The ProsenPeople

Day Schools and the End of the Melting Pot

Friday, May 25, 2012 | Permalink

Earlier this week, Jonathan Krasner discussed his use of the word "boys" and the magic of summer camp. He has been blogging here all week for Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning.

I met Peter Beinart in 1999 when he was writing an article for The Atlantic on Jewish community day schools. This was long before he became the bête noire of an anxious American Jewish establishment. He was sitting in the front office of The New Jewish High School (now Gann Academy) waiting to speak with the school’s headmaster, Rabbi Daniel Lehmann, and we struck up a brief conversation.

I was familiar with his byline from The New Republic where he wrote mostly about American politics and foreign policy. Jewish education was well outside his bailiwick, and I was interested in what his angle would be. When the article was published a few weeks later it was clear that he was conflicted. He described the school’s environment as vibrant, intellectually exciting and mildly subversive (which was meant as a compliment).

His diagnosis of the reasons behind the rising support for day school education among the non-Orthodox (a trend that has since leveled off) reflected the conventional wisdom in a community that had long ago ended its unconditional love affair with the public schools and was struggling to respond to assimilation, a byproduct of the exceptionally hospitable American environment, where Jewishness was increasingly a non-issue.

Towards the end of his article, however, Beinart raised a question about the long term implications of the day school phenomenon that probably made many day school advocates squirm. Jewish schools like the New Jewish High School seemed to be promising it all to their students. But wasn’t it naive to believe that “being a fuller Jew need never mean being a less complete American”? The growth of day schools was another nail in the coffin of the American melting pot.

Beinart’s argument rings true. When modern day schools were on the rise in the 1940s, Jewish critics warned that segregation would hinder Americanization and constrain socio-economic advancement. Some went as far as questioning the patriotism of those who abandoned the public schools. Among the more vociferous opponents of day schools were some members of the Benderly group. Samson Benderly, who served as the first director of the New York Bureau of Jewish Education, from 1910-1941, was a steadfast opponent of day schools. The weekday afternoon Jewish school model that he and his disciples helped to modernize was designed as a third way between the minimalistic Sunday schools and the separationist yeshivas. Jewish educators must not interfere with the Jewish child’s enthusiastic integration “into the all pervading and compelling life of the American democratic community,” one of Benderly’s disciples, Albert Schoolman, warned in 1945.

Few people would make this argument today. American Jews are thoroughly integrated into the mainstream of American life. Moreover, according to a recent study conducted by the Pew Forum on Religious and Public Life, their earning power exceeds that of any other religious group, with 46% of Jewish wage earners bringing in over $100,000 per year. Yet day school attendance continues to come at a social price, even if the impact is subtle.

My anecdotal experience both attending and teaching at modern Orthodox and community Jewish day schools suggests that many day school graduates adopt a parochial, ethnocentric view of the world. Completely at home in American popular culture and probably as conversant in American politics and history as their peers who graduate from the best public and private schools, they nevertheless often seem ambivalent about their place in American society. In candid conversation many will admit to feeling more Jewish than American and to privileging perceived Jewish interests over American interests. This is particularly true when it comes to matters affecting the welfare of the State of Israel. Ironically, it is the flip side of the distancing hypothesis that Beinart writes about in his controversial book, The Crisis of Zionism. These attitudes are particularly prevalent among the modern Orthodox, but were also in evidence at the two community day schools in which I worked.

I will be the first to admit that this ambivalence cannot entirely be laid at the doorstep of day schools. Factors such as socio-economic class and geography play an important role in fostering the sense of disconnection. If Jews as a group feel more immune than most to the economic and social consequences of state and federal governmental policy, day school attendance is almost entirely beside the point. One must also acknowledge that many of the non-Orthodox students enrolled in day schools today would otherwise be attending private schools rather than their local public schools. Still, day school students’ lack of exposure to people who differ from them — whether racially, religiously or economically — makes it difficult for them to establish emotional bonds with other Americans and to feel a sense of civitas and shared destiny.

