Pesach Post-game

In the overview of the Jewish year, Pesach really has a leg up re: kid-friendly angles. Sure, Purim has costumes, graggers and mishloach manot but then there's the tough issue of keeping everyone quiet through the whole megillah reading. Chanukah has candle lighting and presents, but in our family both of those involve some amount of angst (for the former, maintaining appropriate fire safety, the latter, managing the grumpy weirdness that comes from somewhat gratuitous gift-getting). Pesach has the benefit of being rabbinically designed to be focused on children. So many of the details of the seder are there "so that the children should ask." Add to that the host of items people have designed to extend the involvement even further -- bag-o-plagues, a plethora of children's haggadot, afikoman cover and pillowcase crafts -- and Pesach is definitely far at the front of the pack.

At the other extreme is Shavuot. This past year my husband and I noted that Shavuot has the fewest readily obvious handles for engaging children. Staying up to learn all night? That no longer works well for any of us, least of all the kiddos. So family-wise we're left with cheescake, blintzes (granted, those are delicious), and the vague notion that this is when we received the Torah.

That said, even Pesach still feels like it's in need of more Beyond Noah's Ark magic (by which I mean, items that truly engage children of all ages in deeper questions of meaning and spiritual growth). The seder table matching game and seder plate puzzle that we were very kindly gifted by one guest were cute, and moderately engaging, but not terribly spiritually meaningful.

One new acquisition this year that definitely gets the Beyond Noah's Ark seal of approval was the Ayeka Haggadah, titled "Hearing Your Own Voice," by Rabbi Aryeh Ben David. I bought it, along with a graphic novel about leaving Egypt (thanks for having these in stock Israel Book Shop!), hoping to engage my 4 year old in some meaningful Pesach prep. I was a bit dubious about how he'd relate to the Ayeka haggadah given that it has very few illustrations -- even thought it is explicitly aimed to include children in its broad target audience. At any rate, the fears were unfounded. A little while into working on it together my son actually exclaimed "Mama! This is so fun!"

Among the elements that contributed to this:

- The haggadah got me to take 20 minutes out of pre-pesach hububb to sit and do a focused activity with my kid

- Mama was actually listening attentively to child's answers to deep, open-ended questions, and even writing them down

- Kiddo was being allowed to write and draw in a real book that was not a coloring or sketch book

One discussion that this process-oriented mama particularly loved was prompted by the Yachatz question which asks: What was the risk you took in the past year (or years) on your journey? What was the missing piece you fond for last year's journey? What is risky about the next step on your journey?

Ezra drew a picture and proclaimed "This is me on that giant rock in Dean Rd. park!" So I asked, "And you felt proud because you got to the top?" To which Ezra countered, "No, I felt proud because I climbed, mostly by myself."

That was just one of a number of wonderful/interesting/unexpected conversations that the haggadah helped bring about. All of which also got me thinking about what goes into crafting the sort of open ended questions, prompts, or items that spark real thoughtful contemplation, and could provoke new responses every time they're considered. There's a lot out there earnestly attempting such simple grandeur that unfortunately falls short, into the realm of getting asked, answered quickly if at all, and promptly forgotten. I'd love to get Rabbi Ben David's perspective on how he considered (and in my opinion, succeeded in) walking this path when crafting the haggadah.

At any rate, here's a cheer for the Ayeka Haggadah! (I am certainly not an affiliate, but if you're interested you can get a copy here for next year, or probably at your local Judaica store.) Did you discover any exciting additions to your family's seder this year? Looking forward to Shavuot, any ideas you've been imagining for items or activities to add more texture for the 3-13 year old set, either on the holiday, or in preparation?

I hate shul, I wanna go to shul

First sketches towards a Beyond Noah's Ark siddur

"I hate shul, I wanna go to shul. (Whaaaaaaa!)"

Thus spoke my four year old this past Shabbat morning. I hate Shul -- why should I stop playing only to get dressed in nicer clothes, be forced to walk, and finally, upon arriving, convince you that the only way I will remain calm is if I'm allowed to resume playing, now in the shul playroom with you there. I wanna go to Shul -- but if by staying home you mean that you will be davening, not playing with me or reading books to me, or running around pretending to be an elephant with me, then I take staying home to be, implicitly, a punishment, and I will have none of it.

