Daughters of Queens- On producing the next generation of religious women

There was something powerful, and disconcerting (in a positive way) about watching 93 Queen as one of only a handful of men in a room filled, almost entirely, with Modern Orthodox women and teenage girls. As I watched the movie, I often found myself thinking about what those around me were thinking. I grew noticeably uncomfortable while seeing how the many men in the movie often stood in the women’s way, often in a heavy-handed manner. While the movie, which deals with the attempt of Ruchie Freier and a group of primarily chassidish women to start an all-women’s Hatzolah unit, was excellent, and I highly recommend it, I’d like to address the movie from a religious/sociological perspective. Specifically, I’d like to use my experience to think about some questions I’ve been thinking about on women and orthodoxy. In my next post, I hope to address a different aspect of the film.

As a father of three girls, and a teacher of many teens and pre-teens I constantly wonder about the future of Orthodoxy in general, and Modern Orthodoxy in particular, when it comes to women. What future is there for these groups (and others more to the right as well) in terms of holding onto the minds and hearts of women, in a world where women are more or less accepted as equals in pretty much every area of society? To put it differently, why would girls and women choose to be part of a world where they face restrictions of many kinds, when a world with few limits exists around them, and is easily accessible?

One perspective is to push Orthodoxy as far as it will go (according to various yard sticks) in an attempt to make it as egalitarian as possible. While I know people who take this approach, it doesn’t seem to me to be such a successful approach. No matter how liberal a yardstick one uses in attempting to move halacha in this way, they are assured of falling far short of anything remotely approaching egalitarian society. A lower mechitzah is still a mechitzah. Partnership minyanim still show the fact that women can’t lead the most significant parts of davening.

93 Queen seemed to gently suggest another possibility. What particularly moved me, and stood out to me about the women in the film, was the fact that they had a strong sense of knowing what they wanted, and what they had every reason to expect to get, while at the same time feeling strongly at home in, and comfortable with their community. As I watched the story unfold, seated in a Modern Orthodox girl’s high school, I couldn’t help but wonder about how the girls around me were seeing these women, as well as whether they could identify with women who identify so strongly with their religious community, restrictions an all. In particular, I found myself wondering whether there could be aspects of the more yeshivish and even chassidish girl’s educational system, which could be incorporated into the Modern Orthodox education system (to be clear, I have similar questions about the boy’s educational system as well).

I was moved by the strong women portrayed in the film. As I watched, I couldn’t help but hope that we in the modern world are providing a complex and nuanced enough education to our daughters to allow them to look at women from a very different part of the Orthodox world as heroes and role models. Where there are clear and obvious ways where we will part ways in how we educate young women, I hope that a high dividing wall is not being built to keep the two worlds apart.

Can Communal Change lead to a Better Educational System?- Some thoughts on the movie Unorthodox (Part II)

[This is the second part of a three-part series on the movie “Unorthodox”. In this post, I address ways for institutional coherence to lead to a change in Jewish education. To read part I, where I addressed how Israel schools have changed, please click here.]

Michael (name and details changed) went to a well-known Modern Orthodox high school. When I would run into him at local races, he always came across as a kind, well-behaved, and thoughtful young man (athletic too). He also came across as not particularly excited by religion. In fact, when he graduated from high school, he was one of the few graduating students from his school who did not spend a year studying in Israel. I lost touch with Michael after he went to college at a large Midwestern university. I remember my shock when I next saw him, a number of years later. I was in shul and I saw a young man whose long beard and style of dress clearly marked him as Chabad. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why. When it finally hit me that this was Michael, I went over to say hi. We talked for a while, and he explained to me that he had connected to Chabad through his campus shaliach, and that he was now learning in a Chabad yeshiva.

I thought about Michael’s for quite a while. How was it that this young man who grew up in a typical Modern orthodox community, and had spent 12 years in its schools, and had graduated without a strong connection, had become so committed to a religious life?

In watching Unorthodox, I again thought of Michael, as well as those who are similar to him and went to Israel, as well as those who went straight to college. Where are we as a community and an educational system failing? I do not ask this question with an assumption that we can reach every child/student. Still, I wonder how many Michaels and Tzipis there are who never discover that religious Judaism is something they could live and love. In this post I will focus on the community, and in the next post I will discuss the school system.

What Unorthodox makes clear is that part of the effectiveness of the year in Israel in leading to stronger religious commitment (permanent or temporary) goes beyond the classroom. May students see communities, both charedi and dati leumi, which they perceive as being more authentically in line with the Torah they’ve learned, than the ones in which they grew up at home. They see serious tefillah, Talmud Torah, and shemiras hamitzvos in ways that they often did not at home or in their communities. While their communities in the States (and elsewhere) often felt “moderately passionate” to borrow a phrase from Rabbi Lamm, in Israel they witness and experience real passion.

Even if one accounts for some degree of over-idealization in the student’s experiences in Israel, it is hard to deny that Har Nof and Alon Shevut are very different from the average Modern orthodox community in Chutz La’aretz. Teenagers, who often notice real or perceived inconsistency and hypocrisy are often left wondering about the differences they perceive.

