From a very young age, I remember sitting in my grandparents’ laps as they talked about the people in the photos on the walls of their home: how they were related to me, where they came from and the challenges they faced as Jews. They would tell me the story of my great-grandfather, an infant escaping Russia with his family, in search of opportunity, when he was kidnapped (and later returned) by another passenger on their ship. It was there that I also learned of my relation to Yakov Sverdlow, who is regarded as the Soviet Union’s first head of state; and that I am related to the Katz family here in Cleveland (but not the other Katzes). 

I have such fond memories of Hanukkah, lighting the hanukiah; of Passover Seders as I stumbled over The Four Questions. It’s these memories that made me who I am today: a proud Jew in a strong line of proud Jews connected to their heritage. 

We spend so much time talking about the future of Jewish education — how to make it stronger, more engaging and more relevant. We pour resources into schools, revamping camp programming and reinventing Hebrew school from the ground up. All of that matters, but in the process, we’ve overlooked one of the richest, most personal resources we already have: our grandparents. 

There’s an entire chapter of Jewish education that happens before the classrooms, the rabbis or the campfire, right at home. In my life, my grandparents were the first people who showed me how to be Jewish, with love, with humor, with stubbornness and with heart.

However, grandparents are often on the sidelines in Jewish education. They’re seen as caregivers, not teachers; as background figures, not active voices in shaping Jewish identity. That’s a mistake. It’s true that most grandparents don’t hold degrees in Jewish studies or lead youth retreats. But they do something just as vital: they live the tradition. They hold stories, melodies, recipes and memories. 

Grandparents carry the lived memory of what Jewish life actually is. They carry family traditions, community struggles and migration stories, and a passed-down story can teach just as much — and sometimes more — than a textbook or worksheet. When a grandparent tells a child how they met on a kibbutz or where their name came from, those aren’t just stories; those moments are heirlooms. And just like we wrap an heirloom challah cover or kiddush cup in tissue paper and keep it safe, we need to preserve and pass down these stories with care — because stories carry memory, and memory carries identity. 

This isn’t just about honoring elders or nostalgia. It’s about the opportunity of including them. 

Imagine what can happen when we invite grandparents into the official circle of Jewish education. Storytelling sessions in the day school. Intergenerational chevruta pairings in Hebrew schools and senior homes. Shabbat units where kids learn to bake challah with their savta. Letters, audio recordings and video clips integrated into the curriculum. These aren’t side projects: they’re identity-shaping experiences.

When we leverage intergenerational wisdom in formal Jewish education, we build the full circle of Jewish education. Grandparents don’t teach like professionals, but that’s the point. In a world of infinite scrolling and 15-second attention spans, grandparents offer slow wisdom, grounded and full of heart. Kids can learn both empathy and history from such teachers in a way that textbooks just can’t replicate. 

In conversations with their grandparents, children can hear accents, learn names and feel the pulse of the past. They start to understand that being Jewish isn’t just about them; it’s also about the people who came before, and the people they’ll raise next. They inherit a story that they’ll carry forward, passing it to their children and their children after that. That’s how memory becomes movement and Jewish education becomes theirs.

When entire communities make space for this kind of intergenerational connection, something shifts. The learning feels warmer. The people feel more seen. Every generation has a seat at the table, and they all bring something worth listening to.

Somewhere along the way, Jewish education got professionalized and became something handled by schools, rabbis and camp staff. It made grandparents feel like background characters, as if they weren’t eligible to contribute to Jewish education. But that was never our tradition. The family is the first classroom and grandparents are the original educators.

We need to stop thinking of grandparents as bonus features and start viewing them as core faculty in Jewish education. Let’s build actual frameworks where their voices aren’t just heard, but expected. If we care about Jewish continuity, we can’t just look forward. We have to look back and bring the past with us.

The very stories I once heard over breakfast at my grandparents’ kitchen table are now the ones I share with my partner, with my students, with anyone willing to listen. That’s not nostalgia — it’s a full-circle moment. What started as a whisper from the past becomes a voice shaping the future.

Josh Schalk is the executive director of the Jewish Youth Promise. He brings a global perspective to his work in Jewish identity-building, drawing from his experience traveling abroad and engaging students through experiential and values-based learning.