To Thine Own Self Be True: Authenticity & Spirituality In The Modern Orthodox Classroom
My teaching career has spanned 15 years, nearly all those years spent in Orthodox day schools, particularly high schools. The irony of my career is that I have remained teaching in religious institutions as my life choices have led me further away from the practice of my faith and traditional practice. I’ve self-consciously carried the weight of this knowledge in all those years and within all the different classrooms I’ve occupied, from a Chassidic school to a Syrian community to a Modern Orthodox environment. My subconscious and perhaps irrational mind speculated that my very presence was a problem because it represented a rebellion against the various schools’ mission statements. Consequently, I assumed my life choices were something which should, perhaps, remain hidden because of how they challenged the schools’ values. I joined the Machon Siach spirituality focus group because it felt like due time to shift my self-consciousness away from burdened awareness to a more deliberate integration of place and identity. This shift would naturally include an examination of my self-consciousness because I suspected it was cobbled together by assumption and innuendo but not cemented by anything concrete.
I have come to realize during my tenure at SAR high school that my question, which I thought personal and perhaps unique in my school, is actually relevant not just to myself as a teacher. I believe there is value in exploring divergent spiritual beliefs and practices within a mission-driven school because the question is applicable to students as well. What should a student do who attends a Modern Orthodox Yeshiva, placed there likely by their parents, only to discover an emerging spiritual identity that doesn’t neatly align with the school’s values? How much room exists to explore gently divergent or even more strikingly clashing identities? Should we make room for these voices? And, most importantly of all, is there even value for teachers or students to bring their spiritual identities into the classroom, or should the academic experience remain separate from a spiritual experience?
In the paper below, I explore why authenticity is crucial in the high school classroom and why spirituality has to be a part of that authentic expression, focusing on the secular studies classroom.1 I will explore the value of doing so and present its challenges, especially as regards the conflict borne from a teacher and/or student not identifying with the school’s mission statement. My goal is to highlight the value of bringing authenticity in the classroom and, by extension, spirituality into a secular classroom, a spirituality that embraces students’ unique diversity while supporting the true values of the school’s mission. I conclude this paper by considering several practical ways to bring spirituality into concrete lesson plans.
Though (often) little more than a few walls and some desks, a classroom is one of the most exciting spaces in the world. Magic happens in a classroom, mysterious and deep like the transformation from chrysalis to butterfly or embryo to human. While this magic is sometimes captured tangibly, most of the magic is invisible to the eye. We are, each of us, a soul in a body, perfection wrapped in layers of imperfection, completion housed in a work in progress. The engineer of our transformation and the pioneer of our individual band of assets is our mind. Yes, the heart is a crucial player in this process, but the mind is at the forefront and often immediately linked to our hearts. The classroom is, therefore, so much more than a venue to transmit technical knowledge. It is where we glimpse the gates that keep us trapped in ourselves and open them to welcome new and more expansive vistas. I’ve now spent multiple decades in a classroom, and it never loses its thrill, whether I am in the student’s chair or behind the teacher’s desk.
Within the confines of this magical space, the teacher’s role is crucial. In fact, the magic emerges feebly or not at all depending on who stands in the front of that room. The first and, perhaps, most important step in bridging the gap between rote learning and true connection to learning is for the teacher to bring the entirety of him/herself into the classroom. Parker Palmer, an innovative educator who advocates for authentic learning, simplifies the complexity of what makes for good teaching to one thing: whether a teacher enters with an authentic identity or a manufactured persona.2 Learning is more than simply collecting and incorporating new information; it is the absorption and transformation, which occurs internally where mind and heart meet. Teachers need to model this for students, but, even more than that, teachers will transmit what is located at the nexus of their mind and heart, so care must be taken to keep those meeting points transparent and present.
According to Palmer, we cannot teach without bringing our personal lives into the classroom. Our identities, as well as our vulnerabilities, have to find a way to be expressed in our classrooms. Aryeh Ben David clarifies that, within the parameters of the classroom, “Being vulnerable is not ‘letting it all hang out.’ It is not sharing with boundaries; it is having the courage to acknowledge our imperfections and to bring them, as part of our whole self, into everything we do, including into our classroom.”3 Nothing snaps a moment into the present or makes things more “real” than when we openly acknowledge our fears, uncertainties, or mistakes. Sharing those moments with our students transforms the classroom into a living, breathing space. Students witness authentic living and can learn from those moments, or even simply gain trust in their teachers. Best of all is when students can let themselves be vulnerable and make space for their own authentic experiences in the classroom.
