Learning Community

"If your plan is for one year, plant rice; if your plan is for ten years, plant trees; if your plan is for 100 years, educate children." 

- Confucius 

Since I was a teenager, I dreamed of one day being a math teacher. In Rwanda, of all places, my dream finally became a reality. The class itself began as a student initiative, when some of the older students were researching university opportunities abroad. Realizing that their options were limited without taking the SAT exam, they requested help preparing. The exam is difficult even for Americans, who grew up in the education system for which the test was designed, they were told. But the kids, always eager to push themselves further, persisted. The village happily responded by organizing an SAT class, in which another volunteer handles the English sections and I take care of mathematics. So while I was initially hired as an informal educator at Agahozo-Shalom, within a very short amount of time my responsibilities also included teaching in the classroom.

In many ways, the SAT class complements the math knowledge which the students attain at school. While Rwanda has instituted a number of necessary education reforms over the years, the education system as a whole is still catching up to the west. Schools tend to focus on acquiring information and the memorization of facts, rather than abstract thinking and critical analysis. Even in math classes, the students are taught to regurgitate theorems and equations, sometimes to the point that their exams merely contain problems they have done in class with some of the numbers changed. But to their credit, the kids' understanding of basic concepts and their thirst for knowledge surpass even my own.

The strategies and methods for succeeding on the SAT's, you may recall, are the polar opposite of memorization and spit-back. One needs to be comfortable with abstract problem solving. At first, this scared me. While in a technical sense the students at Agahozo-Shalom have the mathematical background necessary for the exam, I assumed that I'd basically need to start from scratch when it came to the ways in which they approach a problem. Boy was I wrong! Yes, there are still skills and methods which they need to work on. But their zeal to learn, propensity for teamwork, and unwavering determination have made teaching them both exciting and rewarding.

It is the kids' tendency to work together, and the responsibility they have toward one another, which I find most inspiring. Each challenge seems to present a new opportunity for partnership. And when not everyone is up to speed, they'll take it upon themselves to ensure that no child is left behind. Indeed, this spirit of unity and partnership is the best preparation for the real world. We all bring different skills and perspectives to the table, and nothing worth accomplishing can be done alone. Watching the kids behavior, both inside and outside of the classroom, gives me hope for the future.

Interestingly enough, Rwanda's education system has also struggled on the opposite end of the spectrum: practical training. With few natural resources compared to elsewhere on the continent, the only real asset the country has is its human capital. The Rwandan government, therefore, has taken the initiative to capitalize on this by making Technical and Vocational Education and Training (TVET) a core component of its national development agenda. The initiative, implemented in a host of specialty schools across the nation, focuses on imparting practical skills, such as construction, plumbing, manufacturing, and mining, to the future workforce. As of 2012, about 38% of Rwandan students were enrolled in TVET programs. The enrollment is expected to increase to 60% by 2017.

There is precedent for such an approach. Many currently developed countries, such as South Korea, Malaysia, and Singapore, found themselves in a similar predicament in the 1960's. But by focusing on technical and vocational training, they have become inspirational economic models.

Agahozo-Shalom, in fact, will introduce a TVET track to its high school in the coming years. I couldn't be more excited. While some of my boys here struggle in their academics, many could thrive with such an opportunity. One small example: my boy Alain. He has both an unparalleled work ethic and a heart of gold, not a bad combination if I do say so myself. But while Alain doesn't necessarily struggle in school, he's certainly not an all-star either. I vividly remember one of the first days of my carpentry enrichment program. As I began to teach the kids how to use some of the basic tools, Alain started to wander off. Noticing that something was on his mind and assuming that the village may have been a lot for him, I decided to let him do his own thing. About an hour later, when the other kids could barely cut a piece of wood evenly, I turned around to see that Alain had single-handedly built a chair. I asked him about it and his only response was "this is for Mama." My heart melted. Imagine what this kid, with his skills and kindness in hand, could become in the global workforce.

While TVET will be coming too late to the village for my kids to partake in the program, I am confident that the student body as a whole will gain tremendously from it. For now, the students here already benefit from the mandatory Professional Skills program, in which they spend two years studying their choice of information technology, hospitality, or modern agriculture in addition to their studies at school. Thus, Agahozo-Shalom graduates enter the job market with more than just an academic background.

Indeed, Jewish tradition also recognizes the importance of both intellectual and practical education. When discussing the educational obligations a father has to his son, the Talmud delineates three core areas that are essential to one's upbringing. A father must teach his son 1) Torah, 2) a trade, and 3) how to swim. The study of Torah, when done properly, involves the highest degree of intellectual rigor and conceptual acumen. Such mental skills are essential to a meaningful and productive life. But, our tradition teaches us, the ability to think analytically is not enough. In order to truly be ready for adulthood, we are each also required to be self-sufficient. Abstract reasoning without a solid practical skill-set creates a burden on the rest of the community. It is sometimes a tough balance, but both sides are of concern to the ideal member of society.

And what about this swimming business? Some suggest that it is a matter of survival. Under such an explanation, one is not ready for adulthood until he can fend for himself in this chaotic and sometimes dangerous world. But if this were the case, the ability to swim seems like an odd analogy. Self defense could have been a broader and more relevant example. Further, if the lesson is about mere survival, the Talmud could have advised against going into bodies of water entirely, thereby avoiding dangerous situations outright.

I think that the Talmud is telling us something much deeper. While we are encouraged to be both thoughtful and productive, our lives should contain more than just intellectual and vocational activities. There are experiences on Earth that transcend base survival and utility. Between the study hall and the marketplace, the university and the office, lies a world of depth, beauty, and excitement. Engaging in all that this world has to offer is essential to the human experience. Maybe the Talmud doesn't advise against going into the water precisely because everyone should experience the thrill of swimming. What would the world look like if our entire existence was diminished to mere productivity and utilitarian terms? So by classifying swimming as an essential part of one's upbringing, then, the Talmud is subtly reminding us not just to survive, but to live.