In a co-written piece called Home, Mosque, and Synagogue: On Parenting and Sacred Spaces, Mom and incredible writer Shoshana Kordova articulated the Shabbat morning with kids experience pretty perfectly:

When you have little kids, taking them to shul on Shabbat can seem like one big errand, and a complicated one at that. Getting out of bed on Saturdays was never a problem for my kids. They’d be up at five or six in the morning, eating screaming fighting playing whining, and just as they’d finally start to settle into the day and there was a chance I might be able to lie down again (day of rest and all that), it would be time to try to pull a shirt over the head of a moving child, to nurse the baby one last time, to find something that still fit me, to make sure I had enough diapers wipes crackers bottles toys to last us through the half hour, maybe, that we’d actually be there.

While this describes our reality most Shabbos mornings, in this instance, I just did not have the energy for all that. So my husband set off with our 2 year old in tow, and I stayed home with the 4 year old and the baby. At which point I proceeded to stick to the plan -- I davened, and (wanting to preserve some hope of getting to shul in future weeks) no-way no-how did not acquiesce to having the time turned into momma play time.

Which, of course, was deeply unsatisfying. I did daven, which is more than I can say for the weeks when we actually all make it to shul, but the whole time was aware that my davening was essentially shutting my son out of an active experience of shabbos morning. And yet, I didn't want to proceed as he would have wanted to, because then it would just be like any standard weekday play time. What I really yearned for was a siddur, a script, a playbook of some kind, that would involve both of us in a genuine davening experience -- educator Amy Meltzer has coined the term "home-shuling" and I think that really reflects what I'm aiming at. Something that, on those shabboses when we just don't make it to shul, would set the time apart and create a focus on being consciously present in gratitude for the day of rest. For my son, and I imagine, many young kids, this would have to include lots of movement, some songs (but not too many), relatable explanations, and most of all, not take too long.

We're definitely fans of the Bim Bam Shabbat songs (including such favorites as "There's a dinosaur knocking at my door...and he wants to spend Shabbat with me") but I'd love some additions that focus on the core spiritual resonances of shabbat, while still being relatable (or even silly! Just maybe a little less silly than the Torah Pokey).

Then there's the question of how a book, in this case the siddur, can really provide the framework for a spirited, engaged experience. While I'm glad that many children's siddurim already exist, those that our family has tried seem to really stay on the page. The illustrations are pretty self-referential -- look! This is what children davening look like! -- and the chosen text is for the most part an abridged version of the traditional service. (The Koren siddur includes questions for thought, but it's not clear to me how often one would come back to these.)

I'm imagining illustrations that are evocative as opposed to proscriptive. I'm imagining content that draws from traditional sources, but focuses on embodied components of prayer, and is not devoutly tied to the standard flow of the service. There will be plenty of time for that once these youngins grow up and can actually sit in shul, which will only happen if they have positive associations with davening in the first place!

Still I'm not sure what can actually be accomplished through a even the most thoughtfully crafted siddur. Does the book itself create a cognitive dissonance with really engaging in an experience of prayer? What else might work that could be self explanatory (ie, not require a facilitator) for parents and children?

As always, I'm just gonna push myself to create something and we'll see what happens next time we home-shul. I will report back. In the meanwhile, I'd love to hear -- what are your experiences with Kiddie Siddurs, Tot Shabbat, Tefillat Yeladim, Mini Minyan, home-shuling etc?

Soul, spirit, and the potential of play

Vayishlach sketches

I'd like to dedicate this blog as a whole to the memory of two educators: Rabbi Kalonymus Kalmaish Shapiro and Janusz Korczak, both of blessed memory. In so many ways, they each worked to ensure respect and true consideration for children as the valuable and whole human beings they are. While Rabbi Shapiro and Dr. Korczak's lives were brutally cut short in the Holocaust, educators and parents continue to be inspired and energized by their example. Today's post is a reflection surrounding a teaching from Rabbi Shapiro, and I hope to have a post devoted to some aspect of Dr. Korczak's work at some point in the future.

