Deputy Superintendent Aaden Stern On Five Things That Should Be Done To Improve The US Educational System
…I think we need more play — more opportunities for kids to explore their interests. This idea exists in Waldorf and Montessori models, especially in early education, but we need to extend that into higher grades too. There’s work happening in my district around something called “deeper learning,” which is about giving students real ownership and responsibility — like participating in the school play, leading the school band, or organizing an event like the spring formal.Those experiences involve coordination, iteration, feedback, collaboration — real skills that matter. But right now, those moments are pushed to the edges of the school day. They’re seen as “extra.” We should be bringing more of that into core academics and training teachers — who were educated in very traditional models — to teach in new, engaging ways that allow kids to do meaningful work…
I had the pleasure of talking with Aaden Stern, Deputy Superintendent for Bronx High School Districts 8, 10, and 11 in the New York City Department of Education. Aaden has emerged as a steady voice in the evolving conversation about student agency and systemic coherence in one of the nation’s largest and most complex public school systems. Born in Brooklyn, raised in Queens, and currently based in Westchester, Stern’s trajectory from classroom educator to district-level leader has been shaped by personal history, professional adaptability, and a consistent emphasis on equity and inclusion.
Born into an Orthodox Jewish family and raised in a household shaped by the experiences of Holocaust survivors, Stern brings a generational perspective to his work — one marked by resilience and an acute awareness of the social function of education. The youngest of four sons, Stern described an early life full of stories from his grandparents’ post-war immigrant experience, narratives that would inform his values around justice, community, and voice.
While completing his studies at Queens College, Stern worked in the music industry at Island Def Jam Records. Though initially drawn to the cultural dynamism of that world, he became disillusioned by what he later described as the transactional nature of promoting music he no longer connected with. That disillusionment led him to apply to the New York City Teaching Fellows program in the mid-2000s, a turning point that brought him into public education and set the course for the next two decades of his professional life.
Stern’s early years in education were marked by versatility. Though trained as an English teacher, his first roles involved teaching biology and chemistry, working as a paraprofessional, and running administrative systems such as the book room. His substantive teaching career began at the Academy for Young Writers, a newly formed small school designed around project-based learning and student-centered pedagogy. There, he quickly became a key figure — serving not only as a teacher but eventually taking on programming, budgeting, and professional learning roles as the school expanded.
His tenure as principal of the Academy for Young Writers began amid major transitions, including the school’s relocation from Williamsburg to East New York and the addition of a middle school. During his six years in that role, Stern led the school through the COVID-19 pandemic, navigating the logistical and emotional tolls it exacted on both staff and students. His leadership style — described by colleagues as grounded, reflective, and student-focused — was characterized by a resistance to top-down authority and a preference for listening and collaborative decision-making.
Stern’s belief in amplifying student voices has been a recurring theme throughout his work. He has frequently cited moments when students’ perspectives have challenged institutional norms and driven meaningful change. In one notable example, students at his school led workshops for teachers on LGBTQIA+ inclusion in curricula, an initiative Stern facilitated but deliberately did not lead. He has expressed a belief that students, when provided with real platforms and genuine audiences, can prompt shifts in adult thinking and institutional priorities in ways that formal training or policy mandates cannot.
In 2022, Stern transitioned from school leadership to become Deputy Superintendent for high schools in Bronx Districts 8, 10, and 11. In this role, he supervises nearly 40 principals across a wide array of institutions, from prestigious specialized high schools to smaller schools formed through campus restructuring efforts. Stern sees his current work as an extension of his values as a principal — providing the kind of support he once wished for, helping school leaders navigate operational challenges, and pushing for clarity around school priorities and coherence.
Among the initiatives Stern has led in this role is a partnership with the National Education Equity Lab, supported by a state grant to expand college course access for high school students. The program provides Bronx students with real college-level courses from universities such as Howard, Stanford, and Penn State, with support from university teaching assistants and school-based facilitators. Over two semesters, the initiative has resulted in students earning more than 2,300 college credits — credits that Stern emphasizes are earned through authentic learning rather than high-stakes testing.
Stern has also been a vocal critic of the overreliance on standardized testing and compliance-based grading systems. He frequently speaks about the need to redefine what success looks like in schools, pointing to the mismatch between what students remember as meaningful and what systems often prioritize. He advocates for what he calls “deeper learning” — student experiences that are collaborative, interdisciplinary, and grounded in real-world engagement.
