Building Communities Of Support For Foster Families
Danielle Goldstone: Let's start at the beginning. How did you start thinking of this idea?
Susan Silverman
Second Nurture
Susan Silverman: It was really about two emotional pulls. One was fostering—I grew up in a family that fostered, so it was up close and personal as I was a foster sister. The other was being a rabbi and understanding the power of community. What helped crystallize this was an experience in Israel around 2015 when the government was trying to deport asylum seekers. Some colleagues and I created a program asking fellow Israelis to sign up to hide families in their homes. Within a week, we had 2,000 families volunteering. It showed me the power of a household, the power of family and community. I realized that this could work for any vulnerable population, melding those two things—family and community. If you think about family values in an expansive and loving way, it's really powerful.
Goldstone: So you started to apply this insight to foster care.
Silverman: Yes. Initially, we planned to partner with synagogues and churches to encourage them to foster, but that was a big lift. But we discovered people coming to our cohort meetings were mostly already fostering. We learned there's a 30-50% drop-off rate of foster families within a year, so we shifted focus. Now we support existing foster families so they can succeed with help from their Second Nurture 'host community.' Since returning to in-person meetings after Covid, none of our families has stopped fostering.
Goldstone: Remarkable. What kind of support do you offer?
Silverman: Practical support. We reach out to the community members saying, "We need a tutor, we need this or that," and people volunteer. So many people want to support foster kids and families, but it feels overwhelming and amorphous. But when there's something specific they can do, they step up.
Goldstone: Why are faith communities good partners?
Silverman: They're already gathering with a sense of purpose and values. No community is like, "Oh, screw the orphan." Most, at least in theory, want to help. Our partners, mostly synagogues, are already engaged with issues like homelessness, mass incarceration, drug abuse, human trafficking—and the foster experience is the number one feeder into all those problems. If you went to a soup kitchen and asked how many people were raised in foster care to any extent, maybe 80% would raise their hands. That's because when you 'age out' of foster care at 18 or 21 with no safety net, no one to say "come live at home and save money," you're vulnerable. If foster families are successful—whether through adoption or helping biological families get back on their feet—children don't age out without support.
Goldstone: Are all your host communities faith communities?
Silverman: Currently, yes. But we're just starting to work with an LGBTQ center. Right now, they're referring people our way, but my hope is they'll become a host community formally because they have many foster and adoptive families and a strong centralized community.
Goldstone: What needs to be in place in a host community for Second Nurture to agree to partner?
Silverman: Well, our approach has evolved. Initially, we approached synagogues saying, 'We will provide lots of stuff.' Now we are more open source, more an AA kind of model where they have to find the people from the community to run the program. Our most successful community started from its members reaching out to me saying, 'Hey, we heard about Second Nurture. We want to do it in our synagogue.'
Goldstone: How does your approach affect foster kids and parents and host communities?
Silverman: For the kids, the most magical part is being in a space where they don't have to explain their lives—why they're new to a family or why they have other parents they visit. They just get to be themselves.
As for foster families, Second Nurture creates a sense of belonging. They're often the only foster family in their neighborhood or school. Research by iFoster found that a sense of belonging is crucial. During our community meetings, practical solutions emerge organically. When someone mentions a challenge, others often have solutions. We've also partnered with Change Reaction for one-time financial assistance—like when someone is about to lose their car insurance. We partner with A Home Within for free therapy for foster kids so families. We bring in volunteer massage therapists, organize parents' nights out with childcare and restaurant gift certificates. The nice thing is parents choose to go to dinner together.
For faith communities, participating is empowering and builds multigenerational connections. You'll see 80-year-old women and teenagers playing with the kids. One rabbi said it's his favorite part of being a rabbi, that Sunday every month when the cohort gets together. For Jewish communities facing rising antisemitism, there's been an unintended positive outcome—a beautiful merging of worlds.
Goldstone: And your bigger goal is integrating into the foster care system as a whole, no? Tell us more.
Silverman: That's right. If this approach could be taken up by the system overall, that would be best—making it less siloed and incorporating communities throughout the U.S. We work closely with child services in LA and Boston. I'd love to grow this outward, put ourselves out of business if the system could take it over with the same love and support.