The question which needs to be addressed is whether change can occur on a communal level, or whether it is only the educational system which can help our students grapple with their inner and religious lives. While in some cases the schools will have to largely work on their own (and I will address this in the next post), I believe that, in some cases, communal change is possible.

While institutional change is hard to bring about, communal change is even more complex. In order for a community to evolve religiously various institutions need to work together and come up with a shared vision. Schools, where students are the focus, have to work with shuls where there are a much wider range of participants. In doing this important work, they allow students to see in their non-school life, reinforce what they are learning about in school. Absent this consonance, students are left wondering why they should live what they are learning at school.

My sense is that there are communities where the school-shul partnership is happening. One such community is in Philadelphia where the Kohelet Foundation is making sure that the various Kohelet schools are working together with the community. They describe their mission as:

The Kohelet Foundation aims to strengthen and preserve the Jewish Day School education model for our next generation of leaders by creating and supporting Jewish communal responsibility for day schools among parents, philanthropists, and the greater Jewish community.

Local educators and sought after speakers not only address the students at school, but also speak to the parents and other community members. This makes it possible for parents to grow along with their children, and to create Jewish lives which are passionate. Communal funders come to see how supporting different organizations, rather than focusing on just one, can be more effective.

While no school can ever force parents to engage with the learning, it is advantageous for this to occur. Many parents grow frustrated when their children get to Israel and “flip out”, especially when their children not only become more religious, but also become more “right wing” philosophically. This approach also addresses the concern that change is too sudden and volatile. Slow, thoughtful growth, done along with one’s family would benefit the community, family, and students. With this approach, Israel yeshivas and seminaries could reinforce what the students already possess, rather than try to get the students to change.

While it would take complex change for this approach to come about, I can’t help but wonder what Michael might be like today if he had witnessed such an integrated approach.

Passionless Judaism- On the differences between the Charedi and MO OTD experience

What more can be said about the OTD phenomenon? So much has been written about it from every perspective, from memoirs to sociological studies to essays examining why Orthodox jews leave the fold. Is there anything left to be said?

I have been thinking about the differences between the many charedim I know who left the fold, versus those from the Modern Orthodox world who left religious observance. Although there are many differences, there is one particular difference I keep seeing. Many, if not most of the charedim I know have a strong emotional feeling about the community they have left, and about religion in general. Quite a few, continue to struggle with, or against, the world they left. Some turn their feelings into organizational work, trying to help others who have left the fold, or those who are still observant. Organizations like Footsteps and Yaffed are just a few examples of this phenomena. Others write about their reasons for leaving, and the mixed emotional feelings they have about the way they grew up. It is not unusual to have OTD Shabbos meals, where zemiros are sung, and traditional foods are on the menu.

By contrast, in the Modern Orthodox world, those who leave seem to leave more quietly, almost as if they have left nothing behind. They rarely continue to be involved in any Jewish organizations, and show little, if any, signs of resentment. To be sure, there are some obvious reasons for these different reactions. While charedim have often been raised in communities where they were not offered the educational, social, and professional skills to make it in the secular world, Modern orthodox jews grow up in a milieu which makes transitioning far easier. Many have gone to the same colleges as their non-religious and non-Jewish peers, and have received an education that makes the switch that much easier. While there might be some degree of resentment about aspects of how they were brought up, for the most part, the people I know from the MO world have left easily, and without much of an emotional struggle. However, there is, I believe, something more behind the different reactions, something that to my mind speaks poorly about the MO educational experience.

I recently read a book that dealt with the philosophical development of some of the founding fathers of the Zionist movement. These leaders had either grown up in religious families, or were one, or at most two generations away from religious ancestors. As each of them struggled to figure out what it meant to be Jewish when one is no longer religious, they struggled mightily with the mixed emotions they felt for the religious world that they knew. They had feelings of pity, nostalgia, and anger. They channeled these emotions into the creativity which led them to be leaders in creating the Zionist movement in terms of political thought, culture, and religion. As I finished reading the book, I couldn’t help but wonder again about the MO people I know who have left without experiencing these same feelings.

For good and for bad, the charedi educational system gets their version of Judaism into their students bones. There is a thick, almost viscous religious, cultural, and emotional sense of what it means to be a frum Jew. When you watch charedi kids daven in school, there is an energy that is generally lacking in MO schools. In charedi yeshivahs, Torah learning is seen as an ideal, and any boy who succeeds in it, is seen as a star. I’ve noticed that even those who are not successful learners, often internalize the message to the degree that, later in life, they financially support yeshivos and kollels. In the MO world, we are not succeeding in giving over this sense of connection. Too often, the davening is not inspiring, and the Torahlearning is seen as, at best, another academic discipline to master. For those who want out, the religiosity they have experienced is easily shed.

Rabbi Lamm once said, talking about Modern Orthodoxy, that our goal should not be “to be moderately passionate, but rather to be passionately moderate”. If we are to be honest with ourselves, we are not only failing at what he suggests our goal should be, but even at instilling a moderate amount of passion. It is beyond time that we figure out how to do better.