His perspectives are informed not only by his professional roles but also by his experiences as a parent of four children. Stern has spoken openly about how fatherhood reshaped his understanding of educational responsibility, particularly the realization that every student is the center of someone’s world. This personal lens influences his approach to school leadership, from handling family engagement to designing inclusive school policies.
Though not a regular presence on social media, Stern’s voice is increasingly present in education policy circles, particularly around issues of inclusion, curriculum reform, and the role of student experience in shaping school culture. He remains active in visiting schools, engaging directly with educators and students, and promoting a leadership model built on transparency, trust, and responsiveness.
As New York City’s public schools continue to evolve in response to shifting demographics, political pressures, and pedagogical debates, Aaden Stern occupies a role that demands both vision and pragmatism. Through his focus on systemic coherence, authentic student engagement, and equity-driven policy, he contributes to an ongoing effort to make urban education more humane, more relevant, and more reflective of the communities it serves.
Yitzi: Aaden Stern, it’s a delight and an honor to meet you. Before we dive in deep, our readers would love to learn about your personal origin story. Can you share with us the story of your childhood and how you grew up?
Aaden: Glad to be here. Wow. It’s a long story. I’m 43 years old, so I won’t go through every year, but I’m a New Yorker — born in Brooklyn, raised in Queens. I grew up in an Orthodox Jewish home. A big part of my origin story is being second generation after the Holocaust. My grandmother and grandfather were both survivors. They moved to Brooklyn, and I grew up hearing all those stories about the tough immigrant life there, especially on my mother’s side. My dad’s side were earlier American immigrants, but the Holocaust really shaped my sense of self.
I’m the youngest of four boys. My mom always wanted a daughter, so when I was little, she’d put me in dresses — I guess you can leave that in. After high school, I sort of stepped away from the Jewish community, though I was still living at home. I went to Queens College, a CUNY school, commuter-style. During college, I worked in the music industry at Island Def Jam Records doing tour promotion. I even spent some summers touring with bands.
Eventually, I got tired of the music world. It started to feel meaningless — like I was just trying to convince people to like the next hot band I didn’t even enjoy. I didn’t want to be in sales, and I found myself growing disillusioned with something I had once been so passionate about: music.
So, I applied for the New York City Teaching Fellows program. I remember those ads on the subway — “Do you remember your first-grade teacher’s name? Who will remember yours?” That wasn’t what motivated me, though. I actually think that idea — that teachers should want to be remembered — is kind of backward. Maybe we’ll come back to that. But I got into the program, and I’ve been working in New York City public schools since around 2005 or 2006.
I started as an English teacher, but they had hired too many of us, so I couldn’t find a placement right away. I ended up assigned to a school where I taught chemistry and biology, ran the book room, worked as a paraprofessional in a middle school math class — chasing around students I had no business chasing around.
I found my way, after two years teaching at a school in Cobble Hill, to the Academy for Young Writers. It was part of the small schools movement that Mayor Bloomberg and Joel Klein were really pushing — opening up a lot of small schools. Some of those were large schools that got broken up into smaller ones on the same campus. The Academy for Young Writers was a brand new school founded by Carolyn Yaffe. The idea behind it was writing to learn, exhibition-based instruction — really trying to get students to learn through projects that built both skills and content and to have opportunities to present them to real audiences.
I was the second English teacher they hired, and the first 10th-grade English teacher. I helped grow the school. I taught 10th and 11th grade English for a while. And then, like it often goes in small schools — or any growing organization — I started taking on more. I was decent at a lot of things and curious about how the school worked. I took on a team lead role, and eventually got tapped to be the “Dean,” though really that meant I was handling school programming, professional learning, and budgeting. I was basically an assistant principal, just without the certification. So I left the classroom and realized, if I’m doing this work, I should probably get certified and actually get paid for it.
I met my wife, Molly — now 13 years married — when she interviewed for a job at Young Writers. She’s a math teacher. I remember her interview, her demo lesson… a lot of details from that day. But we’re not here to talk about my marriage. We got married, and around the time we were expecting a kid, I decided it was time to go back to school for an admin degree. I figured I needed to step up and be more of a grown-up — I couldn’t just stay in the classroom forever.
