I was recently invited to a friend’s house for Shabbat dinner and was pleasantly surprised to see one of my old Hebrew school teachers sharing the table with us.
Back when I terrorized the halls of Temple Beth Israel’s Hebrew school in Southern California, I vividly remember the hours I spent, not at the front of the class reciting prayers nor at my desk studying texts, but in the abrasive chairs outside the principal’s office. Never a week passed in which I avoided the long-winded lectures and gray-haired guilt trips delivered by the awesome principal.
Whether I was throwing ice at my neighbors, standing on my desk, instigating the alarm on my wristwatch or just insulting my teacher, my education consisted of very little traditional Judaica. Needless to say, I was curious how my ex-teacher would react when she saw me.
It turned out that she was pleased to see me — at least she pulled off an Academy Award-winning performance, masking the pool of poisonous venom that probably bubbled just below the surface.
I soon relaxed and explained to her that only six months earlier, I had taken a job as a Hebrew school teacher for a local Conservative synagogue. For two hours a day, three days a week, I was given the task of educating, captivating, inspiring, mentoring and most of all baby-sitting two groups of sixth- and seventh-graders.
When my old nemesis heard this, she gave me a toothy grin and mumbled something that sounded like, “I’m glad you’re making your contribution,” or “I’m glad you’re suffering your retribution.” I couldn’t tell which. In any case, we began to swap horror stories of the trade.
It didn’t take long to realize that while 10 years of human time had elapsed since I chirped out the Torah portion for my own bar mitzvah, not a single characteristic has changed in the classrooms of American Reform and Conservative Hebrew schools.
Students still loathe attending Hebrew school after their normal school day ends. Parents still half-heartedly threaten the lives of their children if they do not attend. Teachers still boil with frustration every day. The administrators’ attitudes are stagnant with apathy, and the whole system remains ambivalent to the entire charade.
The kids wanted one thing out of their Hebrew school experience when I was a student, and they still want only that one thing today: the plentiful fruits of the climax of it all, the bar or bat mitzvah.
I once posed the question to my Hebrew school students: If you could be guaranteed that you would receive passing grades and a ticket to the college of your choice, but you no longer had to go to class, and your parents were OK with it — would you still go to your regular school? Not one of my students said yes.
If the end result is the same regardless of the effort extended, why should a student make any attempt to learn or participate or enjoy his or her Hebrew school experience? Why should any of us make an attempt?
What sort of relevance does a Jewish education have in students’ lives today? When the parents themselves do not understand the importance of Jewish life beyond that evil threat of intermarriage, how can they convey the significance to their children?
How can a people like the Jews, who have been such vehement advocates of the importance of education for hundreds of years, suddenly forget everything our tradition has taught us?
There are no easy answers, only more sensitive questions. To analyze the path American Jewish education has taken over the years, a path that has led to the sad state of most after-school Hebrew programs, would require several years of research.
But no matter what the reasons, it’s time to stop pointing fingers of blame. It’s time to stop ignoring the problem. And most importantly, it’s time to stop talking about doing something and instead start taking positive action.
A rabbi once told me a joke about Yeshiva University’s attempt to start a crew team. The coach put together eight guys and a coxswain. They found a boat and practiced hour after hour, day after day. But it didn’t seem to matter, because year after year the team consistently came in last in all the competitions.
Finally, after one particularly disappointing race, the Yeshiva coach went up to the Yale coach and said, “What’s your secret? Year after year you come in first place and year after year, we come in dead last. What’s your advice?” And the Yale coach responded, “The key is, we have eight guys who row and one guy who yells.”
The problems with Hebrew schools won’t be solved if the parents continue to yell that the teachers aren’t doing their jobs properly. Things won’t change if the teachers continue to yell that the parents aren’t investing enough in their children’s education. The problems also will not disappear if the children still yell about the insignificance of their Jewish education.
And problems definitely won’t be mended if I simply take my yelling and put it on paper.
As Rabbi Daniel Gordis stated so aptly in his book “God Was Not in the Fire,” we need to offer a solution that is intellectually satisfying, spiritually enriching, and provides meaning for everyone involved. For the sake of our tradition and our future, it’s time for all of us to pick up an oar and start rowing.