Educators, as well as parents, have a responsibility to incorporate all of these aspects when teaching the next generation. The beauty of the Agohozo-Shalom Youth Village, in its holistic approach to education, is that it strives to do just that. At school, the kids learn from some of Rwanda's brightest and most talented teachers. The curriculum includes history, math, economics, science, languages, and technology. And extra-curricular activities such as the SAT class and the debate club complement what they learn in the classroom. As the kids get older, programs like TVET and Professional Skills ensure that the kids are ready to be self-sufficient upon graduation. Last but certainly not least, so much of what ASYV has to offer, from traditional dance to chess, volleyball to movie night, exist because life is meant to be experienced and enjoyed, not just carried out.

The village was constructed specifically for vulnerable youth, but I think children of any background could gain from its methodology. This is because, in addition to the important tangible skills the students are acquiring, they are also encouraged to live by ASYV's set of core values, among which are commitment, respect, and integrity. One value in particular, "learning community," is described as follows: seek and maximize opportunity for growth and development. This is an important value in all walks of life. School doesn't have a monopoly on education. Indeed each staff member at the village, from security to maintenance and everyone in between, is seen as an educator. Hilam, the notorious head chef, is already a role model to the kids here, always happy and eager to guide them through life's difficulties. Agahozo-Shalom reminds us, then, that it really does take a village to raise a child.

Yet educating the next generation, creating a proper "learning community," is not without its challenges. Serious thought needs to be given to what exactly we are trying to teach, as well our underlying motivations. Doris Lessing, the British novelist, put it rather sharply:

"Ideally, what should be said to every child, repeatedly, throughout his or her school life is something like this: 'You are in the process of being indoctrinated. We have not yet evolved a system of education that is not a system of indoctrination. We are sorry, but it is the best we can do. What you are being taught here is an amalgam of current prejudice and the choices of this particular culture. The slightest look at history will show how impermanent these must be. You are being taught by people who have been able to accommodate themselves to a regime of thought laid down by their predecessors. It is a self-perpetuating system. Those of you who are more robust and individual than others will be encouraged to leave and find ways of educating yourself — educating your own judgements. Those that stay must remember, always, and all the time, that they are being moulded and patterned to fit into the narrow and particular needs of this particular society.'"

I happen to be much less critical of the current system than Lessing is. For starters, it is important to remember that our teachers and elders, who have grown up in the same "particular culture" that we inhabit, are sharing with us the wisdom of experience. Yes, their suggestions may seem rigid and accommodating, but they are also time-tested. We are encouraged to heed their advice because, in general, it works. Further, one need not agree with the current culture in order to navigate it. By way of example, one can question and challenge the benefits of the existing system of taxation, but at the end of the day he still needs to pay his taxes. And refusing to teach him how to do so, out of some exaggerated aversion to indoctrination, does more harm than good.

Nonetheless, Lessing reminds us of the pitfalls of the oft overlooked parochialism inherent in modern day education, both formal and informal. In effect if not in intent, all current schooling involves some degree of indoctrination. Especially with educating future leaders, not merely self-sufficient citizens, it is important that we make every effort to not stifle creativity, self-expression, and the urge to challenge the status quo. Exploration and innovation are prerequisites for progress. As an educator, I should be teaching my students how to challenge and question, in addition to how to succeed and accomplish.

The desire to think individually, and not blindly follow instructions, is actually what got me interested in mathematics in the first place. Some say that the beauty of math lies in the existence of a right and wrong. For me, my experience was precisely the opposite. While I understand the appeal of a system of deductive reasoning and logically required outcomes, it is actually problem solving's multiformity that I find most enticing. Believe it or not, most of my enjoyment occurred after I solved a problem. I vividly recall walking into my high school math class acting like a hotshot because I came up with the solution to last night's homework, only to be floored by the fact that the teacher solved it a completely different way. And often, my peers solved it yet another way. I was fascinated. Math's beauty became less about how to solve a problem, and more about how else I could solve it.

If nothing else, this is what I strive to teach my students in class: learning doesn't stop once we arrive at the answer. In fact, it is the ability to look at something a little differently than the rest of society that has helped produce some of history's most innovative and groundbreaking achievements (the wheel, phonetic writing systems, modern plumbing, Pokemon, etc.). We therefore try to solve each problem in more than one way before moving on to the next one, and the kids never cease to amaze me.

It's funny to call myself an educator, formal or otherwise, as I often find myself on the receiving end of learning. The SAT class, indeed the village as a whole, has taught me more than I could have imagined. I have learned that teamwork, in the long run, is the best solution to life's challenges. There is no "one size fits all" approach to problem solving, and creativity should never be stifled. I am experiencing new levels of patience, as well as discovering that dedication and commitment can propel people to unbelievable heights. Finally, I am learning to never underestimate one's potential. Hardships and difficulties are a fact of life, not an indicator of future success.

As the line between teacher and student blurs, I know what it means to truly be part of a learning community.

The Owl

"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."
- Roald Dahl

Looking back at my first few weeks here, most of my memories have merged into one big blur. Time'll do that to you. Especially in a new environment. Everything was both exotic and familiar somehow, scary and exciting, confusing and comforting. Time itself seemed to move at a different pace. But there was one scene that I remember vividly, and it centered around an owl of all things.

It was my fifth day in Rwanda. The entire staff of Agahozo-Shalom gathered together for staff orientation. Like most orientations, our time was divided between logistical training and team-building exercises. As most of the sessions were conducted in Kinyarwanda, I strategically situated myself between potential translators. But as I soon learned, the ability to speak English does not necessarily prevent losses in translation.

During one of the discussions, the American volunteers noticed an owl perched on one of the rafters. It was beautiful and so close! I don't know much about ornithology, but I am pretty sure that, outside of zoos, this type of owl does not exist in the states. I have certainly never seen one in New Jersey. As the Americans began to take pictures, one of the Rwandans screamed. In an instant, a gang of able-bodied locals converged on the owl. Armed with whatever they could find (sticks, chairs, etc.), they began taking swings at it. I was horrified. Who would want to harm such a majestic creature? I looked confusedly at the woman sitting next to me, who calmly explained the situation: we needed to kill the owl before it kills us.

