By David Bryfman

Approximately two months ago I got Plagues. It clearly wasn’t my choice.

Participating in JFNA’s Scenario Planning exercises, the four future possibilities offered were Manna, Tribes, Exile, and … Plagues. Each of the other three futures had a silver lining. Manna is epitomized by breakthroughs and recovery, Exile involves economic transformation for some and choices for few, and Tribes allows small groups to invest in risk taking… to build a better future. But Plagues, that’s the really bad one, in which the lingering effects of the Covid pandemic continue for years in a highly fractured society. Trust me, it’s the scenario no one wants to contemplate.

The exercise was thought provoking and frustrating. The point of scenario planning is not to try and change the future, but to contemplate possible tomorrows, plan for them in advance, and ultimately not to be caught by surprise. Being in a group of Jewish nonprofit professionals, many of whom are inherently optimistic, and then receiving the worst of all possibilities in a scenario planning exercise proved to be challenging, if not inconceivable. To paraphrase one member of our group, “I just can’t even consider this scenario, because I have to believe with all my heart that the world will get better.”

With 2021 upon us, and a universal vaccine being disseminated, it might seem regressive to return to Plagues as a possible future. But the lingering effects of being stuck with Plagues remains with me, as much as I try to rid myself of its remnants.

As I mentioned, nonprofit professionals are optimists in spirit. After all, they work in organizations whose very raison d’etre is to make the world a better place. But that optimism runs up against systemic aspects of our world that make it especially difficult to think about how we would navigate the worst of the worst situations.

Contemplating these dark communal spaces might be something to do in private, but nonprofits are conditioned to smile publicly, be outwardly confident in their missions, and avoid displaying vulnerability. Commitments of support for communal organizations during the early stages of the pandemic were tempered by expectations that the Jewish non-profit world would change (read “shrink”) as a result of the pandemic. With that backdrop, organizational leaders often felt that displaying weakness would be seen as raising their hands to be eliminated in a Jewish non-profit version of survival of the fittest.

All nonprofits have changed in some way over the last ten months. While some stable institutions were given buffers to weather the storm, others were thrust into a frenzy for new sources of income, new strategies, and sometimes even new missions.

And the frenzy continues; just think about the influx of end-of-year panicky emails you received asking for donations. Many of them were quite compelling, but it is inconceivable that almost every Jewish nonprofit is capable of some version of “saving the Jewish people” and the world.

The net result is a conversation filled with bright spots highlighting the very best in Jewish communal life. But this rhetoric often avoids addressing the more challenging and difficult issues that communities like ours must engage in if they desire to advance.

At a Fail Forward conference a few years ago, we introduced participants to the difference between “failing” and “making mistakes.” While mistakes are relatively common, they are usually technical in nature, can be directly addressed, and relatively simple to avoid in the future. Failures are of a different nature, often with larger implications, and require a different mindset on the leader’s part so they lead to positive change in the future. Even at the time, this conference polarized our community. Many participants were unable and unwilling to focus on the emotional toll that can result when one admits to critical failure. As one person said, “I come to a Jewish Futures Conference to be inspired. Everyone else throws shit at us, from you I need to be uplifted and focus on the positive.”

These difficult conversations, however, are especially necessary now. Somewhat regrettably, I have observed over the course of the pandemic that those closest to the frontlines of education struggle to be able to see beyond their day-to-day work. This does not diminish their heroic efforts by any means. In fact, in some ways this struggle highlights the overwhelming nature of their work and commitment to their learners. It does, however, mean that for these authentic conversations to take place, participants need to be able to move from the dance floor to the balcony and, if possible, detach their personal achievements and struggles from the necessary bigger picture discussions.

We need to create this balcony of sorts – safe and brave spaces to tackle thorny issues. Currently, there is an obvious lack of space for conversations about the most difficult issues of them all. While we can think about what Jewish education of tomorrow will look like, we need to ask, “What ought Jewish education of tomorrow look like?”

The time has come to establish a permanent space or platform, led be talented and creative individuals, that will drive robust conversations devoted exclusively to contemplating the future of Jewish education.” The time has come for us to outwardly acknowledge the current challenges and even failures of Jewish education and to uncomfortably predict those which will continue to be future areas of major concern – unless we act to change their courses now.

If we believe, and it is almost inconceivable not to, that the Jewish world and therefore Jewish education will look vastly different in the near and distant future to what it does today, then the foundations of that new ecosystem must be conceived of today. If we do not take control of building this new future, then that future simply will be thrust upon us by external forces – and that is the epitome of Plagues.

An important question in shaping this new entity will be determining who should participate. Usual suspects will raise their hands to be included in such an endeavor, but I propose three criteria for entry into these particular conversations.

All participants must agree in advance that:

1. Education, and Jewish education, has the power to change the world.
2. What has worked previously in Jewish education won’t necessarily work to achieve what we want in the future.
3. Participants will listen more than they speak.

Being stuck with Plagues was terrible. It was a future that I did not want to delve into at all. But what would be far worse is looking back at this moment in time and saying that we saw the writing on the wall but failed to act because we were all so fearful of our very own existence. Being stuck with Plagues may have proven to have been a blessing in disguise. We should be under no illusion that hope alone won’t create the future we want to see.

David Bryfman is CEO of The Jewish Education Project. Check out The Jewish Educator Portal for resources and opportunities to create transformative Jewish experiences.