WHAT Are They Leaving? - On re-evaluating our educational goals to make Judaism more compelling

At the end of high school, I almost gave up on Orthodox Judaism. No, I was not going to abandon everything, but after 12 years of Jewish education that had mostly not spoken to me, I was not interested in learning more Torah, or continuing to do mitzvos. It wasn’t that I no longer believed in God, although I certainly could not have explained what such belief meant, as much as there was a lot “out there” that I found enticing, and little in what I had learned about Judaism that made me feel that I should refrain from living like a typical college student. Although I was told I would enjoy a year studying in israel, I was pretty sure I did not want to invest more time in an activity which did not mean anything to me. It was only due to a fluke that I changed my mind.

There is much talk about why many young people are leaving the Orthodox community (sometimes it feels like too much talk). Currently, two studies are are being conducted about why charedim go “OTD”, and the defection of Modern Orthodox youth was a large part of the discussion at a symposium on the future of Modern Orthodoxy I attended yesterday evening. While many are asking some variation of “Why are they leaving?”, I want to ask a different question. What are young people leaving when they leave Orthodoxy? In other words, when a Jew from a MO or Charedi world leaves observance around the age of 18-22 (roughly college age), what is their understanding of Judaism that they are leaving behind?

I ask this question not because I believe that any approach can stop all, or even most people from leaving, but rather because I wonder whether our educational system (and with that term I include families, shuls and even camps, as well as schools) is providing a rich enough approach to Judaism. Is what college-aged students have experienced and know, enough to even make it a struggle to leave?

What does the average graduate of our schools know about Jewish philosophy? Have they studied Rav Saadyah Gaon, Moreh Nevuchim and/or the Kuzari? Do graduates of MO schools know anything about Rav Kook, other than, perhaps, the fact that he was one of the chief-rabbis of Israel? What does the average graduate of a yeshivish high school know of the Ramchal or the Michtav MiEliyahu? For goodness sakes, do chassidim study chassidus in their schools? How about the שש מצוות תמידיות, the six mitzvos about which the Sefer HaChinuch says we are obligated at all times, thereby suggesting that, at least on some level, they are essential to Judaism? What is Ahavas HaShem? What do we mean when we talk of God being one?

When I think about all that I have learned since high school, I shudder to think that I could have given up on such a rich tradition that includes so many thinkers who have inspired me. I likely would have stopped keeping Shabbos, without having ever been exposed to Heschel’s The Sabbath. I would have stopped keeping many mitzvos, without ever having been taught any of the many approaches to ta’amei hamitzvos. I wasn’t exactly davening too often at that point, but it saddens me that I had never heard about the Piaczena Rebbe, or the Avudraham after 12 years of Jewish education. I could go on and on.

Jewish observance makes demands of us, and consciously or not, one of things that someone who leaves asks themselves before departing, is why they should sacrifice for Judaism. I would hope that those who stay, do so (among other reasons) due to having discovered a deep, meaningful experience in our Avodas HaShem. I wonder whether we are making the chance of discovering that depth and meaning enough of a realistic possibility during the first two decades of our children’s and/or student’s lives.

Of course, even one who agrees with my premise might wonder where we can find the time to teach those things. The answer is quite simple. It is time to re-evaluate what we are teaching in schools (as well as what we learn in shul and camp). The basic curriculum that is taught in most day schools is based on an approach that was designed by Torah U’Mesorah more than 50 years ago. Do we really believe that the needs of today’s children are the same as they were back then? In yeshivish yeshivas, the emphasis is almost overwhelmingly on gemara, with aggadeta, where one could be exposed to Jewish thought, excluded. While it is claimed that an interested bachur can learn these things if he is curious, many do not know how much they don’t know, and are not given a chance to discover what might interest them. While gemara-only might work for some, if we define success narrowly enough, there are many whom are being pushed away by this approach. This is particularly ironic when we consider that up until well into the 20th century few men ever studied gemara, particularly for as many years as bnei yeshiva learn it today. While Bais Yaakovs do teach more broadly than their male counterparts, there is still much depth that could be added.

As I said earlier, there are many reasons why people leave Orthodoxy. There is a lot we can learn from talking to those who left, if we want to make our communities better. It is time to at least make the decision to leave, a more challenging one, by teaching the depth and meaning of our tradition.

"At the end of high school, I almost gave up on Orthodox Judaism. No, I was not going to abandon everything, but after...

Posted by Pesach Sommer on Tuesday, March 15, 2016

Tears for a Broken System- Protesting an approach that fails most of our boys

It was, at once, one of the most beautiful and one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen. “Shmuel”  a 15 well-behaved and polite 15 year-old boy, was sitting in shul after Shachris going over a mishnah using a Hebrew-English mishnah. Even with the help of the English translation, Shmuel was struggling. As I listened to him struggle with both the Hebrew and English words, it seemed clear to me that he didn’t understand what he was learning. While there was great beauty in his effort to learn and his refusal to give up, I felt great sadness watching him struggle. I thought of the gemara in Chagigah where it discusses HaShem crying for one who can’t learn Torah and tries anyway. While there different ways to understand the gemara, one approach that I’ve heard is that HaShem sheds tears for those like Shmuel, because there are other ways for him to serve HaShem, approaches in which he could succeed.

