Lessons from Debbie
There’s so much in the blogosphere right now about Jewish education – how to change it, how to improve it, how to invigorate it, how to re-vision it…
Of course this is not what I’ve been thinking about this week. I’ve been thinking about our dear Debbie Friedman z”l. Having known her for almost 40 years, I thought a lot about what it was like to be part of the “early Debbie” years, before all the records (and they were records), before Carnegie Hall, before the music was widely accepted. Back in the day when she couldn’t get into Hebrew Union College, let alone teach there.
She, too, changed, improved, invigorated and re-visioned. Synagogue music will never ever be the same.
Can we do for Jewish education what she and those who followed her did for Jewish music? Are there lessons we can learn from Debbie? I think so.
Here are a few I can come up with. Any more you can think of?
1. Make it relevant. Her music spoke to us because it sounded like what we were already listening to and loving. Is Jewish education relevant to our students? Does it speak their language? Use the tools they’re used to using? My synagogue bought a set of used Apple iBooks and I brought them out for my kids to use the other day. They beamed. These are old, old laptops, but the kids were as excited as if they were brand new. Is there anything I’m going to do with those laptops that I couldn’t do some other way? Maybe not, but it’s where the kids are NOW.
2. Make it engaging. We, of course, wanted to be there. The melodies were intoxicating. Debbie, undoubtedly, was intoxicating as well. She had a vibrant, exciting, huge personality. We joked about Debbie groupies. How engaging is Jewish education today? We can’t all be Debbie Friedmans, but are we attracting exciting, huge personalities and are we giving them the space to be who they are?
3. Take some risks. I remember vividly the day that our cantor stormed out of the sanctuary because he and Sing Unto God just weren’t going to get along. Who won? But it was a huge risk. Singing those melodies in the sanctuary – pushing the organ out of the way to make room for the drums – had to piss lots of people off. I’m sure the synagogue lost a donor or two in the process. But certainly it was a risk that paid off.
4. Involve the kids. In 1973, those of us in Debbie’s youth group felt like we were in the inner circle. We heard songs before they were songs. She played with melodies during our song sessions. I know people who still have the scribbled sheets of lyrics composed during late-night sessions at camp and on retreats. Some of those things never became famous and never made it onto albums. We didn’t care. Everything was special because we were part of it. Her song Laugh At All My Dreams was composed for my graduating class. To this day, I can’t hear it without remembering that incredible time that we spent together. Lesson learned: involve the kids from the beginning.
5. It’s okay to tear it all down. Today, it’s not at all unusual to hear a Debbie Friedman melody sung in the same service as older tunes. They live comfortably with one another and everyone is comfortable (well, maybe not everyone, but many). Back in the day, though, we were bold. We tore it all apart and started from scratch. I remember sitting in the youth lounge trying to figure out a new way to do a responsive reading, to reinterpret the Aleynu (only we called it the Adoration at the time. Let us adore (let us adore) the ever-living God (the ever-living God). You remember, right?). Debbie and her music encouraged us to rethink all of it. Nothing was, you should pardon the expression, sacred. Let’s do that with Jewish education. Declare nothing is sacred and go from there.
Comments? Please chime in