I’ve spent much of my career believing in the Reggio Emilia approach. I’ve studied it, taught it, advocated for it and helped schools bring its principles into their classrooms. I’ve encouraged teachers to see children as capable and competent, to listen to their ideas and to understand education as something built through relationships. I believed in these principles as a classroom teacher, and I believe in them today as a Jewish early childhood leader. I wrote my doctoral dissertation on how the Reggio Emilia philosophy intersects with our own Jewish educational concepts specifically as they pertain to educators’ perceptions of challenging behavior in the early childhood classroom.

These values are central to how I view and approach education. That’s why the events of this past week have been so painful.

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Illustrative. Portrait of a girl in a preschool classroom.

The news that Jewish early childhood educators preparing to travel to Reggio Emilia for professional learning were confronted with a demand to make a political declaration against Israel’s actions in Gaza has left me struggling to articulate what I’m feeling. 

Betrayal is one word for it. Grief is another.

There is something almost like a death in this experience: the loss of a philosophy and community woven into my professional identity. I believed this community stood for dialogue and human dignity. How does a philosophy that emphasizes belonging and respect for identity arrive at a moment in which Jewish educators feel their own identity and connection to Israel have made them unwelcome? How does an approach built around listening to multiple perspectives make participation dependent on affirming a particular political position?

I recognize differing perspectives about Israel and Gaza. But I cannot get past the fact that educators seeking to learn about young children were placed in this position.

I’m heartbroken, and I know I’m not alone.

The questions I don’t want to answer

In the days since this unfolded, early childhood directors that I have worked with over the past decade have been reaching out to me for guidance and comfort. Many have built schools around Reggio-inspired principles; those principles are reflected in their classrooms, websites and mission statements.

Now they’re asking questions I wish none of us had to ask: Do we still call ourselves Reggio-inspired? Should we remove the name from our websites? How do we stand up for our Jewish community without compromising what we believe is best for children?

Part of me wants to retreat from these conversations. I don’t want to tell directors that the philosophy they’ve worked so hard to bring to life must now be discarded. And I certainly don’t want teachers to abandon practices I continue to believe are developmentally appropriate and respectful of children.

But I also cannot pretend nothing happened. We cannot insist that belonging and dignity matter in our classrooms, then act as though those values cease to matter when the people seeking belonging are Jewish or connected to Jewish schools.

I’ve wanted to avoid answering these questions because I’m still trying to answer them for myself. Yet helping Jewish schools articulate educational values has been my work for years. I have a responsibility to engage.

Looking to our own tradition

We’ve been so focused on whether we can embrace Reggio Emilia while remaining unapologetically Jewish that we may have overlooked something: the educational values we’ve looked to Reggio to articulate have existed within our own tradition for thousands of years. My dissertation explored that intersection. I’ve long believed these philosophies are compatible; now I wonder why we’ve relied so heavily on Reggio to articulate beliefs we could also express through Torah. I don’t mean claiming that every Reggio principle originated in Judaism or using Torah to justify modern practices. I mean studying the Jewish understanding of children, relationships, learning and human dignity as seriously as we’ve studied contemporary educational theory.

Reggio Emilia may have given us contemporary pedagogical language for these values, but it did not give us the values themselves.

For instance, long before Reggio Emilia founder Loris Malaguzzi articulated the belief that children should be approached by educators with respect for who they already are, rather than defining them by what they cannot yet do, the Torah taught that every human being is created B’tzelem Elokim, in the image of G-d (Bereishit 1:27). In Judaism, a person’s worth is inherent, regardless of their abilities or accomplishments. A child’s dignity does not depend on what they produce, how independently they function or how closely their development matches our expectations. Chassidic thought adds another dimension: Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, in Likkutei Amarim (Tanya, Chapter 2), describes the Jewish soul as chelek Elokai mima’al mamash, literally a part of God above. This understanding of the soul reinforces the responsibility to recognize worth and potential in every child, including those whose behaviors or developmental needs challenge us.

Another central Reggio principle is respect for each child’s individuality. Reggio-inspired educators recognize that children develop understanding through different interests, experiences and ways of engaging with the world. The Torah offers a corresponding principle in chanoch lana’ar al pi darko, educate a child according to their way (Mishlei 22:6). The Lubavitcher Rebbe’s teachings on education similarly emphasize recognizing each child’s particular nature and abilities and adapting education accordingly.