Goldstone: Susan, your work draws out the power of relationships, which feels so hard in our digital lives. How do you create strong relationships?
Silverman: I wish we could take credit for that but it just happens. It's not a genius idea, right? It's really very basic. These communities exist. People need community, peanut butter and chocolate, it just works. So, I feel like our job is to convene, to support. You know, a teenager was just doing his school volunteer hours with us and then planned to be done when one of the foster kids said, 'I'll see you next month, right?' He said, 'Yeah, you'll see me next month,' and he hasn't stopped volunteering. Because there's a little kid saying to him, I like you and I want to see you next time. The teen responded to that love, that connection. In a sense, there's only one thing we need to do. We need to respond.
Susan Silverman, an Ashoka Fellow, is the founder of Second Nurture that operates in the U.S. and Israel.
Danielle Goldstone, an Ashoka interviewer, is the founder of innoFaith.
This interview was condensed for length and clarity by Ashoka.
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Yahoo
5 hours ago
- Yahoo
I toured the USS Silversides, a World War II submarine that sank 23 enemy vessels and earned 12 battle stars. Take a look inside.
The USS Silversides submarine sank 23 ships and earned 12 battle stars during World War II. Visitors can tour the vessel at the USS Silversides Submarine Museum in Muskegon, Michigan. The submarine was the site of a successful emergency appendectomy in enemy waters in 1942. Christmas Eve, 1942. The USS Silversides, a US Navy submarine, is surrounded by Japanese warships on a covert patrol in enemy-controlled waters. And George Platter's appendix is about to burst. Platter, a crew member on the USS Silversides, will die if he doesn't get surgery immediately. When the commanding officer gives the order, crew members spring into action. They fashion surgical tools out of utensils from the galley. They find an ironing board to prop up Platter's feet since the table in the wardroom is too short to lie him flat. They submerge beneath the waves to create more stability for the operation, even though the submarine's batteries are only partially charged. The pharmacist's mate, Thomas Moore, has never performed the surgery before. He keeps a medical textbook open next to him the whole time. Platter wakes up during the surgery when the local anesthetic wears off, so they sedate him with ether. It leaks into the rest of the submarine and sedates some of the crew, as well. After four hours, against all odds, the surgery is successful. Platter makes a full recovery and is back on watch six days later. It's extraordinary stories such as this one that are preserved at the USS Silversides Submarine Museum in Muskegon, Michigan. Visitors can climb aboard the historic submarine, which was awarded 12 battle stars for its service in World War II, and explore its battle stations, cramped bunks, and even the operating table where Platter received his appendectomy. I toured the USS Silversides in May. Here's what I saw. Commissioned in 1941, the USS Silversides sank 23 ships over its 14 war patrols, making it one of the most successful American submarines from World War II. The Gato-class submarine measures 312 feet long and weighs 2,410 tons while submerged. Its standard crew consisted of eight officers and 72 enlisted men. After it was decommissioned in 1946, the USS Silversides was used as a teaching submarine and became a National Historic Landmark. From 1947 to 1969, the USS Silversides was used as a training vessel for the Ninth Naval District in Chicago. It was then moved to the Naval Armory and Navy Pier before arriving in Muskegon to serve as a museum in 1987. It was also used as a movie set for the 2002 film "Below." The submarine is now the star attraction at the USS Silversides Museum in Muskegon. The USS Silversides Submarine Museum is open seven days a week from April through December and operates Thursday through Monday in the winter months of January, February, and March. An all-inclusive ticket to the museum costs $17.50 for adults, $15 for veterans, and is free of charge for active-duty service members. Tickets can be purchased on the museum's website. Like the USS Cobia in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, the museum also offers visitors the chance to spend a night on the submarine. The USS Silversides is docked outside the museum in the Muskegon Lake Channel, which leads into Lake Michigan. The Lake Express ferry passes by the USS Silversides Submarine Museum on its route between Muskegon and Milwaukee. As I began my tour of the submarine, the ferry honked its horn as passengers waved at me from the upper deck. The deck featured weapons such as a 4-inch, 50-caliber deck gun, a 40-millimeter antiaircraft gun, and a 20-millimeter surface-to-surface gun. The 40-millimeter antiaircraft gun had the longest range, capable of shooting targets up to 22,800 feet away. A