Okay. Shit just got real. What kind of owls do they have in this place? And if there is such a prevalence of deadly birds in Rwanda, wouldn't this have been a good thing to include in the orientation syllabus? I had been here for less than a week and I already experienced my first brush with death. But as the owl flew away and the excitement began to die down, I started to realize something amid the ensuing discussions. The lethality of that breed of owl, apparently, does not lie in its physical makeup. Owls are, in Rwandan culture, a bad omen. The presence of one signals that someone in the area is going to die. It was then, at that moment, that I began to think about the cultural differences I will likely encounter over the next year.

There is a long history of superstition in Rwanda, specifically in the east. Where and how these beliefs originated is beyond me, but I wouldn't be surprised if they are remnants of precolonial religious practices. After Belgium invaded and colonized the region, the local population slowly became overwhelmingly Christian (as of 2006, about 94% of Rwanda self-identified as practicing some form of Christianity). Yet, even the most dogmatic and standardized religions can become localized when introduced to a new place. As a result, the current Rwandan culture is replete with examples of latent mystical beliefs that would cause even your grandmother to raise an eyebrow.

One area, a potentially dangerous one at that, where this is visible is medicine. The region's idiosyncratic approach to illness has been known for some time, especially since Marc Vincent, a Belgian pediatrician who practiced in Rwanda and Burundi (then just one joint colony), chronicled his experience in the 1950s. He describes an interaction with an eight-year-old boy who told him: “Yes, death exists, but all those who die here, it’s not ordinary death, it’s sorcery. When you spit on the ground, one takes your saliva, one takes the dust on which you walked. My parents told me to watch out.” Illness and death in Rwanda, then, have traditionally been viewed as something metaphysical rather than scientific.

Superstition, on the plus side, also has the ability to heal. Jean-Claude Muzerwa, my colleague turned friend at ASYV, is living proof of this. About three years ago, he was repairing something on one of the roofs at the village when he slipped and fell. He landed flat on his back. Those who were there at the time told me earnestly, "he should have died." At the behest of Hilam, the head chef of ASYV and a strong believer in the supernatural, Muzerwa was rushed to a "traditional doctor." Here's how it works: someone with a physical injury, a fracture or broken bone usually, visits one of these experts during the middle of the day. The expert draws an outline of the patient's shadow in the sand. Then the patient can go home, as the rest of the "surgery" is done remotely (i.e. only on the remaining shadow-outline).

There is, no doubt, people reading this who are rolling their eyes. I too entered these discussions with great skepticism, and much of that skepticism remains. Yet I have also met plenty of people who underwent such treatment. They swear that they were able to feel every bit of work that the traditional doctor did once they had left his presence. And somehow, don't ask me how, they have since healed. Regardless of if one believes these stories or not, Muzerwa's miraculous recovery, especially, illustrates something even more significant than the healing powers of sorcery: while science and western medicine have, since Vincent's time, become the norm for health care in Rwanda, there are still those in the 21st century who seek "alternative" forms of treatment.

[It should also be noted that, based on my experience, there is no direct battle in Rwanda between traditional and modern forms of medicine. Those who believe in supernatural methods of healing also seem to trust in modern medicine. The differing treatments seem to be viewed as complimentary, rather than exclusionary.]

Arguably the most famous, and puzzling, example of sorcery in the region is the story of Dian Fossey, the world renown zoologist and Cornell University professor who spent 18 years of her life studying the habits of mountain gorillas in northwest Rwanda. Her work revolutionized the field and her book is still one of the most widely read books on gorillas to date. Fossey, in all respects a scientist, allegedly made every effort to burn her hair and fingernail clippings after she cut them, lest someone find them and cast a spell on her. When confronted in the US about whether she actually believed such superstitions, she responded angrily: "Where I live, if I didn't I'd be dead." Just a few years later, she was found murdered by a machete in her Rwandan cabin. The Fossey assassination remains one of the most heated debates in the country. The investigations into what exactly took place, and the extremely odd circumstances surrounding it, have yet to yield a coherent explanation.

Not every example of this cultural phenomenon is so exotic, or even necessarily superstitious. It doesn't take long to notice that waiters and bartenders in this country open drinks in front of the customer before pouring them into glasses to be served. Yet few realize the historical significance of this custom. Bottle caps are removed in such a manner because of the fear of poison. Even bottles with slightly loose caps are cause for concern. A factory-sealed bottle is the only way to ensure that the drink has not been tampered with. While this fear is not inherently mystical, it does illustrate the degree of suspicion that permeates even secular Rwandan society. Patients suspect voodoo, Fossey worried about witchcraft, patrons fear poison.

Sometimes it even seems like those who don't fear the mysterious at least welcome it. Conspiracy theories may still be popular in the United States (the Kennedy Assassination is my personal favorite), but not to the same extent that they are here. For months, I have been trying to clear my name at the village. In February, my kids purportedly saw me give someone across the room a secret sign. They immediately identified me as a member of the famed Illuminati. Not having any idea what they were talking about, I called up my private investigator: Wikipedia. Apparently, the Illuminati is a secret society believed to be made up of members who sold their souls to the devil in exchange for wealth, fame, and influence. With regards to its influence, Wikipedia elaborates:

"They are often alleged to conspire to control world affairs, by masterminding events and planting agents in government and corporations, in order to gain political power and influence and to establish a New World Order. Central to some of the most widely known and elaborate conspiracy theories, the Illuminati have been depicted as lurking in the shadows and pulling the strings and levers of power in dozens of novels, movies, television shows, comics, video games and music videos."

Despite my persistent objections, the kids are utterly convinced that I am involved. "That is exactly what an Illuminati would say," is their only response. Oh well. At least I am in the company of Jay-Z, Rihanna, and Justin Timberlake, under the leadership of Lady Gaga no less. But the fact remains: there is a long history of superstition and mystery in Rwanda, even in seemingly mundane interactions.