This past Shabbat I experienced a miracle. A minor, personal miracle. But a miracle nonetheless. We were at my parents house -- me, my husband and our three delicious, energetic young kiddos. Every Shabbat morning that my parents are in town my father leads a learning session in their dining room for any community folk who want to join. Usually, when we're visiting them, my husband and I are both occupied by feeding, playing, defusing tantrums, cleaning food splatters, changing diapers, etc. and can only manage a few wistful glances towards the learning happening in the other room. Somehow, this Shabbat, the baby had gone back to sleep, my husband kept the older kids entertained, and I, cautiously, quietly, took a seat in the dining room and settled into the learning.

Much of the week that had preceded that moment felt to me like sand slipping through my desperately grasping fingers. During the first half of the week I attended a conference that I had been looking forward to, and had a really helpful phone conversation with a professional contact whose advice I had been seeking. Both of these were focused on issues relating to the Beyond Noah's Ark project, and I was hoping to be able to channel the inspiration and momentum from them into writing and concretizing my ideas. But every time I sat down to write, I found myself inexplicably drawn into distractions -- distractions about Very Important Things, to be sure: the impending Trump presidency, the humanitarian crisis in Syria, emails from the social justice group I signed up for (SURJ) requesting IMMEDIATE ACTION, any number of other critical issues that friends and friends of friends were posting about on Facebook.

I have always known that my ability to be unhelpfully distracted by Facebook is strong, and my relationship with it therefore needs to be quite limited. But I had gotten the word out about this blog by posting the link in my status, and was encouraged by the comments, and I might as well scroll through my timeline, and oh this looks VERY IMPORTANT, and suddenly my brain was a Facebook timeline scroll, #NoDAPL Aleppo TrumpLies! Women'sMarchonWashington Recount Electors BlackLivesMatter #NoDAPL Aleppo morecrazythingsTrumpsaid...

And so I stayed up late too many nights in a row, trying to push through, trying to get some work done, hardly ever succeeding in convincing myself to focus, and by Friday I was so tired, the world was looking so dark, my brain was totally fried, and I had written almost nothing new.

Which brings us back to the dining room this past Shabbos, where I sat quiet, grateful to be present within the community of dear family friends, grateful to be listening. And my father began reading a teaching from the Derech Hamelech (Rabbi Kalonymus Kalmish Shapiro, also known as the Piaseczner Rebbe, and eventually the Rebbe of the Warsaw Ghetto). The teaching was about a verse in Chayei Sarah (Genesis 23:1-25:18), which was not even that week's parshah (weekly Torah portion), but which seemed to speak directly to so much of what I had been struggling with, trying to get on top of and sinking again and again.

The Piaseczner Rebbe teaches that everything in this world has a certain unique energy that it transmits, a vital presence that can impact anything with which it comes into contact. He refers to this as the נפש nefesh, or spirit of that thing. In addition, each person has a נשמה neshamah, a soul, that uniquely human trait. This soul is rooted in God's Self, and desires always to be aligned with its source. When we move through the world we are influenced by the nefesh of each object, experience, story, or person that we encounter. Good, bad or neutral, in the absence of any specific filter, we can be distracted and influenced by it all. Think of the effect of scrolling down your Facebook timeline -- how many news stories, cute baby pictures, calls to action, random corners of the internet, etc, suddenly enter your consciousness and ask, all at once, for your attention?!

Many of these things are, of course, very important. But being superficially distracted by a constant stream of data and stimuli tends to dull our ability to proceed toward the work we need to do -- the unique work that each person, each neshamah, is here to do -- and dulls our ability to do very much at all that is truly meaningful.

In the process of trying to make sense of and accommodate all of these inputs, something tragic happens: Our soul gets elbowed down, struck out of alignment with what it truly seeks. The Piaseczner Rebbe describes this as living right next door to someone who is terribly distressed, and not even realizing it. While we are swept up, not truly giving anything our total focus and attention, our soul has been so pushed down that we do not feel its pain. We may, though, recognize that we are anxious, ill at ease, yet we feel unable to pinpoint exactly why.

