The Delicate Power of Modern Orthodox Judaism Harvard Divinity Bulletin

The Delicate Power of Modern Orthodox Judaism | Harvard Divinity Bulletin 3/16/20, 9*57 AM
FEATURED
The
Delicate
Power of
Modern
Orthodox
Judaism
What will the future
hold for this
decentralized but
tight-knit community?
Illustration by Ellen Weinstein
Narrating Judaism Autumn/Winter 2018
By Shuli Taubes
https://bulletin.hds.harvard.edu/the-delicate-power-of-modern-orthodox-judaism/ Page 1 of 28
A fiddler on the roof. Sounds crazy, no? But

here, in our little village of Anatevka, you might
say every one of us is a fiddler on the roof,
trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune
without breaking his neck. It isn’t easy. You
may ask, “Why do we stay up there if it’s so
dangerous?” We stay because Anatevka is our
home. And how do we keep our balance? That I
can tell you in one word: Tradition!
Because of our traditions, we’ve kept our

balance for many, many years. Here in
Anatevka, we have traditions for everything:
how to sleep, how to eat, how to work, how to
wear our clothes . . . And because of our
traditions, every one of us knows who he is and
what God expects him to do.
—Tevya, Fiddler on the Roof
ORTHODOX JEWS COMPRISE 10 percent

of American Jewry (which is only 2 percent
of the overall American population). The
Orthodox are further divided between the 7
percent who identify as ultra-Orthodox and
the 3 percent who identify as Modern
Orthodox (MO). And so it may seem odd,

and is honestly quite humbling, to be
writing an article on such a small religious
group. But it can be argued that there are
indeed many religious communities in the
United States struggling with the same
questions that animate MO life and culture:
How can a traditional religious community,
committed to maintaining its religious
heritage and practice, find a way to
integrate into modern American society (a
particular goal of MO Jews, as opposed to
the ultra-Orthodox)? How does one take
the best elements of world culture without
compromising religious principles and
without falling prey to societal trends that
are antithetical to the ways of life that MO
Jews find so dear and that give existence so
much meaning? And how does a member of
this community commit to a life regulated
by a religious law that has been in
development for more than 2,000 years?
In Orthodox Judaism, there are

prescriptions for what and how to eat; one’s
day is broken up by the obligation to pray
regularly; and adherents are guided by
rituals and laws surrounding birth,
circumcision, education, marriage, sex,
raising families, business, death, burial, and
mourning. In short, halakhah, broadly
defined as the corpus of Jewish religious
requirements, has something to say about
every aspect of life. Many MO Jews
therefore tend to make life choices that
allow them to enhance their religious
commitments by staying within the
community, by choosing educational
institutions that promote their particular
practices, beliefs, and values. And while MO
Jews are not intrinsically isolationists—and,
indeed, embrace much of American culture
and values—in the realm of religious study,
MO Jews overwhelmingly attend their own
establishments. It is thus not surprising
that on many occasions throughout my

three-year tenure at HDS, my parents had
to answer the question, “What is a nice
Orthodox Jewish girl doing at Harvard
Divinity School?”
My father, an Orthodox Jewish rabbi with a

synagogue and a teaching position at
Yeshiva University, had arranged for me to
meet with Rabbi Dr. Aharon Lichtenstein,
of blessed memory, prior to my deciding to
attend. “Rav Aharon,” as he is lovingly
known by his students and the larger
Modern Orthodox Jewish community, was
then the preeminent theologian of this
community, appreciated for his keen and
creative mind, the breadth of his knowledge
of Jewish texts and law, and his
extraordinary kindness and personal piety.
He also held a PhD in English literature
from Harvard and frequently quoted from
classic literary works and essays, and my
father thought that perhaps it would be best

for me to talk through my rather unusual
life path decision with someone who could
understand both my emotional and
spiritual drive and my intellectual impulse.
Rav Aharon helped me to articulate my
rather muddled thoughts and examine both
the opportunities and the challenges I
would face as a young Modern Orthodox
woman at HDS. My father was present at
the meeting and my parents were ultimately
my greatest supporters, so when the
question came up, they were (mostly)
ready.
But once I arrived, how would I be able to

convey the gravity and import of this
reality, and the foundational questions and
struggles that came along with it, to my
fellow HDS students? In my first year “Arts
of Ministry” course, I was privileged to have
Professor Dudley Rose as my section leader.
Over the span of the first couple of weeks of

