“What’s the closest religion to Judaism?”  I couldn’t believe that a joke I’ve never liked, one which I thought embodied so much of the problems of the American Jewish community, would be told at a Shabbat  table in Jerusalem, by the seven-year-old son of two of our closest friends.  I may have blurted out “I hate that joke!” with a little too much force; I stepped on his punch line and in the end he was only parroting what he had heard from adults around other tables, possibly on other Shabbatot.  But that’s the point – or at least one of them; we, as sophisticated we-understand-the-irony adults may say certain things that have layers of “truth” to them – but our children often pick up the words on the surface, missing any subtleties or larger context. 

The punch line, by the way?  Chabad.  Get the joke?  As Jewish as Jewish can be, yet so different, so troubling as to elicit uncomfortable humor and if truth be told, even derision.  Not in polite, we-are-one community functions of course, but around many a Jewish table (and worse, in many a school).  Worse still, there are plenty of one-liners whose punch lines end with Reform – or Conservative, Orthodox or other denominations.  Not that long ago, we could exchange contemporary denominational references with Chasidim and Mitnagdim (two broadly defined groups of Jews in the eighteenth century, utterly philosophically opposed to each other, to the extent that they famously – infamously – refused to accept each other’s kashrut; their siddurim (prayer books) became different, with varying areas of emphasis and even different hymns and wordings of prayers.)  Today the irony’s on all of us: though there are still doctrinal differences, the world and even the majority of the Jewish world look at the descendents of the Chasidim and Mitnagdim of the 1700s and place them all in the same category.

Sects and divisions amongst Jews?  Go further back, to the time of the Second Temple.  Sociological, theological differences – political differences – but certainly not theoretical differences.  These schisms ended with some Jews literally at the throats of others; the zealots and particularly the Sicarii, were advocates of armed struggle against the Romans and didn’t’ hesitate turning their assassins’ daggers on Jews whom they believed were insufficiently stalwart in their opposition to Roman rule.  Move ahead another eighteen hundred years or so and the Jews of the yishuv (pre-state Palestine) are militarily divided into the Haganah and the Palmach, the Irgun and Lehi (also known as “the Stern Gang”).  Some differences are essentially structural and practical (the Palmach - plugot machatz - was a specialized mobile strike force), but others are about life-and-death decisions.  The Irgun advocated offensive action, while the Haganah was guided by a policy of havlagah (restraint).  Predictably, some saw the Irgun as inadequately militant, which led to the founding of the Lochamei Heirut Israel (“freedom fighters of Israel” – Lehi), which saw the British as the primary enemy and staged commando and sabotage raids on British institutions.

Thankfully, we’ve come a long way.  We no longer turn each other into the Roman or Polish or British authorities.  We do, though, have this pernicious disinclination to see commonalities first and differences second.  We seem to exult in our differences, sometimes depicting cracks as gaping fissures in the Jewish body politic.  And boy, do we bash.  Some of us ___-bash and some others engage in ___-bashing, but in the end they’re all self-inflicted wounds.  There are benefits to having a range of perspectives; and there’s a genuine celebration to be had when we think of the diversity within our community.  Yet acknowledging the fact of these differences can lead – should lead – to a recognition that no one perspective has a monopoly on truth or righteousness.

This may go a little too far, but I’ll chance stretching an analogy because the irony is just too perfect.  Gentlemen’s Agreement was one of the first full-budget, big-star Hollywood depictions of anti-Semitism, in which Gregory Peck’s character pretends to be Jewish to write a firsthand account of post-war anti-Jewish attitudes and behavior.  The film is a powerful statement and in 1947, took a decent-sized risk in coming out against what few acknowledged in polite company.  Toward the end of the movie, Peck’s girlfriend (who was in on the ruse) tells his friend Dave Goldman how sickened she was at a party when she overheard a bigoted joke; when Dave asked her what she did about it, she comes to realize that silence condones – and perpetuates the prejudice.  She’s clearly written as a character with liberal views, yet she can’t conceal her own discomfort when she asks Peck if he’s really not Jewish.  The end of the movie is all about reconciliations and resolve (it is Hollywood of the ’40s after all).  Kathy – the girlfriend – understands that she too needs to speak out when she hears comments and jokes; that stereotypes flourish when even “good people” acquiesce to say nothing.  Phillip Green (no longer Phil Greenberg) finishes “I Was Jewish for Six Months” for the magazine and Dave moved into a previously restricted neighborhood. 