What to do, then, to prepare ourselves for the inevitable daily onslaught of big and small, important and wholly unimportant distractions, that threaten to blindside us, dislodge our souls, ourselves, from we truly seek to achieve?

We must work to live as an integrated self, where the soul is embraced and deeply familiar. Understanding what our soul truly seeks lets us respond to the ever-present call of sanctity and higher purpose in the world (that bears a unique message for each person), and lets us know when we are being purely reactive to the things around us that merely speak to our animal instincts. We are focused and open enough to ask the deepest questions of existential presence in the world, and are then able to proceed with confident action.

How does this all relate to Judaica for children? Maybe not directly, but my intuition tells me that if even some of the things surrounding our children carry the values and depth of our tradition -- in a wavelength that speaks to them -- these will help them maintain and refine the spiritual focus for which all of our souls yearn. Rather than providing entertainment or just yet another stream of content, our Judaica should provide anchors for our children to contemplate and confront their existential limits, to cultivate a relationship with the deepest questions of meaning within the spirit of play.

Your wonderings are welcome here

Torah Godly Play -- Noah's Ark   (All images courtesy of Jake Belcher and Hebrew College)

This post is dedicated to Rachel, and baby Netta (welcome to the world, sweet friend!), who let me blabber on and on about trying to get to the sweet spot between well edited engaging coherence, and conversational spontaneity. Rachel gave me excellent advice "best not to overthink it!" Words for the wise! And...here we go...

story baskets

Remember the goal we talked about last time -- the goal of children feeling such ownership, such comfort and belonging within the language of their tradition that they can use that language to form a vital and personal relationship with God and to consider questions of ultimate meaning in their lives? I alluded to six elements that Rev. Berryman identifies that can together help nurture that goal. Instead of spelling those out in detail just yet, I'd like to invite you to imagine with me that you are visiting a Torah Godly Play classroom, and we can experience those elements before I describe them.

Ok, ready?

Imagine you are walking into a beautiful sunny room. As you cross the threshold, a doorperson greets you warmly by name. Once inside you are invited to take a seat on the soft carpet, somewhere in the wide semi-circle around the storyteller, who is seated in the center. All around the periphery of the room are sturdy wooden shelves, all within reach of a young child. The shelves along one wall hold story baskets based on Torah portions, Jewish Holidays, and Tamudic stories -- each basket is a kit, containing elements with which to dramatize the biblical or traditional episode. Along another wall is an array of art supplies that will be used to process and respond after the story has been told. On a table in the center of the back of the room sits a mini Aron Kodesh (ark) with a mini Torah inside, two candlesticks and a kiddush cup, and a pushke (charity box) -- ritual objects connected with some of the fundamentals of Judaism.

Once you and all of the other participants are seated, the storyteller removes one of the stories -- the Noah's Ark basket -- from the shelf, and settles in to tell the story. The storyteller seems to be totally engrossed -- looking at the story elements, not asking for input right now -- and we are as well. Finally, after the (wooden) dove has returned to the ark with an olive branch, and the rainbow is stretched across the clear sky (at least in our imaginations), the storyteller looks up, and invites responses to a few questions in turn: I wonder what part of the story you liked best? I wonder which part of the story was the most important? I wonder where you are in the story or what part of the story was about you? I wonder what part of the story we could leave out, and still have all of the story?

art supplies

After a stretch of comments on these and other wonderings about the story, each of us is invited to chose an art medium -- watercolor, tempera, clay, beeswax, and many others -- with which to create a response of some sort to the story (or to anything else that arose in our minds at that moment!). The storyteller circulates around the room, pausing to allow any who want to reflect aloud on what they are creating, not complementing any particular outcome or creation.

Although there's more to a Torah Godly Play class session, I'm going to stop there, since we've covered the key elements that I want to focus on right now.

Let's think about telling the basic story, and then encouraging children to wonder aloud about its meaning, contours and relevance. So many interesting things emerge when we entrust our children with our sacred stories and traditions in this way (and trust those stories to elicit meaningful responses). The individual reflection/creative response time further emphasizes how each child's relationship to the story is valuable. This roots the child's connection to the tradition far more than a focus on memorizing content ever could.

