Relentless Pursuit by Donna Foote Page B

out of the classroom, but he enjoyed those Sunday-morning journeys in search of a religious home.
    Hrag didn’t know it, but TFA alum Chad Soleo, the “dean” of the Teach For America teachers at Locke, was also a Christian, though increasingly less faithful and more angry with the God who presided over Watts. Soleo had been baptized a Catholic and attended Catholic schools, but had never practiced after grade school. He was “born again” when he moved to California and became reacquainted with his extended family there. They were Evangelical Christians, and they took him in as one of their own. Though it meant a long commute to Locke, Chad decided to live with them in an Orange County suburb. During the summer between his first and second years at Teach For America, Chad traveled with his California family to China as a missionary. Officially, they were all there to teach English, but the deal was that they were free to speak about their faith to anyone over the age of eighteen. Chad’s work during that crucial summer break had a profound effect on his decision to remain in education and to assume a leadership position at Locke. Because he was the only teacher among the small group of fellow Christians giving English-language instruction that summer, the others naturally deferred to him. He liked mentoring them. And they seemed happy to follow him.
    Hrag himself was a sub-deacon—a
tbir
—in the Christian Orthodox Church. He was ordained during his sophomore year in high school. Though he had not yet joined an Armenian church in Los Angeles, he and his family were active congregants at the weekly two-and-a-half-hour services at home. He wasn’t fanatical about his faith—in fact, he considered himself more spiritual than religious. But a cross hung from the windshield of his red Ford Focus. He was a believer.
    Of course, not everyone at TFA was. Some had no real ties to organized religion at all. Taylor Rifkin described herself as Jewish “light,” though she was actually raised without any religion. Her mother was Episcopalian and her father was Jewish. Her baby boomer parents had attended a Unitarian church for a while, but Taylor found Sunday school hokey.
    Rachelle Snyder belonged to no organized religion, unless being the youngest member of Greenpeace counted. Her parents, both lawyers, were attached to social justice causes, not churches. But they, too, had searched for a religious identity for their two kids. Rachelle’s mother, Lynne Lasry, came from a family of Sephardic Jews, and her father, Allen, was raised Protestant but no longer practiced. They tried bringing their kids to a Unitarian church, but Allen couldn’t suspend his disbelief. Now, as a young adult, Rachelle thought of herself as a spiritual person. She subscribed to what she believed was the message of all religions: to be honest, sincere, good, and just.
    No, Hrag decided. There was something else going on with these TFAers. It wasn’t necessarily an abiding belief in God. Maybe what drove them was an overwhelming sense of duty. A sense of passion. Or perhaps it was hubris—the unwavering conviction that no problem was insurmountable, that anything was possible. Hrag found himself studying his colleagues for clues.
What is it about these people
?
    To be sure, there was a kind of postcollege Skull and Bones club feel to the organization. The idea that this was an exclusive society, a many-are-called-few-are-chosen-type deal, accounted for some of the attraction. The summer institute only added to the mystique. Everyone referred to it as boot camp. And TFA did little to discourage the notion. The long hours, the hard work, the sleep deprivation, the code of conduct, the constant critical feedback—it all fed into an almost cultlike feel. TFA even had its own acronym-laden language. Corps members were CMs. “Teaching as Leadership” was TAL. Corps member advisors were CMAs.