I thought of Shmuel when I saw the cover of this past week’s Mishpacha magazine. Over a picture of a boy holding up a gemara, the headline screamed “Yes, Your Son Can Love to Learn”. While the article described the approach of a loving rebbe who has come up with a teaching style, and approach to review that helps some boys become more successful in learning gemara, the headline promised parents much more. It seemed to say that even if your son does not love to learn, he should, and we know how to make it happen. Furthermore, while the word gemara was absent from the headline, it was clear from the article that the only focus was on boys learning gemara. Taking this into account, Mishpacha was suggesting (insisting?) that your son can and should love to learn gemara.

I thought of Shmuel’s parents. Might they be fooled into thinking that he can love to learn gemara, if only he would try harder and his rebbe would try a different approach? What of all the boys who are in yeshivahs for boys who have “rebelled” against the system? Is the solution to what ails them to be pushed back towards a religious life where only gemara learning marks one as a successful Jew? Is there no other way to be a frum Jew? Is there no other meaningful way to learn Torah? What exactly is wrong with Tanach?

In a well known Midrash, it is said that of 1000 who begin learning Tanach, 100 move on to mishna, of which, only 10 make it to gemara. That’s one percent. There was no suggestion that the other 99% could or should learn gemara. Why do we insist on being smarter than Chazal, especially those of us who are so careful to listen to other things that they say?

I have no problem with the article itself, excluding the implied suggestion about the gemara-only approach. I understand that a headline stating “Here’s a Rebbe with an approach that some schools might consider” might not have been as exciting, or even qualified to be on the cover, but how much longer will we push our boys into a harmful one-size-fits-all system, a system that should make all of us join HaShem in his crying?

"It was, at once, one of the most beautiful and one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen. “Shmuel” a 15 well-behaved...

Posted by Pesach Sommer on Monday, August 10, 2015

Having a Foot in Two Worlds- The inverted Nuns in parshat Beha'alotecha and learning to not hide from questions

In this week’s shiur, we deal with the “inverted nuns” found in Parshat Beha’alotecha around pesukim 35 and 36 in perek 10. We consider them from traditional and academic standpoints, and, most importantly, suggest that these two worlds need not be in conflict

Running time 1:01

Torah that Matters- giving our children the tools to engage in religious struggle

A frequent trope in many teacher-lounges is about how much better the students used to be in the “good old days”. While I suspect that many of these claims are based on selective memories, there is one such conversation that has stayed with me. A colleague said to me that it used to be that when he spoke about the obligation for married women to cover their hair, there would be protests and arguments from the female students. Now, he said, they just write it down in their notes and spit it out on the test. Interestingly, he was suggesting that he missed the days when students cared enough to argue. While I would disagree with his claim that students don’t care, I think he brings up an interesting point.

There are often discussions about what students should know by the time they graduate high school. I would like to suggest that we also think about what students think by the time they graduate. If I had to pick one thing that I would like my students (and children, for that matter) to possess by the time they are 18, it is a sense that Judaism and Torah matter enough to engage in the religious struggle that is an inherent part of engaging in Torah. In a thoughtful essay, Akiva Weisinger discusses the implications of Yaakov’s wrestling match with the malach, and the subsequent change of his name to Yisrael. He suggests that the struggle with God and his Torah is inherent to the Jewish experience. I sometimes wonder whether we are doing enough to ensure that our children and students will care enough to engage and struggle with our collective beliefs, teachings and ideas.

How do we get there? I think there are things that parents and educators can do to make it more likely that our children and students will take the idea  embodied in the name Yisrael seriously.

To begin with, we need to model the struggle. Whether it is at the Shabbos table or in discussions in the classroom, teenagers benefit from seeing that we practice what we preach. If we share our struggles, as well as talk of how we are dealing with them, it is more likely they will see this behavior as normative and important. We all need downtime. As with everything we do, our children see what we do when we have a few minutes to spare. To the degree that we spend time seriously engaging with sefarim and books that show that we are invested in the struggle, we can hope that our children will do so as well.

Educationally, it is important that we choose texts and subjects that are not merely about knowing facts. When we teach halacha, one of the reasons why it is wrong to teach it as merely a set of rules, is that it fails to show how the mitzvohs themselves have the potential to challenge us to think. Taamei HaMitzvohs should be a part of any discussion of halacha. Additionally, as I have mentioned before, we do a disservice to our students when we only teach the halachic parts of the gemara. It is in the aggadah that Chazal expresses some of their most profound ideas. By seriously engaging in the study of aggadah, we not only expose our students to essential ideas, but also allow them to engage with these beliefs and concepts. Finally, we as educators have to be up to the task. Any question that our students ask should be dealt with seriously, and that puts the onus on us. We need to study both religious and secular texts that we might not have learned in yeshiva or school. While it is obvious that we can not have the answers to all questions, it is imperative that we do as much as we can to show that we have seriously engaged in areas like philosophy, history and science and their implication for Judaism.

