One Tuesday afternoon in Zurich, Switzerland, a cluster of middle school students from the Judische Schule Noam strolled down a quiet street carrying grocery bags. At first glance, it looked like they were on a simple errand, but the bags were not just holding groceries; they were bearing gifts for the local elderly Jewish members of their community who live alone and can no longer take care of themselves.
Along with bread and fruit, the children delivered handwritten notes. This wasn’t just a delivery service; the students went into the homes of these elderly Jews and sat down for a nice visit.
“We aren’t just bringing them food,” one student said afterward. “They are bringing us their stories so we can remember and tell others.”
This singular comment captures much of what makes these students at Noam different. Here, Jewish values are not confined to textbooks; they spill into everyday errands, holiday celebrations, and special life-cycle event projects. Last Hanukkah, as well as lighting candles and singing, students wrote and directed their own short movie, weaving tradition into modern-day theater.
Founded in 1979, Noam has grown to serve 175 students between the ages of six and 16. The school is modest in size, but its philosophy is uniquely ambitious. Under the guidance of the head of school, Zsolt Balkanyi-Guery, Noam runs on two tracks at once: Switzerland’s official Curriculum 21, and a rigorous Jewish studies program.
“These tracks are not in competition,” Balkanyi-Guery says. “The Jewish studies enrich the secular subjects, and vice versa.”
In practice, that means Hebrew words adorning the hallways, Hebrew lessons next to physics, and Torah study alongside math homework. The cafeteria is kosher, the day is punctuated by Jewish tradition and prayers, and the hallways are marked by a rule as old as it is simple: ve’ahavta lereacha kamocha (“Love your fellow as you love yourself”). Respect yourself, respect others, and respect what God has entrusted to you as the ever-present guidance.
Parents play a visible role, too. In Switzerland’s relatively small Jewish community – around 18,000 people, with the largest concentration in Zurich – schools rely on family involvement. At Noam, parents help shape ceremonies, take part in classroom events, and keep lines of communication open between school and home.
THE COMMUNITY feel is deliberate. Class sizes are small, and teachers know students personally. The aim, as Balkanyi-Guery explains, is not just to produce high achievers but “mature, honest, committed young adults.”
This philosophy has taken on added weight in the past two years. Across Switzerland, antisemitic incidents nearly doubled in 2024, according to the Swiss Federation of Jewish Communities. Much of it appeared online during the Israel-Hamas War, but Zurich’s Jewish residents have also reported harassment in public. Surveys by the EU’s Fundamental Rights Agency show that nine in 10 European Jews believe antisemitism has worsened in the past five years.
Numbers can sound abstract until they land close to home. For students and teachers of Noam, the rise in antisemitism is not only alarming – it has required the school to take serious action to safeguard the students. “We must create a safe space where children can develop the confidence to live Jewish lives without fear or apology,” Balkanyi-Guery says.
Rather than shielding students from reality, the staff tries to equip them for it. Psychological workshops rooted in lessons of resilience and Jewish ethics help students think about Jewish identity not from a negative position but from pride.
The school has also embraced technology in its daily life. Artificial intelligence is introduced not as a toy but as a tool, used sparingly, with an emphasis on mindfulness.
Beyond academics, the school has become known for projects that cross disciplines: democracy workshops, writing competitions, and the traditional Wimpel craft of decorating Torah binders. Each activity ties memory to creativity, identity to responsibility.
Support for students is not only intellectual. Noam maintains a Learning Support Center for children with diverse needs, as well as a “school island” – a quiet room that can be used throughout the day. Tuition subsidies are available to ensure that families in financial difficulty are not excluded.
Other Jewish schools exist in Zurich, such as Bais Yaakov Machon Chen, the only Jewish girls’ high school in the country, and the ICZ community’s religious school; but Noam has carved a particular niche: Modern Orthodox, rigorous, and consciously personal.
More than 20 Jewish day schools operate across Switzerland. Roughly 40% of Jewish children in the country attend them, a relatively high rate compared with other European nations. The landscape is shifting, though, with some institutions closing in recent years. Each remaining school has become vital for community survival.
THE YAEL Foundation, a philanthropic body that supports Jewish education worldwide, has helped schools like Noam expand their reach. Its philosophy is simple: Jewish education must be a national and communal priority. Jewish education must be available to all, and excellence cannot be compromised.
Founded by Uri and Yael Poliavich in 2020, the Yael Foundation is now a leading philanthropic initiative currently working in 41 countries, impacting almost 17,000 Jewish students, and leading change to promote excellence in Jewish education.
In collaboration with other foundations and philanthropies, its many initiatives and grants are having an extremely positive impact on the future of the Jewish people worldwide. Through investments in day schools, a unique multinational subsidized summer camp, leadership programs, and informal education, it lives its motto: “No Jewish child left behind.”
At Noam, success is measured less by test scores and more by the life choices of alumni. Balkanyi-Guery notes that “success is measured by how our graduates hold fast to their Jewish roots while moving confidently in a global society.”
The grocery bags tell the story of Noam. A boy who once struggled in class was beaming after an elderly woman thanked him for his help. The girl who wrote the script for the Hanukkah film discovered that her grandmother had acted in Yiddish theater decades earlier. These connections are not curriculum requirements; they are proof that learning is sticking, that heritage is alive.
In Zurich on any given afternoon, the scene at Noam might look ordinary: children with backpacks, parents waiting by the gate, a teacher waving goodbye. However, beneath that ordinariness is a quiet assertion that in an unsettled Europe, Jewish education is not only about grades, it is about building community, memory, and carrying forward a tradition that refuses to be left behind.
This article was written in cooperation with the Yael Foundation.