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

Dignity and Difference- A Jewish Educator's thoughts on (the debate over) women wearing tefillin

"We should know what we see, not see what we know".

-Rabbi AJ Heschel

There is a story that is told (possibly apocryphal, but the lesson to be learned remains) about a Chassidic Rebbe from Eastern Europe who came to Germany to see Rav Shimson Raphael Hirsch's community, which was, in what might be one of the bigger understatements of all time, considerably different from his own. As he was shown the shul, with its structured davening, he remarked on how beautiful it was. When he saw the yeshiva, he again commented on the beauty of what he saw. When he stopped at the girl's school, where the girls were learning Torah, he was once again struck by the beauty of Hirsch's approach. At the end, of the tour, he was asked what he thought. He replied “Very beautiful, but still no shidduch”. As much as he appreciated that Hirsch's approach was beautiful for the kehillah in Frankfurt, he felt quite certain that it was not the right approach for a chassidic community.

As the whole issue of women wearing tefillin came to the fore this week, I was fortunate enough to watch it unfold before offering my opinion. I was thus saved from making pronouncements without full knowledge of what was going on. Even now, after I have read as much as I can, I am not going to say what THE correct approach is. As I frequently tell my students, if someone tells you “The Jewish view of issue X is...” you don't need to hear the end of the sentence to know they are most probably wrong, as there is rarely only one view on any issue. I will leave the halachic analysis for those who are for more erudite than myself. Besides, as has been noted, many of the issues in the debate are meta-halachic and sociological. Instead, I will comment from the perspective of a Jewish educator.

The two sides of the debate are coming from very different perspectives on issues such as a woman's role in Judaism, feminism, how halacha is decided and what makes a view a legitimately Jewish/halchic one. Each side remains convinced that they are reading the sources and the ethos of Judaism correctly, and that the future will vindicate their position. One side insists that the other is stuck in the past, while the other suggests that their opponent lacks appropriate respect for the past. I am not a prognosticator and I am not a prophet. Only time will prove, who is correct, or whether only one approach can work. I'm more confident in discussing how the debate is being carried forth, and the message we give to our children and students as we debate this and other issues.

Rabbi Tully Harcsztark, the principal of SAR was not seeking to decide national communal policy, or even decide on a new policy for his school. In a letter he sent out to parents of his school (which is making the rounds on social media, but has not, to the best of my knowledged been put online), he thoughtfully explained that he was approached by two young women who came from a Conservative background, who had worn tefillin since their bat mitzvah. For various reasons, he decided to allow them to continue do so at school, within a particular framework. He was not the first principal to have allowed girls to wear tefillin at school, as it had already been allowed in various cases some twenty years earlier. This would have, and, more importantly, should have been seen as a decision by a principal for what works for his school, but an article in a high school newspaper, and the internet prevented it from being seen for what it was.

This was now a bigger issue and there was room for discussion, nuance, and respectful passion. Indeed, this was the tone taken by many, including Rabbi Efrem Goldberg of Boca Raton. As a mechanech, I know how much thoughtful discussion could and hopefully did come from discussing the various issues involved. What I find unacceptable are the personal attacks and snarkiness shown to Rabbis Harcsztark, and Goldberg, both of whom, I have no doubt, were speaking lishma. Even more troubling were those who commented on the girls themselves. Without knowing either of them, people felt free to opine on the girl's motives, religious observance and character.

I understand that there is a kulturkampf going on in the Orthodox community and that there are passionate advocates, thank God, on both sides of the debate. Still, it behooves us to recognize that it is more than our opinions that as much as our views are being evaluated by our children and students, they are also seeing how we express them. If we can not engage in debate without making use of ad hominem attacks, perhaps it is best to stay out of the debate. One can believe, as I myself do, that Rabbi Harcsztark made the right decision for his school, or that he did not. It is okay to believe that feminsim has no place in dictating halachic practice, or that it must. Some will feel that certain segments of Orthdoxy are heading for the cliff, while others will believe that they are taking Orthodoxy in the direction which it must go. Let us commit to show, that no matter how passionately we are sure we are right, that we can engage the other side with respect.