Whether it is in college, yeshiva, seminary or later in life, our children and students will likely have moments where they need to decide if Judaism is important enough to be part of forming their worldview. While we can not make this choice for them, the actions we take as parents and/or educators will play a significant role in their decision.

Post by Pesach Sommer.

Refusing to Join the Exodus- Why parents and schools should stay away

There are, according to the gemara, certain mistakes that are so serious, that one who makes them, can be fired without warning. One of those on the list is a teacher of Torah, who teaches something incorrectly. In explaining the rationale, Rashi says that once a mistake enters the students mind, it can not be removed. I would like to apply this idea to movies which purport to tell over biblical stories, such as Exodus: Gods and Kings, which recently started showing in theaters.

Exodus tells the story of the Jews slavery in, and subsequent exodus from Egypt. Although it is loosely based on the biblical text, many liberties are taken in order to turn it into a box-office success. While the lack of authenticity in telling over the story is problematic, I would suggest that even a movie where the director would attempt to follow the text is problematic.

I remember when the animated movie The Prince of Egypt was released in theaters. There was a good deal of excitement in the Jewish community as the movie had been made in consultation with rabbis. There was even a haggadah that was to be made connected to the film, in conjunction with a major orthodox Jewish organization. The principal of the elementary school where I was teaching at the time took the entire school to see the movie. While there were certain parts of the movie that were thought provoking, I was troubled by the lack of accuracy. In particular, I remember how Aharon was portrayed as a goofy and immature big brother. That was far from the only problem I had with the film.

When we study Torah with children, we are sharing ideas which will stay with them forever. One of the great things about studying from a text is that we allow the student to conceptualize things in their minds. In this particular case, a picture is not worth a thousand words. Even if we make clear to young viewers that there are differences between the text and the movie, the images that they see and the ideas that they hear are not forgotten. While it is reasonable to teach children that biblical personalities were human, and thus, imperfect, allowing them to view a Hollywood rendition of Torah stories, can lead to children seeing these righteous individuals as petty, cruel and backwards.

I have no doubt that Exodus will be a box-office hit. A lot of money has been put into it, and the controversy it has generated will not hurt and might just help. I would humbly suggest that we stay away. There are some mistakes which can not be corrected.

Off-the-derech or Off-A-derech? Learning to love our children more than our reputation

This past summer, I had the opportunity to spent some time in a yeshiva in Israel for boys who were, or had been “OTD”. While it didn’t surprise me, I was pained by the fact that the goal of the yeshiva seemed to be to put the boys back on the very same derech that the boys had rejected, having felt alienated by the system.

There are many reasons for the phenomena of children who are raised in frum homes leaving their community and much of Jewish observance behind. I won’t pretend that the intensive gemara-only educational system, with its many hours a day spent sitting in yeshiva, is the only reason boys leave observance, but in my estimation it is a significant one. Whether it is learning issues, intellectual curiosity, an inability to sit still for so many hours on end, or some combination of the above, many boys struggle within the yeshiva system. While some manage to stay within the system, many are so bothered by the system that they leave it, and the frum world, behind.

Sadly, the response to helping these boys (or is it “saving” these boys?) is to have yeshivas set up that are ultimately designed to get them back in the system, complete with the “correct” mode of dress, and an approach to Torah learning that mostly ignores the fact that Torah includes much more than just gemara. While for some boys this seems to be effective, I have met many boys who have no interest in going back to the approach that they rejected.

So the question becomes are these boys off-the-derech or simply off-A-derech? To put it differently, do parents want to help their children find an approach to yiddishkeit that works for them, or only to get their children back into their own yeshivish community? I have seen boys for whom the yeshivish system did not work, find a home in the Modern-Orthodox or chassidish world. They have embraced shemiras hamitzvos and found a derech that works for them, but it often seems to me that their parents and mechanchim don’t see this as enough.

Imagine what might happen if boys with questions were exposed to the worldview of Rav Kook, Rav Soloveitchik or Rav Nachman. If they were allowed to learn the Moreh Nevuchim and serious Tanach. Might not some of these boys take to these derachim? While for me, that would seem to be a success, for many within the yeshivish community it seems to be, at best, a bidieved. At the end of the day I sometimes wonder whether parents are more worried about their own reputation more than their children’s well-being. Maybe it’s not the boys who are OTD.

Post by Pesach Sommer.

We Must Do Better- Saying "NO" to a broken shidduch sytem

“I thought of my daughter” the owner of the Ravens said, by way of explanation for why his team cut Ray Rice, who knocked out his wife with a punch, while fighting in an elevator. Ignoring the question of why it took seeing the punch on video to think of his daughter, there is something to be said for thinking of a victim of a crime, as if it had had happened to you personally. In fact, Rav Yaakov Kaminetsky zt”l praises Shimon and Levi for feeling Dinah’s pain as their own, even if they expressed it the wrong way.