I think about how easily we slip into teaching the child we wish we had, or the child who fits our expectations. Our responsibility is to teach the actual child with their own temperament, interests, struggles, and possibilities. This speaks directly to inclusion. Both Reggio-inspired practice and Jewish educational thought challenge us to consider what each child needs to participate, learn and experience belonging.

Inquiry and curiosity are equally central to Reggio Emilia. Children are encouraged to ask questions, investigate their surroundings and actively construct understanding. Jewish tradition also places questioning at the center of learning. The Pesach Seder is intentionally structured around children’s curiosity, inviting them to notice, wonder and ask: Mah nishtanah?  The Talmud teaches that one who is too embarrassed to ask cannot learn (Pirkei Avot 2:5). Jewish tradition recognizes that meaningful learning requires children to take an active role in seeking understanding.

Reggio also emphasizes learning through relationships and dialogue. Knowledge develops through interactions among children, educators and their communities. Jewish tradition similarly recognizes learning as a reciprocal process. Rabbi Chanina taught that he learned much from his teachers, more from his colleagues, and most of all from his students (Taanit 7a). This resonates with Reggio’s understanding of educators as learners alongside children, listening carefully and recognizing that children’s ideas can shape the direction of learning.

Finally, Reggio’s concept of “the hundred languages of children” recognizes that children communicate and construct meaning through art, movement, music, materials, and many other forms of expression. Jewish tradition also recognizes forms of wisdom beyond spoken and written language. Betzalel, entrusted with creating the Mishkan, was endowed with chochmah, tevunah and da’at (wisdom, understanding and knowledge), which he expressed through design and craftsmanship (Shemot 31:2–5). His example reminds us that intellectual understanding can be expressed through creative and hands-on work.

These connections do not make Jewish tradition and Reggio Emilia interchangeable. They emerged in different contexts and serve different purposes. But the parallels are meaningful. The image of the child, individualized education, inquiry, relational learning and multiple forms of expression are all principles we can articulate through Jewish sources. I believe they deserve the same serious study and consideration we have devoted to Reggio Emilia.

What do we do now?

I don’t believe every school needs to make the same decision about identifying as Reggio-inspired. Jewish institutions have legitimate reasons to reconsider affiliations or labels associated with organizations whose actions have hurt their communities. Those decisions require care.

Still, I would urge us to distinguish between the institutions associated with an educational philosophy and the principles themselves. We can object strongly to the treatment of Jewish educators while preserving sound pedagogy. We can reconsider affiliations without taking meaningful learning experiences away from children. We can demand that inclusion and dignity apply to Jewish children while holding ourselves to those same commitments.

And we can become more intentional about explaining our practices through Jewish sources.

When we describe children as capable and competent, let’s also speak about B’tzelem Elokim. When we honor individual pathways, let’s articulate chanoch lana’ar al pi darko. When we value collaborative learning, let’s draw on chavruta, kehilla and areivut. These sources can shape our curriculum, mentoring and conversations with families about why we teach the way we do.

I’m grateful for what I’ve learned from Reggio Emilia. Studying its philosophy helped me question practices that weren’t serving children well. It made me a better educator; I won’t pretend otherwise because I’m hurt.

But this controversy has made me reconsider my own work. Maybe I’ve spent so much time showing Jewish educators the compatibility between Reggio Emilia and Judaism that I haven’t done enough to encourage us to articulate our philosophies directly from Jewish sources. We’ve become fluent in the language of Reggio — the image of the child, the hundred languages, emergent curriculum, the pedagogy of listening — but how fluent are we in the Jewish educational language that could give these commitments their own foundation? We could make Torah, Talmud and Chassidic thought a more deliberate part of preparing teachers and leading schools.

I began this reflection feeling as though something important to me had died, and while that feeling hasn’t entirely gone away, alongside the grief I’m beginning to recognize an opportunity. 

We’ve spent years learning how to articulate what we believe about children through the language of Reggio. Imagine what we could build if we brought that same curiosity, commitment and intellectual rigor to the study of our own tradition. I don’t know exactly what that will look like yet, but I believe it is work worth doing — for our educators, for our Jewish community and, most importantly, for the children who will grow up in the schools we create.

Yehudis Smith is the director of early childhood education at Miami’s Center for the Advancement of Jewish Education, where she leads community-wide initiatives to strengthen Jewish early childhood education through professional development, leadership support and educational innovation. Her work focuses on building the capacity of Jewish early childhood schools, supporting educators and directors and advancing inclusive, high-quality educational practices. With over two decades of experience in early childhood education, she is also the founder of Yehudis Smith Consulting, the author of Rethinking Discipline and an adjunct professor at American Jewish University.