Drawing Lessons From My Shlichut in the UK

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In 2021, my family and I left Israel to spend a few years on shlichut in a small community in the United Kingdom. Shlichut had been a shared goal of mine and my husbands’ from when we started dating. We had taken courses, been through a long interview process and waited many years before it came to fruition. We were filled with idealism, passion and motivation, as well as much curiosity and apprehension. Growing up myself in a small Jewish community, I knew what an impact a shaliach could have, and we were hopeful that we could have a similar effect on the young people we would be working with.

It took one lesson with a group of 14-year-olds to dash those hopes: One by one, without me even bringing up the topic, they told me that they didn’t believe in God, they had already learned everything and weren’t interested in hearing about Moses and Abraham again. One girl proudly announced that she didn’t have a bat mitzvah, and another was horrified when a peer suggested she was observant – “But you go to shul!’ “Only when my mother forces me!” She replied with indignation.

I was speechless, shocked by the general attitude of the students, and filled with disillusionment. Mostly, I was so saddened by the lack of interest and utter disdain expressed on what I considered to be a monumental element of their lives: their Jewishness. In the two years I spent teaching in the UK, there were many such experiences, albeit not with quite the same irreverent enthusiasm. Many of my students questioned the need to learn “stories” they had learned in primary school. Many said Jewish Studies was a ‘useless subject’, wouldn’t help them make money, wouldn’t help them get into university. They couldn’t see the relevance of it to their own lives.

“The thing about chinuch is that you just never know what the impact you have made is. It could be that somewhere down the line one of those kids will remember your lessons, and it might change a decision they were about to make. You just can’t know, and you might never know…”

I questioned my actions. Why had I taken my children out of solid educational frameworks, removed them from their friends and family, placed them in an environment where they were exposed to so much secular culture, in order to teach teenagers who were clearly not interested in being taught? Why had my husband and I halted our careers and left our support network in order to be ignored and disrespected in the classroom?

I knew that I could not carry on this way, but I was having a hard time changing my attitude. Ultimately it was through the encouragement of a friend of mine that I finally, after weeks of disappointment and frustration, began to take a new approach: “The thing about chinuch,” she said, “is that you just never know what the impact you have made is. It could be that somewhere down the line one of those kids will remember your lessons, and it might change a decision they were about to make. You just can’t know, and you might never know.” Recognizing the truth in this, I realized I had to have faith in my ability to teach, and faith in my students to learn. For the next two years, especially on the more difficult days, this was my mantra – you never know and you have to believe in the mission.

Rav Solevetichik describes the idea of shlichut as our mission in life, in which we partner with Hashem to fulfill our Godly mission in this world. Each person is born in their generation, into their circumstances for a reason, with their set of skills and weaknesses, in order to fulfill their mission. The mission is twofold- one is tikkun olam (repairing the world), the second part is tikkun asmi (repairing oneself)¹.

In my teaching, I tried to internalize this message. On a personal level, I tried to see what I needed to do to improve myself as a teacher, and more globally, I tried as much as possible within the system, to give more space, value and respect than had previously been held by the subject of Jewish studies. I also tried to impart this message to my students; I believed in them and their ability to find their shlichut. I tried to base my classes with them on respect and understanding of who they were and where they were coming from.

Teaching Jewish Studies to students who had very little religious input in their home environments, I realized that with these students, what really mattered was not so much the knowledge they were lacking, but rather the feeling they were lacking in their Jewish experience and identities. For this reason I focussed on making the classes as experiential as possible, and on the relevance of Judaism to their own lives, even if that did not involve much religious practice. I learned that as important as it was to teach, it was even more important to model, and hoped that through my own actions, my passion for Torah, and my feeling of the privilege it is to be Jewish, they could gain motivation to invest more in their Jewish lives.

I took a lot of inspiration from the works of Rabbi Sacks, who emphasized the importance of education and recognized the different ways Jews engage with our history, laws and literature. His teachings always show the timeless relevance of Judaism, across ages and religious outlook. I shared his thoughts with my students through weekly parsha study, always focussing on what they could learn from Torah that was real to them, from the way we dress, to how we form friendships, to the rituals we love and keep.

Looking back on those two years, I admit that I tend to focus too much on the challenge of my work in the UK. But when I manage to hone in on the positive aspects, I see how important those small indicators of impact were to me – a student saying thank you after a particularly interesting lesson on the 10 commandments, the tongue in cheek “thank you for putting up with us” notes I received on leaving, the fact that students would come to chat with me at break times. There were even times that I knew that I was making some impact- when one of my lessons was an honest discussion on the topic of LGBTQ, when a student, at the end of her time at the school, told me that despite her not being religious at all, she felt that she really learned from me, when the principal of the school told me I had brought a lot of respect to the subject of Jewish Studies. Some of the impact came from the more macro elements of my work there – such as being instrumental in rewriting the curriculum to make it more relevant, or starting a chavruta program for the older students. I hope and pray that these will have an effect on the students of this community for many years.

On my shlichut in the UK I discovered that in any shlichut we are on in life, so much comes from our attitude and how much we believe in the mission we have set out to complete. I learned that this can only be done effectively from a place of humility and feeling that one is partnering with Hashem. This gives strength and motivation, especially in a situation where feedback is limited, and mostly negative. When I was able to remember that my family and I had found our way to the UK for a reason and that it stemmed from my striving in my avodat Hashem, my tikkun olam and tikkun asmi, I found the confidence and motivation to power through the tough days and show up the next morning, knowing that my friend was right – in Chinuch, you just never know.