It doesn’t take much for me to think of my daughters when I think of the current system for dating within the orthodox world. I have heard horror stories from friends and families about shadchanim who ask the most inane and absurd questions, mothers of marriage-eligible “boys” (a contradiction in terms?) who have absurdly high standards, and the pain of women who can literally go months without being able to get a date. To top it all off, these women are expected to have a resume, accompanied by a picture, references and personal information just to have a chance at getting a first date.

Making things even worse, these women have been educated to have a laundry list of features that the right “boy” must have, including mode of dress, career aspirations (or lack thereof), and particular type of yeshiva. While it is fine and good to anticipate the Yad HaShem in finding the right spouse, we are obligated to put in proper effort, and limiting the potential pool of eligible husbands does not help matters. No less a figure than Rav Pam zt”l, when asked whether yeshivish versus frum-hesder was “lechatchila-bedieved or chocolate-vanilla”, said it was the latter. It pains me to see women discover only after many years of frustration, that they are comfortable with a wider variety of guys than they thought.

Instead of parents, teachers and rabbeim saying “enough is enough”, we talk about the “shidduch crisis”, offer more money for shadchanim based on some fairly arbitrary criteria, and use numbers to explain the problem. Years ago, I sat at a wedding and heard a rebbe at a boys yeshiva say that Rav Herschel Schachter spoke of having shabbatons for college aged men and women. For those who thought mixing in such a manner (I mean, my God, what do we think this is? TU B’Av?!), he replied that it is pikuach nefesh. While that might, at first, sound like hyperbole, for those who are alone, it is anything but.

So what can be done? First, it is time that we ask our daughter’s teachers to stick to teaching and not tell our daughters how and who to date. We are derelict in our duty as parents, when we relegate that role to others. Second, young men and women need to be given the opportunity to meet in normal and natural ways, rather than through the shidduch system. Studies have shown that men consider women who are nice to be prettier than those who are not. The current dating system makes physical attraction the first thing that is learned about a woman, both through her resume (really?!?) and when they meet. Finally, I would love to see women of dating age get together and refuse to play the game. If enough women, including those who are wealthy and from the “right” families decided to opt out until other options were available, things might change very quickly.

I’ve tried, in writing these words, to control my rage and pain that I feel when I think about the current system, but as a father of three wonderful daughters, I am angry. As someone who has seen friends and relatives in real pain over being alone (not just unmarried, but unvalued by the communities in which they live), I can no longer remain quiet. Think of your sisters and daughters and ask yourself if this is what you want for them. The frum community can and must do better.

Post by Pesach Sommer.

The Chinuch Our Boys Deserve- Creating a better Torah curriculum for boy's yeshivas

[The following is about boy’s chinuch in more yeshivish type schools. I have written elsewhere about chinuch issues for girls, as well as chinuch in Modern-Orthodox schools.]

I have a great idea. Let’s have all of our boys start studying ancient Chinese legal theory, in Chinese. They’ll start in 5th grade. No, better yet, 4th grade. Within a few years we will add study of some of the basic ideas of Chinese legal theorists from the middle ages. Once they master that, by, let’s say 8th grade, we can throw in some later more complicated theorist’s works. The goal is that all of our children will ultimately get PHDs in ACLT. With enough effort and help from Heaven, we can do it.

Okay, maybe not, but how is it any more reasonable to suggest that all of our boys start learning gemara as young as 4th grade, without having mastered Tanach, mishna, or basic Hebrew? How can we put them in classrooms where they try to understand Tosefos, when it was written and intended for those who had mastered shas? Was Rebbe Akiva Eiger writing for 9th graders? Please don’t respond by citing tradition, as the idea of universal gemara learning for boys is less than 50 years old. The midrash talks of only one percent of boys who started off with Tanach moved onto gemara (Elef nichnas l’mikra...eser nichnas l’talmud). A mishna in Avos suggests that hascholas gemara should happen at age 15, and the gemara, later echoed by the Maharal and Meharsha, among others, suggests that the way to master gemara is to first cover ground without going into depth, and only then move on to sevara (ligmor v’hadar lisbor). How can we who so often take the words of Chazal so seriously ignore them when it comes to the chinuch of our sons?

Having spent more than 15 years in chinuch, I have seen too many of the korbanos of this system. Boys who think they can’t learn Torah when they haven’t been exposed to most areas of Torah, including Tanach, machshava, Jewish history and more. Boys who might have succeeded at learning Gemara had they started at an age when they were cognitively ready, instead of being turned off by their “failure” to understand at an age when they should have been learning something else. 4th graders who have already shown that they have learning issues including ones connected to a second language, who are pushed to learn a complex topic in a third language, with no other educational options until they reach high school. Grown men, including rabbis, who lack familiarity with basic works of Jewish philosophy, or a sophisticated approach to learning midrash.

So what do I suggest?