My probably-too-serious takeaway from Elia Kazan’s movie is to resolve, just like Kathy, to speak up when I hear one of “those” jokes.  I’ll show a lot more fortitude though if I do it with contemporaries in the States and not just with seven year-olds in Jerusalem. 

Shabbat Shalom,

Jerry D. Isaak-Shapiro
Head of School

But how are you going to top it next year?  The only cloud in the silver lining of an exceptionally successful Spring Auction is the frustratingly stubborn tendency to immediately worry about how to improve on such a tremendous event.  Heaven forbid we should revel too long (like a whole day!) before we start to get nervous about what comes next.  Old joke as a case in point:  What’s a Jewish telegram?  Start worrying, bad news to follow. 

The truth is that while I anticipated a deluge, only a couple of people actually asked the how-do-we-top-this question — and I was grateful for being wrong.  To their credit, one of the reasons why our lay leaders and professional staff have been so successful is that they haven’t tried to best their previous efforts.  In other words, they succeeded in topping themselves because they weren’t trying to top themselves.  Each event is treated as its own occasion, without the niggling worry of will it raise more funds or will there be more participants. 

We live in an era and in a society that nearly obsessively quantifies success.  Rankings in law school, medical school.  SATs,   GPAs, standings.  In honor of the election season, I’ll add the   phenomenon of “horserace journalism” — which perfectly captures the manic comparison of votes (or dollars) of competing candidates, over and above a comparison of their views or positions.  Counting delegates and PAC contributions may be easier, but they don’t necessarily tell a deeper story than who has more delegates or dollars.

Back to the auction.  I don’t believe it’s much of a stretch at all to suggest that the fact that our auction accomplishes this Zen-like success (keeps improving because it doesn’t try to keep improving) is indicative of the school’s educational philosophy.    Of course we benchmark and we track progress of our students and yes, we grade.  But the most important gift we can provide our students is not to compare them with the “average” student their age or inform them of their ranking.  Standardized tests might offer useful information, but only when they’re put into a larger, much more complex context.  The Seventh Grader needs to be “compared” to the best Seventh Grader she can be, and that’s not solely or even primarily based on her educational profile in Sixth Grade.  And her success is certainly not about how the other Seventh Graders are doing. 

Shabbat Shalom,

Jerry Isaak-Shapiro

Head of School

Jerry D. Isaak-Shapiro
Agnon Head of School

At the end of the day she was only fourteen herself, so while it was pretty selfish of her (even mean), it was age-appropriate selfishness.  Sadly predictable and predictably sad.  But her mother – let’s just say that her mother had passed fourteen a good few years ago; there was no euphemizing her behavior – it was selfish and it was mean-spirited and there was nothing appropriate about it.

 It turns out that this mother’s daughter had volunteered to host a party for her entire class; and it also turns out that there was a new girl in the class, someone who had recently moved to the area.  Coming into an already-formed society with its written and unwritten rules, with all its spoken and non-verbal cues and codes is daunting for most of us – and adolescence adds its own layer of complexity.  I can say very comfortably that we have developed a culture that is by and large a genuinely welcoming and accepting environment – no Nirvana (yet), but it’s far from Lord of the Flies.  While today’s Agnon still has work to do to ensure that we live up to the values we express, it’s also true that the school of five and seven years ago (and more) wasn’t an awful, non-evolved dungeon of intolerance and xenophobia.  This particular case of non-acceptance was then – as it would be today – an exception to the rule.