Some schools have responded with community service programs, and mitzvah projects have become a component of bar and bat mitzvah preparation in many synagogues. These are positive signs. But unless they bring kids into regular contact with people who are unlike themselves in ways that humanize the Other and inculcate a sense of responsibility for the betterment of society, they will be of limited value. Cutting one’s hair for Locks of Love, to cite one popular mitzvah project, is a laudable and praiseworthy gesture. But it does not substitute for actually volunteering with financially disadvantaged children. There has been a lot of criticism in some quarters of universalistic tikkun olam programs for inadequately fostering a sense of Klal Yisrael. But in the case of day school students, the value of peoplehood is continually reinforced in both the formal and hidden curricula. What is needed are opportunities for students to enlarge the boundaries of their moral communities.

I should emphasize that I make this criticism as a supporter of day school education. To acknowledge that day schools often fall short when it comes to fostering civic virtue is not to deny their salutary role in promoting Jewish identity. Denying one’s children deep and meaningful exposure to the richness of their religious and ethnic heritage comes with its own cost. Even as Samson Benderly and Albert Schoolman extolled the virtues of public school, other members of the Benderly coterie viewed the advent of the modern day school as a net positive, an instrument for Jewish leadership training. Mastery of Judaism’s literary-centered culture demanded a more immersive educational environment than most supplementary schools were capable of providing, they acknowledged. Modern day schools promoted Jewish literacy without sacrificing students’ secular education. Moreover, their schedules allowed for the utilization of constructivist pedagogies and Hebrew language emersion. Benderly and his disciples learned the hard way that deploying such educational methods in a supplementary school was at best an uphill battle.

Seventy-five years later these rationales for day schools resonate with me as they apparently do with Beinart. Both of us have kids in day schools. Beinart put the matter forthrightly in a recent Wall Street Journal op-ed: “American Jews know very little about Judaism. And it’s hard to feel connected to something you don’t understand. The evidence is clear that Jewish commitment stems from Jewish education, and by far the most effective purveyors of Jewish education are full-time Jewish schools.”

Still, it is a cop out, in my view, to shrug off ethnocentrism as an inevitable consequence of day schools. If we are serious about addressing the downside to day school education we will need to couple our commitment to day schools with a serious effort to find opportunities for our day school children to have meaningful social interactions with a more diverse population and to cultivate within them greater feelings of connection to the American body politic. This can take the form of community service projects, neighborhood sports teams and theatre troupes, scouting, or other non-school based recreational activities. Given our children’s extended school days and our own hectic schedules, this is a tall order. But if we don’t act we are witting accomplices in what Arthur M. Schlesinger called “The Disuniting of America.”

Jonathan B. Krasner is the author of the National Jewish Book Award winning title The Benderly Boys and American Jewish Education. Krasner was also a finalist for the 2012 Sami Rohr Prize for Jewish Literature.

The Magic of Summer Camp

Wednesday, May 23, 2012 | Permalink

Earlier this week, National Jewish Book Award winner Jonathan Krasner discussed his use of the word "boys" in "Benderly boys." He will be blogging here all week for Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning.

When my ten year old daughter heads to sleep-away camp this summer she will follow a family tradition that began the summer after World War II. Fearing an outbreak of polio in New York City, my grandparents shipped my father off to Massad, a Hebrew-speaking camp in the Poconos. He was only five years old. My grandmother kept the postcards he mailed home. My dad was just learning to print and his penmanship was atrocious. Still, they weren’t difficult to decipher, and all were virtually identical: “I don’t like it here,” his postcards wailed. “Take me home!”

As a former camp counselor I know that dad’s homesickness was hardly anomalous. But by-and-large, his peers who attended Jewish overnight camps have very fond memories of their summers. Dr. Josh Perelman, the deputy Director of Programming and Museum Historian at the National Museum of American Jewish History recently told me that the section of the museum’s permanent exhibit dedicated to summer camping is easily one of the biggest draws. A section of the museum's website is devoted to Jewish summer camps and guests are invited to upload their own camp photos and share memories.

When I was researching the origins of Jewish culture camping for The Benderly Boys I was struck by the central role that overnight camps played in the Jewish identity formation of my informants. Decades after the closure of Cejwin Camps, the oldest Jewish culture camp, hundreds of alumni remain connected through an online discussion group and social media. A Camp Massad Facebook group has almost 600 participants. Another venerable overnight camp, Modin, which still thrives in Belgrade, Maine, recently held a 90th anniversary reunion gala at a swanky Manhattan venue with over 500 former campers in attendance. And a 1998 reunion of the oldest Yiddish-speaking camp, Boiberik, drew 450 alums and merited an article in the New York Times.

