Engagement Versus Empowerment: The Debate Continues

The Jerusalem Post recently ran this op-ed piece, noting a potential conflict of interest between funding the Birthright Israel program and raising funds for other Israel programs for Jewish youth, in particular those programs for high school students and extended length (6 months to 1 year) programs.

The underlying theme of the article points to a larger philosophical question.  Given that the Jewish community always has a limited set of funds to work with, how should it prioritize: by focusing on outreach (i.e. helping ‘peripheral’ members of the community become more Jewishly aware and involved), or by focusing on ‘inreach’ (i.e. assisting those who are already Jewishly committed to satisfy their Jewish needs)?

When I worked at Hillel in the mid-nineties, we spoke in terms of two different program agendas: the ’engagement track’ (outreach to the unaffiliated or marginally affiliated) and the  ‘empowerment track’ (providing resources for those who are already committed).  While, in theory, these two tracks were of equal importance, in reality the engagement track received much more prominence (at least in marketing and fund-raising efforts).  The emphasis on empowerment was seen as a bold, trans-formative step for the campus organization.  An entire cadre of college graduates (the Jewish Campus Service Corps) was recruited, specifically to implement “engagement programming” (a parallel track, alongside traditional Hillel programming) on campuses across North America.

This kind of dual-track strategy reminds me of how Likud leader Binyamin Netanyahu once defined the ideological differences with his opponents.  To paraphrase, he suggested that the Israeli right believes in “peace through strength”, while the Israeli left adheres to “strength through peace”.  In other words, everybody (who is reasonably sane, at least) wants the same things for their country; the debate, at its essence, is really about theories of cause and effect.

This same logic could probably be applied to the outreach issue.  Should we try to “strengthen the core” (i.e. existing Jewish life) through greater outreach to the periphery, or do we try to implicitly make Jewish life more attractive to the periphery by strengthening the core (i.e. the vibrancy of Jewish life, as practiced by its committed members)?  Nobody, at least publicly, is advocating cutting off funds for one track in favor of the other.  The entire debate is really about prioritizing based on what we believe are the core factors that can sustain Jewish life in the diaspora over the long term.

While this debate will almost certainly continue indefinitely, I am most interested in one possible “evolution” of this argument: the idea that we are not really talking about two different strategies for maintaining the same community, but that we are really trying to simultaneously maintain two separate Jewish sub-communities.  One sub-community – let’s call them the “peripherals” – feels varying degrees of attachment to the Jewish community, but may lack the “Jewish skills” or deeper motivation for more formal involvement in organized Jewish life.  The other sub-community – we’ll call them the “activists” – are assumed to constitute the core of organized Jewish life.

A couple of months ago I read another op-ed article that touches on this idea, where the author advocates for mainstreaming Birthright alumni as opposed to creating a set of “alumni-only” activities and programs.  It’s hard to understand why anybody would suggest programming exclusively for Birthright alumni in their first place.  I would assume that it’s based on the idea that alumni of an intensive experience like Birthright share a common bond, which in turn can serve as a magnet to bring people together.

My fear, though, is that donors and policy makers (along with the rest of us) are going to think in terms of two different kinds of Jewish youth, and act in ways that could alienate one set (if not both sets) of kids.  For example, I think about me and my wife when we were younger.  Since we are both older members of “Generation X”, we could not have gone on a Birthright trip (it didn’t exist when we were in college).  However, even if we were college students today, we would probably be ineligible for Birthright since she was a Jewish Studies major, while I had previously participated in an Israel program while in high school.  (There are other restrictions as well; for instance, an Israeli who came to the U.S. at age 12 or older cannot participate in a Birthright trip.)

Thus, even in our teens, we may have felt like we were pre-assigned to some “already committed group” as opposed to a “marginally engaged group” that can benefit from programs like Birthright.  Of course, teen identities can shift rapidly, so I’m not sure how meaningful these categories are for predicting the future behavior of young adults.  Furthermore, I wonder how these distinctions could create rifts in the real world.  Image, for instance, a group of Jewish friends (perhaps members of a Jewish fraternity or sorority) decide to go on Birthright together.  What happens with the kids who cannot participate with their friends (i.e. because they have gone on a high school program, or decided to pursue a Jewish Studies program, or came here from Israel in their early teens)?

In other words, the Jewish community may be at risk of losing its future core (through alienation) as much as its periphery (through ignorance and apathy).  The “Hebrew Nation” proposal is clearly aimed at a Jewish sub-community that would probably be labelled as part of the “core” (even though its members are also at risk of assimilation).  I was motivated to suggest that more institutions be created around this sub-group since there are relatively few right now.  I fear that donors will avoid supporting new ways to involve Hebrew speakers; many may well ask, “why would we focus our efforts on a Jewishly literate group like this, while so many on the periphery still need to be reached?”