plaque on the deck memorialized the crew member Mike Harbin, who was killed by enemy fire while manning the deck gun. Harbin was 19 years old when he was shot in battle on May 10, 1942. He was buried at sea. The torpedo loading ramp was made of a wood called lignum vitae, which gets slippery when wet. Lignum vitae is Latin for "wood of life." The rest of the deck was made of teakwood, which is impervious to water, fire, and termites. It also doesn't float, which was crucial to maintain the submarine's covert operations if a piece broke off. Decals on the side of the submarine indicated its many wartime accomplishments. The USS Silversides featured stickers showing it sank 30 ships, but that number has since been amended to 23, Bethann Egan, the museum's executive director, told Business Insider. The USS Silversides also damaged 14 ships, cleared 16 enemy mines, and rescued two American paratroopers. The first stop on my tour was the forward torpedo room, where crew members loaded torpedoes into the six torpedo tubes. The room slept 16 crew members on bunks that unfolded alongside the torpedoes, which measured 22 feet long and weighed 3,000 pounds. Lockers above the bunks were used to store personal possessions. All of a crew member's personal items had to fit into one small locker. Colored lights were used to help crew members' eyes adjust to the dark to prevent night blindness. If the submarine was too bright inside, crew members wouldn't be able to see in the dark if they went up onto the deck at night during an attack. The lights used to be blue and then switched to red, which is why the light fixture said "blue" on it even though the light bulb was red. The shower and bathroom in the forward torpedo room were used by the officers, whose bunks were down the hall. Flushing the toilet on the USS Silversides was a 12-step process. One wrong move would cause the toilet's contents to shoot back out. Meals were plated and reheated in the officers' pantry. Officers ate the same meals as the rest of the crew but dined in the privacy of the wardroom instead of the crew's mess. The pantry also stocked snacks and coffee. The table on display in the wardroom was the original table where George Platter's successful appendectomy took place in 1942. "The pharmacist's mate who actually performed it did not technically have permission from all the way up, but the commander made the decision that this needed to happen or else the sailor was going to die," Egan said. "So he stood up for him and made sure that he was not court-martialed after." The wardroom also served as the officers' dining room and lounge. The higher an officer's rank, the fewer people he had to share a room with. Junior and senior officers served as administrators on the submarine, while the executive officer, known as the "XO," was second-in-command to the commanding officer. Officers' quarters included foldout desks and sinks. The rooms also came with storage areas where they could hang their uniforms. The commanding officer enjoyed the only private room on the submarine. His stateroom featured a depth gauge and a compass above the bed so that he could tell how deep the submarine was and which way it was facing at all times. Chief petty officers slept in a room nicknamed the "goat locker." According to the Naval History and Heritage Command, the nickname dates back to the 1890s, when chief petty officers took care of the goats kept on ships for fresh milk. Another explanation is that chief petty officers served in the Navy for more than a decade to reach their positions and were known as "old goats." In the yeoman's shack, the yeoman handled the submarine's paperwork. In addition to managing personnel records, the yeoman also kept logs of the submarine's changes in direction, speed, and depth. In the control room, crew members managed the USS Silversides' vital functions with numerous technical instruments. The bow and stern plane wheels pictured above controlled the submarine's depth and angle. The commanding officer would give commands such as "2 degrees right rudder," which the crew would repeat and execute. The ship's inclinometer worked like a carpenter's level to show if the submarine was tilting to one side or the other. Keith Gill, the museum's director of curatorial services, told BI that staff members use this inclinometer "every day" to check on the submarine. "It's almost never centered, and that's because we have some leaks in some tanks that we're monitoring and adjusting air pressure to keep water out," Gill said. The hull opening indicator light panel was known as the "Christmas tree" for its red and green lights. A green light indicated that a vent or hatch was closed, while red meant it was open. The submarine could only submerge when the board was fully lit up in green. The helmsman's wheel steered the submarine. On some World War II submarines, such as the USS Becuna, the main helm was in the conning tower above the control room. On the USS Silversides, the main helm was in the control room