school, we each had to present our
“spiritual autobiography” before the class.
This was a particular challenge for me, as I
was then only first being introduced to the
wider understanding of the concepts of
“ministry,” “calling,” and “discernment”—
distinctly Christian terms—and I was not
quite comfortable sharing my inner life of
faith. I was not sure it would be possible
without a shared premise or even
vocabulary.
My first thought was to use a metaphor

from Fiddler on the Roof. Modern
Orthodoxy is about living a life of intricate,
and at times fragile, balance, trying to
create something enlightened and beautiful
while walking on the tightrope of tradition.
But the notion of a fiddler poised
dangerously atop a roof seemed a bit
outdated, and so instead I decided to
convey the delicacy and power of this life

through a medium that I could more easily
demonstrate: a tap dance (I had been
tapping since I was 8).
I will never forget having the class move

into the Braun Room, where I could find
some good wood flooring as I tapped a
somewhat intricate dance to a piece of
music. And then, intentionally, I got off
beat. Some of my classmates could hear it—
something was off. Others could not. But I
knew. And I had to figure out how best to
get back on beat. Do I simply pause and
wait until I can get hold of the music again?
Do I skip some steps to move forward more
quickly? Or should I just keep up the
charade and hope that no one else really
notices? Or perhaps just quit altogether—
after all, I am out of breath and this is
hard!?! I think the message was clear.
WHILE “MODERN” ORTHODOXY IS a

distinctly American Jewish denomination,
many of its early leaders claimed its roots in
nineteenth-century Europe, specifically
Germany. There, two leading rabbis—
Samson Raphael Hirsch and Azriel
Hildesheimer—argued that Jews could no
longer seclude themselves behind the shtetl
walls but instead had to engage with the
secular world and embrace modernity, at
least to an extent. They wanted to reconcile
the secular and the religious without
forsaking one or the other. For Rabbi
Hirsch, whose writing has a generally
universalist tone, there is a singular notion
of “truth and justice” to which Jews could
contribute thought and counsel relevant to
all. He argued that Orthodox Jews must
embrace all that is “good and noble in the
European culture,” which assumes both
that this culture indeed offers that which is

good and noble and that it may require
some sifting and extraction. Rabbi Hirsch
felt that pursuing these forms of culture
was necessary for Jews to fulfill their
religious mission and was thus, in a sense, a
religious act. Rabbi Hildesheimer’s
academy, the first formal Orthodox
rabbinical seminary, located in Berlin, was
the only institution under Orthodox
auspices in which students were required to
have a significant secular education before
they were admitted. In addition to training
rabbis, he hoped the seminary would serve
as the center of an Orthodox intelligentsia.
In 1928, Yeshiva College opened its doors in

New York City to foster, in the words of its
founder, Rabbi Dr. Bernard Revel, “a
harmonious growth in which the bases of
modern knowledge and culture in the fields
of art, science, and service are blended with
the bases of Jewish culture.” In 1946,

Yeshiva University adopted the slogan
Torah U’madda—loosely translated as
“Torah and General Knowledge”—as its seal
and ideological symbol, though no precise
definition of the term was given, nor was
the idea publicly discussed for several
years. Eventually, Orthodox Jewish high
schools (besides Yeshiva University’s own)
began to offer “General Studies” courses as
well as religious training. By the mid-1950s,
there was an increasingly clearer parting of
the ways between the American Orthodox
and Conservative movements (the latter of
which advanced halakhic and theological
interpretations in certain religious areas not
accepted by the Orthodox), which had a
lasting impact. Many leaders of the
Orthodox community in America, even if
ideologically in favor of some sort of
engagement with modernity, feared that
any kind of “Modern” Orthodoxy was too
close to Conservative Judaism and thus

ought to be avoided or considered with
suspicion. Leaders of Yeshiva University
and others who identified with Modern
Orthodoxy were thus anxiously looking over
their right and left shoulders as they strove
to carve out an identity that was religiously
approved by the more right-wing elements
of the community but that could converse
on a high intellectual and secular level with
those on the left.
When Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm became

president of Yeshiva University in 1976, he
inspired a revival of Modern Orthodoxy as a
movement. In his position, first as rabbi of
one of the largest synagogues in Manhattan
and then as university president, Rabbi
Lamm was a vocal and idealistic proponent
of the notion that all knowledge was godly,
and therefore the serious study of the
humanities and sciences was an ideal that
God desired of Orthodox Jews. He thus