We must be awake to our “inner lives” in order to be authentic. This is an ongoing and often challenging but necessary practice. Sometimes this means we are simply turning an ear towards our inner thoughts and feelings; other times, we need to reclaim our lost selves. We aren’t automatons or split beings, so we bring our mental state with us wherever we go; therefore, it is best if we work towards integration. While that is a lifelong task and a challenging practice often beset with setbacks, it is the striving that is crucial. This doesn’t mean that we share private4 information about ourselves but that we acknowledge who we are, what we believe, and what we are experiencing in the classroom.
One personal topic which comes up with my students is my past, though not every class will ask me about it, and what sparks the conversation can vary. Sometimes a student hears a rumor from another class, or they recognize that my name sounds Orthodox. Other times students stumble across my name online, a name I share with my sister-in-law who runs a local Chabad House. What also differs between groups of students is which details intrigue them and pique their curiosity. Is it the experience of dressing with extreme modesty? Simply the fact that I altered my life? Or is it the cultural knowledge I am privy to due to my upbringing? I am mindful of how I share my history because I have a responsibility to the school’s value system. I can share, for example, that I was raised Lubavitch and was married while a member of that community, all information which can be found online. However, what I do not share and what my students do not know are my reasons for leaving that community and my subsequent attitudes towards my former community. That I altered my path is an elemental aspect of myself, and I cannot shed it when I walk into the building without paying the price of losing my authentic self.
Having been asked numerous times by students about my past affiliations because of something they saw online, I can speak to the potential bonding that is presented in those moments. If I want to encourage openness, I cannot shut down that conversation. In fact, every time I have engaged in conversation about my past, my students and I have grown closer, and the environment has subsequently shifted to a more trusting space, both in that moment and moving forward. One year, for example, a group of boys clustered daily in the front of the classroom, intrigued by my history. These boys were themselves from more religious homes or interested in becoming more devout on their own. When they learned I can read and understand Yiddish and know niggunim, all vestiges of a life reminiscent of the “old country,” they suddenly saw me as an access point to a burgeoning interest of their own which they didn’t find commonly mirrored in their Modern Orthodox classroom. Ongoing conversations included discussion of Yiddish and Chassidic music and general Chassidic lifestyle. Their interest, however, wasn’t one sided and merely an expression of students’ curiosity to better know their teacher; I could see how these students longed to tap deeper into their own heritage. Coincidentally, around this time, I had Shabbat lunch with a young man who was a religious Yiddishist and had his own history with teaching others Yiddish and Chassidic music. I approached the boys shortly thereafter about starting a Yiddish club, to which they responded positively, and a new club was born. I felt the reverberations of this one conversation throughout the rest of the year because the students saw me, and I saw them in return. This visibility translated into a closeness which allowed me to be a better teacher and work closely with them on their writing because of the mutual trust that had sprung up between us.
Other times, the conversation takes a different turn, and the focus can be on the personal transformation. In fact, that same year, a group of girls from another class had numerous questions about my journey. They were struggling with finding their voices because they widely diverged from those around them, including in school and with family. One girl in particular came over after class to discuss her struggle with balancing her need to find her own way while remaining embraced by the family she loves. She, however, was not seeking to become closer to her faith but distancing from it, releasing its strong hold on her life. Again, a personal conversation had lasting effects on our classroom dynamics because we worked closely together. Perhaps it isn’t surprising that I was asked to write letters of recommendation for a number of these students.
Teaching is a transactional process that is meant to be transformative for both the teacher and the student. Transformation cannot happen unless one is “open” to the moment. If we hide ourselves beneath shields of protection and an identity manufactured by our fears or in the shape of others, then we lose our ability to connect – to ourselves, our students, our material. Connectedness plays a crucial role in the classroom because, like vulnerability, it creates a vibrant space alive to the moment. At any given moment in a classroom, there is the intersectionality of student, teacher, and material. How a teacher is present to him/herself while s/he is simultaneously present to the student, all while interacting around a given text or topic, sets the experience for the classroom. The more a teacher is connected within, the better the teacher is at connecting with the students, and the more everyone together can meet over the material. This is an important quality of a teacher since a teacher’s “power is in their capacity to awaken a truth within us, a truth we can reclaim years later by recalling their impact on our lives.”5 Teaching includes acquisition of knowledge and particular skills, but it is truly enriching when something deeper shifts or opens inside as the students encounter new ideas. The more what we learn resonates deep within us, the longer lasting the impression will be.