itself. The control room also housed the compressed air manifold and trim manifold. The compressed air manifold distributed compressed air throughout the submarine, which was used to start the engines, fire torpedoes, and surface the vessel. The trim manifold showed how much weight was in different tanks on the submarine and moved water between them to maintain the ship's balance as it used up fuel or fired weapons. In the radio room, crew members could communicate with vessels up to 12,000 miles away. Most communications happened in code. Cooks prepared all of the crew's meals in the galley. Cooks were also trained to operate the deck guns and perform other technical tasks around the submarine. Gill noted that during World War II, Black crew members were often relegated to roles in the kitchen and weren't allowed to advance beyond serving as stewards because of the Navy's segregation policies. "One of the negative sides of our past is how we treated African American citizens," he said. "They were in the military, but they were segregated somewhat. On a Navy ship, on a sub, you really can't segregate, but you can control what they're doing." The kitchen featured a piece of equipment I'd never seen on a submarine before: a soft-serve ice cream machine. The kitchen also included a deep fryer. Crew members ate meals in three shifts in the crew's mess. Submarines were known for doing some of the most dangerous work and having some of the most difficult living conditions in the military, but the Navy ensured they received the best food. Submariners also received hazard pay, the highest in the Navy. The enlisted men also slept in shifts in the crew's quarters. Newer crew members slept on the bottom bunks, which could also occasionally be used as food storage early on in a patrol. "Supposedly, they called this the honeymoon suite on top," Egan said. "I don't know if that's 100% accurate." The mattresses in the two middle bunks were placed so close together that they essentially functioned as one bed. Regular crew members showered only every 13 to 15 days in the crew's washroom. Officers showered every three to five days, while the cooks showered every day since they were handling food. The forward and after engine rooms each contained two 1,600-horsepower diesel engines manufactured by Fairbanks-Morse. At top speed, the USS Silversides could travel at 21 knots, or about 24 miles an hour. The forward engine room also contained two evaporators that distilled ocean water into fresh water. The engines are still operational. The USS Silversides' insignia was painted on one of the aft engines. The logo depicts a silverside fish smoking a cigar and holding a torpedo. The maneuvering room was crewed by two electricians who controlled the propulsion of the submarine. At full power, the USS Silversides used 4 million watts of electricity. The last stop on the tour was the aft torpedo room in the back of the submarine. The aft torpedo room was smaller than the forward torpedo room, with four torpedo tubes and room for eight torpedoes. The room displayed a real demilitarized Mark 18 electric torpedo. Electric torpedoes such as the Mark 18 didn't leave a wake, or trail of waves, behind them, making them more difficult to detect. After I finished my tour of the submarine, I visited the museum itself, which featured photos and artifacts from World War II and beyond. I particularly enjoyed an exhibit about the appendectomy that took place in the wardroom, featuring photos from the procedure. Preserving the aging submarine is no small task, but the USS Silversides remains a fascinating testament to the dedication of American service members in World War II. After running its engines in an annual Memorial Day tribute, the museum hopes to give the USS Silversides its first oil change since the 1950s this summer. Eventually, the entire vessel will have to be removed from the water and dry-docked because of leaks in its tanks. The museum applied for federal funding through the Save America's Treasures grant program, but Egan said during my May visit that they might not end up receiving it because of sweeping cuts made by the White House DOGE office. "They have not officially cut that funding source yet, but it's not looking good," Egan said. When the submarine was on active duty, the entire 80-person crew worked tirelessly to maintain the ship, and the Navy financed all necessary repairs and upgrades. The USS Silversides Submarine Museum's preservation efforts, however, are privately funded and largely volunteer-driven. "We're just poor museum people who are trying to honor the commitment that these guys made over 14 war patrols to protect our country," Gill said. Read the original article on Business Insider
Boston Globe
8 hours ago
- Boston Globe
And for the bride, a tractor