Now we can consider more explicitly some of the elements that were drawn upon to facilitate this deep engagement. (These are based off of Rev. Berryman's Godly Play objectives, but paraphrased to fit a Jewish context)

1. Storyteller (teacher) models how to wonder -- how to approach religious vocabulary with a spirit of inquiry and exploration.
2. Children learn to work in community with the other children -- this happens when they show respect for each other's wonderings out loud, when they are respectful of each other's working space during creative exploration time, and when they work together during creative processing time if they choose.
3. Children learn how to choose their own creative medium to respond to the lesson, in particular to the aspect that each one found most relevant or compelling.
4. The space is organized so that the whole religious language system is present for the children to  interact and play with, to walk into and within. 
5. Permission and encouragement is constantly given to draw connections between the language of tradition, creative response, and the child's own experience of the Divine.
6. The flow of the class session follows a progression drawn from a traditional religious form: Shabbat, or Tefillah B'tzibbur (communal prayer). (Our imaginings did not cover this aspect here.)

All of these elements combine (hey, Captain Planet!) to indicate just how much the child is a respected, valued owner of and participant in the tradition, bearing both responsibility and privilege. 

The images that accompany this post are from a conference on early childhood education that I was honored to attend at Hebrew College in Boston a few days ago, and within that, a four part series on Rabbi Dr. Michael Shire's Torah Godly Play. I get the sense that this was true for many of the participants in the room, but I will speak for myself: despite the fact that Godly Play is normally used with children, there was something that felt so freeing and important about being invited to wonder aloud about what I might take out of the story and still have it be whole, or about where I am in the story...it encouraged a depth of engagement with a story that I normally just find rather frightening (and confusing in its general use as a cute tale of a zoo boat).

After seeing the value in this rich classroom environment, the question then is: how might we translate aspects of this to a home environment, or any situation where there would not be a skilled facilitator/storyteller, and there would not be such full breadth of elements? Is there a way to have a self contained experience that can be opened up by a parent/caretaker and child -- or even by a child independently -- who may not have any prior exposure to the tradition?

My sense is, of course, that yes, that is most certainly possible! (That's precisely the hypothesis that I'm investigating with much hope here!) For the moment I will leave us with a classic Godly Play wondering: What could we take away from the classroom configuration, or modify, and still have the experience we need?

Hide and seek

Vayetze Sketches

There's something I've been keeping from you. But I don't want it to be under wraps forever.

Before I started this blog I had ideas for four specific kinds of Judaica products that I wanted to make. But during a meeting with Rabbi Dr. Michael Shire, whom I mentioned to you in the previous post -- we'll be hearing lots more about his work soon! -- he confirmed something that I had intuited, but was until that point trying to ignore.

He said, you might make these products. You might apply for and receive funding from some foundation, or run a Kickstarter campaign, and then sit at your desk and create these items and put them out into the world. But (he said) if one of your main goals is the experiential educational existential (any other big e- words we can fit in here?) value behind these objects (as in fact it is, dear reader!) then you'll need much more clarity on exactly what your educational objectives are, and how this might be achieved in toy form, before you begin creating any specific object or other.

Which brings us back to this whole process of discovery that we're doing right here on this blog, together, and for the moment, to Rev. Berryman and Godly Play.

Berryman defines six objectives of the Godly Play approach, that together help children achieve fluency in "the art of using the language of [] tradition to encounter God and find direction for their lives" (Berryman, 1995, p.17) Are we all hearing how revolutionary this is? The goal is not that the children should come to believe certain core beliefs. Nor is it that the children should memorize foundational religious content. The goal is that the children should have such command of the foundational content and language of the religion that they can use it skillfully and confidently to construct meaning that is appropriate for their own lives. Gevald! Amazing!

In the next few posts we'll take a look at the six objectives that Godly Play works with, and consider how these might inform our thoughts around children's Judaica for use in the home.