advocated a full commitment to Torah
tradition and proper observance of
Orthodox halakhah synthesized with an
openness to the wider culture. And, he
wanted it to be clear that intentional and
intense study of all disciplines at the
highest levels was to be pursued, not purely
for vocational or social reasons, but because
they had inherent value. In an essay titled
“A Modern Orthodox Movement” (1969), he
writes: “The challenge to our intellectual
leadership is clear: to formulate the
worldview of ‘modern Orthodoxy’ in a
manner that is halakhically legitimate,
philosophically persuasive, religiously
inspiring, and personally convincing.”
WHEN ONE WANTS TO TRULY

understand a religion or a denomination
thereof, one must distinguish between the

“Statement of Principles”—the ideal
theological-ideological values and
prescriptive elements toward which it
strives—on the one hand, and the “Lived
Religion”—the real social-cultural values
and descriptive elements which it reflects
practically—on the other. All religions and
religious denominations have aspirations,
but the lived reality does not always match
those ideals or may manifest in ways that
complicate and at times redefine the ideals.
All religions and religious

denominations have aspirations,
but the lived reality does not
always match those ideals or may
manifest in ways that complicate
and at times redefine the ideals.
If there was one person who came to represent the ideals of
Modern Orthodoxy, a human pillar of the community, it was Rabbi

Dr. Joseph B. Soloveitchik (1903–93), of blessed memory, who
was rosh yeshiva, or head rabbinical authority, of the seminary at
Yeshiva University and who ultimately ordained close to 2,000
rabbis there. He was an exceptionally brilliant Talmudist,
philosopher, and theologian, the scion of a most prominent
rabbinic dynasty, and he held a PhD in philosophy from the
University of Berlin. A multitalented original thinker, master
teacher, and writer, his penetrating and analytic Jewish
expositions, thought, and lessons were punctuated and animated
by tremendous philosophical and theological depth. After his
death in the early 1990s, it is no exaggeration to say that, for
Modern Orthodox Jews, “WWJBSD?” (“What would Joseph B.
Soloveitchik do?”) became a very real question in the realm of
Jewish law. Rabbi Soloveitchik embodied the spiritual tenacity
and intellectual rigor at least theoretically demanded by Modern
Orthodoxy, as he utilized the best of secular philosophy and
literature in the service of religion. He knew the Torah, the
Talmud, and the codes of Jewish law completely and thoroughly,
but could reference Kierkegaard with the same level of ease. His
personal religious behavior was firmly anchored in the classical
traditions of Orthodox Judaism, which he often explained and

defended and encouraged his students to likewise adhere to with
precision, but he clearly appreciated the value of all knowledge
and of what the “outside world” could offer.
In one of his most influential theological works, The Lonely Man
of Faith, Rabbi Soloveitchik argues that the two creation stories
found in chapters one and two of the book of Genesis represent
two sides of the human personality. He writes: “In every one of us
abide two personae—the creative, majestic Adam the first, and the
submissive, humble Adam the second. . . . Yet, no matter how far-
reaching the cleavage, each of us must willy-nilly identify himself
with the whole of an all-inclusive human personality, charged with
responsibility as both a majestic and a covenantal being. G-d
created two Adams and sanctioned both. Rejection of either aspect
of humanity would be tantamount to an act of disapproval of the
divine scheme of creation. . . .” In this seminal piece, Rabbi
Soloveitchik essentially reads the ideals of MO Judaism—being
involved in the creation and betterment of the larger world and
humanity, and posturing oneself in a position of submission
before God—as an essential part of the creation story, as a
foundational basis of the world. Through this piece, Rabbi
Soloveitchik not only sets out the ideals of Modern Orthodoxy but
presents a response to biblical criticism (which he acknowledges

and dismisses), to the ultra-Orthodox and to secular Jews. Rabbi
Soloveitchik uses a lot of universalist language, and thus he creates
an argument about faith that is applicable and relatable to people
of a variety of religious traditions.
At the start of the twenty-first century, Rabbi Saul Berman, a

