MOST I LEARN FROM MY STUDENTS

Babylonian Talmud Ta’anit: Much I learn from my teachers; more from my colleagues; but most from my students.

Entering a Florence Melton Adult Mini-School classroom on a bright snowy day in Chicago, I hear the hum and chatter of eager students greeting each other and catching up on the events of the week. As they brush off the snow, pour themselves a cup of coffee, and take their accustomed seats around the table, they never fail to warm my heart. There are young mothers who request to keep their cell phones on just in case they are needed back home, and recent empty nesters who fondly call themselves “the post carpool generation,” and senior citizens who forget their infirmities while they study.

I never take for granted the wonderful diversity of students before me, all of them sharing a love for Jewish text and a sense of wonder at the way it touches their lives. They represent all ages; they come from all parts of the world; they are at different stages of their Jewish journey.

I am in awe of the representation of life before me, and I am challenged to teach in a way that will meet their unique needs. From them, I have learned that there are common experiences and desires on which I can build and that many of these are a result of living in North America in the 21st century. Judaism is a choice for them—even those coming from a traditional background. How do I help them make informed choices? How do I present Judaism in the best possible light-- including its encouragement of doubt, debate and disagreement?

I am challenged, and yet I have the utmost confidence that I am only a transmitter of an irresistible truth that makes our brief time in this world more meaningful, more worth living. It is a truth that transcends time and space and extends our existence beyond what we know. This also I have learned from my students.

WHY HANUKKAH? AND HOW!

While speaking to a group of community leaders, I used a metaphor I had relied on in several other occasions. I talked about a sacred task that Jews perform daily. Each person provides a link between the past and the future in our chain of tradition. I used the word “shalshelet,” which means “chain” and described the chain extending back to Sinai.

This obviously troubled one young woman, who said, “I am the first person in my family in this chain. I converted to Judaism. I am just a charm on the bracelet.”

What followed was an intense discussion about all of us standing at Sinai, about the privileges and pleasures of Jewish life and our responsibility for the next generation regardless of when we became part of the chain. One of the other participants said, “I just decided to do something about being Jewish. My parents in the Soviet Union didn’t teach me anything."

I learned a lesson from this experience. We are living in a time when many non-Orthodox Jews are “Jews by choice--” deciding for themselves what kind of Jews they want to be and how to connect with the Jewish community. Once making that choice, they link themselves with all that has happened to Jews living before them, with what is happening to Jews today, and with all that will happen in the future.

Each of us inherits the richness of the experiences and learning of past generations in our own way. Some have precious family memories on which to build, some acquire the memories of am Yisrael, the people of Israel, through learning, some begin by experiencing Judaism through art, music or Birthright Israel. And all of us who identify as Jews will, at some moment in our adult journey, be in a position to pass Judaism on to others--children, students, friends, colleagues.

This past Shabbat my rabbi delivered a beautiful sermon on why we light Hanukkah candles. After talking about the historical victory of the Maccabees and the Talmudic version of celebrating the rededication of the Temple and the miracle of the oil that lasted eight days, he spoke of the joy and responsibility of taking our memories--what we learned from our parents and grandparents and passing them on to the next generation. He quoted Deuteronomy 32,7: “Remember the days of old, Consider the years of ages past; Ask your father, he will inform you, Your elders, they will tell you.”

And I said a quiet prayer-—that when elders and fathers, do not tell us these things, those who choose to live as Jews, to claim the riches of past generations, have the determination, the support, and the resources to do so. That, in turn, will strengthen the next generation.

MASTERING THE ART OF MIDRASH: INQUIRING

Midrash unstructured is a difficult. In truth, the group was losing heart a little and so was I. We had lost the deeply inspiring moments that just seemed to rise up out of the Torah text. We would focus on a word, think about where else it appeared, try to interpret what the character might be doing or even the HOBBH (have you ever tried to type “Holy One Blessed be He over and over again? I should add that I never copy pages from a book when I teach. I always type or cut and paste selections so I can compose the class a bit musically.) ‘S motivations and voila, we would find inspiration to carry us through the week.

I had to admit to myself that I did not like the reflective practice that I saw in the mirror and needed to make a change pronto. Not sure how I landed on this but probably has something to do with my deeply felt belief that my students (all of them, everywhere) are sacred texts and that we would get to the written text if we started with them once again. This is a bit of a polarity with my desire to let the classical text itself be more of a presence, but I had to try this.

The following week was Chaye Sarah, my Bat Mitzvah parsha. I began class with a simple question: what is the value of a life? This drew some silence and then some beautiful responses. A lie is valued by what you accomplish, not what you earn, by the family you create, how you reach out to others. They led right to Rashi: Why does this pasuk repeat the word shanah over and over again? To indicate that Sarah’s life is sequenced “each is interpreted individually…and all were equal in goodness.” Each person was able to describe the sequences of their lives: when they lived in their parents, homes, marriage, before and after children, before and after the loss of parents. There was something in the moment that I can only call a merging of these women’s’ stories and Sarah’s story, a jumping into the looking glass of the Biblical narrative.

From there we could go on to the Midrashim through the prism of the question. What else does this parsha have to say about the value of life? The analysis of the Midrashim was focused and the learning rich.

So now, each week, I have to inquire of the text and find the profound questions to frame our study, there is always more than one. Sometimes I consult with Aviva and the Sfat Emet; sometimes the question comes from inside me. Then I can cut, paste, hone, shape and craft the lesson. And is that not what Midrash is in essence supposed to be?