'I had never taken anybody there, and I always knew that it was a place that was really special,' he says. Advertisement Emma was the smart, attractive, 23-year-old PhD student enrolled in the UMass Amherst resource economics program where he was starting his master's degree. When she had agreed to go out, he knew cancelling wasn't worth the risk. Emma packed turkey sandwiches from the campus dining hall (consistently Emma said she was too excited to notice anything strange about Andrew's behavior. The two had flirted for weeks in the computer lab, getting to know each other while doing homework. While quickly smitten, she wasn't impressed by Andrew at first; he skipped their cohort's pre-semester summer math camp session without notice. Advertisement 'It was like, 'Oh, you think you're better than us?'' remembers Emma, who had moved from her native Albuquerque to Amherst that August. 'It turns out that he was literally working in the hayfields because it's summer time, and when you're a farmer, you can't not do that.' His father owns After they met, Emma's initial skepticism dropped as he asked, in earnest, about her travels and studies. They helped each other with school work and discussed their shared passion for their subject area. Andrew was drawn to economics in an entrepreneurial sense — 'I enjoy the level of pragmatism' — while Emma was interested from an academic and policy standpoint. The commonality translated into a shared lens as they began to date. 'Whenever we experience anything or we go to something cool, on the drive home, it's always like, 'How does that business work?'' she says. 'Like, I wonder how they make money doing that.' Being together felt natural; they were an official couple by that winter. Andrew was enrolled in Emma's PhD program consisted of two years of coursework and three of independent research. One year of distance was doable, he remembers thinking. As they approached year three, he hoped they could find a home base somewhere in the middle. But when the Covid-19 pandemic shut down campus, Emma traded her Amherst apartment for a family farmhouse with Andrew and his two roommates and high school friends, Jack Ritchie and Jessica DiLorenzo. Advertisement They raised baby goats and brought his GoPro to the Crane Estate. They'd hop into their cars to show Emma the places from their childhoods. Andrew grew his company, When restrictions lifted, their roommates moved out; a tabby cat, Frida, had moved in. The couple remained, as Andrew likes to say, 'parallel lines.' When they had first discussed a shared future, Andrew took out a piece of paper and drew 'stick figure Emma and Andrew' with two parallel lines. 'It really threw me because I'm super literal,' says Emma, who is now an economist for a consulting firm in Cambridge. 'I went to the math definition of parallel — 'two planes moving towards infinity, never shall they meet.' I thought he was trying to say, 'We're just too different.'" His intent, however, was metaphorical: 'I wanted us to be intensely independent people and have our own agency to do things,' Andrew explains. 'There's never an assumption that either one of us was going to deeply compromise without talking it through.' 'We're together because we're parallel. We're not diverging,' adds Emma. The concept drove the relationship onward and would appear in Emma's vows when they wed years later. On Dec. 22, 2023, Andrew proposed at 36,000 feet on a connecting flight from Denver to Albuquerque. He made arrangements with the airline, and when the seatbelt sign went off, a flight attendant announced: 'On this trip to Emma's hometown to see her family, Andrew has a special question.' Advertisement The couple maneuvered to the aisle and their fellow passengers cheered as Andrew took a knee, pulling a ring from a Husqvarna earplugs case. 'I was surprised ... [but] this is so Andrew," says Emma. 'Andrew curates really fun, surprising things for everyone in his life.' Emma, now 31, and Andrew, 30, wed on May 2 in a ceremony at Guests sipped lavender gin and tonics and green chile margaritas as they roamed exhibits and the museum's theater that screened home movies Andrew had captured over the years — including the mid-flight proposal, courtesy of the Southwest Airline staff. Emma's father, Mark, is an engineer and he and his partner, Tera, had constructed a colorful stained glass archway for the ceremony. They then transported the arch to Massachusetts, where a second reception was held at On June 7, it was a family meal for 200 : sugar cookie ice cream sandwiches from Andrew gave closing remarks that he coordinated with his father, Gary, beforehand. Advertisement About a year before the wedding, he bid on a 1939 Allis-Chalmers model B tractor at an estate sale. Emma's grandfather, a Pennsylvania farmer, was an antique tractor hobbyist, Allis-Chalmers being his favorite. (The Shepherds are a John Deere family.) The family fixed up the persimmon-colored model B, and when Andrew neared the end of his speech, he texted Gary: 'Go.' 'You could hear him start up in the distance,' remembers Andrew. As his father drove by the tent, the groom delivered it home: 'Emma, you know, if you're going to be part of the family, you're going to need your own tractor.' The newlyweds rode off into the field — Emma laughs, 'very slowly.' Rachel Kim Raczka is a writer and editor in Boston. She can be reached at
