A woman took her 9-year old son to the doctor for his annual physical. After the usual battery of measurements, pokes, prods, and shots, and after the doctor had completed asking the child about his eating habits, daily activities, and favorite sports teams, the doctor turned to the mother to offer his assessment of the child's health.
"It seems that your son is a wonderful and healthy boy," the doctor began. "Of course, he should eat some more fruits and vegetables, and we do recommend trying to limit screen time if possible, but he is generally growing exactly the way we would expect him to."
"Thank you," replied his mother. "What about his height and weight."
"Looking good there as well. He is 45th percentile in both height and weight, which is more or less consistent with his development until now."
An awkward silence.
"Forty-fifth percentile??" responded the mother. "I don't understand that. My husband is over six feet tall and I was always on the tall side myself! How can our child possibly be below average??"
Taken slightly aback, the doctor tried to allay the mother's concerns: "I wouldn't be concerned at all. There is nothing in any of his records or tests that would indicate any form of abnormality. Furthermore, we see many children who have dramatic growth spurts in the early teenage years."
"Are you sure you measured properly? I mean, you are only seeing him here in the office. I see him every day, with his siblings and friends, and he certainly doesn't look like below average to me!"
"There really is nothing to be alarmed about," said the doctor, trying again, " He is a healthy boy with good habits who is developing just the way we want him to."
"You know, I have never seen that nurse who took the measurements before," continued the mother, barely heeding the words of the doctor. "Is she new here? How long ago did she receive her degree? How do I know that she knows what she is doing?"
End of story
************************
I think that, for most of us, the above story sounds ridiculous. Yes, people do sometimes seek out second opinions, but probably not about the height and weight of their nine-year old child. Certainly, we would not expect someone to challenge the medical credentials and abilities of the doctors and nurses who have taken such measurements.
And yet - what if this story was taking place not in a doctor's office but in the principal's office? What if the issue was not the height of the child but an assessment of the child's academic abilities? Would we find the story ridiculous - or familiar (not necessarily from personal experience, but perhaps from hearing about someone else who had just such a conversation)? I think that the answer to this question is fairly obvious.
But why? Why would people who would never question their doctor's assessment of their child so readily question the assessment of another type of professional? At some level, I believe that people understand that educators know their business, and that business is mainly understanding children, understanding how children learn and interact, and using that understanding to find ways to best teach that child and foster his growth as a student and as a citizen - and doing the same thing for scores of different children at the same time. It is a business that requires its practitioners to be part teacher, part psychologist, part peace-maker, part politician, and part-so-many-other-things-that-I-can't-list them-all. True, teaching relies far more on on-the-job training (experience) than on formal classroom training (you don't need a Ph.D. to teach), but most people don't question their mechanic either and he received very little classroom training for his job.
An interesting thought occurred to me in this vein while reading this article by the wonderful Joe Posnanski, perhaps one of the best sportswriters, and therefore best writers, around today. In the article, Posnanski asks why everyone cares about baseball players who use steroids, yet everyone more or less knows that steroids are rampant in football and no one bats an eyelash. His answer, in a nutshell, is that baseball seems to each of us like something that we could probably do, and therefore we are offended on a more visceral level when we find out that someone has cheated. Football is basically "American Gladiator" - pure entertainment that most of us could not and would not take part in. But plenty of middle-age men out there are still playing softball every Sunday, convinced that they are one swing away from making SportsCenter.
Teaching seems to me to have some of the same sense of "I could do that" hanging over it. How many parents were at one time a youth group leader, camp counselor, little league coach, scoutmaster, etc? They have had experience leading and instructing children! How different is teaching? Sure, teachers do it every day and not once a week; and, sure, teachers have to get kids to do sometimes unpleasant tasks like finding root words and multiplication tables; and, of course, teachers have to worry about things like state standards and lesson plans and parent-teacher conferences and report cards; but, at the end of the day, isn't teaching English to 7th grade boys five days a week for a year basically the same thing as coaching them for 10 Sundays in the spring?