As for those items that I mentioned, the ones I'm keeping under wraps, I really do hope that I get to share them with you eventually, once this process of distillation and discernment is further along. That too will provide an opportunity for reflection and most importantly, play, as we investigate whether the objects and toys do indeed achieve the goals we set for them. But, since I can't resist getting started already, I'll be posting a sketch -- illustrations from each week's Torah portion, from work on one of the items -- every so often as the header to posts here on the blog. And, lets have a little game to go with: try to identify as many of the scenes as you can, and post your answers in the comments. The most correct answers wins you a coveted congratulations shout-out in the next post. Let the games begin!

--
Berryman, J. (1995). Teaching Godly play: The Sunday morning handbook. Nashville: Abingdon Press

Berryman: a beginning

There's so much else to talk about: why I still favor non-electronic or digital toys, even above ones that genuinely attract (command) attention, like the singing siddur (prayer book) which I've been hearing about again and again -- I am certainly open to debate on this though. We'll explore examples of toys and objects that accomplish, even to some degree, the sorts of things we're talking about here. Meet artists who are bravely creating these items, even though there doesn't seem to be much of a market for them yet (though I'm hoping this blog will help change that!). Learn from professionals who are working in arts education.

For right now though, I think the next stop is the question of what encouraging a child's natural sense of wonder involves. How do we foster a child's relationship with the spiritual, with God? What objects could invite conversations on the deepest questions of meaning in children's lives, and remind the adults around them to value those questions/conversations and take them seriously. Is it even feasible to have such lofty goals for an object? These aims are so subtly yet profoundly different from those of toys that will merely keep children occupied, or even transmit fundamental facts of religion or tradition. 

Kind of makes your brain hurt, right? Luckily for us there are wise teachers who have explored these questions. They will not mind if we stand on their shoulders. To begin, let us meet Jerome Berryman and Godly Play. 

Reverend Berryman, working within the Montessori educational model, developed the Godly Play method as a way of so fully immersing children in the language of religious tradition that they absorb it, enter into it, and can then use that language to help process their own individual encounter with God. This is then an encounter that is dynamic, a relationship that a child can grow with and into, as opposed to a fixed cache of content that one either believes or rejects. While Godly Play is framed in a Christian context, Berryman encourages the use of his basic ideas as a template for any faith to experiment with and build upon. (We are blessed, in fact, that another intrepid soul has done just that in a Jewish context -- Rabbi Dr. Michael Shire's Torah Godly Play will be discussed in due time!)

Friends, the hour is late, and I wish that I could just quote all of Berryman's words verbatim, they are just that insightful. We deserve a bit more sifting to clarify things for our purposes though, and so I say: more, tomorrow! 

Nursery magic

"The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it." - The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams

I have heard that there are siddurs (prayer books) that sing to you (check it out!). I have enjoyed my share of wonderful G-dcast videos about the parsha (weekly Torah portion). There are no doubt countless apps with Jewish content for children. I am so grateful that these exist. But, like the nursery toys that by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, I cannot help but feel that there is still some timeless quality that is missing in the digital or electronic realm, a lack that prevents these products from attaining the "nursery magic" of the sort we're aiming at. 

Perhaps this is a good time to talk about Maxine Greene, and privileged objects (truly, I really can't wait any longer!). I discovered this amazing thinker here, deep in an old literature review from Avoda Arts. Greene, an educational philosopher, describes what she calls "privileged objects" which can be "paintings, sculptures, poems, novels, plays, musical pieces, and dance performances, with unique capacities to complicate and deepen our experiences in the world and with each other. They have the potential as well to plunge us into adventures of meaning and to open new perspectives on an always problematic world" (Greene, 1990, p.149). These art forms carry within them the ability to transform and heighten our perception, but, Greene emphasizes, that ability must be unlocked by means of our attending to it, by understanding these forms as deserving of our particular attention. In addition, unlike the everyday mundane objects in our surroundings, "the painting is likely to disclose more and more of its qualities or its perceptual attributes the more often and more attentively it is viewed" (Greene, 1991, p.154). I can't remember where at this moment, but I believe I remember reading (and this would make sense) that Greene also includes encounters with nature and natural objects in this category of privileged objects. 