Once one gets past the exotic intrigue of Rwanda's underlying superstitious beliefs, some serious questions emerge. These questions not only concern my personal values, but are fundamental to the future of the nation as a whole. Something I have noticed, when it comes to the still extant mysticism in Rwanda, is a generational divide regarding how seriously these beliefs should be maintained. Take, for example, the owl menace from earlier. After the "attack," an argument erupted as to whether or not the owl was indeed cause for concern. The younger staff members dismissed the situation outright, deeming it an affront to "science" and "philosophy." Many of the older generation took offense to this, worried that universities have seduced, corrupted, and blinded their youth from potential dangers. 

This divide concerns more than just "science vs. faith" (an age-old argument which many believers find personal ways to reconcile). Rwanda, as a nation, is currently at the crossroads between tradition and modernity. Europe modernized over the course of many centuries. Each moment was an opportunity for examination, for either slow progress or the preservation of tradition. Nothing was final. Rwanda, on the other hand, has the difficult task that many developing nations face: as modernity was suddenly thrust on this fledgling nation, it is forced to make an immediate decision regarding these tensions. Each step taken, verdict handed down, has immediate and life-altering consequences. There is basically no going back. What, for instance, will the education system decide to teach the next generation? Further, should "alternative medicine" be sanctioned, or even allowed, by the Rwandan government? In a broader sense, is it possible to discard ancient practices, in the name of "development," without destroying a culture?

If you ask me my opinion, I would noncommittally respond "it depends." For certain things, such as medical care, I think the answer is simple (populist voodoo recovery stories notwithstanding). And what about my owl friend? Well instinctively, out of concern for the animal's well-being, I am inclined to reject this potentially detrimental superstition. But then again, I have traditionally taken a different approach with regards to animal sacrifices in my own tradition (Judaism). While some may justify my apparent inconsistency by considering "gifts to God" as its own category, both cases point to the same underlying question: does religio-cultural tradition trump animal rights? This is an important, and I would argue fascinating, discussion in the context of if and how modernity leaves space for tradition. But while I have the luxury of making my own value judgement, for Rwanda the stakes are much higher.

Tikkun Olam

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'" 
- Mr. Rogers

One of my favorite aspects of the village is, without a doubt, the emphasis on Tikkun Olam. From the Hebrew meaning "repairing the world," the concept has been adopted by a variety of faiths and peoples. It is, in essence, any act, big or small, which positively contributes to society. Some view Tikkun Olam as a utilitarian necessity, while others value its effect on one's character. And still others attach a splash of mysticism to it. For me, the beauty of Tikkun Olam is that it encompasses all of these ideas.

From day one, the kids are immediately introduced to Tikkun Olam as part of the village's philosophy. One of the major reasons for this is so that they know the full reason why they were brought to ASYV. Many came from nothing, and are now given opportunities they could never have dreamed of- access to health care, a stellar education, technology, even love. The village strives to help those most vulnerable, but such an opportunity is not a handout. Our goal is to assist and empower all of Rwanda, not just a select few. It is important, then, that these kids realize they were given a responsibility, not a gift. By equipping these students to tackle the nation's most pressing challenges, we are not only attempting to rebuild a nation, but actively teaching the next generation that it has a duty to do so. To quote Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, "Morally speaking, there is no limit to the concern one must feel for the suffering of human beings, that indifference to evil is worse than evil itself, that in a free society, some are guilty, but all are responsible.”

For mostly logistical reasons, the service projects ASYV undertakes tend to be in the nearby villages. This year alone, students have begun to teach computer skills to local adults, assist in health clinics, lead English-enrichment activities in schools, and build houses for those in need. The latter seems to be the most popular among the kids. Since the village opened its gates five and a half years ago, the kids have built twelve homes in the local community.

Another American volunteer, who accompanies the students on their community service, described what she saw of someone's living conditions (read more here): "...a small house constructed of mud and a tin roof. The current roof is riddled with holes leaving little shelter for the upcoming heavy rainy season. They are without running water, electricity, toilet facilities, furnishings, and often, food." When I heard this, I couldn't help but wonder if this is the type of environment in which some of the kids in my family grew up. Regardless, the students of ASYV jump at the opportunity to make a difference in any way they can.

Introducing Tikkun Olam to Rwandans, as it turns out, was not a difficult task at all. That's because Rwandan culture has had a similar value for centuries: Umuganda. Loosely translated as "coming together in common purpose to achieve an outcome," Umuganda began as a custom where members of the community would assist one another in completing difficult tasks. In modern times, the government harnessed the tradition as part of its national development agenda. On the last Saturday of each month, Rwandans between the ages of 18 and 65 are required to participate in community service, often focusing on infrastructure development and environmental protection. Not only does each Rwandan have the privilege of participating in shaping his country, but Umuganda also fosters a tremendous amount of unity and pride. And for those of you who are still skeptical: the value of Rwanda's "Tikkun Olam" initiative to its national development is estimated to have exceeded $60 million USD since 2007.

Toward the end of the book of Exodus, Moses is instructed by God to take a census of the Israelites in the desert. Enigmatically, the method of counting is required to be as follows: each member of the community is to donate a specific sum to the temple. Moses will then sum the contributions and determine the size of the nation. The obvious question is: why such a roundabout way of counting?

To this, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks offers a novel interpretation. A census is usually taken to determine the strength of a nation- militarily, economically, demographically. In all of these arenas, the more the merrier. Traditional thought teaches us that there is strength in numbers. And to this, God responds emphatically: the strength of a people is not in how numerous they are, but in how much they give. Lest one think for even a moment that mere numbers are enough, we are reminded that we are worthless unless we tangibly contribute to society.