So I became an assistant principal at Young Writers. I worked on the admin team for a couple of years. We moved the high school from Williamsburg to East New York — literally moved the whole school, box labels and all — to the Spring Creek campus. We opened a middle school, adding sixth, seventh, and eighth grades year by year beneath the high school. Then, when Courtney Winkfield — the second principal — left, I applied to be principal.
It wasn’t something I was chasing. I’m not the super ambitious, “go get it” kind of guy. I didn’t want to be principal because I wanted to be in charge. I had deep roots at the school — I’d been there for 12 years by then. I couldn’t really imagine working under someone who didn’t understand what I knew, deep down, to be the school’s true purpose. Also, full transparency, I’ve always had issues with authority — no disrespect to your publication — but that’s just part of who I am. I didn’t want a random boss. So I took the opportunity and became principal.
I was principal at Young Writers for six years. I led the school through the pandemic and out the other side. The job changed drastically during that time — became something almost unrecognizable. The system was shifting in ways that made the role even more challenging. At the same time, I had four kids. We were living in Brooklyn, but eventually got priced out and moved to Westchester. It felt like a good moment to part ways with the school I’d been at for so long. The commute was brutal — 90 minutes each way — and honestly, after six intense years as principal of a secondary school in East New York, I knew the school needed more than I could give from that role.
So for the last three years, I’ve been the Deputy Superintendent for Bronx high schools in Districts 8, 10, and 11. Basically, I supervise principals. I went from being a Brooklyn principal to overseeing 38 — well, 37 this year, 38 again next year — principals across the Bronx. That includes everywhere from Riverdale to Throgs Neck, so kind of the north and southeast parts of the Bronx. It’s a really diverse group of schools. We’ve got specialized high schools like Bronx Science and the High School for American Studies — two of the most prestigious in NYC — and then we’ve got lots of small schools that used to be part of big, old campuses like Lehman and Stevenson that were broken up over the years.
Now I work out of the superintendent’s office. In New York, a superintendent isn’t like a superintendent anywhere else. Here, we’re kind of middle management in a massive system. The system’s run by the Chancellor, who’s appointed by the mayor. So a lot of the big decisions — budgeting, policy direction — are shaped by political forces way above our heads. That means superintendents don’t always have the agency to set the agenda. Principals actually have a lot more power and are held accountable in meaningful ways.
I feel really lucky that, having been a principal, I now get to support other principals the way I wish some of my supervisors had supported me. Some of them did, some of them didn’t. But now, I get to be that person — to help troubleshoot, reflect ideas back, push their thinking, and help them feel seen and valued. Being a principal can be really hard and lonely. So I try to show up in ways that matter.
And yeah, that kind of brings us up to speed — how I got here and what we’re talking about today.
Yitzi: You’re really a great storyteller. So you probably have some amazing anecdotes, experiences from your amazing career. Can you share with our readers one or two stories that most stand out in your mind from your professional life?
Aaden: Sure. There are two things that really come to mind, and one of them is about how deeply our personal lives shape how we show up professionally — especially in schools, working with young people. I spent a big part of my career working in schools before I became a parent. But the moment I had my first child — who’s now 13 — my entire perspective shifted. At that point, I was probably a little less than halfway through my career.
My daughter is the apple of my eye. I care so deeply about her — making sure every one of her needs is met, every day. And I had this realization: if you’ve got 34 kids in a class, or 550 kids in a school — which is what we had at our biggest — or 19,000-plus students across a district like I do now, every single one of them is that kid to someone. Every one of them is the center of someone’s world, just like my daughter is to me.
That realization changed how I approached my work. I didn’t fully understand the weight of that responsibility until I became a parent. And as I became a principal and started working more directly with families, my mindset toward parents really shifted. I worked hard to not lead with my ego. I didn’t want to be the kind of principal who acted like, “You can’t talk to me like that — I’m the principal.” I tried to remember: you’re a parent. Maybe your kid messed up. Maybe this is a hard moment. But you’re doing the best you can to advocate for your child — just like I would.
Sometimes I was the face of a system that parents felt had failed them, disrespected them, or just never truly seen them. And that can make people come in angry, or frustrated, or scared. I tried to really see the humanity in those moments, especially with parents. That shift in perspective has been huge for me over the course of my career.