It almost comes across that the “activists” should be able to fend for themselves, without as much external support.   Thus, we wind up with each group having its own rites of passage in Israel (Birthright for the periphery, and Masa for the core), and competing to attract the attention of the same donor base for funds.  Over the long run, we may wind up with separate sub-communities of Jews, who share different sets of core experiences that distinguish their members.  (I think that this kind of separation may have already transpired between the Orthodox and non-Orthodox segments of the Jewish community in the U.S.; an Orthodox youth is likely to participate in a wide variety of experiences that his non-Orthodox peers would know little about).

There also seems to be a silent implication that there is something “nerdy” or otherwise alienating about normative Jewish life; outreach programs to the periphery are thus “sexy” in some way that programs directed to the core are not.  Indeed, there almost seems to be a stigma attached to being a committed Jew engaged in normative Jewish practices, while being “marginally committed” has become a sign of independence and sophistication (i.e. not limiting oneself with ‘parochial’ Jewish concerns).   In the early twentieth century, Jews often grouped themselves  into “greenhorns” (the more traditional, ethnically rooted Jews from eastern Europe) and “uptown Jews” (often from central European descent and more assimilated into American life).   We may still be seeing ourselves, to some extent, through the prism of this archaic distinction.  In today’s reality, I’m not sure that extending a hand to one branch of the Jewish population while rebuffing another branch makes any sense.

You Might Be A Hebrew American If…

I have been asked how to define who exactly is a “Hebrew American”, and how one would go about becoming one.  Unfortunately, there is no clear cut answer here.  This would be the same if, for instance, we wanted to determine who is a “Reform Jew”.   A dues-paying member of a Reform congregation?  Somebody who self-identifies as a Reform Jew, regardless of affiliation, practice, or belief?  Somebody who adheres to Reform beliefs and practices, even if they would not identify themselves as Reform?

The “Hebrew American” concept is rooted in language fluency; my idea is that the Hebrew fluent (whether Israeli or American-born) constitute a distinct sub-group within the American Jewish population.  Nevertheless, there are many people who aren’t yet fluent who could still be considered part of this sub-group; for instance, Zionist youth and adults who frequent Israeli movies and other cultural activities, yet still struggle with the language.  Even if you don’t speak a word of Ivrit yet, but you like (for some reason) to hang out with others that do, then you are implicitly part of the sub-group I identify.

There are other complications with the definition.  Back when I organized Hebrew language activities at Hillel, I remember that a few Arab Israelis (having temporarily or permanently relocated to the U.S.) once showed up to a Tu Be’Shevat celebration we organized (I was even more impressed that they knew all these Tu Be’Shevat songs as well!).  Would they be considered “Hebrew Americans”?  I would think so.  Just as the non-Jewish partners in intermarried couples can form part of the extended Jewish community (if they choose to participate in it, of course), non-Jewish speakers of Hebrew are certainly part of Hebrew America in their own unique way (again, if they choose to participate).

I think that the experience of being part of a cultural collective ultimately depends upon the range of experiences that this group’s members share.  With apologies in advance to Jeff Foxworthy, I have compiled a very short list (feel free to add to it) of ways to identify if you are a part of Hebrew America:

• If the Bezeq parrot still haunts your dreams, even after coming back home to the U.S., you might be a Hebrew American.
• If you search your old coat pocket and find either an old El Al ticket or a mifal ha-payis stub, you might be a Hebrew American.
• If watching an episode of Bubot (Dolls) - or any other Hebrew telanovella - has somehow changed your life, you might be a Hebrew American.
• If you know where “NATBAG” is (or was), you might be a Hebrew American.
• If you spent the weeks after Thanksgiving scrambling to obtain DVDs of Dora The Explorer in Hebrew for your kid, you might be a Hebrew American.  (They were sold out everywhere – trust me!) 

As I stated earlier, please feel free to add to this list…

Hollywood Discovers Hebrew Americans…

I recently found out about a new Adam Sandler project, where he portrays a former Israeli commando who decides to pursue a new life as a New York hairdresser.  This is an interesting premise; perhaps “Israeli chic” will become the exciting new way to express American Jewish identity.  We shall see; in case, I hope that this Sandler film will do better than his last big attempt at Jewish themed movies, Eight Crazy Nights.

A Quick Response To Shai (Part One)

My proposal has already received some attention on Maya Norton’s “The New Jew” blog.  (Maya’s example, along with her words of encouragement, inspired me to create my own blog here.  Thanks, Maya!)  In particular, I received an excellent critique of my proposal from Shai.  You can read his comments, along with other comments, here.

Shai’s reply was lengthy, and contained several points worth further review.  I think that it makes the most sense for me to review all of them upfront (i.e. the points that I wanted to respond to), and then tackle them individually in separate, smaller posts.