How does all this relate to Judaica for children? (Is there a better word than Judaica? Please tell me if you think of something!) Well, it is my belief that IF the items that we have available for children are more like privileged objects, that invite repeated attention, and disclose more and more of their depth and meaning over time, they will be met with such appreciation, investigation and attention. Along with an aesthetic focus on thoughtful design and craft, the underlying goal of such objects should be open-ended, sustained creative play (with parents or playmates as well as independent activity) that allows children to feel that they have ownership and agency from within the Jewish rituals, traditions and stories instead of just learning about the religious content.

What do you think? Have you encountered any digital media content that you feel does fit these criteria? Are there any favorite items of Judaica for children that you have or that you grew up with that functioned as privileged objects in your world?


---
Greene, M. (1990). "Arts education in the humanities: Toward a breaking of the boundaries." In W.J. Moody (Ed.), Artistic intelligences: Implications for education. New York: Teachers College Press

Greene, M. (1991). "Aesthetic literacy." In Ralph A. Smith and Alan Simpson (Ed.), Aesthetics and arts education. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press

A little background, if you please.

We've moved a lot lately. Jerusalem to Ann Arbor to Boston, and now possibly on to Berkeley. With every move we've been blessed to find wonderful preschools for our kids (ages 4, 2, and 3 months -- ok, the 3 month old is home with me...), preschools that emphasize creative play, independence, investigation, appreciation of nature, etc. and (in most) expertly framed within a Jewish context.

But during the stretches of time between finding those schooling gems, in the months when were travelling, or had just touched down in a new location and were finding our footing, and even now, on weekends and holidays, I keep wishing that we had more to fully engage our children in our Jewish traditions in our home. Not just a book about Hanukkah, or a plush Torah, or a plywood Alef Bet puzzle (though these things are also great!) but something that would help us do the same type of exploration and investigation from within that they do at preschool, but within our home environment. For us this would be in addition to the practices and items we already draw upon -- Shabbat and holiday meals with family and friends, our weekly trek to the synagogue, designing and then using a tzedaka (charity) box as the most worthwhile place for our spare change -- but for many people these items I'm imagining may represent a starting point for bringing Jewish traditions into the home.

It is also the case that in the midst of all this mothering/obsessing over spiritual pedagogy, I am also an artist very much in need of making art and despite my inward-facing tendencies, wanting to do so in community with other artists considering similar questions. And so, part of my investigations in this space will involve trying to figure out what that would look like. How I would love there to be a place, a real place, or many, that would provide artists with a viable avenue for producing work with Jewish themes for children that would actually be seen and used by more than just a handful of people.

A little note is in order at this point: I am writing these thoughts from within a Jewish framework, since that's where I'm coming from. My goal will be to speak to the broadest spectrum of Jewish denominations/streams possible, given that those divisions are most often unnecessary or irrelevant to children and to the types of true engagement we wish to encourage. I hope and expect that my musings might be helpful to people from other faith traditions -- feel free to transpose the basic ideas in a way that is relevant for you!

To Noah's Ark, and beyond!

3D paper Noah's Ark -- Once held surprisingly delicious cookies!

You know those colorful Noah's Ark drawings you can get for kids' rooms, or Noah's Ark plush sets with all the tiny stuffed animals that you can put in the stuffed ark? They're cute, definitely. And might attract interest for some stretch of time. But it is my firm belief that kids deserve better tools to engage their sense of wonder and help them frame their natural search for meaning in the world. Religion can play an important role in that meaning making, but it will not come through kitsch or simply through the transfer of basic religious concepts.

So what would that look like? What kinds of toys, games, art projects, books, songs, plays and works of art would invite deep questions and a journey towards essential human truths? Our children, and the adults they will become, deserve no less.

And so, I humbly present Beyond Noah's Ark: my attempt to move beyond the kitsch, cutesy, and under-considered, and discover what objects might help our children (and us!) develop into integrated human beings, fully present and awake in this incredible, mysterious, expansive universe of ours. I would be so thrilled if you would join me, friends, as we embark. Welcome aboard!