Every other Friday, the 9^th grade Jewish Studies classes each sit in a circle in the middle of the room. At the front of the room, a neatly pressed white cloth neatly covers a table with two Shabbat candles and two snacks. We start the period with a song and then dive into the heart of the student-led activity. This is what the kids have come to know as “Jewish Journey Friday.”

After lighting candles and distributing snacks, the two students hosting that week each ask a carefully constructed question. The questions are designed to elicit a specific and personal story that will reveal some element of a person’s Jewish Journey. “Tell a story about a particularly memorable Passover experience.” “When was a time when you felt particularly proud to be a Jew?” “Tell about a specific way in which you see your Judaism differently today than you did when you were younger.” Students have a few minutes to think, and then one student begins with their answer, proceeding around the circle.  Students listen attentively, often nodding and expressing other forms of non-verbal communication. In these moments, students willingly share times when they have struggled or done something they regret, alongside celebrating moments of pride and feelings of empowerment.

While Jewish Journey Friday is a highlight of many students’ weeks, one student’s response transformed the way I [Yoni] thought about this practice. L. was in my class, a tough, hard-shelled boy for whom cynicism and contempt were stock-in-trade, and I was deeply concerned with how he would answer these questions—or, even worse, how he would respond to the raw and vulnerable responses of his classmates. I held my breath as each student spoke, and the line got closer and closer to him. And then it was his turn.

I’ll never forget my seder with my dad in the hospital. I don’t get to see my dad very much, and that year I was supposed to spend Passover with him. But he was in the hospital. So my brother and I went, and we sat with him in his room, and we asked the four questions and ate matzah with him, and I loved it. I won’t ever forget that.

The room sat astounded. We had never seen this particular kid take anything seriously, let alone share deeply of himself in a profound, authentic, earnest, and vulnerable way. He had not only honored the sacred nature of our space—he had contributed deeply to it.

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Sacredness through vulnerable sharing is a hallmark of education at Gann Academy. In so many corners of our school, students are empowered to lean into their vulnerability and thus create a holy community. In this article, we will take you through three loci of sacred sharing: the Jewish Studies classroom, the alternative minyan, and the all-school assembly.

Spiritual Fridays in Jewish Studies Class

As in so many schools, the classroom is a locus of deep learning, open inquiry, and hard work. Students spend dozens of class periods each week honing the classic academic skills: computation, close reading, decoding, and parsing and dissecting. The communities that are created in each classroom hold lectures and writing, and academic debates, but they can also hold space for deep sharing.

For many years, teachers in our Jewish Studies departments have had the tradition of bringing personal inquiry and reflection to Friday classes. For 45 minutes every week or two, students put their notebooks and laptops aside and focus on their own life experiences as the text of the class discussion. As in the example at the start of this article, topics can be as diverse as sharing Jewish memories or applying theological concepts to one’s own life.

When we began this practice as a department, teachers often worried that spending time on personal sharing would detract from the classroom learning—it would make it hard to get through all the semester’s material and create too informal of a culture. In fact, the reverse has happened. Students often report looking forward to Jewish Journey Fridays all week, sitting quietly to lean into the intensity of the sharing. In so many of our classes, the intimacy created by spiritual sharing deepens the text learning on a regular weekday. We have an easier time empathizing with Biblical characters when we have worked to empathize with each other.

In L.’s 9^th grade Jewish Studies class, I saw a repeating pattern play out over several months.  I rarely could get him to contribute meaningfully to our ordinary class discussions, but during Jewish Journey Friday, he shared stories as though he wanted his peers to see his beautifully sensitive soul. And then he was asked to leave the school. The precise reasons for his departure are irrelevant to this story; suffice it to say, his need for cynical toughness had gotten him into too much trouble.

Several weeks later, we were starting class, and it came time for our regular blessing over Torah study.  Each student is assigned a day to lead the prayer, and today was L.’s day. “Let’s call him,” said one of the students.  “He can say the berakha over the phone.” And so we did. I was so nervous. Which version of L. would show up? After exchanging a few pleasantries and seeing that he was doing OK, I told him that it was his turn to say the blessing, and I asked him if he wanted to. “Of course I do!” And then he did. As I listened to his halting and broken Hebrew (which he rarely let others hear), tears streamed down my cheeks. Upon the conclusion of what was probably the most beautiful berakha I’ve ever heard, we hung up, and my kids, almost in unison, said, “Mr. Kadden, you’re crying.” But their voices were choked, too. While I can’t say that this moment of sacred vulnerability was wholly a result of Jewish Journey Fridays, I can say with relative certainty that our regular elevation of holy sharing in community had at least made it possible. And in other spaces throughout the school,l we make such vulnerable and sacred learning possible as well.

The Seeking Minyan

Every Monday and Thursday morning, all students attend a self-selected Zman Kodesh (Sacred Time) group. Some are siddur-based, focusing on traditional prayer; others explore Jewish spirituality through modalities such as yoga, artmaking, the outdoors, or personal sharing in community. One of our most successful groups is run by a Biology teacher and mashgiha ruhanit (spiritual advisor), Laila Goodman, called “Seeking,” focusing on “what it means to live a good Jewish life.” A typical Seeking session will include a text, video, or audio clip that Laila introduces and then asks kids to share their reflections on that source. Laila chooses sources that challenge students to dig deeply into themselves, pushing themselves to explore their deeper selves, and empowering themselves and their groupmates by sharing their discoveries. At its best, “everyone says things that are true to themselves and not simply what they think is the ‘right thing to say,’” reflects H., a senior member of the minyan.