Hebrew as an “organizing force”.  Shai writes: “I don’t share your optimism that affiliation with Israel and its national language is, or for the time being can be, the powerful catalyst to community building your proposal asserts it to be.”  I would agree with Shai’s assertion that the “Hebrew Nation” proposal would likely be only one of several solutions to the problem of assimilation in the diaspora.  Only when several different strategies are applied concurrently would we be able to produce a truly significant impact.

However, I view the “Hebrew Nation” strategy as a highly promising strategy (and perhaps the most promising single approach)  for a few separate reasons.  First, it raises the profile of a Jewish sub-community that many other Jews lack extended exposure to.  In this context, I think a lot about Chabad, which at one time was a relatively small charedi sub-community, practically unknown to the larger Jewish community.  By continually “raising its profile”, it has been able to make Orthodoxy in general (and Chabad’s brand of hassidut, in particular) attractive, if not truly compelling, for a broad range of American Jewry.

Second, I think that Hebrew language institutions (ranging from mini-malls to language centers) would have a wide range of interactions with other Jewish institutions.  Sometimes they could be seen as “competition” (for funding and participants), while at other times they might serve as partners or resource vendors.  The impact of “Hebrew Nation” institutions would certainly extend beyond the range of the Israeli expat community (although I do agree that the intensity of that impact is speculative, and highly debatable).

A third point – one that I make in my proposal – is that I am trying to copy what appear to be successful models used by other ethnic groups.  In future posts, I would like to write much more about two specific institutions that impress me: the Mitsuwa mall chain for Japanese expats (I first stumbled into one store by accident in the mid-nineties, and was awestruck!), and the French Alliance Francaise.  I am not really sure  how much impact these kinds of institutions have on their diasporas, but if they have been able to thrive for an extended period then I would hope these models would help us build sustainable counterparts in the Jewish diaspora.

Israel as a model.  Shai writes: “Israel is not a model or solution for what ails America’s Jewish communities.”  I would politely disagree.  I am not sure, but I think that the source of our disagreement derives from what we consider to be a suitable “model”.  I would not suggest that Israel today consitututes a “model Jewish community”, if we are talking about ethics, broader commitment to Jewish learning, etc.  However, as a nation-state, Israel currently fulfills a specific structural model – “the nation-state model”.  Of course, many other nations – France, Germany, Japan, Iran, Brazil, etc. – implement this model as well.  Practically every nation-state has its own diaspora, and seeks (in one way or another, and for various purposes) to maintain a connection with its expatriates.

When I think about what diaspora Jewry could be, I often think about the North American French – for instance, the Quebecois (whose strong linguistic identity helps preserve the notion of an international francophone community), or even the Cajuns in Louisiana (whose connection to modern French culture is probably seen as much more detached).  While American Jews may indeed face issues greater than those I write about (such as lack of spirituality, materialism, etc.), I would still assert that “finding ourselves” as a diaspora community remains a major, ongoing concern.

 Organizations as actors.  Shai writes: “it seems to me that you speak of (organizational models) as though the organizations were what drives the system, rather than them being an interface between the system and the uses, rather than the confluence of individuals that share values that build the organizations.”  I will have to write more about this in a later post, but your observation is true – I have a fairly unconventional perspective on organizations.  I basically adhere to a biological metaphor – organizations tend to act like living beings, separate in many ways from the people who maintain them and participate in them.

While there are many explanations that I could give to justify this (ranging from human tendancies to groupthink, and the sense of inertia that often results), I think that the best explanation comes from an “adaptation model”.  Organizations maintain a “collective intelligence”, and the core of that intelligence comes from learning how to survive.  As successful organizations grow and expand, they tend to rely on strategies that worked out well for them in the past.  This implies that larger, long-lasting organizations (think about the Federations, for example) will tend to be innately conservative; they will avoid questions key components of their model that have served them so successfully in their past.  Of course, they will be eager to do “outreach” (i.e. attract new participants to existing institutions), but larger reforms will usually be triggered more by threats than by opportunities.

Organizational reform.  Shai notes, as my comments would suggest, that “our organizations are more concerned with our organizations than the people served by those organizations“.  He then writes, “I would think that Job One woud not be to have a different type of organization, but to change our organizations“.  As my previous comments indicate, I am generally skeptical about organizational reform – not because it is not worth persuing (of course it is), but because it is so difficult to achieve.  Trying to change long-standing organizations (especially those with long standing track records of success) is a slow process, even when the environment around those organizations is changing rapidly.  Ironically, one of the best ways to “support” organization change may be to create new, separate organizations that are more in tune with certain environmental niches.  If the start-up organization thrives, it can demonstrate new forms of behavior that might not have been imaginable before.

That’s it for now; I promise to write at least a little more about this stuff in the days to come.