Who Are We Talking To?

A reflection on Jewish education, fear, and the courage to stay in our lane

I’ve learned over time to trust a certain feeling.

It’s the moment when something doesn’t sit right, it quietly contradicts what I know to be true.

I recently experienced this in a conversation about how to invite prospective families to the school open house. The discussion appeared practical on the surface: challah baking or obtaining an OT specialist? Jewish experience or STEM? What will draw more people?

But underneath it all was a familiar concern, one I didn’t argue in the room, yet couldn’t stop thinking about afterward:

What if it feels too Jewish?

What “Too Jewish” Is Really Pointing To

After more than two decades working in Jewish education and Jewish school marketing, I’ve come to understand that “too Jewish” is rarely about Judaism itself.

Parents aren’t afraid of challah. They aren’t afraid of Shabbat. They aren’t afraid of Hebrew songs or Jewish stories. The fear is quieter and so much more human.

They’re afraid of being made into something they’re not. They’re afraid their child will feel behind, judged, or out of place. They’re afraid that meaning will come at the expense of rigor. They’re afraid Jewish education might be nurturing, but not academic enough.

In other words, the fear isn’t identity.

It’s agency, belonging, and preparation.

Why Hiding the Jewish Lens Doesn’t Solve the Fear

Here’s what I’ve learned: Those fears are not resolved by hiding Jewish content or jumping lanes.

They’re resolved by explaining what’s actually happening inside the experience.

An OT presentation matters because parents want to understand child development and how it can support their child. 

STEM matters because parents seek to understand academics and how they prepare their child for a bright future.

Those are real needs. They deserve respect.

But choosing those programs doesn’t automatically communicate who we are, and avoiding Jewish experiences doesn’t make those fears go away. It simply leaves families guessing.

Jewish education doesn’t become safer when it’s less visible.

It becomes safer when it’s more clearly understood.

Staying in Our Lane — With Intention

This is where the challah experience re-entered the conversation for me, not as a religious activity, but as an opportunity to highlight so much more.

When a Jewish experience is thoughtfully framed, parents don’t see ritual. They see learning.

They see:

• fine motor development

• sequencing and measurement

• language and conversation

• patience, focus, and confidence

They see how teachers teach. They see how children learn.

Not despite the Jewish context — through it.

There’s a teaching from the Rebbe that always stays with me, rooted in the very first of the Twelve Torah Passages he asked every Jewish child to know by heart: “Torah tziva lanu Moshe, morasha kehilat Yaakov.” The Torah that Moshe commanded us is an inheritance of the Jewish people. The Rebbe emphasized this passage intentionally because it is foundational.

An inheritance is not something you earn. It is not dependent on intellect, achievement, or readiness. It belongs to you simply because you belong.

This idea shapes how Jewish day schools see children.

We don’t begin by asking whether a child is sufficiently capable of grasping meaning, learning, or assuming responsibility. We start with the belief that it already belongs to them, and our role is to help them access what is already theirs.

When a child braids challah, they’re not being tested. They’re being trusted.

Trusted with the process. Trusted with responsibility.  Trusted with the assumption that they belong in the learning.

And that is where confidence grows, from being seen as already worthy of what’s being taught.

The challah isn’t the point. The learning and the belief behind it are.

The Moment That Clarified Everything

What truly crystallized this for me was seeing another Jewish school promote their kindergarten preview as a Kabbalat Shabbat experience.

This school is more secular than ours, yet it was confidently leaning into Jewish identity to attract Jewish families.

And I realized something important:

They are trying to become more Jewish. We already are.

Why then are we treating our greatest strength as a liability?

The Truth I’ve Learned to Trust

I’m grateful for the instinct that stopped me from arguing in that meeting and for the clarity that came afterward.

I’m grateful for the strength to believe in myself, and in the values and identities that raised me.

Because Jewish education, when done well, does not ask children to become something else. It helps them become more fully themselves academically, emotionally, and developmentally.

Our responsibility as leaders isn’t to dilute that truth out of fear. It’s to articulate it with clarity, confidence, and care.

The Question Worth Asking

Before planning the next event, adding the next “safer” option, or softening the following message, I believe Jewish organizations need to ask: Are we trying to attract families or help them understand us?

Growth will never come from hiding who we are. It comes from trusting that what we carry is valuable and trusting ourselves enough to stop explaining away what was never the problem.