Now, that’s more of a reflection than a story, but I do have something concrete that ties to it. One of the things I’m really proud of from my time as a school leader was how much we prioritized student voice, student agency — really making sure kids felt seen for who they were.
My school — and I don’t take credit for this because it was already happening before I became principal — was really early in adopting a GSA, a Gay-Straight Alliance, or Gender-Sexuality Alliance. That work was being done collaboratively by students and staff before I stepped into the role. The previous principal really cultivated that culture.
The reality is, even though the stats say something like 4% of a school’s population might identify as LGBTQIA+ — and even that number is just an estimate — schools have a responsibility to make sure students who don’t identify as straight or cisgender are seen and valued. Having a GSA was an important piece of that, and at our school, there was a strong culture around it for a while. But over time, as students graduated and staff moved on, that space started to fade. It became a real cultural gap, one that was noticeable.
Then a student named Sianny came to me. She was working on a project in her government class where students had to identify an issue, come up with a proposal for change, and present it — kind of a classic civics assignment. But instead of just doing the assignment for a grade, she really wanted to make a difference. She told me she felt the curriculum didn’t reflect LGBTQIA identities, and she wished we could actually do something about it. And I was like, “Kiddo, yes. Let’s do something.”
So I connected her — and another student, Makayla — with an organization called History UnErased, which does curriculum development focused on identity and inclusion. They met with the education director, put together a series of workshops, and we created a platform for them to share their voices. I had teaming structures in place at the school, and I used my authority as principal to require every grade team to attend these student-led presentations.
Sianny, Makayla, and another student — whose name I’m unfortunately forgetting — led these sessions. They shared data, they shared their stories, and they addressed their teachers directly: “I’m one of your students. My identity matters. Here’s where I feel seen, and here’s where I don’t.” They brought up things that might seem small, like pronouns, but those things are huge when it comes to feeling validated and respected. I could have stood up in front of staff and said the same things, wagged my finger as principal — but it doesn’t have the same impact as when students speak for themselves and say, “Here’s who I am, and here’s what I need.”
That was one of the most powerful things I’ve been part of in my career. And it’s the kind of thing I wish more schools were like — not just offering students hypothetical opportunities to engage, but real ones. Not “let’s write a pretend letter to the president,” but “let’s actually do something that might make a real impact.” Let’s use real academic skills — research, public speaking, collaboration — to speak directly to the people in power, the ones who can create change.
Unfortunately, school accountability systems often push that kind of work to the margins. People care about it, of course. I’ve never met an educator who doesn’t want students to have meaningful experiences. But then comes the caveat: “Yeah, but the state tests.” That “but the state tests” phrase becomes the excuse, because that’s what the system values.
I was listening recently to an interview — Ezra Klein talking with Jonathan Haidt — and it really stuck with me. As an educator and a parent of four kids, ages 4 to 13, I think a lot about the role of technology in our lives and in schools. And the conversation went into how we, as a society, have gotten to this point where if you can’t prove something on a graph, it’s like it doesn’t exist. If it’s not backed by a peer-reviewed study, then somehow it’s not valid. But what happened to just knowing something is right? Why can’t we rely on our gut, our values, our experience?
I don’t need a study to tell me that a kid being on an iPad for 18 hours a day isn’t healthy. As a parent, I know that’s not okay. I can make that value judgment. But we’ve reached this place, maybe because of a decline in shared values, or religion, or common morality — whatever the reasons — where everyone needs a chart to back them up. And then someone else shows up with another chart to disprove it.
Education feels like that too. Probably starting with No Child Left Behind — 2002, in my memory — and continuing through now, with all the emphasis on metrics. And I’m not saying data doesn’t have value. It does. But it also gives educators cover to avoid doing the things we know in our hearts are good for kids — the things that made school meaningful for us.
No one fondly remembers their high score on a standardized test. You might be proud of it, but you’re not telling stories years later about the day you sat quietly in a room and filled in bubbles. You remember going to Philadelphia with your class, standing in Independence Hall, connecting what you learned to a real place and experience. That’s the stuff that sticks. That’s learning. The test is mostly just compliance.
And that tension — between what we know matters and what the system prioritizes — that’s the tension I navigate every day in my role.
