My earliest Jewish memories are set to music.
I remember stretching up, down, left and right as someone strummed Modeh Ani on the guitar every Sunday morning to help us greet the day. I remember jumping out of my chair to join the lively dance circle of Mi Kamocha during Shabbat services and blowing my kiddie shofar on the steps of the bimah until my face turned purple during the High Holy Days.
I learned what it meant to be a Jew as I learned the songs and dances of our people. I think many others did, too. But over the years, without the structure of religious school and then Hillel, I fell out of touch with the “why” of many of our traditions. Why do we do what we do on each of our holidays, and what lessons are we supposed to take away from them?
Until this past fall.
I suddenly find myself at 25 years old, sitting with a guitar on my lap as 20 Jewish 5-year-olds stare back at me on their first day of Sunday school. A few months after moving to a new city, I made the decision to teach kindergarten at the local synagogue, which means I’ve been tasked with helping these little ones form a Jewish identity at an age where everything they learn makes a lasting impression.
Some kids are still wiping away tears because their parent left them with me, Morah Joee, their first Sunday school teacher. I wonder if they can tell that this is also my first day back at Sunday school since my bat mitzvah more than 10 years ago.
I don’t know where to start.
What does it mean to be Jewish, really? Is it covering our eyes during the Shema and substituting pork for chicken? Or watching “The Prince of Egypt” every spring and sporting the only blue sweater at the Christmas party?
In time, each of these kindergarteners will develop their own sense of Judaism. But it’s up to me to help them find where to begin.
Naturally, I turn to music. I teach them the words and meaning of Modeh Ani, showing them to stretch up, down, left and right to the music just as I did at their age as I play my guitar. We sing Hinei Ma Tov and Oseh Shalom. It’s September, which means Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are right around the corner. So is the war, although we don’t know it yet.
As I look into the wide eyes of my new class, I realize I haven’t truly thought about the meaning of the High Holy Days in years. We’re all guilty of going through the motions. We eat our apples and honey, try to atone and tell each other to have a meaningful fast.
But why? I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve sort of forgotten why we do what we do on many of our holidays. I knew it at some point, but it’s been years since I’ve really thought about it.
These are complicated subjects, too. Not only do I need to brush up on them myself, but now I need to understand everything so completely that I can explain it to a child in an age-appropriate way.
I was surprised to find that through teaching my students about our people’s holidays and traditions, I rediscovered my own Judaism. I fell in love all over again with our songs, values and culture. I watched the kids’ eyes light up as I told them the story of Purim. Their expressions matched how I felt inside.
It wasn’t all fun, games and latkes, though. These kids are coming into their Jewish selves at a particularly interesting time in history. One Sunday in early October, a sweet boy raised his hand after an enthusiastic round of the Matzah Ball Soup song.
“Are Israel and Ukraine in a fight?”
His question would have made me laugh if it didn’t make me so sad. He had clearly been picking up bits and pieces of information about the broken world around him, and it was up to me in that moment to help him make sense of it when I had barely started to make sense of it myself.
The rest of the year progressed how it did at every synagogue around the country. We had an increased security presence and weekly discussions with the rabbi about the war. The older students wanted to know what to say when their teachers and peers brought it up at school.
But for my young kindergarteners, our classroom remained a safe haven of Jewish songs, dance and art projects. We colored menorahs and painted seder plates, and I told them to be proud of who they were. I hope nobody ever takes that away from them.
As the now 6-year-olds head into first grade, I hope I have given them a meaningful foundation on which to live out their Jewish lives. Thanks to them, I have regained a stronger Jewish identity than I had before.
L’dor v’dor, from generation to generation, we learn from each other.