H. reflected further on a moment when she felt particularly challenged. After playing a podcast story of a man who’d reached into the deepest, purest part of himself, Laila prompted the group to reflect on “what it feels like to know that you have a pure part of you since birth that will be with you forever without changing.” H. told Laila that it just didn’t resonate with her. Although H. had been in the minyan for several years and was a true believer in the Seeking methodology, this one just didn’t work for her. “Try a little more,” Laila said. H. sat with the question and then reflected on why this one was so hard for her.

I’ve been sharing a lot with the group about my obsession with grades and getting into college. I’ve been obsessed with my future. I realized that I haven’t been focused on my continuities, just my ongoing changes. And this focus may have made it harder for me to be in touch with my deeper, unchanging self. The self that has made me who I am since birth. 

Laila asked H. if her pushing had made H. feel bad. “Just the perfect amount,” H. reflected.  “I just needed to ask why I just couldn’t touch this part of myself.” But this sort of ongoing reflection and vulnerability helped strengthen H. in a way she couldn’t have anticipated.

Since that session of minyan, I’ve received four college decisions, with mixed results. But I’ve been better able to regulate my emotions because I now have a better relationship with change in my life. I am still the same person as I was. I am universal.

Student E. is also in the Seeking Minyan and agreed with much of what H. had to say. She further reflected on the importance of allowing herself to reach for the aspects of herself she might not otherwise.

I’ve always had trouble being vulnerable. When asked to be vulnerable, I would often put on a show. I would say things that I thought I was supposed to say, but they were not really deep and often not true. But I began to realize that being vulnerable isn’t just saying something that seems sensitive. It’s about saying something that’s hard to say. And real.

Student E. reflected on how empowering it has felt to be able to bravely name her deeper truths in front of others. She understands herself better and feels safer in the community. Student O. concurred. O., a veteran of both the Seeking Minyan and Jewish Journey Fridays, reflects that:

The fact that we’re all doing it together creates community. That we are all doing this publicly allows me to learn more about my classmates and more deeply respect everyone’s willingness to be vulnerable. I feel a deep sense of empathy. I see them as more human, and I better understand who they are and why they are who they are.

This shared respect and desire to learn from each other can be mutually reinforcing. The more students feel like others will respect them for their honesty and vulnerability, the more they will want to be honest and vulnerable. And this, O. explains, can forge bonds of community as well:

In both Jewish Journey Friday and in Seeking, we talk deeply with people who are not our friends. And that started to feel natural. We talk about things I wouldn’t ordinarily talk about with my friends and certainly not with people who are not my friends. This has allowed me to feel more comfortable thinking about hard things and feeling safe with others in talking about hard things. 

Appreciating Public Vulnerability

In many ways, creating a sacred and vulnerable community is easier in small groups. Whether in Jewish Studies classes or in Zman Kodesh minyanim, our teachers lean into the structure of having a consistent small group of students with whom to build this holy space. Having developed this proficiency in personal sharing, however, students are able to extend and utilize these skills even in the hardest of all spaces to be vulnerable: the all-school assembly.

In addition to the standard assembly to commemorate an observance or hear from a guest speaker, we have developed a tradition of “Student Voices” panels, wherein a few brave students share, in front of the whole school, the story of their identity. Panels have consisted of students with different Jewish identities, family structures, political ideologies, socioeconomic classes, race, etc. Over the years, students have found courage and community through getting up in front of their peers and telling their personal stories. Students have named their struggles with mental illness, the complexities of their blended families, and their pride in their racial and ethnic identities.

While panels of this sort have been a feature at the school since its founding, this program broke ground through our LGBTQ+ day of sharing and celebration, titled Shma Koleinu (Hear Our Voices). Shma Kolenu began as a response to the nationwide “Day of Silence,” when educators recognized that students needed a way to learn from each other on the complex topics of LGBTQ+ identity. We have had students come out publicly in front of their classmates, parents stand up to tell their stories of same-sex marriage and adoption, and teachers give lessons from their years of queer struggle and joy. Students in the room listen quietly and attentively: this is probably the assembly when students are the best-behaved that we have ever seen them.

What distinguishes these programs is not only the vulnerability of their speakers but the responses from the crowd. Rather than asking questions, we have adopted the practice of offering appreciations for the speakers. The idea came from storyteller and coach Cindy Rivka Marshall, who consulted with us to design the Shma Kolenu modality. We encourage students to reflect personally on what they heard, making specific and empathic comments like the following to appreciate the speaker and bring forth their own vulnerability:

I really appreciated how you named your struggle to be seen in 5^th grade.  I remember feeling invisible then, too, and hearing your story made me feel like I’m not alone.

And:

I really heard you when you said that you struggle with gender roles. I also don’t always know how I want to represent myself in the world.

This focus on personal appreciations has moved beyond the Student Voices assemblies and is now a classic feature of all of our assemblies. Our students thank congressmen, activists, and performers with nuanced and thoughtful personal appreciations. In the early years of this practice, we used to plant teachers in the crowd to offer appreciations. Now there’s no need—we often leave assemblies with many hands in the crowd still waving to make these connections.

As students came to both understand and appreciate these schoolwide moments of vulnerability and deep personal sharing, they increasingly wanted to do so in their small group settings as well. And the impact of all of this can be profound and transformative.

Conclusion

On the very last day of our Jewish Studies class this past year, I [Yoni] asked the students to reflect on the culture of the class. What did they appreciate? In what ways do they think it might be improved? One student raised her hand. “Things like Jewish Journey Friday helped me to feel like my voice mattered in this class. I never worried that people were going to think that what I was saying, or that I, was stupid.” Everyone in the room was nodding and I let the moment sit for a few moments before turning to the next student. It was a profoundly vulnerable moment in and of itself. And the student was sitting tall, smiling, while the class was giving her a psychological hug.