In June, I had the opportunity to serve as a guest panelist for a Student to Student Coordinators Conference, alongside two high school educators from private institutions. As a public middle school teacher, I offered a perspective shaped by different classroom dynamics and student experiences. Coordinators from across the United States attended to gain insight into the effective implementation and adaptation of the program within their own school communities.
Student to Student is a classroom-based program where Jewish high schoolers share personal stories to educate their non-Jewish peers—both middle and high school students—about Judaism. Founded in 1992 by the Jewish Community Relations Council of St. Louis, the program fosters understanding through peer-to-peer engagement. Be The Narrative has, since 2022, expanded the program nationally, uniting students from diverse Jewish backgrounds and reaching schools that lack Jewish representation, to shape attitudes toward Jews and Judaism in a positive light.
Each presentation includes student introductions and teachings about the overarching ideas of Judaism, the Jewish life cycle, the Sabbath, the Holocaust and antisemitism, Israel, and keeping kosher—all shared from a teenager’s perspective. The Student to Student program reaches nearly 40 schools in the St. Louis area and has expanded to more than 20 states across the country, reaching tens of thousands of students.
Around the same time as the conference, I finished reading The Message by Ta-Nehisi Coates. A journalist and author, Coates explores the urgent question of how our stories—whether reported, imagined, or mythologized—can both reveal and obscure the truth. Traveling to three deeply complex sites of conflict, he shows how the narratives we share—and the ones we suppress—profoundly shape our understanding of ourselves and the world.
The book’s most powerful essay follows his journey to Jerusalem and Palestine, where he examines the gap between dominant narratives and lived experiences. He meets Israelis and Palestinians—young and old—who speak of dispossession, resistance, identity, and pain.
These reflections feel especially weighty in light of the October 7th attacks and the devastating cycle of violence that has followed, including recent bombings and escalating tensions involving Israel, Palestine, and Iran. The headlines are heartbreaking and polarizing. They remind us that the stories we tell—and the ones we choose not to—are never neutral.
I don’t consider myself a historian. While I find history fascinating, it’s not at the core of my mission. I’ll read and listen to a point, but I recognize that others are called to delve deeper and teach history with far more expertise than I’ll ever possess. There are simply too many starting points—both geographical and chronological—for any one person to hold them all.
Though I respect Coates as a writer, I don’t always fully embrace his perspectives. As a self-proclaimed atheist, his worldview sometimes conflicts with mine as a Christian. Still, I read works like The Message first to learn as a writer, and second to encounter facts and experiences I might not otherwise explore.
For the past two school years, I’ve welcomed the Student to Student program into my classroom for a day of learning and exploration. One of the most powerful aspects of the program is that high school teens lead the sessions, sharing their own experiences in their schools, communities, and families. By incorporating artifacts and storytelling, they capture the attention of students, who are far more likely to listen when the voices come from their peers.
The program aligns directly with our curriculum. Each year, my students read Refugee by Alan Gratz, a historical fiction novel that spans three countries and time periods: 1939 Germany, 1994 Cuba, and 2015 Syria. It explores themes like civil war, religious persecution, political upheaval, poverty, and the Holocaust. The Student to Student presentations bring the stories about the character Josef, his family, and their struggles to life, allowing my students to connect the history on the page with living culture, memory, and identity.
I consider myself an ally to many. I want to see and represent the good in all people. I want to draw on the best aspects from all perspectives and policies and envision a world where they can coexist. Maybe that’s idealistic. Maybe it’s not something we’ll ever fully realize on Earth. But I believe in connecting with others who are also searching for shared humanity. If our hearts are open and bound together, perhaps we can begin to bring that good into clearer view—right here, right now.