It is easy to look at Rwanda and despair. Less than a generation ago, the nation was decimated, both in numbers and in hope. Geographically, the country is so small that on most maps the name "Rwanda" doesn't even fit in its geographic borders. But seen through the lens of Tikkun Olam, the conclusion shifts drastically. The imperative to contribute to humanity, to help anyone in need, to assist in any way possible, isn't just a tendency among Rwandans; it is in their very core. Many challenges still lie ahead for this fledgling nation. But with such indomitable strength, the possibilities are endless.

Family

"Constantly [he thought] he saw his father or his mother beckoning him closer.... He wanted to speak to them, but no sound escaped him. He was alone. Yes, he had friends, comrades, and he would have more in the future, but it was not the same. Nothing can interrupt an orphan's solitude."
- Elie Wiesel, The Forgotten

Getting to know someone in Rwanda is a different process than in the States. Among the questions I am frequently asked here, one stands out in particular: "Do you have family?" In my almost 25 years on this planet, I don't think I was asked that once prior to this past December. I am here, aren't I? Doesn't that guarantee, or at least very strongly imply, that I have at least some family? Apparently it doesn't.

Contrast that experience with the standard "So, what do your parents do?," a question to which I can already respond with an elevator pitch. When I first arrived in Rwanda, to be sure, I would never have dared ask how one's parents make a living. I knew of the deep poverty throughout the country and I thought it inappropriate to assume anyone had a livelihood. As it turns out, though, the issue with such a question happens to be much more fundamental.

Spending time with orphans is a new experience for me. And the truth is that I don't think I gave it enough thought prior to arrival. From camp to Hebrew school, I have grown accustomed to working with children. In many ways, I was already a pro. Mentally, I am realizing, I had prepared myself more for cultural differences than for familial ones. What are their interests, their hobbies? Will jokes still be funny when translated into Kinyarwanda? Do they also feel safe knowing that there are people like Chuck Norris and Liam Neeson protecting the world?

It was only once I met these kids that I began to realize the extent to which we're not in Kansas anymore. Like my first day at school, a number of the kids disembarked the bus with backpacks. Only later did I learn that, for many, these backpacks contained all their belongings.

Another wake up call: a fellow volunteer recounted an embrace she had with one of the children and the gratitude that ensued. "That was my first hug," she was told.

As the weeks progressed, I began to develop a more nuanced sensitivity when hanging out with the kids. In public, I read from a physical book rather than my kindle. Purifying water with my SteriPen also became a private affair. My summary of a recent weekend off needed to be edited- I mostly ate rice and of course never went to the casino. And perhaps most significantly, an argument with my parents was no longer something I could justify complaining about.

Much of that sensitivity, while important, is also self imposed. By and large, you wouldn't be able to tell that the kids at ASYV are orphans just by speaking to them. They are smart, curious, cheerful. And for the most part they are interested in hearing about the first world. American life serves as in inspiration, not a source of resentment. Their work ethic improves as they see what life can be. Shoot for the moon, the saying goes, and even if you miss, you'll land among the stars.

Perhaps the lesson is this: honesty and sensitivity are not mutually exclusive. I do not need to hide who I am and the opportunities I've been given, nor should I rub them in anyone's face. Just as I am excited to hear about the kids' day, they want to know how I am doing. An authentic relationship, built on trust, respect, and love, in the long run, is more important than some exaggerated form of sensitivity. It is a tough balance, but well worth the effort.

I am also beginning to discover that my life's blessings can even serve as a learning opportunity. My digital camera enables me to teach them about technology, as well as discuss concepts such as sight, perception, and memory. Recounting my travel experiences is an ample opportunity to explore geography, history, and cultural diversity. My first-class education, aside from being useful for homework questions, helps foster an environment of creativity and critical thinking. Life has been very generous to me, and that would be a shame to waste.

Part of me, to be honest, is still uncomfortable conversing with children who have experienced such immense hardships. But I think that is a good thing. Such discomfort helps me tread softly. I am incapable of fully understanding what life is like for these kids, but my mission persists. My mentor, Mr. Feeny, taught me that "You don't have to be blood to be family." I have always very much related to that sentiment, but my experience at Agahozo-Shalom has provided me with one important caveat: such an all-encompassing view of family is a luxury, one that may never hold true for each and every individual. Try telling an orphan that friends are enough, that he also has family. Many have never experienced the safety, security and continuity that comes with a stable home setting. While I personally may be able to relate to others as kin, that is because I always had my immediate family to fall back on. Even if I felt lonely, I was never truly alone. I was never forced to wonder what life would be like if I had parents. Friends, I am learning, are an expansion of one's family, but never the core; an addition, not a substitution.

At the village, I was placed in a "family" with 16 boys, a mama, and a big brother. For maybe the first time in my life, I am compelled to seriously contemplate what constitutes a family. Is this arrangement authentic or merely artificial, some "best-case scenario?" Can a historically biological group be so easily replicated? Besides, what is to guarantee that my feelings on the matter match those of the boys?

As Mother's Day approaches, I am reminded that such a holiday does not exist in Rwanda. And it is probably for the better. Why have a festival that few can celebrate? For many of the mothers here that I do know, such a day would just be a sad reminder of all that was lost. I pray that the world eventually reaches the point when Mother's Day can be universal, when questions such as "Do you have family?" no longer exist.

As for me, I will use this holiday as a chance to be thankful for all that my upbringing has provided me. I would not be who I am today if it weren't for the opportunities that life, especially my parents, has afforded me. The best way for me to honor my mother is to capitalize on all my blessings, most of which are, directly or not, the result of her constant care and hard work.

Additionally, I continue to think about the notion of family. What exactly constitutes "family" is hard to pin down. My gut tells me that Wiesel and Feeny may both be right, in the proper contexts. Family may even be one of those concepts, like love, that you can't define but you know when you have it. I know that I have found family at Agahozo-Shalom. I can only hope that the kids feel the same.

Bourbon

"The Rwandans, rallying around their national pride, have built predictable systems that reward enterprise and hard work, and created an exceptional blueprint for other developing countries.”
- Former President Bill Clinton

Shelly is the director of a local touring company. She first came to Rwanda in 2006, after learning about the country from her son's 5th grade research project. Soon she met her husband here and made the move from Seattle to be with him.

