Before
I begin a teaching session, I look around the room. Maybe I'm in a classroom,
or running a junior congregation, or just chatting with my kid's classmates or
friends. And I often start off by asking them an open question, where they
could really come up with any response.
And
then, I listen.
I
listen because I need to know everything I can about them. Where do their traditions
come from? What do they do at home to be Jewish? Would they rank their Jewish
identity ahead of their nationality, their school, or even their gender?
One
evening when I was a student in Hebrew high school, a teacher pointed out to us
that the term "Judaism" shouldn't really refer to our religion, per
se. A "Judaism," by definition, would be an act you perform or
behavior you display that demonstrates that you are Jewish, that defines your
Jewishness. So when I'm engaging a group of Jewish tweeners nowadays, I prompt
them to discuss their Judaism, their collective body of thoughts, opinions,
knowledge, and traditions that make up their religion, culture, and personal
dogma.
The fragility
of Judaism lies in the personalized legitimacy of the child's Judaism. At some
point, it's only natural for someone, at any age, to question the validity,
source, or true meaning of a custom or a text. The individual thinks about a
"Judaism," wondering where it came from, how it started, what it
really means, if it's meaningful to them, and if they should keep it up.
But if
they drop traditions entirely, so goes the Jewish people.
As I
continue this blog’s theme of “frontal free” teaching, I emphasize the value in
not standing in front of the kids and telling them what they should know or
believe. As kids approach the
traditional age of b’nai mitzvah, they
begin to evolve in more thoughtful beings, instinctually wanting to think
things through for themselves. At some
point, most of the 10 year olds I’ve encountered will even push back against
any approach to tell them something
rather than demonstrate something.
Lest you,
the parent or educator, risk pushing them away, I’ve come to value the need to
engross them in the material you’re trying to communicate. Give them a context for the lesson, a taste
of the material, then hand it over to them for them to explore themselves, at
their pace, in their own way. Without
leveraging them, or intimidating them, or, dare I say, guilting them, you must
find a way for them to approach the lessons themselves.
Each
year, I have preteen students who are agnostic, some with attention issues,
some with lots of personal experience in Israel compared to the others. So how do I teach them deeper understandings of
Jewish ethics, or the value of learning Torah stories, or an overview of
Israeli history? Well, it’s always hard,
but the hard part for me is letting go:
sitting back and letting them
drive. Give them the material but
let them create a project around it; let the more experienced kids mentor the
others; and have them do something active and on their feet to demonstrate
their learning and understanding of the lessons.
In the
end, when they’re given the reins of their own education, they come to respect
you, the institution of learning, and the value of finding their own personal
Judaisms within the curriculum. Their
connections to tradition strengthen, thereby shoring up that fragility. It’s my hope that through non-frontal,
creative, experiential learning, we’ll imbue the next generation with the
impetus to further their education and pass along their legacy of leadership
and learning to the next generation.
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