Students, in particular, benefit from a classroom environment that operates on authenticity and the personal because adolescence is a time dedicated to growth and self-discovery. Modeling how to identify one’s voice and seamlessly bring it into the moment, then asking them to do the same, either via class discussion or the work done in class, helps the students in their personal as well as academic growth.
For the magic of teaching to happen, a classroom must be safe. Demonstrating openness and authenticity to the students, a teacher signals that students can do the same. Within those parameters, one of the most crucial aspects of freedom has to be freedom of knowledge. Nothing is as toxic to a wholesome learning environment as when ideas or questions are considered verboten. I was raised in a tightly controlled community and first taught at a Chabad girls’ high school, so I have seen up close how noxious energy leaches out and taints the environment when something is marked as forbidden. The results were counterproductive as well because labeling something as verboten only enhances its allure. Unfortunately, such forbiddenness is also the quickest way to send someone down a dangerous path by shutting down honest inquiry. The harmful effects are, therefore, both personal and intellectual.
In contrast, Modern Orthodox day schools are uniquely positioned, of all Orthodox day schools, to welcome many lines of inquiry, and the learning environment can be warm and welcoming; they are uniquely positioned to honor the authentic presentation of both teacher and student, which allows for truly engaging teaching. Modern Orthodoxy approaches self-identity with greater balance because it embraces Jewish and secular aspects of a person’s life. What is a warring battle for other Orthodox communities is a rich dialogue for the Modern Orthodox. Questions themselves are no longer a threat. In fact, SAR has taken this a step further and concretized this practice, even institutionalized it. The Grand Conversation takes place formally and informally at school, within classrooms and at assemblies, amongst peers and between faculty and students. It is one of the unique aspects of the school, born from Rabbi Harcsztark’s thoughtful and creative pedagogical approach. The results of this dialogue can be broader, as well, by dismantling or reducing, at least, the lure of the forbidden. Ironically, to keep to a path, a person should simultaneously see which other paths run alongside it. Once again, the personal, the intellectual, and the spiritual all come together in the classroom, modeled by the teacher for the students.
If students and teachers alike should bring their authentic selves into the classroom, then spirituality is not far behind. The search for the “why” and deeper meaning of things is part and parcel of the striving for authenticity. Within the parameters of this paper, I define spirituality in the loosest sense of the word, as “the search for meaning and purpose that lies beyond the self but includes relationships with self, others, and/or ultimate reality or ground of being.”6 This definition encompasses a belief, however nebulous, in “the beyond,” whether of the self or a godhead, which translates into a mindset that sees meaning or purpose in life experiences beyond the immediate. Whether there are attendant rituals or physical behavior to ground this “spiritual” approach can vary, with the more “secular” approach less concerned with practical manifestations and the more “religious” approach believing in their necessity. This paper embraces a hybrid definition of spirituality, understanding that the “search for the beyond” is best supported by grounding practices in behavior, though the specific attendant rituals may be selected for personal meaning and are not collectively instated or practiced. Authenticity in the classroom will, therefore, prompt a search for deeper meaning because, at least in a secular studies classroom, its expression can be freed from more limited definitions.
