Since the Hamas terrorist attack on Israel, and the even greater increase in antisemitism in America and the world, I feel like I鈥檝e had many similar conversations with well-intended, truth-seeking colleagues in the education space. A few curious and honest people have first asked me with trepidation how 滨鈥檓 feeling, reference a social media post or an article they read, and then acknowledge their ignorance and desire to know more about Israel, my family, my Jewishness, and what they can do.
I and so many Jews today are struggling. Especially those of us who have been actively supporting progressive causes and have tried to be allies in the DEI community. We鈥檙e struggling with the deafening silence of so many leaders, colleagues, and friends. We鈥檙e struggling with the both-sided nature of the rhetoric. We鈥檙e struggling with the inability of so many people to clearly state that Jews were murdered in a terrorist attack and that antisemitism is again on the rise, without also saying that Israel had it coming. We鈥檙e struggling with the fear that our K-12 and college-age kids will be safe while trying not to freak them out too much.
滨鈥檓 struggling to defend Israel鈥檚 right to exist at all costs while also acknowledging that the Israeli government policies have been horrific for way too long. 滨鈥檓 struggling as a human who hates to see anyone鈥攅specially children, including Israeli and Palestinian alike鈥攕uffer. But for me, as an educator, 滨鈥檓 struggling the most with how to place myself in this conflict. Not the physical one but the one that鈥檚 surrounding us in the news, on social media, in conversations, and in schools and institutions.
My identity as victim, or at least victim-adjacent, conflates with my role as an educator who has worked for 30 years to dismantle systems of oppression in public schools. And 滨鈥檓 struggling with that conflict. 滨鈥檓 struggling with the realization that I鈥檝e just come to understand how infuriating and difficult it is to have to persuade people to see me and to understand my history. I鈥檝e known that abstractly from Black, Asian, Latino, and other minoritized鈥攁s well as differently abled鈥攃olleagues and friends. But I have a new appreciation for how they have found themselves so often placed in the position of explainer and educator while also struggling with the realities of subtle and overt racism and othering that surround us in America. Now, I feel it, and 滨鈥檓 sorry it took me so long.
As an educator, 滨鈥檓 struggling the most with how to place myself in this conflict.
Those of us who have vocally and purposefully aligned ourselves with the struggle to improve lives for Black, brown, and financially insecure kids in the United States have also kept our own fears of growing antisemitism under wraps. It鈥檚 never about us, because we鈥檙e also typically white or at least we鈥檙e considered to be so and reap the benefits. We鈥檝e made it in America. Or maybe 滨鈥檓 guided by the old joke about how many Jewish mothers it takes to change a lightbulb: 鈥淒on鈥檛 worry darling, I鈥檒l sit in the dark.鈥� In other words, we know to keep our suffering silent.
It鈥檚 virtually impossible for me to sit in the dark, however. So I find myself thinking about what I can do or maybe what I would do if I were still leading a school system. I know that I would embrace my identity. Jews have always sought to educate others. It鈥檚 a mitzvah (a special blessing) to invite a stranger to the Seder on Passover so they, too, can hear the story of how our people gained freedom from Pharoah. As a Jew, 滨鈥檓 also charged with Tikun Olam鈥攖o heal the world. That tenet guides us to be in the work. We don鈥檛 need to finish it, but we are obliged to be in it. What should that mean today? How can we create a conversation and invite people into it? Especially, today.
A few years ago, I got into a conversation with a colleague about Israel. She was deeply immersed in the DEI world, had written articles about her own experience as a Black immigrant living in America, was incredibly well read, and had trained others in how to embrace equity in public education. Our conversation was prompted by something in the news. She made a comment that raised a hackle for me as a Jew, and because we had a close working relationship, I didn鈥檛 hesitate to address it with her. I trusted that we could engage in an honest conversation where I could speak my truth. And I did. After about half an hour, she said to me, 鈥淵ou know, I realize that there鈥檚 so much about Israel and Palestine and the history of Jews that I just don鈥檛 know.鈥� I was thankful for the realization and the acknowledgement. And then we went back to work.
The truth is that American equity warriors also don鈥檛 have the lexicon to know what to say.
So what should leaders do?
They should find allies with multiple perspectives who are willing and able to center humanity rather than their own position and pain. Then they need to create physical space to build community and invite people into a conversation with expert facilitation. Get people off Facebook and into spaces where they can listen, learn, and heal. Educators need to seek guidance from reputable organizations as issues arise. School and district leaders should seek internal and external experts to review study guides to determine how to educate all children about what鈥檚 happening and to place it in a factual historical context. Education leaders should review equity policies and related curriculum to determine how antisemitism and Islamophobia, and any other form of hate, should be incorporated. 滨鈥檓 sure the list could go on and I know others have also offered suggestions. But we need to start somewhere.
Americans are really bad at talking to each other. Our country, and seemingly the whole world, is endlessly divided. Educators, whether they鈥檙e DEI adherents or not, have an obligation to not take sides about who鈥檚 right and who鈥檚 wrong or which children deserve to be killed and which don鈥檛.
It seems to me that we have more questions than answers right now. As an educator, and as a Jew, it鈥檚 my obligation to create spaces to wrestle with the questions. After all, it鈥檚 better than sitting in the dark.