 But what an exception it was.  As the daughter showed the invitation list to her mother*, it became clear that the invitation would not be going to everyone in the class.  This was not a case of five being invited out of thirty – or even ten from a twenty-person class.  This was about sending 24 invitations out for a class of 25.  *[Important side note to dads: these are joint parenting moments.  Important side note to moms: the previous note does nothing to take away from your particular and essential parenting role.]

 So an educable moment presented itself, a perfect opportunity for mom to elicit a conversation from her daughter.  She could inquire innocently (“Honey, I don’t think the number is right…”), or be a bit more directive (“Sweetheart, why is X not on the list?”), or shoot for the middle (“…I think you forgot to add X…”), which would have raised the issue without being accusatory.  

 She chose none of the above.  When her daughter openly (and perhaps preemptively) informed her that sending 24 invitations was by design, the parent responded with, “I understand – I suppose she wouldn’t really be comfortable here anyway.”  (Disclaimer: while I’m purposely hiding the identities of all involved, the story is absolutely true and accurate in all essential details.  Though I’m paraphrasing what was said, mother’s and daughter’s “dialogue” was reported to me directly by the mother.) 

 Would she (the new girl in question, who by that time had been in the class for more than six months) really have been “comfortable” at that party or in that particular house?  Possibly and possibly not, but it seems to me that that was a decision best left to the invitation-less student herself, along with her parents.  To take that  decision away from her – to “kindly” assume that she would not want to be there – was condescending at best, self-serving and guilt-assuaging (and cruel) at worst. 

I would love all of our fourteen year-olds to be mature enough and accepting enough to be able to do “the right thing” in these instances – but as has been noted, fourteen is… fourteen.  Many, many times they’ll surprise us, raise us up with their genuine passion for justice and for righting wrongs in the world.  They so often have a laser-like ability to focus on hypocrisy and injustice cloaked in rationalizations; we can and should listen to them and learn from them.  BUT when they do not rise to those levels, when they lapse into adolescent tribalism, then it’s our responsibility as the adults in their lives, to point it out – to nudge, suggest and teach.  This could have been a time for mom to instill the value of hachnasat orachim (the reception – the welcoming – of the stranger), to help her daughter help someone else feel accepted and feel a part of the group.  To the overwhelming majority of parents out there who do do the right thing, the ones who don’t shy away from placing limits and modeling values, this one isn’t for you: parent is also a verb.

Shabbat Shalom,

Jerry D. Isaak-Shapiro
Head of School

It’s funny how you can draw solace from even the most difficult experiences.  It may be that aging thing, but it certainly seems as if there have been more funerals, more condolence letters to write and more shiva calls recently.  Yet even during moments when your friends or family are going through some of the hardest times of their lives, they’re also being supported and taken care of – and truly loved – by their community. 

I parked in a long line of cars a half block away from the house of friends whose father had died, and walked into the house past a number of guys tossing a football around on the lawn.  They looked like a group of cousins who were at a family function; the adults (OK, the “old people”) were inside, doing whatever old people do, and they were outside until they were called inside, for the minyan.  They looked like family because they were acting like family – they had come to daven ma’ariv (the evening service) and to be counted in a minyan - but mostly, they were there to support and be with their friend who had just lost his grandfather.  That they could pick up a siddur and lead or follow along is in and of itself a very special thing; but that they chose to be there (I sincerely doubt that they had to be parentally coerced to be there for their friend and his family) is a mitzvah in its own right.

The math and science and language arts we teach; even the lessons in Hebrew and Jewish history and Tanach we provide – can only go so far.  The community we help to develop, the relationships and mutual responsibilities we engender amongst our students and our families – those are the true jewels we provide to each generation.  Nearly every letter or e-mail we receive from former students, while they cite academics and Jewish knowledge and confidence, inevitably refers to the importance of community.  They maintain their friendships – better, they keep their friends - whether they’re in the same dorm or across the country; and they build new relationships that will last beyond a common chemistry lab or a shared apartment because they know how to support each other and how to respect each other.  