I suppose my father’s memories of camp were not all bad. The summer I turned ten, he and my mom signed me up for a month at Camp Massad. I spent three glorious seasons at Massad Bet and would have returned. But dwindling enrollment compelled the camp to close, in 1979, the same year that the Boiberik campgrounds, in Rhinebeck, New York, was sold to a meditation center. Cejwin, which paved the way for camps like Massad, was shuttered a little over a decade later, in 1991.

Various reasons have been given for these camps’ decline. My guess is that the phenomenon can largely be explained by their failure to keep pace with the rapid socio-economic advancement of the Jewish community. As much as I loved Massad, the truth is that the camp facilities were terribly outdated by the 1970s. I doubt that they were ever in mint condition. But whereas an earlier generation was willing to write off overgrown playing fields, dilapidated communal shower houses and leeches in the lake as symptomatic of the camp’s rugged charms, such blemishes could not be overlooked by middle class kids thoroughly acclimated to the creature comforts of suburbia. Certainly not when there were other well-manicured, flashier alternatives competing for the same clientele.

Moreover, the ideological core of these camps -- their devotion to Zionism, Hebrew or Yiddish language and culture -- did not tug as deeply at the heartstrings of the third generation. By and large, their parents left their immigrant ideologies in Brownsville and Roxbury when they moved to Great Neck and Newton.

My hypothesis is borne out by the opposing fates of Cejwin and Modin. Established within a few years of one another (1919 and 1922, respectively) and sharing some of the same founders, the former catered to a working class clientele and placed Jewish culture front and center, while the latter attracted the children of professionals and businessmen, enticing them with bourgeois activities like horseback riding and (later) waterskiing. In the 1940s and 50s, Cejwin was teeming with campers and seemed to be in permanent expansion mode. But in the long run, Modin’s formula had greater longevity. The same summer that Cejwin closed, the current owners of Modin relocated their high end camp to a first class facility on the picturesque Belgrade Lakes with a state-of-the-art fitness center and recreation pavilion. The 2011 brochure features panoramic views and happy children of privilege, sailing, windsurfing, white water rafting and wall climbing.

Even Orthodox Judaism had gone bourgeois by the 1970s. In the 1980s I worked at Camp Raleigh, the "sports camp in a Torah environment." Raleigh boasted private showers in each bunk, a gleaming swimming pool, and a pastry chef who's creations could rival anything one might find at the nearby Grossinger's resort hotel. A colleague and fellow member of the Massad Diaspora mockingly referred to Raleigh as “Camp Fress,” from the Yiddish word for pigging out. But camps like Raleigh and Seneca Lake embodied the American Jewish zeitgeist of the late twentieth century, the Age of Fress.

Twenty years later, there is a new trend in Jewish camping: the boutique or niche camp. In 2010, the Foundation for Jewish Camp created a camp incubator that facilitated the launching of five non-profit specialty camps, with names like Adamah Adventures and 92Y Passport NYC. The incubator experiment was so successful that plans for a second incubator are well underway. According to the American Camp Association, the Jewish interest in specialty camps mirrors a larger trend in American camping. Rabbi Eve Rudin, a veteran Reform Jewish camp leader and former Director of the Department of Camp Excellence and Advancement at the Foundation for Jewish Camp is positively bullish on the new specialty camps: “Before specialty camps, young people had to chose between their area of interest and their Jewish interests. Too often, they chose to opt out of the Jewish community in order the gain the skills and mentoring they desired. In these new settings, young people can lead Jewish lives, have Jewish experiences and still receive the sophisticated training and opportunities in their areas of interest.”

Individual Jewish summer camps may come and go and the trappings and programs of these camps may adapt to changing times. But the idea of Jewish camping is as fresh and as full of promise for Jewish identity building and personal growth today as it was when the first Jewish culture camps were founded almost a century ago. My daughter will be attending one of the new specialty camps, Eden Village, a religiously pluralistic camp in Putnam Valley, New York, focusing on Jewish environmentalism and organic farming. Like her counterparts twenty, fifty and ninety years ago, she is breathlessly counting the days until summer.