Alex, originally from Boston, is just completing his Master's in International Development. His thesis focuses on the ever-growing model of Rwanda. He currently resides in Kigali and manages social media for a local NGO.

Daniel heads a renewable energy company. After successfully growing his business in Israel, he began to expand into Africa. His latest expedition was divided between Uganda and Rwanda, as he develops strategic partnerships with local corporations.

Claude grew up in Rwanda but has lived throughout much of East Africa. He has been involved in a number of social service organizations and currently manages an NGO for Child Support.

These are just a few of the personalities I've encountered at my favorite cafe, Bourbon Coffee. From its website: "Bourbon Coffee first opened its doors in Kigali, Rwanda in 2007, and has expanded to eight different locations across Rwanda and the United States. We are an international brand of specialty coffee, and the first retail brand to originate from Africa. Our stores are built around the philosophy of producing coffee from 'crop to cup' – while sharing our coffee with the world, we are also promoting sustainable practices, economic development, cultural unity, and helping to reshape the global image of Rwanda and its economic development and culture....Bourbon Coffee’s vision is to stand as a symbol of [a] new era in African economic development, one in which African nations rise to participate directly in the global marketplace."

Aside from brewing arguably the best coffee on this side of the equator, Bourbon has become a hub for business-people of every variety and nationality. But what makes this boutique coffee shop different from your local Starbucks is this: the executives and entrepreneurs who converge here are interested not only in making a buck, but in actively rebuilding and reshaping the nation. Profit is merely the method; development is the goal.

This has been the case for every individual (including, but far from limited to, Shelly, Alex, Daniel, and Claude) I've had the privilege of meeting at Bourbon. And in many ways it highlights a growing attitude toward international development, one focused on attracting private business and investment rather than foreign aid.

This approach, of course, shouldn't be a novelty to anyone with even a cursory understanding of basic economics. It is the backbone of Adam Smith's The Wealth of Nations, and has since been referred to simply as The Invisible Hand (though Smith himself only used the phrase a handful of times). In short, the theory states that by maximizing one's individual profits, society as a whole becomes better off. Not only does the competition between buyers and sellers produce improved products at lower costs, but the process ensures that the right products, services, and infrastructure are being created. If, say, one can profit by selling shaving cream, that is because society needs more shaving cream. Socially desirable ends, then, are the result of selfish means, not benevolent policies. Free markets, many times, become better equipped at dealing with social problems than government agencies.

This is not to say that selfless motives should be looked down upon. On the contrary, the world could use more well-intentioned people. But this theory does provide us with a way of identifying societal needs: finding opportunities for profit. Indeed, the developed world became what it is through the promotion and advancement of industry. My Global Economics professor at NYU constantly emphasized that lower-class workers in America today have a better standard of living than kings did in the Middle Ages. What worked for the developed world, it seems, could and should also work for the developing world. A friend of mine even goes so far as to suggest that the international community stop all foreign aid to Africa. Yes, it will hurt at first. Will people suffer? Probably. But the long term benefits of such a hard-lined approach could be unparalleled. Teaching a man to fish goes infinitely further than feeding him a fish.

This brings us back to Rwanda, which has invested heavily in the private sector to accomplish the goals of Vision 2020, an all encompassing program designed to transform the country into a technology-based, middle-income economy. In the late 90's, current President Paul Kagame met with leaders and visionaries from around the world to actively plan a trajectory for national development. What emerged was a method focused on business rather than aid. Vision 2020 outlines a number of key principles, including good governance, an efficient state, skilled human capital (education, health, IT, etc.), world-class infrastructure, and a vibrant private sector.

Indeed, history also plays a role in Rwanda's reluctance to rely on foreign aid. The genocide in '94 is a very controversial subject, but one thing seems to be agreed upon unanimously: the nation felt abandoned by the international community. The world powers knew of the growing tensions in Rwanda. They knew about the planned decimation of an entire people. Romeo Dallaire, the UN Force Commander tasked with restraining the escalating conflict, even believed he could keep the peace with a mere 5,000 troops. In classic UN style, his request for support and resources was denied. Because of the many recent failures elsewhere in Africa (most notably the U.S.'s debacle in Somalia a few months earlier), the UN and world powers consciously decided to keep their distance. As someone born into an environment of "Never Again," I am pained by the "failure of humanity in Rwanda" (Dallaire's term).

Can Rwanda, then, be expected to rely on outside assistance to meet its most basic needs? The current administration refuses to be at the mercy of foreign governments who can at any moment withdraw their support. Rwandans are now tasked with controlling their own destiny. They are building their nation from the ground up, and quite frankly a Rwandan's resolve is rather difficult to break.

How much of Rwanda's development agenda can be attributed to economic ideology and how much is the result of historical processes is up for debate. What is certain, though, is that this new approach works. The country isn't only surviving, it is flourishing. In the past 10 years alone, 12% of the population (over a million people) has risen out of poverty. The current administration has reduced child mortality by 70%, and malaria related deaths have decreased by 85% between 2005 and 2011. The last 20 years have also seen the life expectancy rise by 20 years.  And to top things off, the economy has grown by an average of 8% annually over the past five years.

Such previously unimaginable progress, coupled with Rwanda's favorable business environment, has attracted the best and brightest from all around the world. Freelancers, entrepreneurs, merchants, and executives are flocking to this small, landlocked country smaller than the state of Maryland. And for good reason. Unlike futile aid efforts in places like Haiti and Nepal, Rwanda shows how foreign capital can be put to good use. [For those interested in more information on Rwanda's economic progress, I highly recommend Rwanda, Inc.: How a Devastated Nation Became an Economic Model for the Developing World, by Patricia Crisafulli and Andrea Redmond.]

So as I sit at Bourbon Coffee savoring my Iced Caramel Macchiato and wondering who I will meet next, I can't help but marvel at this nation. They have overcome tremendous hardships and are now beginning to make Rwanda famous for something besides unthinkable catastrophe: a potential model for overcoming world poverty.