Business Insider
9 hours ago
- Business Insider
After living in a dozen cities across the globe, I finally settled down in the coastal city where I grew up
I spent most of my life moving, never living in a single place for more than a few years. In fact, I attended five different elementary schools, each in a different part of the globe. When I tell people how often I've moved, many assume one of my parents was in the military. However, each move was voluntary, as my parents are Chinese immigrants who left the motherland in search of better opportunities in America. I spent my childhood in several different cities I was born in Nanjing, China, where I lived until I was 5. We moved for the first time after my dad was accepted into a Ph.D. program in San Juan, Puerto Rico, which he mistook for an American state. I immediately fell in love with the city's turquoise beaches and creamy flans. However, I had to white-knuckle my way through kindergarten because I knew neither Spanish nor English — a frustration that left me silent and sullen most school days. After a year in Puerto Rico, my dad decided to pursue his postdoctoral fellowship, this time in Ames, Iowa. The transition from spending long Caribbean days at Catholic school to attending public school in a small Midwestern town surrounded by cornfields was a culture shock, albeit not an unwelcome one. Being the only Asian kid at school meant that my classmates couldn't pronounce my name and questioned everything about me, from what I had for dinner to whether my black hair was real. But to this day, Iowans remain the nicest folks I've ever met. We stayed for nearly two years, just long enough to make my first American friend and be heartbroken when my dad's fellowship ended, forcing us to move once again. I spent a longer stretch of two-and-a-half years in College Station, Texas, where my dad found another postdoctoral position at Texas A&M. After spending most of our time renting apartments and student housing, my folks could finally afford their first house there, a little duplex with a gooseberry tree. However, I was once again the sole Asian student in school, and I longed for a place where I felt like I belonged. Our time there was cut short when my dad's postdoctoral position wasn't renewed, and we had to move again — this time, to California for my mom's new job. I spent my formative years in California Next, we settled in Torrance, a beachside suburb in Southern California, where I spent all of middle and high school. Moving here was a game changer: it had glorious beaches, people I could call friends, and perfect weather to boot. Plus, Torrance was much more diverse than other places we lived. I finally felt at home because it was the first place (outside China) where I didn't have to look for fellow Asians or assess the likelihood that my ethnicity was going to be a liability. In my high school, the homecoming queen and captain of the football team were both Asian. I had groups of friends at church and in school, and we bonded over AP classes and checking out local boba shops. Being settled in one place with people I loved was a thrill. College and graduate school led me to live in different parts of the state: the Bay Area, where I went to UC Berkeley for undergrad, and the Central Coast, where I went to UC Santa Barbara for graduate school. In Santa Barbara, I even met the man who'd become my husband, and we had our first child together. We then spent years living in different cities across the state, but none of them truly felt like the right long-term fit for us. After a brief period of living with my parents in Rancho Palos Verdes, an affluent hillside community full of retirees in Southern California, I left the West Coast for Cambridge, Massachusetts, to pursue a postdoctoral fellowship at Harvard. As much as I loved Cambridge's proximity to Boston, buzzy energy, and easy public transportation, my family couldn't stomach the brutal winters. So, after three years there, we once again headed back to California. Now, I'm finally settled and happier than ever We spent several years bouncing around different California cities for work, but by 2020, I was ready to settle down in a place I could call my permanent residence. Months into the COVID-19 pandemic, we decided to relocate to Torrance — where I'd spent my formative years — and move back into my childhood home. The whole family fell in love with the city's beaches, diverse food options, weather, and spectacular public schools. After two decades away, I was delighted to reconnect with my old high school friends and teachers. I love that my children go to the same schools I did and even have some of the same teachers. Living in all the cities that have marked the different chapters of my life has given me a newfound appreciation for this coastal suburb — something I wouldn't have if I had stayed here all along.