Jonathan B. Krasner is the author of the National Jewish Book Award winning title The Benderly Boys and American Jewish Education. Krasner was also a finalist for the 2012 Sami Rohr Prize for Jewish Literature.

What's in a Name?

Monday, May 21, 2012 | Permalink
Jonathan B. Krasner is the author of the National Jewish Book Award winning title The Benderly Boys and American Jewish Education. Krasner was also a finalist for the 2012 Sami Rohr Prize for Jewish Literature. He will be blogging here all week for Jewish Book Council and MyJewishLearning. 

One of the greatest dilemmas I faced while writing The Benderly Boys & American Jewish Education was how to refer to the group of Jewish educators who were mentored by New York Bureau of Jewish Education director Samson Benderly. At first glance the answer seemed deceptively simple. Benderly referred to his protégés as my "boys," and the moniker "Benderly boys" was widely used both by members of the group and their colleagues in the field. 

And yet, the appellation is problematic. For one thing, in today's world the term "boy" or "girl" when used in reference to a grownup has taken on a pejorative, or at the very least, a paternalistic connotation. This usage has largely become anachronistic, a relic of the "Mad Men" and "Driving Miss Daisy" era. 

More fundamentally, the term "Benderly boys" is misleading. Although the majority of Benderly's disciples were men, the group also included a number of women. A few attained leadership positions in schools, community centers, camps and other organizations. And while most voluntarily "retired" after marriage or the birth of their children, a few became career women long before the feminist revolution. Libbie Suchoff Berkson, for example, directed Camp Modin, in Canaan, Maine, while Elsie Simonofsky Chomsky served for many years as the principal of Gratz College's well regarded Hebrew teacher's program, the School of Observation and Practice. Still other women gave up leadership positions but continued to wield influence in the field. Rebecca Aaronson Brickner, who served as Benderly's veritable right hand during his early years at the New York Bureau, officially left education in 1919 when she married Rabbi Barnett Brickner. But her influence continued to be felt in the religious school of Cleveland's Euclid Avenue Temple (later called the Fairmount Temple), where her husband spent much of his rabbinical career. Likewise, Mamie Goldsmith Gamoran and Elma Ehrlich Levinger published dozens of religious school textbooks, storybooks and other educational materials years after they supposedly embraced domestic life. 

Benderly, apparently, did not hesitate to apply the 'Benderly boy' appellation to his female disciples. In my book, I discuss the implications of this curious usage. Benderly reflexively used gender as a marker for his closest disciples. If you fulfilled his criteria, which included studying at Columbia Teachers College, assuming administrative responsibilities at the Bureau or one of its affiliated schools, and attending his daily, early morning schmooze sessions, you were considered one of the boys, regardless of your anatomical make-up. Contemporary scholars, however, have been less sanguine about using the term "Benderly boys," with some preferring gender neutral terms like "group" or "bunch." 

The term "Bureau bunch" was adopted in the 1910s by the larger team of workers at the New York Bureau, while the inner circle of disciples referred to themselves as Chayil , an acronym for the Hebrew phrase "education is our national foundation," and a word meaning valor or virtue. While I intersperse the term "Benderly group" throughout the book for the sake of variety, I will admit to finding neither "Bureau bunch" nor Chayil compelling. The latter seemed obscure and, in any event, was confined in the day to an exclusive group of insiders. I wished to cast a wider net. The latter, meanwhile, was irredeemably hokey-sounding, particularly in the ear of one who was raised on a seemingly continuous loop of Brady Bunch reruns. 

In the end, I decided to stick with "Benderly boys," despite its drawbacks, and not merely due to its alliterative appeal. For me, the use of the appellation by Samson Benderly and its embrace by his disciples was decisive. By retaining the term "Benderly boys" I felt that I was at once remaining true to history while also honoring the memories of these men and women. But I did not entirely give up on the desire to problematize the designation. That is why I was thrilled to come across a crisp photograph of Benderly walking arm in arm with three of his closest disciples, including Libbie Berkson, while working at the American Jewish Archives. I knew immediately that it needed to adorn the book's cover. This photo of Libbie, surrounded by men, but clearly accepted as a full member of the Benderly team, juxtaposed with the book's title, is purposely discordant and meant to induce perplexity. Here was a case where a picture could truly speak louder than words. 