Bourbon itself has illustrated this through its global expansion. It is not uncommon for an American corporation to expand into developing countries, but name me one African company that has operations in the United States. If you asked me to do the same a few months ago, I would have been dumbfounded. Bourbon opened its doors for the first time in 2007 and now has locations in New York, D.C., and Boston. The New York City location, in fact, is on 14th Street in downtown Manhattan, just a few blocks away from where I lived for almost a decade of my life. I can only hope that my experience there upon my return is as inspiring as that in Kigali.

If a tourist asks me what to see in Rwanda, how to get a feel for the country, I would tell him/her to just sit for a few hours in a place that won't be mentioned in any guide book: Bourbon Coffee.

Netanya

There are moments in one's life when he need not describe how he is feeling- his wedding day, the birth of a child, unbearable sickness. At all these occasions, his emotions, be they extraordinarily ineffable or painfully obvious, are visible from a mile away. Inquiring would be superfluous, if not outright insulting. Such was the scene as I disembarked at Ben-Gurion International Airport in Israel on Friday. While I hadn't slept in days, I wasn't the least bit tired. Excitement was all but oozing out of my pores. It had been over three years since my last visit and not a day went by without longing to return. Judah HaLevi, the famous Jewish poet and philosopher, had already expressed my exilic sentiments almost nine centuries earlier: "My heart is in the east, and I in the uttermost west."

So, naturally, finally being back was surreal. After quickly picking up an Israeli SIM card for my phone, I immediately hailed a cab for Netanya. Shabbat was just a few hours away and public transportation had already ceased. Appearances aside, Israel's lack of "separation of church and state" and I don't always get along. Lucky for me, though, the cab driver had heard of Netanya and was willing to take me there. Two friends from NYU, Cynthia and Gal, live up there and graciously invited me for the weekend. Though my trip is technically for business -- at least that's what I told the lady at customs -- that doesn't mean I can't visit some old friends in the process.

The cab driver, Cobi, was a giant of a man. Towering in elevation and monumental in girth, he was the closest to a Wookie I've ever met. And, much like Chewbacca, he had a heart of gold. In between last-minute calls to friends and family, Cobi pointed out all the sights visible from Route 2. I'll give you the short version- lots of grass and an occasional bus stop. I arrived in Netanya with just enough time to shower, which turned out to be the best shower I've had in months. In Rwanda, the showers are either freezing or gross. Usually both. So, feeling cleaner than Kigali, I was finally ready to start Shabbat.

It was also the first time in a while I was able to pray in an actual synagogue. The locals were very friendly and welcoming, excited to have a new guest. Without fail, the two questions I always get asked in Israeli synagogues: 1) Ah, the United States. You went to Yeshiva University?, and 2) So, when are you moving to Israel? And none of my answers ever seem satisfactory. Right before I left, the gentleman behind me, whose name was also Michael, invited me to accompany him early the next morning to a Talmud class.

The class turned out to be one of my favorite parts of the weekend. It had been so long since I engaged in a deep, meaningful dialogue about Jewish traditions, and much longer since I had opened a Talmud. The text we were studying dealt with which laws apply only to Jews and which laws also apply to non-Jews, as well as how we derive and enforce these statutes. In a broader sense, the text provided a gateway for how Jews should interact with the greater world around them: using our specific traditions and customs to personally serve our Creator, while promoting justice and morality throughout all of humanity. These ideas are especially relevant for my year in Rwanda, where the JDC has tasked me with the responsibility of using my Jewish background to help heal a fractured world.

After the class, I got to speak to Michael a bit more during services (sidebar: some of my most productive conversations have taken place while others are talking to God). He showed me his damaged arm, the remnant of a suicide bombing a number of years ago. This segued smoothly into the amazing feats his children are accomplishing in elite units of the military. Seeing his face shine with pride reminded me of Anne Heyman bragging about her 500 children at Agahozo-Shalom. Finally, Michael insisted that I join him for Shabbat lunch. I'm not usually one to turn down kugel, but I already had plans with Cynthia and Gal.

On Shabbat afternoon, I walked up and down the Netanya coastline- breathing the salty air, taking in the view, and readjusting to the presence of white people. Overall, Shabbat was relaxing, exciting, and all I could have asked for.

Then early Sunday morning, I made the trip down to Jerusalem for my JDC seminar. All of the Global Jewish Service Corps members are spending the week in Israel, engaged in workshops and site visits. The seminar provides us with the opportunity to connect with one another, continue developing a sense of community, build valuable leadership skills, deepen our understanding of the JDC and issues facing the global Jewish world, reflect, and recharge. The days are packed, but each activity looks fascinating. And what better place to be than the Jewish homeland?

Anne

"All I want is to follow the advice given by Elihu, the son of Berachel of old, who said 'I will speak that I may find relief'; for there is a redemptive quality for an agitated mind in the spoken word, and a tormented soul finds peace in confessing."
- Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Lonely Man of Faith

This is one of the most difficult pieces I’ve had to write. As some of you may have heard, the village experienced a tragedy this weekend, one which we are only beginning to comprehend. It is with a very heavy heart and a profound sense of sorrow that we learned of the untimely passing of Anne Heyman, founder and “grandmother” of the Agahozo-Shalom Youth Village.

When Sarah the Matriarch passed away, the Bible tells us, Abraham “came to eulogize Sarah, and to cry over her” (Genesis 23:2). There were two aspects to her death- one markedly collective, the other intensely personal. Sarah was a powerful force of good in an otherwise corrupt and chaotic society. She was also Abraham’s life-partner. Her passing signified both of these losses. First, that something vital was lacking in the world needed to be acknowledged. Then, and only then, could Abraham experience his personal grief.

Since its inception, Agahozo-Shalom was always cared for by its own matriarch: Anne Heyman. Her wisdom, love, spirit, and determination have made her into a role-model for everyone she encountered. My personal sorrow cannot compare to that of her family and close friends. But what was true of Sarah is true of Anne: the world just lost one its most fundamental pillars, a guiding force and beacon of hope for anyone in need.