Modern Orthodox rabbi with a JD from New York University,
wrote a significant article, “The Ideology of Modern Orthodoxy,”
in which he defines the contours of Modern Orthodoxy and what
separates it from its sister denomination, so-called ultra-
Orthodoxy. While basically agreeing on fealty to the system of
halakhah, the two, he argues, are “two separate experiments”
attempting to address how a traditional religion can persevere and
thrive in the midst of modernity. Rabbi Berman lists and discusses
nine central distinctions, four of which I would like to mention
here. First, Modern Orthodoxy values secular knowledge and a
relationship with ambient culture. Second, it respects the integrity
and certain approaches of the “other”—nonreligious Jews and
gentiles. Third, it is fully engaged with issues of women’s
leadership and roles in ritual. And fourth, it identifies with and
supports the modern state of Israel. Each of these issues is
controversial and complicated, raising new challenges at every

turn, but even engagement with and response to the issues by the
Modern Orthodox community sets it apart from the ultra-
Orthodox community.
While the distinctions between the ultra-Orthodox and the MO

seemed pretty clear, by the 1990s sociologists studying the MO
community were already distinguishing between “ideological” MO
Jews and “behavioral” MO Jews. There seemed to be a growing
divide between some of the leaders and the rank-and-file
practitioners. Not everyone was capable of or interested in reading
Plato, Milton, or Kant and incorporating their ideas into a
consistent religious worldview. There is no canon of high culture,
and in universities the notion that such a concept even exists was
coming into question. It was hard to keep community members
consistently engaged in the sorts of issues that the intellectual elite
(the overwhelming number of “rabbi doctors”) in the first few
decades seemed preoccupied with thinking about. And it seemed
increasingly clear that the religious passion of the leadership was
not always to be found in the lay community. Questions thus came
up: Is MO about compartmentalization or synthesis? Are the
ideals of MO too elitist and ambitious? Is meticulous observance
of halakhah in the MO community in fact a given in practice? Does

—or should—any of this matter to the average MO individual who
wants simply to accept halakhah in the general sense but still live,
work, and play in the modern world?
The sociological trends indicated a community that seemed to be

fracturing. Individuals began to question whether modern
American culture had any values whatsoever to contribute to
Orthodox Jewish life or whether its values had become largely
antithetical to those of Orthodox Judaism, such that it might
indeed be better to be more cautious and isolationist after all.
Moreover, many who identified with the MO community were
seen as practicing “Orthodoxy-light”: they observed the basics of
halakhah—Sabbath and holidays, kosher laws, daily prayer—but
were laxer concerning those laws at odds with modern society
from a social perspective, i.e., laws relating to modesty and dress,
standards of keeping kosher at business meetings, accessing media
with explicit sexual content.
It seems that the trends that were observed in the 1990s (and, in
truth, earlier as well) persist until today. Certain MO individuals
may be said to be living a life that has been described as
“observant secularism,” a life largely motivated by secular values

but regulated, at least to some extent, by religious norms. And
more recently, some have begun to question whether or not MO is
engaged enough in the moral issues of modernity and whether
rabbinic authorities are responding at a quick enough pace to
ethical concerns of our time, such as gender and sexual equality,
feminism, racism, and interfaith work. There is also tension over
who exactly has the authority to decide when and how traditional
law can transform and adapt and when it must dig its heels in the
sand and remain committed to prior tradition. At this time, there
is no centralized or authoritative leadership in the community.
There are numerous synagogues, educational institutions,
community outreach and support programs, and rabbinical
schools, each with their own leadership. And, they often disagree
with one another on practice, beliefs, and values. It is indeed
difficult to know what the future will hold.
The central challenge for MO today is determining whether,

because of the ideological complexities and expectations of
community members, its core values are sustainable and
transmittable. As indicated above, there is presently a diversity of
practice and a fluidity of ideals. That in itself may not be a bad
thing—as long as the community can work on civil discourse and

avoid the same pitfalls that plague and create schisms in
contemporary American politics. The following is a brief
description of some of the key issues facing the MO Jewish world
today.
The community is struggling with the results of what some think

