MERYL: In each day school I have worked for or consulted in, the goals have been to shape Jewish identity while exposing students to text, ritual, and Jewish law. These schools teach classic Jewish texts in Hebrew and Aramaic, using primary and secondary sources. Some schools use packaged pre-made curricula (with prepared tests, worksheets, and teacher manuals), whereas others encourage teachers to create their own curricula, incorporating specified texts, topics, and guidelines. Students examine—and often have to memorize—key texts, terms, laws, and arguments. The key and the challenge to reaching these goals lie in making the content interactive, relevant, and vibrant.
Throughout my career, I have drawn on Swiss psychologist Jean Piaget’s theory of learning and cognitive development, as it so aptly addresses active learning and concept building. According to Piaget, the more children relate to, define, and predict the world around them, the more they will learn. When learning, we assimilate (or incorporate) new information or text into our existing schema (rules of understanding). If, however, we are exposed to something we cannot define, predict, or understand, or when faced with inconsistencies, we enter an (uncomfortable) state of disequilibrium, in which we try to “tweak” and work out the inconsistencies until they make sense. We will either ignore what we cannot understand, or construct newer levels of understanding that accommodate the conflicting information. Sometimes this new understanding will hold over time; sometimes it won’t. These states of disequilibrium provide effective learning opportunities because the learner actively wrestles with material to relieve the dissonance, bringing in additional sources, details, or observations to help reach a more encompassing level of understanding. In a way, Rashi exemplifies this type of learning. He often notices inconsistencies in the text; wrestles to address this disequilibrium, sometimes using outside sources and opinions; and, in doing so, raises his (and our) level of understanding.
Incorporating Piagetian theory into Jewish education dictates that teachers find meaningful discrepancies, create moderate disequilibrium, and facilitate student interaction with the content material. Students must wrestle with the material, ask questions, take risks, and chart new roads. One hurdle for Jewish education is making a male-dominated text meaningful for girls. Given the day school’s dependency on biblical text, how many appropriate role models or relevant “stories” are there for girls? How do we make curriculum based on ancient text meaningful and engaging to students of different social and religious homes in today’s world? Moreover, how and when do we build in opportunities to wrestle with beliefs and identities, much as Jacob wrestled with the angel? How much time in an already short day can teachers devote to these mental exercises?
The following is a narrative from my daughter Talia, who was able to find a deeper relevance to Exodus while in college. She describes one college professor’s attempt to read Exodus critically and conduct a vibrant, meaningful analysis of the ancient text. Talia’s experience illustrates her efforts to assimilate new data into her existing framework and the deeper understanding she reached through this process.
TALIA: As a senior at the University of Chicago, I enrolled in a “Law and Legislator: Exodus” course, amid both encouragement and warning from my peers. Some friends urged me to take the class, saying that the professor—Dr. Leon Kass—was a brilliant person with whom to study and a great facilitator of class discussion. He recently published a book that provided a close reading of Genesis, aiming to “[seek] wisdom regarding human life lived well in relation to the whole.”1 Although Dr. Kass’s examinations recognized the existence of religious Jewish commentators as well as academics supporting the documentary hypothesis (espousing that the Bible had multiple human writers), he chose to ignore their contributions, exploring instead how the unadulterated text remains an influential keystone of modern, secular values. Kass’s Exodus course set out to study that text in a similar philosophic manner. Those who could read the Hebrew text were encouraged to contribute that knowledge to the class, and Kass himself offered some notes about the biblical Hebrew. As this was Kass’s last year of teaching, he handpicked his students, and the class promised to be a collection of diverse individuals meeting to discuss a rich and rewarding text.
I had been warned by other friends—particularly those of the Orthodox community—that their experiences were neither what they expected nor rewarding. Professor Kass—while an accomplished close reader— was, in their view, no biblical scholar, and at times, his understanding of the text ran counter to what we had previously learned from studying midrash. The goal of the class was to read the text closely without commentary or secondary sources (except for translator’s notes) in order to tease out and reflect on philosophical questions fundamental to modern society. There was a danger that such fundamental questions and answers might contradict some closely held traditions. I was cautioned that this is not the traditional Jewish way to study Tanakh.
When studying midrash or commentary, sometimes students aren’t asked enough what they themselves think the issues are.
In retrospect, these warnings were not ill-founded. However, I discovered that I was able to take from the class certain perspectives and methods that make the Jewish text—rabbinic sources included—all the more meaningful to me. I can think of no better example than our study of Bat Par’oh—Pharaoh’s daughter.
Generally, my day school classes had skipped or quickly glossed over the character and story of Bat Par’oh. 2 It was understood that she was a moral and courageous woman, given her decision to take in a Hebrew child. Beyond that, however, her narrative was glossed over and my classes had instead focused on studying Moshe, the young Egyptian prince. The reasons are understandable. There is only so much time, and in deciding what to study, between a Jewish leader and a non-Jewish princess, the former was preferred.3 Yet to understand Moshe as a young leader, one must understand his moral environment, including the significant influence exerted on Moshe’s life, as he grew up, by Bat Par’oh as his adoptive mother.