Yitzi: Can you share with our readers any innovative initiatives you’re leading in your role as a supervisor of principals?
Aaden: Innovative initiatives — yeah, there’s one I’m really grateful for and I want people to know about it. We were really fortunate a couple of years ago. We applied for a New York State Education grant in my superintendency. It was an advanced course access grant. There were some requirements around it, but the core idea was to provide access for high school students to more rigorous, advanced coursework that connects them to college pathways.
There’s been a big push around early college classes. And for years, people have really valued the College Board and AP exams. I’ve got a lot of issues with that, mainly because in so many places, I see money flowing out of school systems just to line the pockets of well-meaning curriculum developers or ed platforms. I think the College Board is one of the worst offenders. Their intentions are good — we want students to access challenging courses and earn college credit — but the results don’t always match up.
In New York City, some of the outcomes are terrible. When we wrote the grant, I saw that in the Bronx, less than 40% of students taking AP exams scored a 3. A 3 isn’t even guaranteed to get you college credit. It might not even fulfill a college requirement. And that’s the bar — it’s not failing, but it’s also not really helping students move forward.
There’s also a structural issue. AP exams happen in May, but the school year runs through the end of June. So you’ve got a whole course that’s just preparing students for a test they have to pay for. Then the test happens in May, and after that, what’s the class even about? You’ve got to invent meaning for the rest of the school year.
So we applied for this grant with the goal of partnering with the National Education Equity Lab. Their model is fascinating. I don’t know how they pull it off, but they partner with real universities — Penn State, Howard, Stanford, Wharton, Arizona State — places like that. Students are taking actual college-level classes through these institutions.
Here’s how it works: Part of the course is a lecture video by the actual professor. Then there’s a TA from the university who zooms in — scheduling that is a bit complex — to help unpack the lecture and clarify things. And at the home school, there’s a teacher who acts as a facilitator. That teacher knows the students and helps with study skills and organization. They might not be subject matter experts, but they’re there to support the learning process.
Students take these college-level courses, taught by professors, supported by university TAs. And if they pass according to the college’s standards, they get the credit. We were just looking at this the other day — at a cost of about $119 per credit, paid for by the grant. So it’s free to students. Over just two semesters, we’ve gotten around 2,300 college credits for students across the Bronx.
That’s something I think is truly innovative and something I’m proud of. It’s real college access for high school students. We’re using the money to give them access to the content — not to pay for more testing. Some of our students have even made the National Education Equity Lab honor roll for their outstanding performance in college courses.
They’ll take those credits with them to college. Now, I recently found out that some colleges, like Fordham, won’t accept those credits because the classes weren’t taken in person. Don’t name-check Fordham — cut that part — but the vast majority of colleges our students attend do accept the credits.
So we’re sending students off to college with credits from prestigious universities, with real experience in college-level coursework — no super high-stakes test required. That’s something I feel proud of, something I’ve helped make happen. The grant is expiring, and we’re trying to figure out how to keep it going. But honestly, it’s so inexpensive in the grand scheme of things. I’m also trying to shift principals’ perspectives to see that they can afford this. For some schools, the cost is practically a rounding error in their budget.
Yitzi: Amazing. If you had the power or influence to change the entire U.S. educational infrastructure, which five things would you prioritize for reform or improvement?
Aaden:
- First, I think we really need to drastically reform how we do high-stakes testing. That’s not necessarily a nationwide issue — it’s more of a state-by-state thing — but it’s still a huge problem. New York State is starting to work on that now, but there’s still a long way to go.
- Second, we need to deal with the fact that so many students are arriving at high school without fundamental literacy and numeracy skills. It’s complicated. One of the things I’m proud of in my work is how we’re trying to address this. Something like 40% of students entering New York City public high schools can’t read on grade level. So we’re trying to figure out how to teach phonics to some kids in high school while still teaching high school content. What happens is, if a kid shows up and is nice enough, teachers pass them along. Then those kids develop coping strategies to get by, but they don’t actually learn to read or do math well. They might even graduate, but they’re functionally illiterate. So literacy by third grade — real, measurable literacy — has to be a priority.