Back to shiva.  A brilliant woman (thanks, Deb) came up with an equally brilliant axiom for this quintessential Jewish practice: we should always see ourselves as the tenth person in the minyan.  In other words, we’re not irreplaceable – we’re indispensable.  This is a subtle friendly amendment to the It-takes-a-village truism (at least it’s always been true for me).  We certainly need and should equally respect all people, all walks of life, all abilities and professions and perspectives.  But it’s not enough that the other villagers see the value in each person; every individual must see him/herself as essential as well. 

Shabbat Shalom,

Jerry D. Isaak-Shapiro

Head of School

שבת שלום מהמנהל

It may be debatable among film critics and movie fans, but I’m pretty sure that Airplane! was the granddaddy of the movie spoof genre.  The sight gags, the wordplay and mostly the riffs on other, supposedly serious movies make Airplane! (love that exclamation mark) a treasure trove from which other film writers have liberally stolen for decades – and there could be no more flattering crime.  There was however one throwaway scene (in a movie of dozens of non sequitur lines and gags) that made me quietly cringe a bit in 1980, although it also elicited a laugh. 

Julie Hagerty’s flight attendant is moving down the aisle passing out magazines (Boys Life to a nun in full habit; Nuns Life to a ten year-old boy).  When asked if she’d like something to read, a woman asks, “Do you have anything light?” Hagerty responds with, “How about this leaflet – famous Jewish sports legends?”  Rummaging through the stack of thick magazines in her arms, she produces a newspaper clipping-size handout.  Cut to next scene.

Arrrgh – that one again?  How could someone even suggest to a Jewish Angeleno who grew up with the Dodgers in the 60s, for whom Koufax’s Yom Kippur decision was an even bigger deal than his four no-hitters or his perfect game, that there were so few Jewish sports legends that even the idea was a joke?  Stereotypes often have a sliver of truth, more often a silver of twisted truth; and there are plenty of academically sound sociological reasons for certain ethnic groups to share disproportionately in certain endeavors (science, sports, the arts), or for specific groups to be underrepresented, but none of that matters that much when you’re wincing at a one-liner aimed at your particular tribe. 

(Truth in personal advertising: my father, Leonard, was not named for a revered Great Uncle as some in my family had believed.  His name was chosen by his father, a ferocious fight fan (as opposed to a ferocious fighter), who wanted to name him after Benny Leonard, considered the greatest lightweight champ – ever.  Leonard never lost a fight over a twenty-year career, but he wasn’t the lone Jewish fighter by far – let’s just say it would have been easy to scrounge up a minyan in just about any boxing gym in the teens and twenties and thirties.  By 1928, Jews were actually the dominant nationality in professional boxing, followed by the Italians and Irish; in the 20s and 30s a little over fifteen percent of the champions were Jewish, but almost a third of all licensed fighters were Jews.)

Fast-forward to 2012.  The Texas Association of Private and Parochial Schools was faced with a dilemma (largely of its own making).  Students at The Robert M. Beren Academy in Houston, an Orthodox Jewish Day School, had won its regional championship and was slated to advance to the state semifinals in Dallas.  A big deal – actually, a Big Deal.  The boys with the kippot were going to play The Covenant School – but the game was scheduled for 9:00 p.m., on Friday night.  Beren appealed to TAPPS and the tournament organizer rejected the appeal, quoting regulations and bylaws (Section 138.C.3.e – and no, I’m not making it up), finally falling back on the bureaucrats’ tried and true “If-we-do-it-for-you-we’d-have-to-do-it-for-everyone-else” logic.  Representatives of The Covenant School said that they were open to re-scheduling the game to be played before Shabbat. 