All boys should cover all of Chumash by the time they finish 8th grade. Initially, they will begin with Rashi, but by 6th or 7th grade other mephorshim should be introduced. This will introduce boys to the concept of machlokes and that there is more than one way to read a text. It will also introduce important concepts from Jewish thought. Nach should be taught as well, at least on the level of peshat, and, if we want to help boys become better at davening, Tehillim should be taught and analyzed.

Mishna should not be treated as gemara for dummies, but it can and should be used as an introduction to Torah She’B’al peh. In addition to introducing important concepts from the world of halacha, it is a good text for introducing gemara-type analysis in a language with which the boys are somewhat familiar. Additionally, it has nekudos, something that gemara does not, and does not have the challenge of being overly complex or analytical.

Yeshivas should start gemara later. Personally, I would suggest the beginning of high school as a good time to start, but I recognize that that will be too radical for most yeshivahs. At the very least, I would recommend holding off until 7th grade, and then, only for those who have shown mastery of the other parts of Torah. Even then, it should be recognized that truly understanding gemara and Rashi is no small thing, and might be the point where many boys will stop. An emphasis should be put on skills; both reading and analysis, and not just memorization. Additionally, aggadeta should not not be skipped, and should be taught with seriousness and rigor.

For those for whom gemara is too challenging for any of the possible reasons I mentioned above, there will be other options. In addition to continuing with, and mastering mishna, halacha can be taught as well. I do not mean by going through a text like the Kitzur (personally, I prefer the Chayei Adam), but by showing how halacha develops from passuk or gemara, to halacha l’maaseh. This would include the learning of some gemaras, but without the usual gemara-style learning.

Machshava should be introduced by high school. Age appropriate texts and concepts should be used with an emphasis on essential topics like tzaddik v’ra lo, schar v’onesh, teshuva, olam haba and so on. Jewish history should be taught as well. It is an interesting and important topic and can be used to emphasize the Yad HaShem that has allowed our people to live and thrive.

I do not suggest that the current system is not working for everyone. Boys who have the ability to sit for long periods of time, as well as interest and ability in complex and nuanced topics, but they are a minority. It is time to provide all of our boys with a Torah education that works for them.

Post by Pesach Sommer.

WE Are the Problem- Creating yeshivas that are on the derech

Tzvi* is from a modern yeshivish family. He is one of six children, the rest of whom attend mainstream yeshivahs or Bais Yaakovs. He is 17 years old and, if you are the type to judge things superficially, is “Off the Derech”. He has hair that is too long for a frum boy, attends a yeshiva for boys who are struggling, and dresses in way that, when he is not wearing a kippah, it is hard to tell he is Jewish. He sometimes talks through davening and, although he is far from stupid, does not enjoy learning gemara. At first he dealt with this by tuning out, but eventually his frustration grew too strong and he started acting out. He is from Baltimore, but he could be from any community where I have lived. He is one of the countless boys who have been run over by a yeshiva.

There is another side of Tzvi that you can see if you are willing to look a little deeper. He has a warm and caring smile, a great sense of humor, and an outgoing and friendly personality. He is a talented musician, who can play both guitar and piano, and seems to enter another world during zemiros, especially the slower ones. He enjoys doing bikur cholim, and gives off a sense of caring that the person he is visiting can palpably feel. When other boys behave in a way that crosses the line, he is the one who lets them know, and in a manner that gets them to listen. He enjoys the stories from Nach, Jewish history, and deep discussions. After high school, Tzvi plans to join the army, to defend his people.

What would a yeshivah that would work for Tzvi look like? To be sure, it would have to offer a broader Jewish education, and have a shorter school day. Ideally, there would be a choice of shiurim on different topics, depending on ability and interest. Perhaps there would be music and art classes, and maybe even sports teams. It goes without saying that there would be rabbeim who would understand adolescents, care about them, and love teaching, as opposed to just loving learning.

None of this is a chiddush. There are many boys like Tzvi. Still, until he acts out, due to frustration and sadness, there are few, if any choices for him. Are we sure that he is the one who is off the derech?

Understanding our children's questions- Are we paying attention?

If our students or children have questions about Judaism, we are blessed. It means they are engaged and care about their religion. It's not enough to hear their questions. We need to understand what they are asking.

Much ink has been spilled writing about the four sons in the haggadah. I would like to focus on the question of the חכם, and see what we can learn from it as teachers and parents. (The idea is based on the Ramban Al HaTorah).

The most obvious point is that we contrast the רשע with the חכם, not with the צדיק. It is important to note that child is intelligent, which is not the same thing as being righteous. We confuse the two at our own peril. Understanding the one who is asking is very important if we wish to understand what is being asked.