of as the “over-intellectualization” of the religion, or the mental
aristocracy, which does not appeal to many young people who do
not feel religiously motivated and inspired by navigating a page of
Talmud or discussing Aristotle’s influence on Maimonides (though
there are certainly many who do). A sophisticated and nuanced
approach to studying Torah, with an expectation that community
members will engage in “high culture” but weed out negative
values and avoid anything that could potentially be a harmful
influence, requires a lot of work and some want no part of it. As a
high school teacher, one of my greatest concerns is the generally
high level of apathy among our youth. To even engage in a
discussion about ideals, significant knowledge and high-level
thinking is needed, and some students simply do not buy into it.
Many find the rituals and obligations too demanding and are not
moved by the discourse. On the flip side, there has also been a rise
in spirituality movements (so-called neo-Hasidism, for example)

that seek to bring a more emotional connection to Judaism
through singing, poetry, and dance. There is, though, a clear sense
that the MO community is not reaching all of its young people in a
meaningful way, leading to an attrition rate not previously seen in
this movement.
There is also a struggle around navigating the conflict between

traditional Jewish law and modern ethics. As mentioned above,
considering the traditional positions on gender equality and
LGBTQ rights in light of contemporary values has been trying for
many. Without broadly recognized religious authorities and with
the extreme defensiveness of the most outspoken on both sides of
the issue, the conversation has been fraught with difficulty. Other
areas which can lead to a conflict between traditional Jewish
thought and modern values are: universalism versus particularism
and the doctrine of Jewish “chosenness,” policies on intermarriage
and conversion, and what it means to be loyal to and critical of the
state of Israel. Theological challenges continue to be found in the
question of how to evaluate American mores and their influence in
the realms of sex, dress, leisure activities, and in terms of general
exposure.
The community’s “need” to have

schools that provide all the top-
notch educational opportunities .
. . has proven complicated for
those who struggle financially.
Finally, the MO community is struggling with its economic status
and the implications of material culture. Because of the
tremendous communal emphasis on education (65 percent of
Modern Orthodox Jews are college graduates, compared to 29
percent of the US public) and the desire to socially immerse the
youth in the culture, values, and practices of Modern Orthodoxy,
the majority of MO Jews send their children to Jewish private
schools (and to Jewish summer camps). These schools provide
both rigorous courses and cocurricular activities (sports leagues,
academic teams) and are competitive with some of the best secular
private schools in the country. Yeshivot, or “day schools,” as they
are called, offer a dual curriculum, featuring intensive Judaic
studies in addition to the regular scholastic curriculum. This
education is extremely expensive (some high schools cost more
than $30,000 a year, and thus there is often communal talk of a

“tuition crisis”). The community’s “need” to have schools that
provide all the top-notch educational opportunities along with
academic, emotional, and college guidance and a variety of student
services and programs has proven complicated for those who
struggle financially.
On top of the cost of education, the costs of obtaining kosher food
and creating a Sabbath or holiday experience with delicious,
elaborate, home-cooked meals, and lots of guests, as well as the
expectation of having special new clothing to celebrate the
holidays, all place a monetary burden on the community. MO Jews
often have geographic limitations on housing because they want to
live within walking distance of a synagogue (as most MO Jews will
not drive or ride in a car on the Sabbath), and they tend to have
larger than average families (with an average of four children). MO
communities have also created unbelievable infrastructures to
support chronically ill children, people with disabilities, and
women who have been abused in marriage, just to name a few, and
these institutions, like the local synagogue and schools, require
donations and generous giving. The bottom line is that the MO
lifestyle is expensive, and being able to afford all of this means
making an income that can provide. That in turn often results in
certain sacrifices, including pressure to abandon certain

professions or life passions, and a perpetuation of the cycle
because of some of the expectations (home size, luxury cars, exotic
vacations) that come with being in the upper economic classes in
the United States.
I WAS PRIVILEGED, growing up, to have many role models. My

mother and grandmothers were strong, educated women with
successful careers, who were involved in the Jewish community
and who also cooked and hosted meals with many guests around
the table. They built homes where warmth, kindness, and serious
discussion were part and parcel of daily life. I was encouraged to
learn Torah and to take my secular studies seriously. I had
chavrutahs (study partnerships) with both of my grandfathers,
studying Talmud and Maimonides with one and Milton and
Shakespeare with the other. I grew up in a home where religious
obligations were taken very seriously but where, as my family
came together around a Sabbath meal, no meaningful
conversation topic, from sex to politics to personal beliefs, was
taboo, and passion and being activists for good was encouraged.
All the same, there were times when the obligations felt fraught
and heavy. I will never forget breaking down while in college and
sitting on the floor of my family living room in New Jersey, crying
to my father about how difficult I was finding it to live in the
“gray.” Every choice I made, from a career path to what movie to
watch with friends, felt like a “big decision,” like a giant weight on
my shoulders that reflected the extent to which I had embraced
the ideals of our religion. I did not simply want to walk the walk, I
wanted to live the life that Rabbi Soloveitchik modeled. I wanted
to keep up all my religious commitments but be totally open to
knowledge, culture, the experiences of my non-Jewish friends, of
people I had never met. I wanted to feel connected to God and my
community and to American culture and values at the same time. I
just had moments where it did not seem possible.
As I continue to develop my teaching career, engage in my work at