Our university class, interested in Moshe’s philosophical and moral upbringing, studied Bat Par’oh and her influence on Moshe. What developed through discussion was a picture of a strong character who was an exemplar for Moshe. Bat Par’oh displayed many positive characteristics in the text. Seeing Moshe as a “lad weeping” and choosing to help him—despite knowing he was an Israelite—demonstrates her moral outrage and desires to help all people.4 Her naming him “Moshe” showed courage as well as intelligence and wit in subverting the Egyptian language. The name Moshe is originally Ancient Egyptian. However, Bat Par’oh imposes on it a Hebrew meaning that announces her “crime.5 ” Such action is intensified by the fact that ancient Egypt was xenophobic, and its language was integral to its identity. Despite Bat Par’oh’s beliefs, though, she was still her father’s daughter—both literally and figuratively (being identified only as Pharaoh’s daughter). However, one of Bat Par’oh’s traits that emerged from our class discussion particularly interested me. She believed that divine law should not be independent of morality. Bat Par’oh’s actions weren’t simply treasonous, but they also disobeyed Pharaoh, a god among men—disobeying him was disobeying divinity. Bat Par’oh’s actions displayed a strong moral code to which she held her gods accountable. Her resulting belief that divine law must agree with morality ultimately saved Moshe’s life.
It wasn’t until fairly recently, when we read Parashat Ki Tisa in shul, that I reflected further on Bat Par’oh and her influence on Moshe. I realized that the lessons she offered were greater than I originally thought. This parasha is a pivotal moment in Moshe’s leadership. When God tells Moshe of B’nei Yisrael’s sins, and of His determination to eradicate them and create a new nation though Moshe, Moshe successfully challenges God’s decision, saving B’nei Yisrael. Many people have rightly compared this action to Avraham’s attempt to save Sodom and Gomorrah. However, on further reflection, I believe that Moshe learned from Bat Par’oh that people should stand up for their moral beliefs, even if it means standing up to God. True, there are similarities between Moshe’s and Avraham’s actions (for one, Moshe and Avraham disagreed and argued with God—but they didn’t disobey Him). However, even if Moshe had known of Avraham’s actions, lessons learned through direct observation are usually stronger than those derived from stories. It seems to me that Moshe more likely incorporated the beliefs and actions of the woman who raised him, through her own example, to be concerned and empathize with the plight of others. Perhaps Moshe intended to emulate Avraham—but he would have done so knowing that Bat Par’oh would be proud of his actions.
What I learned from this experience is the importance of keeping one’s mind open to unorthodox resources to instigate intellectual and moral growth. Moshe must have learned from his experiences as a prince in Egypt, including from sources outside his tradition and faith. We, as students of Tanakh, must similarly be open to nontraditional sources.
One hurdle for Jewish education is making a male-dominated text meaningful for girls.
I think the challenge for Jewish day schools is to encourage exploration of the text. Exploration does not mean abandoning midrash or commentary to create a narrative based on the p’shat or simple text, but includes asking questions that have no right or wrong answer. By asking such questions and attempting to answer them, students build personalized narratives and reinforce their own ideas about the text and about themselves. Professor Kass’s Exodus class worked not because it was strictly based on p’shat, but because it studied the text through a particular philosophic lens. When studying midrash or commentary, sometimes students aren’t asked enough what they themselves think the issues are. Are there dangers to asking unanswerable questions? Perhaps. But, by asking and struggling through such questions, and by creating my own understanding of the narrative, I hope that I have developed an increasingly meaningful relationship with fundamental texts.
MERYL: Our kids don’t have to attend university to gain valuable insights or shape their beliefs and identities. Not all have such needs or opportunities. Admittedly, younger students shouldn’t wrestle with difficult philosophical questions, as most are not yet capable of such analytic feats. Conversely, however, high school students are, by their very nature, struggling with and questioning their independent sense of self. Why not integrate this struggle into the curriculum, making it more meaningful? Our role as parents, teachers, and educators is to provide our diverse students with a variety of role models and ample opportunities to probe and wrestle with text and meaning, questioning, “How does this relate to me, my family, my goals, my beliefs?”
There should be different types of questions for different types of students.
How do we develop lessons that challenge students to wrestle with text in 30 to 40-minute periods with so much more curriculum to cover? How do we encourage students to explore texts for personal relevance? Here are some suggestions:
Vary the learning activities pursued and the questions asked. There should be different types of questions for different types of students. All questions should require students to relate to incidents and passages in the text, but some should be concrete, asking students to visualize descriptive images in the text or infer how characters might feel. Others might identify dissonance, as Rashi often does (either within the text itself or between p’shat and midrash), whereas still others might attempt to connect the text with current events, art, or music, or compare it to something in popular culture—creating different types and levels of dissonance, relevance, and understanding. Providing options and different types of questions and activities is important because some students love the intellectual challenge of open-ended questions, whereas others enjoy structured, concrete questions, and still others thrive on constructive projects that require less language. An excellent example of this type of approach can be found in JOFA’s upcoming Shemot curriculum, for which I was a consultant. The curriculum creatively integrates the art of questioning with sensitivity to different kinds of minds in a classroom, while providing diverse opportunities to interact with the text and its underlying concepts.
Another option for educators is to use homework more appropriately. Homework assignments can offer different types of questions and options for students to wrestle with on their own time. Provide opportunities to mentally manipulate content material creatively, making it more meaningful and personal. Instead of worksheets, have students construct vocabulary word games to play during recess and classroom breaks; write a journal entry, screenplay, or song addressing Miriam’s thoughts while watching Moshe float down the Nile and the danger she was about to encounter; or even create comic books depicting biblical stories using selected vocabulary and/or incorporating designated midrashim. Include an option for more abstract opinion questions that some love pursuing but others find too philosophical and unstructured.
The most effective way to help children grow in understanding and love of text is to provide as many age-appropriate opportunities as possible for students to construct knowledge. To do this, we, as parents and teachers, must be aware of the need to question, model, and provide ample opportunities supporting our students as they wrestle with their individual angels.