Here is hoping that the publication of The Benderly Boys (along with Carol Ingall's 2010 volume, The Women Who Reconstructed American Jewish Education) helps to encourage a rediscovery of Benderly's "girls."

Jonathan B. Krasner will be blogging here all week.

Meet Sami Rohr Prize Finalist...Jonathan Krasner

Tuesday, February 07, 2012 | Permalink

Posted by Naomi Firestone-Teeter

It's been a good year so far for Jonathan Krasner. First, he won the National Jewish Book Award in American Jewish Studies, and then he was named a finalist for the Sami Rohr Prize for Jewish Literature.  His feted title, The Benderly Boys and American Jewish Education, was hailed by the Rohr judges as "[t]he best book on the history of Jewish education in the United States to have appeared in several decades.” Clearly, this is one not to be missed. Like yesterday, we asked Jonathan a few questions about his process, his audience, and the current books on his nightstand. His answers follow below:

What are some of the most challenging things about writing non-fiction?

I'm constantly aiming to balance my desire to tell a compelling story with my commitment to scholarship. I reject the notion that serious history writing needs to be "dry as dust."

What or who has been your inspiration for writing non-fiction?

When I was editor of my high school and college newspapers, I had a bit of the muckraking spirit in me and felt it was important for the fourth estate to keep the "powers that be" honest. I drew early inspiration from long form essay writers in magazines like the New Yorker and the New Republic. In college, Professors Stephen Whitfield, Joyce Antler, and Jacob Cohen introduced me to great political essay writers like H. L. Mencken, Mary McCarthy, and E.B. White as well as practitioners of the "New Journalism," like Hunter S. Thompson and Tom Wolfe. Although my interests eventually turned from journalism to history, it was the exposure to these journalists and essayists that most influenced my writing.

Who is your intended audience?

In The Benderly Boys my audience is anyone who has ever suffered through Hebrew school, fallen in love with Jewish summer camp, or wonders about the origins of the song I Had a Little Dreydl.

Are you working on anything new right now?

I am currently working on a few projects on topics ranging from black-Jewish relations at Brandeis University in the late-1960s; to the evolution of the term Tikkun Olam since World War II; and to the mainstreaming of gays and lesbians in the Jewish community.

What are you reading now?

Erik Larson's riveting and disturbing book In the Garden of Beasts.

When did you decide to be a writer? Where were you?

I can't pinpoint an exact date or place, but whatever inclination I had was definitely reinforced when the high school faculty advisor to the student newspaper started referring to my collaborator friend Jeff and I as "Woodward and Bernstein."

What is the mountaintop for you — how do you define success?

How about being a Sami Rohr Prize finalist? .... Seriously, I am thrilled when I succeed at making history come alive while answering the question: "Why does this matter?"

How do you write — what is your private modus operandi? What talismans, rituals, props do you use to assist you?

Ideally, I like to lock myself in a room for a couple of weeks at a time, preferably with breaks for long walks around a lake or along a beach.

What do you want readers to get out of your book?

I hope they gain some appreciation for the almost fanatical dedication of the Jewish educators of the past. Today, the motif of Hebrew school as torture, recently parodied to great effect in the Coen brothers' film A Serious Man, is almost a cliche. But the pioneers of the modern Jewish supplementary school were actually steeped in progressive educational philosophy and dedicated to the revival of Hebrew and the creation of a vibrant American Jewish culture. Maybe the story just magnifies the dilemma of supplementary Jewish education in America. Or, rather, it underscores how Jewish educators today are struggling with many of the same issues that animated Samson Benderly and his disciples a century ago.

Jonathan B. Krasner is an Associate Professor of the American Jewish Experience at Hebrew Union College - Jewish Institute of Religion in New York. He is nominated for his book The Benderly Boys and American Jewish Education, which just won the 2011 National Jewish Book Award in the category of American Jewish Studies. His work has appeared in many academic journals and anthologies. He lives with his family in Andover, Massachusetts.