A hue and cry erupted.  A former coach of the Houston Rockets and the Knicks offered the best line: Jeff Van Gundy was quoted as saying that TAPPS evidently didn’t have a “vice president of common sense who will tell them that this is silly and it’s OK to change your mind.” 

The hundreds of letters of support to Beren and messages received by TAPPS combined to persuade the association to rethink its decision, and the Beren-Covenant game was scheduled for Friday afternoon.  Beren won (and so did Covenant).  Beren was defeated in the next round (played on Saturday night). 

Lessons to be learned:

• There are principles worth upholding, and Beren never wavered in having their team not play over Shabbat. 
• There are kindred spirits in the world, for whom common values transcend surface differences (The Covenant School and the other parochial schools in the league were absolutely steadfast in their support of Beren’s request to re-schedule the game.  Many of them had already done so during the regular season.) 
• As corny as it sounds, sports – at least for our students – really isn’t (only) about winning.  It’s about competing or sometimes just being given the chance to compete; and if it is about winning, it’s about winning in a certain way – as a team, gracious in victory, never glowering in the face of a loss – or at the face of an opponent.
• One more thing: Benny Leonard or Barney Ross (look him up too) or Hank Greenberg or Koufax aren’t alone.  There are plenty of other role models out there that belie that stereotype and all the other mistruths Jews and the Jewish community.  Blue-collar and white-collar; academics and business; Broadway and Main Street – and the steel business, the diamond business and the business business.  It’s not what we do but who we are. 

Shabbat Shalom, 

Jerry D. Isaak-Shapiro

Head of School

שבת שלום מהמנהל

It’s not even 10:00 in the morning (Eastern Standard Time) and I’m already tired – but exhilarated at the same time. So far this morning we’ve had a pre-K Shabbat Sing, with four-year-olds on parents’ and grandparents’ laps, all ushering in Shabbat together; and thirty minutes ago there was the first round of our Sixth Annual Hebrew Spelling Bee – where students (and not a few parents) jump up and down and cheer about learning Hebrew! It’s truly not about winning (OK, a little of that) — it’s about actually getting excited about learning.

Alongside those programs, our middle schoolers are hosting their friends from Gross Schechter for the first round of the Power of the Pen competition — creative writing sessions that celebrate literary athleticism. And need I forget, today is Yom HaYeled (literally, “the day of the child”), a hybrid of early-Purim-celebration-meets-Jewish-Mardi-Gras. Yom HaYeled epitomizes the controlled chaos that reminds students, teachers and parents that school is supposed to be fun — that it needs to be fun. Find a smiling student and it’s likely that s/he’s also a learning student.

The second half of the year is more sprint than marathon — from the time we return from Winter vacation to mid-June, there’s a milestone program nearly every week, plus the magic of the Jewish calendar itself. Tu B’shvat, Purim and Pesach have been celebrated for centuries, while we’ve only had Yom HaAtzmaut and Yom Yerushalayim for decades. Taken together, they form a rock-solid foundation on which we build an extraordinary contemporary calendar.  A few days ago nearly the entire school community strolled through our hallways and filed into classrooms for our Celebration of Learning — and next week our 7th Graders and their parents and other family members will be treated to the Shorashim presentation,  an evening of looking at our individual and collective roots (literally, our “shorashim“) while we look ahead at an exciting future, one in which our students will assume their own leadership responsibilities.

This Monday (the 27th) we will be cheering the accomplishments of our student athletes. On that particular day, our JV boys basketball team will be playing in our league’s Championship Game, but on and off the court our students have been exemplary, and for them and their coaches (and their forever-schlepping-to-practice parents), we’ll all be wearing blue and white for a school-wide “spirit day” on Monday. That day I encourage all of you to hug a basketball player (even your own).

There is always much to celebrate, and much for which to be grateful. I wish all of you a peaceful, restful and joyful Shabbat. See you on Monday.

Shabbat shalom,

Jerry D. Isaak-Shapiro
Head of School