The Charlotte Jewish News- June- July 2026- Page 8
All in the Mishpachah: More Than a Classroom
By Elizabeth Johnson
Before a single prayer is sung or Hebrew word recited, Naomi Fabes hopes families walking into Temple Israel feel something less tangible but far more
Naomi Fabes and Family
lasting. That they have entered a community where Jewish life feels alive, personal, and deeply human. As Temple Israel’ s director of religious school and family engagement, Fabes brings a perspective shaped by childhood in El Paso, years working in New York’ s vast Jewish communal world, and a belief that the most enduring forms of Jewish identity are often built through relationships, memory, and shared experiences.
You grew up in Texas, studied in Austin, then built your career in New York City’ s Jewish communal world before arriving in Charlotte. How has each chapter shaped the kind of Jewish educator and community-builder you are today? Growing up in El Paso gave me a profoundly unique understanding of Jewish community from a very young age. Ours was a small but deeply connected community with a genuine“ come as you are” spirit. I grew up alongside Yemenite Jews, Persian Jews, Mexican Jews, Crypto-Jews, and many others, all sharing the same communal space.
Because there were only three synagogues to choose from, we learned to belong to one another. We celebrated together, disagreed together, mourned together, and built a kind of Jewish life rooted not in uniformity, but in shared responsibility and mutual respect.
New York City introduced me to another side of the Jewish story. Suddenly, I was living and working within the largest Jewish community in the world, surrounded by an extraordinary tapestry of traditions, histories, and identities. Through my work, I
engaged with Syrian, Persian, Bukharin, Kafkazi, and many other Jewish communities, each with its own rhythms and understanding of Jewish life. At the same time, I also saw how communities can become siloed when there is enough size and infrastructure to remain within familiar circles.
Those experiences continue to shape how I approach Jewish education and community-building today. El Paso gave me a belief in the sacred power of belonging; New York gave me an appreciation for the diversity of Jewish expression. Together, they taught me the role of a Jewish educator is not to create identical journeys, but to help people discover authentic points of connection to tradition, community, and one another.
When you think about creating meaningful Jewish experiences for children and families, what feels most important to get right? To me, what feels most important to get right is recognizing that Jewish education cannot begin and end in the classroom. If what happens in religious school stays in religious school, then we have missed something essential.
The goal is not simply to teach children information about Judaism, but to create experiences and conversations that ripple outward into family life and become part of how people connect to one another.
One example I often think
about is our second-grade family education program centered around tzedakah and Rambam’ s ladder of giving. Families learn about different forms of giving and responsibility, but the heart of the experience is when children interview their parents. Students ask questions like: How do you decide when and how to give tzedakah? What role does giving play in our family? What do you hope I learn about generosity and responsibility?
What matters to me about that experience is that it moves Judaism from abstraction into relationship. A child is not simply learning the definition of tzedakah because a teacher said to. They are discovering who their parents are through a Jewish lens and hearing family values articulated out loud, sometimes for the very first time. I think that is what religious school has to get right today: creating Jewish experiences that feel deeply human, relational, and alive.
Jewish educators often help shape not only children, but family identity, memory, and tradition. Do you have a moment from your career that reminded you of the deeper impact this work can have? One moment that has never left me took place during my second year at Central Synagogue, when I was teaching fourth-grade Hebrew. There was a student in my class named Zachary, a child with autism who struggled both socially and academically, especially with Hebrew.
By the time he arrived in my classroom, Hebrew had already become a source of discouragement and isolation for him. Most days, he would walk into class, sit quietly in the corner, and stare out the window. One of the deepest beliefs that guides my work is that Jewish education begins with seeing people fully. As I got to know Zachary, I learned he loved Minecraft. The moment he spoke about it, something changed. His face lit up. I remember thinking to myself, this is the doorway. So instead of continuing to ask him to enter my world of learning, I tried to enter his. I created a Hebrew learning game inspired by Minecraft, using custom cards to teach letters, vowels, and word-building through a world he already loved.
I still remember the moment I handed him the cards. The child who had spent weeks disconnected from the classroom suddenly leaned in. He wanted to play. He wanted to learn. He even asked if I could make him another deck to take home so he could keep practicing there. Within weeks, his Hebrew skills flourished far beyond what anyone expected, but the academic growth was only the surface of it. What truly changed was the way he experienced himself. He began teaching the game to his classmates, laughing with them, participating, belonging.
The child who once sat alone by the window had become someone who felt seen within the community around him. That experience changed me as an educator. It reminded me the most profound impact of this work is not ultimately about content or curriculum but rather helping a child feel there is a place for them, exactly as they are, within Jewish life.
What has surprised or inspired you about Jewish life in Charlotte? When we first visited Charlotte, what struck me immediately was how deeply it reminded me of the Jewish community in which I grew up. Small in size, but expansive in heart. There is a kind of quiet strength here. A deep understanding that Jewish community is not something abstract, but something built through relationships, presence, and shared responsibility.
Having worked in much larger Jewish communities, that has been both surprising and deeply moving to me. In larger communities, there are often enough institutions and resources for people to stay within their own circles.
But Charlotte feels different. There is a real spirit of collaboration and collective responsibility here that feels increasingly rare. What inspires me most is this spirit transcends generations and backgrounds. Whether someone is a native Charlottean whose family helped dream Shalom Park into existence 30 years ago, or a new family arriving from Chicago or elsewhere, there is a sense everyone has a role to play in shaping the future of Jewish life here. People genuinely care, and you can feel it everywhere.
I think in a world where so many people are searching for belonging and where community can often feel transient, Charlotte’ s Jewish community carries something deeply grounding. It reminds me the strength of a Jewish community is not measured only by its size or resources, but by the depth of its relationships and the willingness of its people to continue showing up for one another.
Outside of work, I read you enjoy many activities. Do your personal passions influence the way you think about community, creativity, or Jewish learning? Absolutely.
Gardening, music, and being outdoors all remind me that the most meaningful things in life cannot be rushed. They require presence, patience, attentiveness, and a willingness to be transformed by the experience itself. In many ways, all of my passions reinforce what I believe most deeply about Jewish learning and community.
When families walk through the doors of Temple Israel Religious School, what do you hope they feel, perhaps even before a single lesson begins? I hope families feel that Judaism is alive when they walk through the doors of Temple Israel. Not something confined to textbooks or distant history, but something they can touch, sing, question, wrestle with, laugh inside of, and carry with them. More than anything,
I hope families begin to sense Jewish education is not ultimately about information or achievement. It is about becoming more rooted, more connected, more reflective, and more responsible for one another. Judaism, at its best, gives us language for how to move through the world with meaning, tenderness, courage, and community.
Because the moments that shape Jewish identity are often not the grand ones. They are the small ones that slowly become part of a family’ s emotional landscape. The song a child keeps singing in the backseat of the car, the Shabbat ritual that unexpectedly becomes routine, the conversation that continues around the dinner table long after class has ended, the feeling there is a community that will celebrate with you in moments of joy and hold you through moments of pain.
Ultimately, I hope families feel Temple Israel is not simply a place their children attend, but a sacred community they can grow within.
ALL IN THE M I S H P A C H A H