- Third, I’d focus on career-connected learning. New York City’s doing some interesting work in this area with an initiative called Future Ready NYC. It’s about shifting the perception of what used to be called vocational education. When I was a kid, it was seen as the “other” track — the one for kids who weren’t “college-bound.” That’s changing. We need to be honest about what careers we’re preparing young people for. Right now, we’re sending them to college where they’re taking on massive debt, graduating without jobs, and moving back home because they can’t afford rent or student loan payments. The education system was built to produce factory workers — jobs that no longer exist in America. We need a total reset to align education with the real economy and evolving career paths.
- Fourth, I think we need more play — more opportunities for kids to explore their interests. This idea exists in Waldorf and Montessori models, especially in early education, but we need to extend that into higher grades too. There’s work happening in my district around something called “deeper learning,” which is about giving students real ownership and responsibility — like participating in the school play, leading the school band, or organizing an event like the spring formal.Those experiences involve coordination, iteration, feedback, collaboration — real skills that matter. But right now, those moments are pushed to the edges of the school day. They’re seen as “extra.” We should be bringing more of that into core academics and training teachers — who were educated in very traditional models — to teach in new, engaging ways that allow kids to do meaningful work.
- And then fifth, I’d say class size and teacher staffing. There’s a law that just passed in New York about reducing class size, and I think that’s a fantastic thing. Smaller classes are unqualified good — they help kids. But we run into problems with space and staffing. And that’s tied to a broader issue: we don’t value or compensate teachers the way we should. Firefighters, police officers, military service members — they’re celebrated. They get public recognition, stadium tributes. Teachers don’t get that same respect, and I don’t know how anyone can argue that teachers are less important to the health and future of our society. Especially in large urban school districts, we struggle to recruit and retain teachers. We need to do a better job of supporting them, paying them well, and recognizing the value of their work.
As for tech and AI in education — I’m not even going to touch that right now. Like you said when we talked the other day, everyone’s just a guinea pig right now, and that’s scary. As a parent, as an educator, that’s unsettling. There’s so much potential, and I’m not anti-tech at all. But we really don’t know yet what good use of tech in education looks like. People are saying kids need to code by age five, or they need to be prompt engineers now because AI can code better than humans. And I’m just like… can’t they just play? Can’t they just be kids, learn to read and write, explore the world a little before we push them into all this? So yeah, I have strong feelings about it, but I think we’re all just trying to figure it out as we go. And we’re going to learn a lot in hindsight.
Yitzi: Do you have a favorite quote that relates to education, and can you share how that connects to your career or your approach to it?
Aaden: People always say things like, “No one will ever remember what you taught them, they’ll remember how you made them feel.” There are a lot of quotes like that. But I think the one I want to come back to — because I mentioned it earlier is: “You remember your first grade teacher’s name. Who will remember yours?”
I think that’s a fundamentally broken paradigm in education. The more we can recognize that it’s not about serving our own comfort — as in, adults in education — it’s not about our egos, or controlling our classes, or focusing on compliance. It’s the underlying problem with how schools set up grading policies. They’re a real issue. Compliance and control. I gave you a hundred pieces of paper — if you gave me back ninety, you get a ninety. If you gave me thirty, you get a thirty.
A lot of that comes from this paradigm in education where the teacher is the authority, pouring knowledge into students. And when students don’t do what we want, there’s some consequence, some punishment, because what I want is more important than what you need.
But I think if we can flip that idea — if it’s not about who will remember our names, but instead about the students we’ll remember, the students who impacted us — that changes everything. Like Sianny and Makayla, who I mentioned earlier. I know I’m better off because I had the chance to work with them. I know I made a difference because I saw how they were empowered to lead, to push others to be better teachers for the next group of kids.
That’s where the value is. There’s no actual money in it, of course, but that’s what really resonates with me. Thinking about the students who changed my life and my perspective because I was able to really see them, to understand what they needed — even in a system that often just sees them as a percentage on a graduation rate. And kids are so much more than that.
Yitzi: Amazing. Aaden, how can our readers continue to follow your work online?
Aaden: Oh. I’m not really on social media. I’m on LinkedIn — you can find me there under Aaden Stern.
Yitzi: Aaden, this has been so instructive, informative, and inspirational. I’m really excited to share this with our readers.
Aaden: Yitzi, I’m so glad to have had the opportunity to share. It’s been really, really nice talking to you.
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