Nine years ago, Anne attended a lecture outlining the obstacles that post-genocide Rwanda faces. Moved by the stories she heard and compelled to help in any way possible, she asked the speaker what he considers to be Rwanda’s biggest challenge. In an instant he responded: the orphan situation. The genocide had torn families apart, and there were now over 820,000 orphans (about 25% of the youth population) throughout the country. In order to ensure a thriving and stable future, Rwanda needed a method to turn its vulnerable youth into socially responsible citizens. Remembering what her own people had faced in the 1950’s, Anne immediately got to work. She looked toward Yemin Orde, a successful Israeli Youth Village, as a model. Unphased by the hurdles that lay ahead, she solicited the help of a number of international organizations and devoted all of her time and energy to making her dream a reality. Anne’s work, the perfect combination of inspiration and perspiration, paid off and the Agahozo-Shalom Youth Village was built.

Over the years, the kids at the village began to look up to Anne- not just for her warmth and compassion, but for what she represented: living proof that we CAN make a difference in the world. As these kids knew all too well, their lives would not be on their current path if it wasn't for Anne’s dissatisfaction with the status quo. She had intended to create responsible, self-sufficient young adults. Yet, by inspiring these kids to grab society’s biggest problems by the horns, she accomplished so much more.

Anne’s death, too, represented much to the kids at the village. On a basic level, many of them were concerned that ASYV may be forced to shut down. Anne was more than the founder of the village; she was the face of it. Further, the lives of many of these kids had been a series of tragedies and catastrophes. Life at Agahozo-Shalom was supposed to be different. They were supposed to be safe here. And yet, here they are, forced to grapple with how someone else so beloved could be taken away. “She was a mother to all the children here,” the village director commented, “Most of them are saying, ‘God, why have you made me an orphan a second time?’”

I have only personally known Anne since September, when I began working in the Agahozo-Shalom office in Manhattan. Over the next three months, my time with her mostly consisted of ASYV’s weekly Development Meetings. Though these interactions were brief, certain moments will always stick with me. She viewed every challenge as an opportunity, not an obstacle. The word “no” just wasn't in her dictionary. On one of my first days on the job, when Anne was merely a name I heard in the office, one of my colleagues remarked, “the thing about Anne is, she makes it look easy.”

At the beginning, I was actually afraid of Anne. To me, she was this “go-getter” who I assumed would have a domineering and “in-your-face” personality. And then I met her. True, she is noticeably passionate and determined, but Anne is also your classic Jewish mother. My first few minutes with her was basically a friendly game of Jewish geography. And trust me, she’s good.

But I think what struck me most about Anne is how a pioneer and visionary, in every sense of the word, could also be so intimately involved in the lives of the students at ASYV. Any time we wanted assistance from someone at the village, she always knew which student to ask. It was as though she knew the extra-curricular activities of 500 kids! Members of an organization generally know the name of their leader, I thought, but the leader usually doesn't know the names of all the members. But then I remembered: for Anne this wasn't an organization, it was her family.

How such a tragedy could have occurred is a theological problem that has existed since the dawn of man. Of all the people in this world, was Anne Heyman really the one we could live without? Why is a place named for the Kinyarwanda word “Agahozo,” meaning “tears are dried,” forced to experience such intense sorrow? In short, is there justice in this world?

The problem of why bad things happen to good people was vexing even to Judaism’s wisest and most spiritual leaders. Kings David and Solomon pondered it; as did the prophets Habakkuk and Jeremiah. Indeed, next week’s Torah portion tells of Moses who directly saw the splendor of the Almighty, and yet begged God to explain why He does the things He does: “Inform me now as to your ways, that I may understand you… instruct me regarding your glory” (Exodus 33:13, 18).

It is, however, the book of Job that provides us with the most concrete example of the suffering of the righteous. Job was a simple family man, devoting his life to helping others and serving his Creator. He was “whole-hearted and upright; he feared the Lord and shunned evil” (Job 1:1). Even God could only brag about His most trusted servant to the other heavenly beings. And then, for almost no reason at all, Job was stripped of everything of value. He saw his wealth disappear and his friends abandon him. He experienced the most painful of illnesses and the decimation of his entire family.

As Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik observes, there are two ways to question suffering- one philosophical, the other teleological; one descriptive, and one normative. Throughout most of his experience, Job made the mistake of approaching suffering from the first vantage point. He was more concerned with explaining why such a thing could have occurred than with what he should do about it. This reaction prompted anger and avoidance from God. So long as Job spent his time contemplating reasons and motives, evil and divine justice, God reprimanded him.

This, then, is the lesson of Job: there is no answer to why such tragedies could occur. It is beyond comprehension. “Therefore have I uttered that which I understood not, things too wondrous for me, which I knew not” (Job 42:3). But that does not mean we are helpless. We may not understand tragedy, but we can grow from it. The great question of “why did this happen?” needs to be replaced by “how am I going to respond?”

This weekend, we lost one of our greatest paradigms of the power of the human spirit. Anne’s life, though short, has affected the lives of countless individuals around the world. It is up to each of us to figure out what we are going to take away from her example. For me, I will look to Anne’s spirit, generosity, and unwavering commitment. She taught me to never underestimate my abilities and instilled in me the belief that with the proper effort, I CAN make a difference. This, I hope, will stick with me as long as I live. Now I must ask: what will YOU do to ensure that Anne’s legacy lives on?

One final note. Anne’s passing also corresponded with Rwanda’s National Heroes Day, a public holiday commemorating the countless lives lost in service of the country. While Anne may not have died for Rwanda, she certainly lived for it. Indeed, the theme of this year’s holiday was “Heroism is the foundation of dignity and development.” And there is no doubt that all Anne has managed to build is a testament to that.

Anne, I do not know if you are in a better place. But I do know that wherever you are is now better for having you there.