a variety of MO synagogues where I give sermons and lecture from
the pulpit (including being a “community scholar,” a non-ordained
educator and leader), and build my own family (I married another
MO Jew who attended HDS!), I have come to really love and
appreciate Modern Orthodox Judaism. I believe that it has given
me the tools to lead a meaningful, happy, driven life. The idealism
about the possibilities of human potential, in which both

intellectualism and giving to others are prized, is paramount to the
way I want to live my life. My time at HDS and my deep
friendships with people outside my faith community have
provided me with additional language to develop as a religious
person, giving particular expression to a committed relationship
with God.
While the challenges facing our MO community are real, I do not

take for granted being part of such a tight-knit and supportive
group; one truly never celebrates or mourns alone. And I
appreciate being part of a denomination that is self-critical, that
debates our shortcomings and flaws out in the open—from the
pulpit, in news outlets, in study halls, in university bulletins—but
that does not self-destruct when we disagree, when modern values
conflict with traditional ones. We do not knock down the house
every time a brick seems out of place. This is the message I want
my students to embrace: to be part of culture and yet counter-
cultural at the same time. I want them to appreciate what it means
to be members of a community in which they can find a beat that
works with the music in their own heads and hearts but to know
that they can ultimately come together as a unified ensemble.
Shuli Taubes, MDiv ’09, teaches Judaic studies and chairs the
Jewish philosophy department at SAR, a Modern Orthodox Jewish
High School in New York City. She lectures on biblical theology,
Jewish thought, and contemporary issues in Orthodox Judaism in
synagogues across North America.

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The Delicate Power of Modern Orthodox Judaism | Harvard Divinity Bulletin 3/16/20, 9*57 AM

Narrating Judaism Autumn/Winter 2018

A fiddler on the roof. Sounds crazy, no? But

Because of our traditions, we’ve kept our

—Tevya, Fiddler on the Roof

ORTHODOX JEWS COMPRISE 10 percent

Orthodox (MO). And so it may seem odd,

In Orthodox Judaism, there are

that on many occasions throughout my

My father, an Orthodox Jewish rabbi with a

father thought that perhaps it would be best

But once I arrived, how would I be able to

Over the span of the first couple of weeks of

My first thought was to use a metaphor

convey the delicacy and power of this life

I will never forget having the class move

WHILE “MODERN” ORTHODOXY IS a

that this culture indeed offers that which is

In 1928, Yeshiva College opened its doors in

the bases of Jewish culture.” In 1946,

close to Conservative Judaism and thus

When Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm became

God desired of Orthodox Jews. He thus

WHEN ONE WANTS TO TRULY

thereof, one must distinguish between the

All religions and religious

Modern Orthodoxy, a human pillar of the community, it was Rabbi

traditions of Orthodox Judaism, which he often explained and

presents a response to biblical criticism (which he acknowledges

At the start of the twenty-first century, Rabbi Saul Berman, a

controversial and complicated, raising new challenges at every

While the distinctions between the ultra-Orthodox and the MO

of halakhah in the MO community in fact a given in practice? Does

The sociological trends indicated a community that seemed to be

“observant secularism,” a life largely motivated by secular values

The central challenge for MO today is determining whether,

thing—as long as the community can work on civil discourse and

The community is struggling with the results of what some think

in spirituality movements (so-called neo-Hasidism, for example)

There is also a struggle around navigating the conflict between

The community’s “need” to have

than $30,000 a year, and thus there is often communal talk of a

certain sacrifices, including pressure to abandon certain

I WAS PRIVILEGED, growing up, to have many role models. My

As I continue to develop my teaching career, engage in my work at

about the possibilities of human potential, in which both

While the challenges facing our MO community are real, I do not

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