with the experiences I had been blessed to have as a teen myself. And now as a parent, I am blessed to pass it forward to my children.

The power of the teen Israel experience is real. Here’s excellent proof (even if a bit dated):

A 2011 study conducted by Ramie Arian and sponsored by iCenter indicated the following:

Roughly 11,000 teens traveled to Israel in 2010 – almost the same number that participated in peer-trips to Israel in the late 1990s. One difference, however, is that over 130 agencies took teens to Israel in 2010.
The majority of teens traveled with youth organizations, middle schools, high schools, community trips and camps.
The mifgash is becoming a normative part of the teen Israel travel experience, with a few select groups extending it to the full length of their programs.

Based on two iCenter convenings of 30 teen Israel trip stakeholders, the following was underscored:

An experience in Israel must be seen as an essential component of Jewish Education. Ideally, students participate in multiple Israel Experiences over time.
The Israel Experience is most impactful as part of a Jewish Educational continuum (pre- and post-trip programming).
Teen years are critical from a developmental perspective to help form identity and relationships.

I am so excited/thrilled/jealous that my daughter gets to have this first amazing Israel experience and I look forward to seeing over the next months and years how it impacts her and our family. And I look forward to my next daughter’s experience when it becomes her turn. In the meanwhile, in this week that we celebrate Israel’s birthday, let us pledge not just to celebrate her with flags and falafel, not just with social media posts and tzedakah, but with a commitment to bring as many of our teens to Israel as we can.

And for the folks here at OJCS…are we ready to start talking about a Grade 8 GRAD Trip to Israel?