The חכם asks "מָה הָעֵדֹת וְהַחֻקִּים וְהַמִּשְׁפָּטִים אֲשֶׁר צִוָּה יְהוָֹה אֱלֹהֵינוּ אֶתְכֶם" Although his intelligence can be seen from the complexity of his question, he is not asking you to explain what the terms עֵדֹתחֻקִּים מִּשְׁפָּטִים mean. The key word in the question is אֶתְכֶם. He is asking what these laws mean to you. This son observes his parents as שומרי תורה ומצות and he himself is observant as well. He wants to know if it's worth it. He sees some friends and family members growing in observance, while others seem to be casting off a life of Torah and mitzvot. He sees his parents sacricing some luxuries to observe a Torah lifestyle. He wants them to explain why they are willing to do this. What does this mean to you? Is your halachic lifestyle meaningful? Is it real or merely a sociolological phenomena? Do you learn Daf Yomi because learning speaks to you, or is it mostly about doing what others do?

I have written before about some of the weaknesses of the Charedi educational system. One of its strengths, perhaps its biggest strength, is the ability to give over the emotional geshmak of Judaism. Through stories, songs, plays and pictures, a child in a charedi school is given an attachment to his yiddishkeit which goes way beyond the intellect. For those for whom the system works, there is a buy-in during their youth that lasts a lifetime. Even for those who don't, they rarely seem indifferent to the yiddishkeit with which they have been raised. Better a child who is angry at her religion, than one who is indifferent to it.

By contrast, most of the Torah education in Modern Orthodox schools seems to focus on the intellect. Make no mistake. I am not advocating against the importance of skills, yediot and deeper understanding. I am suggesting that those alone are not enough to make it likely that our students and children will wish to continue our lifestyle. The

חכם already knows what the words עֵדֹת חֻקִּים מִּשְׁפָּטִים mean and can give an example of each. He wants to know why he should care. She wants to understand what these ancient laws have to say to her in a modern world that increasingly does not see the value in a religious lifestyle.

It is not enough for us to show our children that we are makpid to daven, be koveiah itim L'Torah, and carefully observe Shabbos. We need to show why. Not only with words, although it can not be denied that that has some importance as well. Our children our watching the quality of our davening. Is it real, or is lip service? They see us learn, but seek to understand whether the Torah we learn speaks to us. Do we mean it when we sayכי הם חיינו ואורך ימינו? Is our Shabbos merely one of dry and punctilious observance of halacha, or does it nourish our soul? Do we sing zemiros to be yotzeh, or do we seem to be transformed through the words and melody? Our children are wise. Wise enough to know the real thing when they see it, and wise enough to recognize someone going through the motions. Which one they see in our homes and classes is entirely up to us.

The Second Question- How to deal with the big questions our students ask

Jewish philosophy classes in high school are somewhat like the parah adumah. Just like the parah aduma was described by Chazal as “purifying the impure, and making the pure impure”, Jewish philosophy classes often help those who are struggling, while causing those who are not, to struggle. Is there a solution that can be found that is beneficial to all? I believe that there is.

A friend likes to say that when rabbis say that Judaism believes in asking questions, they only mean the first question. The second question? Not so much. By this he means that as long as the questioner is willing to accept the answer to their question, their questioning is acceptable. As soon as they followup with a serious objection, the rabbi is no longer okay with questioning. Although this idea is a bit too cynical for me, there is some truth in what he's saying. There are too many rabbis and teachers who are not knowledgeable enough on major questions of Jewish philosophy. Some, when challenged, become defensive, or even go on the attack, rather than admitting that they don't have an answer. Even more, there is a tendency among some to refuse to admit that some questions do not have an easy answer. If difficult and challenging questions are not addressed seriously, what conclusion can the questioner reach, other than that there is no answer?

There is one other danger that was pointed out to me by Rabbi Scott Kahn, Rosh Yeshiva of Yesodei HaTorah. When rabbeim and teachers are not sufficiently well-versed in Jewish philosophy, they might mistakenly think that certain questions and/or concepts are heretical. Rather than being in a position to help their student understand why her question is legitimate, the teacher might deem it unacceptable and out-of-bounds. Alternatively, they might lack the ability to present all available answers.

At the same time there are those with simple faith. They are not the deepest thinkers but they believe in God, and feel his presence in their lives. They can't tell you why, or prove that they are correct, because they have probably never analyzed the reason for their beliefs. Even if they have, their answers are not deeply philosophical. There is no need to introduce them to the hard questions. These questions often lead to doubts, and those who are not intellectual might not understand possible answers. Some have suggested that these people will eventually discover these questions through various means, but I know of many cases where this is not true. Even in the cases where it is, what benefit is there in introducing them to the questions at an earlier point?

I believe that Chazal recognized this duality when they taught in Maseches Chagiga that certain complicated topics should not be taught in large groups, or sometimes to more than one person at a time. They were not hiding from the “second question”. They merely recognized that a good teacher addresses complicated issues in a way that the questioner can handle. There is no blanket answer to complicated questions, which will work for everyone, and some don't have these questions.

I have struggled through some of these questions, and emerged a stronger person, but I would never claim to have the answer. Our understanding of God is inherently limited. Let us struggle when necessary, as we passionately search for truth. We can not and must not avoid the second question. We also should not introduce the second question to those who do not ask it themselves.

Post by Pesach Sommer.