• Scientists have recognized an addictive element to these games.  In addition, unlike sports, they promote sedentary behavior, and excessive “screen time” is documented as bad for one’s health.  Even more educational games should be used in moderation;
• When used as tools for education (problem solving, role-playing, logic, etc.) – such tools could be encouraged (again, in moderation);

• Certainly, Rambam (Maimonides) lists and prioritizes the methods and means of doing acts of tzedakah so that not only are services provided to those in need, but that it is done in a way that most strongly promotes human dignity.  To your point, Rambam (citing the Talmud) accords great merit toward those situations where the privacy of the receiver of tzedakah can be maintained, as well as the anonymity of the giver.  Publicity of the act would certainly be a step away from this higher level of tzedakah – though the lower levels are also meritorious, in their context.

• That said, we do often recognize a phenomenon where mitzvah goreret mitzvah – a “snowball effect” of acts of goodness accruing to more acts of goodness.  This phenomenon is most possible, of course, when the acts of goodness are known among the public.  Especially in the context of the Christmas season, there are often human-interest or public-interest stories that, in part, contribute to a general sense of communal spirit, cooperation, and goodness at this time of year.  If this can serve to inspire greater acts of goodness throughout the community, then this may be a worthwhile publicity of the mitzvah – to inspire MORE mitzvot. 

• The idea of moving the week of service to a different (less public) week may serve both the desire for anonymity, per Rambam and the ability to do good in its own right – though there may be countervailing considerations here, as well:  For example, in some communities that share initiatives over houses of faith, the week of Christmas is specifically critical for synagogues to fill, as some churches that participate in the shelter may have facility considerations during a “peak” time of programming for them.  (Would your synagogue be logistically as capable of hosting the shelter during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur?)  Absent a knowledge of these logistical realities, it is hard to say whether moving the week is the most prudent solution.

• Finally, a critical voice seems to be missing from the debate:  Did anyone ask how your guests felt about the situation?  Was there a consultation with the administration of the shelter – as to their potential policies or confidentiality expectations, or alternately, perhaps, the potential benefit that publicity might bring to their worthy cause?  While I do not know what input the guests or their supporting organization had, I would most certainly be guided (at least in part) by their feelings on the matter.  This, itself, lends dignity and a sense of self-determination and self-agency to the effort.

1.  The rabbi should be an open presence, a listening ear, in a way that alleviates any sense of shame or taboo.  Often, young people may feel isolated in their pain or problems, because they feel as if no one else shares these conditions; they can feel alone and unsupported – and therefore afraid.  The Jewish community should never let someone feel this way.
2. The rabbi or other Jewish professional should also recognize his or her limitations, in the scope of professional training, and be able to offer recommendations or references of trained professionals (physicians, therapists, or the like) who might offer the help needed.

            Thank you for your question.  Certainly, because I believe that Judaism (and other faiths) carry a message that is redemptive as a guide for building a more perfect world, I would hope that there would be significant overlap in the ethical and moral behaviors and expectations of many of the world religions!  (To use the most obvious and extreme example, I would hope that the infinite value that Judaism places on human life, that causes us to prioritize “Thou shalt not murder,” would translate into virtually every religious worldview.  I would personally be suspicious of any religion that did not, in some way, with its own language and norms, affirm that standard.)

            So then, what makes the adherence to such ethical/moral norms specifically Jewish?  Certainly there are certain worldviews that are uniquely “Jewish” – either in their origin (“we gave the world the concept of such-and-such”) or even as a modern-day priority.  But for those that clearly overlap with other non-Jewish ethics and morals, we must also consider the motivations and framework through which we arrive at those behaviors.  Many of the world’s religions believe in some form of tikkun olam – further “fixing” or incrementally-perfecting the world – but for us, this is only half of the phrase:  Jews believe in l’takein olam b’malchut Shaddai – perfecting the word because it is an extension of God’s will for us, because it is a realization of the vision that we share with God – a vision for the Jewish People and for all humankind, and because it is a fulfillment of what it means to be created in the Divine Image and to allow that Image to spill out of us and into the world at-large.  If and when I act morally and ethically, I am not only doing that because it is generally considered as “right,” by those who are Jewish and those who are not Jewish.  I am doing it also because it is an expression of the way my faith projects a vision for a more perfect world, and because I embrace my responsibility as a builder of that worldview.  I am doing it because I am commanded, Jewishly (however one may understand such obligation – as communal, divine, individual, or otherwise), to participate and act in this way.

            The action may be identical to another who is motivated by more universal understandings of ethics and morals, or another who is motivated by his or her own non-Jewish faith; but the meaning behind that action and the vision that activates and enables it are particular to my Judaism.  These actions help to define ourJewish selves.

            Thank you for your inquiry about the use of Jewish texts.  It actually opens a broader issue about shared wisdom:   The text you reference is from the Mishnah, Tractate Sanhedrin (4:5).  Certainly, in its original historical context (almost two millennia ago), the text was taught with a different intent.  It comes amidst a conversation about how careful witnesses must be when testifying in a court case (especially a capital case) – because that testimony could mean the difference between the ruin or success, or even the life or death, of a defendant.  In this context – a specifically Jewish court, with authority over only ancient Israel, in an historical era when cultures and judiciaries were much more cloistered – the actual quote is slightly different:  “One who saves a single soul in Israel – it is as if s/he has saved the world entire.”  (The opposite is also given:  “One who destroys a single soul in Israel – it is as if s/he has destroyed the world entire.”

            Of course, nowadays, the broader meaning about saving any human life is more frequently applied.  This is appropriate – in an era when capital punishment is no longer under the jurisdiction of the Jewish Sanhedrin court, in an era of more global understandings of humanity, ethnicity, and in an era when cultures, nations, and religions are much more porous and interactive than in ancient times.  For this reason, as a rabbi, I am PROUD that an excerpt from the long tradition of Jewish wisdom has entered a more mainstream usage.  I recognize its historical origins – but the paraphrase that you intend to use is certainly honest to its original intent – that is, that Judaism regards human life as sacred, fragile, and limitless in its value.

            Sadly, Jewish history has numerous accounts in which someone uses a Jewish text with the effect and intent of doing damage to the teaching’s underlying intent, or else to cause Jews to be ashamed or alienated from their own tradition, or to project a negative image of Jewish tradition to the world at-large.  It is clear to me that this is not the case for your noble, thoughtful intentions.  Given that you intend to uphold and project a positive application of this ancient teaching, I think it is lovely for you to use it.  Indeed, part of the legacy of Judaism to be “a light unto the nations” (not the exclusive light, but a significant source of wisdom and insight) is that Jewish tradition has wisdom to share in every age and every context.  Thank you for your interest in shedding this light in (perhaps) a new context!