Numerous studies have demonstrated that addressing spirituality enhances the overall classroom experience. For example, a study of 339 participants who attended southeastern US universities revealed how spirituality leads to connectedness, a feeling teenagers need as they navigate their self-exploration.7 Furthermore, “spirituality contributes to the development of positive character, including maturity, work ethics, and healthy self-confidence.”8 On a personal level, incorporating spirituality in the classroom can lead to vital support outside the classroom. The public schools of New South Wales, Australia aimed to address the overall student’s well being since studies have “noted a serious decline in the mental health of modern youth…and some indications [it] is related to lack in spiritual well being.”9 The study was born from data culled from previous studies which “found that spirituality may play a role in how people experience and deal with difficult life situations.”10 It also references previous works, which concluded that those with “spiritual strivings were also found to have a greater purpose in life, better life satisfaction and higher levels of wellbeing,” aside from having greater mental health and “coping ability.”11 For Rachel Kessler, the director of The Institute for Social and Emotional Learning and author of The Soul of Education, adolescence as a time of self-exploration only emphasizes the core questions that underlie a spiritual mindset, and if those fundamental questions aren’t answered, “they can turn inward, becoming toxic and explosive.”12 Working closely with teenagers to sort through their questions and doubts, Kessler found this synthesis helped teenagers find balance in their lives and the means to integrate the different aspects of their identity.13
The entire adolescent experience, marked mainly as a time for individuation, is essentially a spiritual endeavor: the drive to understand what is beyond the surface, to make sense of oneself and the world around him/her.14 The development of metacognition is another key factor of adolescence, the ability to even question how one thinks. Meeting these evolving abilities is crucial for the student’s growth as a person; since a student’s well-being is inextricably linked with his/her success in school, it is incumbent upon teachers to address the student holistically. While self-development is a life-long pursuit, adolescence is, for many, the onset of carving out a path to the pinnacle of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: self-actualization. This term can be understood using a spiritual framework to mean our deepest and most authentic selves. Maslow himself has “referenced the … incorporation of spiritual concerns into daily life in his book, Religions, Values, and Peak-Experiences”.15
Before I share practical lesson plans, I want to outline three general ways spirituality could be brought into the secular classroom, particularly the English classroom:
(a) to further probe the text/author through the lens of spiritual identity; (b) to enable students’ self-reflection regarding their own values; (c) to import Biblical or traditionally theological allusions and juxtapose them with the literary examples. A good place to start when bringing spirituality into the classroom is in the way one reads a text. Are the characters on a journey of growth to learn something beyond themselves? Perhaps a character is stumbling through the dark by the lack of depth and meaning? Another thing to consider is authors themselves and how they imprint onto the story, whether consciously or otherwise. A text could also be a springboard for students’ personal exploration, how particular themes relate to their own lives. The third is the most obvious of connections, which is to explore a text via Biblical or other theological framing. My sample lesson plans below combine all three aspects, with the first sample focusing on the first option, the second sample combining the second and third options, and the third sample focusing exclusively on the second option.
The longer I am in the classroom, the more convinced I am of the value for authentic self-expression because I have also learned that disagreement does not have to breed conflict. Edward R. Murrow may have spoken his words in an entirely different context, but the wisdom is ubiquitous: “We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty.” The discussions born from disagreements are sometimes the richest conversations we have, so I no longer shy away from them. In a similar vein, I no longer shy away from my given name. There were years when I resented “Chana” because it pegged me, whether I wanted to be “outed” or not. It also offered me cover and cowardice when I didn’t have the stomach to engage in my journey and wanted to “pass,” only ready for passive acceptance, not true reconciliation. I have used the past decade to actively work towards integrating my past and present selves so I can live authentically and harmoniously. I’ve now embraced my name; I’ve made peace within myself and embraced the dialogue it elicits, and I aim to bring that same authenticity to my classroom and my students.
- Lesson Plan Bundle #1
- Lesson Plan Bundle #2
- Lesson Plan Bundle #3
Footnotes
- The classrooms in a Yeshiva day school devoted to Judaic studies are more confined to Halakhic practice, Jewish text study, and traditionally accepted forms of observance; consequently, they are outside the scope of this paper.
- Parker J. Palmer, The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life, 10.
- Aryeh Ben David, Becoming a Soulful Educator: How to Bring Jewish Learning from Our Minds to Our Hearts, to Our Souls – and into Our Lives, 17.
- I distinguish the personal from the private; the former is suitable, while the latter is not.
- Palmer, 21.
- Dr. Joan Letendre, et al., “Teaching Spirituality in the Classroom: Building Compassionate and Non-Judgemental Conversations with Students”, 8.
- “Exploring Spiritual Needs in the Classroom – Implications for Educators”, 13.
- ibid.
- Suzanne Schwebel, “Spirituality and Wellbeing: Primary Teacher and School Counsellor Perspectives”, 5.
- ibid.
- ibid.
- Laura Jones, “What Does Spirituality in Education Mean?”, 4.
- ibid.
- Lisa Miller, The Spiritual Child: The New Science on Parenting for Health and Lifelong Thriving, 235.
- Dr. Russell G. Yocum, et. al., 2.
- Exodus 3:8, et al.
- Talmud, Pesachim 116b, as quoted in Tanya, ch. 47 (the Tanya adds the words “and every day” and “today”).


