Despite the efforts we make as educators when planning and carrying out educational projects, it is rare that we can say not only that an event went as planned, but that it exceeded our expectations. This does not mean that all the other projects fail to meet their goals, but there are special occasions when everything seems to align: timing, content, teacher participation, materials, guests, and - most importantly - the deep involvement of the students.
Sometimes, as if by magic, everything flows. Magic? Of course not. Behind it lies careful planning, collaboration across departments, teacher support, and above all, a genuine connection to the students' interests. So, if everything was done right, why can't we just replicate the formula? Because in education there are no fixed formulas: each group is different, each generation brings new questions, and every educational event must be built in dialogue with the people for whom it is intended. Success doesn't depend on the project itself, but on how well it reflects the real motivations of those experiencing it.
This is where the greatest challenge lies: putting the student at the center. Listening to their interests, their questions, their concerns. Constantly asking ourselves: What does this group want to know? Why? What do they need to formulate their own questions? In my experience, this is the foundation of teaching: listening, motivating, challenging, and building from students' needs. Content is important, but even more so is the connection the students can make with that content to give it meaning in their own identity construction.
In the 2017–2018 school year, I had the honor of being selected to participate in the Legacy Heritage Teacher Institute, as a member of the program’s third cohort. It was the first time a Spanish-speaking participant was invited. The goal was clear: to design an innovative educational project to implement in our institutions. Despite the academic support and the organizers’ valuable guidance, each participant had to arrive with his/her own idea. And that’s when the real challenge began: what could I propose that would be truly different and relevant for my students?
At first, I thought about designing a project that would showcase alternative narratives about Israel, different from those the students were used to hearing. But I soon realized that this idea stemmed from my own interests, not necessarily theirs. What did the students really know about contemporary Israel? What were they interested in? What did they talk about outside the classroom?
A classroom experience opened my eyes. During a session of the Zionism Quiz course (covering Zionism and the history of Israel), one of my students asked: “Why did B’Tselem’s executive director, Hagai El-Ad, ask the UN to take action against the settlements in Israel?” I was aware of the news, but I hadn’t considered that my students might be too—and even less that they would care. Upon hearing the question, several classmates expressed curiosity and began to debate. In that moment, I understood that before proposing a topic, I needed to stop and listen. It wasn't enough to plan a good project; I needed one that emerged from the students' own interests.
That’s how the idea for the Tarbut Zionist Congress was born. The project proposed a space where students could freely research topics related to Israel that they found controversial, complex, or relevant, and then present them to their peers. Topics like the Nation-State Law, the role of women, the relationship between Israel and the diaspora, the dilemmas around Israel’s Jewish and democratic identity, or restrictions on transportation and business operations on Shabbat emerged as key points of interest. It was a space where they could speak, ask questions, and take a stand as young Jews from the diaspora on issues that often have no place in the traditional classroom.
Once the research was complete, students presented their findings in roundtable discussions open to the entire high school. Shlichim and Israeli staff also participated, sharing experiences and perspectives. The activity began the day before with a keynote lecture by Rabbi Shai Piron, a former Israeli Minister of Education, entitled “The Place of the State of Israel Among the Nations.”
The congress was a resounding success, measured not just by logistics or attendance, but by the quality of learning. Students didn’t just gather information—they took ownership of the topics, made them their own, debated respectfully and thoughtfully, and formed well-grounded perspectives. Days later, the school hallways were still full of conversations about what had been discussed. As a teacher, one of the most moving moments was hearing guests refer to the presenters not as students, but as colleagues, as emerging thinkers.
The event was repeated on a smaller scale the following year. However, in the years that followed, it was not held again. It was assumed that students were no longer interested, but no one asked them. The lack of follow-up, combined with the pandemic, put the project on pause. And yet, many students still remember it as one of the most meaningful experiences of their school years.
For the past two years, we’ve decided to restore part of this dynamic within the framework of Yom Ha’atzmaut. As part of the day’s agenda, one hour is set aside for students in the Zionism Quiz course to present roundtable discussions on topics they consider important. Today, for example, they are drawn to topics such as antisemitism (as expressed in music) or debates about whether Israel’s responses to hostage situations have been sufficient or disproportionate. While this event doesn’t match the scale of the original congress, it preserves its essence: listening to students and giving them a space to share their interests, motivations, and learning with the school community.
Jewish education in Mexico, as in many diaspora communities, faces the challenge of shaping strong, informed identities that are connected to their people and history, while also being critical, current, and empathetic. Young people are not satisfied with pre-packaged answers; in fact, the image of an exemplary Israel doesn’t match what they experience or perceive. They want to understand, question, participate. They need spaces where they can talk about Israel from their own contexts, without fear of being wrong, without the pressure of having all the answers. They need a living Jewish education—one that engages with the present and projects a future. And what better place to do so than in the protected environment of school, where they can experiment, make mistakes, and learn.
Programs like the Master’s in Jewish Education at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem are essential for training educators capable of rising to these challenges. They provide us with theoretical, methodological, and practical tools to innovate, reflect, and build from complexity. Above all, they prepare us to accompany our students in building a deep, critical, and meaningful relationship with Israel.