It has been a few months since my essay, “The humiliating process of the tuition subsidy application” was published in The CJN (Sept. 4). The flood of responses I’ve received has been extraordinary. It was fascinating to see how people from different socio-economic strata and generations felt about what I wrote. People I am familiar with as well as complete strangers offered their thoughts on my piece, and while I acknowledge their feedback represents nothing more than an anecdotal, anthropological gathering of data, it nonetheless exposes some common refrains and themes that I believe are not arbitrary or coincidental.
Perhaps one of the most unexpected and pleasantly surprising elements of the fallout from the article was a steady stream of people from a variety of generations who went through somewhat of a similar experience and said that some aspect of the subsidy process led them to similar sentiments.
Sometimes it was the people they dealt with, sometimes it was accusations made or questions asked, but all felt varying degrees of humiliation, interrogation, uncertainty, powerlessness and a lack of transparency and open communication. A number of people confessed they probably paid way more tuition than they should have, burying themselves in financial debt simply because they couldn’t face the yearly subsidy process.
The discussion that emerged in the wake of my piece is symptomatic of a larger issue: the question of sustainability when it comes to the Jewish day school system. I see the merits of Jewish education, but I’ve also heard from many who do not see that value. Due to rising costs, lack of specialized programming and strenuous subsidy application processes, some people chose to withdraw their kids from the system, or wish they had. I am not one of those, but I was shocked how many people feel that way.
Ultimately, the question of the subsidy application process relates back to the much larger issue of a sustainable system. In turn, the sustainability of the current system relates to an even bigger question, one that I believe is the keystone of this entire conversation: the philosophical approach that UJA Federation of Greater Toronto’s Centre for Jewish Education (and by extension its member schools) take to Jewish education.
Is Jewish education a privilege or a right? If accessibility is a right, then the CJE owes it to the community to provide a thorough, transparent, equitable, efficient and objective method for determining affordability. If accessibility to Jewish education is a privilege, then sending my kids to a Jewish school becomes no different than driving a fancy car or staying at a fancy hotel – either I have the money or I don’t, and if I don’t, I can choose a less expensive option.
Anyone who has been observing the Jewish education system can see hurdles on the road ahead. There are conversations that need to be had – some for perhaps the first time ever – if we are to establish generational stability in the Jewish community. There must be myriad voices at the table, including those who have chosen Jewish education and seen the fruits of their choices, but also those who have not. If we can come together as a community, if we can share our voices respectfully with dignity and grace not jealousy and hatred, then I truly believe many of the problems plaguing the Jewish educational system can be rectified.
After my essay was published, an older gentleman divulged to me that he had sat on tuition committees at four different Toronto schools. “The writing was on the wall 20 years ago, and we didn’t do a whole lot about it,” he told me. “Now, the situation has reached a critical point. I hope your article sparks a debate that can truly lead to meaningful conversation and some significant changes. It won’t be easy, but we all know some of the most important things in life never are.”
Zev Steinfeld is a teacher in Toronto.