Of course it's not. However, the possibility exists to have such thoughts. I don't think that taking biology in 9th grade gives me license to question my doctor, and I don't think that one undergrad course in the Constitution makes me Alan Dershowitz. By the same token, and in the same way that baseball looks doable but is played at a level beyond what most of us could ever hope to do, teaching is a specialized profession performed by real professionals. Thankfully, most parents do realize that. Spread the word.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Monday, August 19, 2013
Teaching Text Skills in PBL
Over the past several years, I have had the opportunity to speak to many wonderful educators with an interest in introducing Project Based Learning into their classrooms. Their sincerity and commitment has been inspiring, and their many and varied questions have consistently pushed me to better define my perspective on PBL and to continue to hone my own skills in that regard.
One question that inevitably arises when discussing PBL in a Judaic Studies classroom in how to teach text skills via this approach. While we are known as "the People of the Book", we are actually the People of several books, with Mishna and Gemara (Talmud) joining Chumash and Navi (Bible) in our basic corpus and our basic curriculum. While it is true that instruction in these subjects becomes more theoretical and less textual as the students grow and mature, there is no question that at all levels an inability to decode the basic texts is a sine qua non being able to move forward in one's learning.
But how does one accomplish the goal of teaching text skills in a PBL environment? Project-Based Learning's entire framework is focused on seeing the learning unit as a whole, determining the Driving Questions which underlie and will thus drive the entire unit, and more or less assumes that students will be able to take the necessary steps to find the materials that they need to satisfactorily answer the Driving Question. Where in all of that is there room for searching out word roots, acquiring the key vocabulary necessary to follow the give-and-take of the Talmud, or deciphering the strange script in which Rashi and other commentaries are printed?
It's a difficult question. Without face-to-face instruction and without the endless worksheets that most of us remember from the days when we were acquiring reading skills, how is a teacher to ensure that his or her students are gaining the basic skills that will serve as the foundation for all of their future learning? To that query, I have at least two suggestions:
1) Separate reading skills from PBL units. There is no command from on high that every lesson that a person ever teaches has to be part of a PBL unit. Given the amount of work that goes into creating and managing such a unit, any normal person will likely need a bit of a break between PBL units, and there is a good chance that the students will appreciate a few solid days of gold old, traditional, whole-class learning. Use those times for skill-building.
2) On the other hand, PBL units could be a wonderful time to reinforce skills (I am not so sure that I would teach basic reading skills from scratch within PBL, but strengthening those skills for students in grades 5 and above could work). Inevitably, there are students who pick up the skills very quickly and those who need more practice. In a traditional setting, those students who have quickly mastered the material are often forced to wait until every student has learned the material to a level deemed acceptable by the teacher. Boredom ensues.
Within a PBL unit, every student, or at least every group, is free to move at their own pace. I encourage teachers who want to introduce skill-building into the curriculum to place several required exercises into the material. Have students read required texts on voicethread, ask them to punctuate a sample piece of Gemara, or provide them with a shoresh (root word) hunt/game that will yield some result that is key to their being able to complete a larger piece of the unit. In all of these ways, and countless others that people will undoubtedly devise, quick moments of skill-building can be introduced as part of the work needed for the PBL unit, and teachers can therefore identify which students might need a little extra face time with the teacher or some eventual additional instruction or activities to continue working on these all-important skills.
One question that inevitably arises when discussing PBL in a Judaic Studies classroom in how to teach text skills via this approach. While we are known as "the People of the Book", we are actually the People of several books, with Mishna and Gemara (Talmud) joining Chumash and Navi (Bible) in our basic corpus and our basic curriculum. While it is true that instruction in these subjects becomes more theoretical and less textual as the students grow and mature, there is no question that at all levels an inability to decode the basic texts is a sine qua non being able to move forward in one's learning.
But how does one accomplish the goal of teaching text skills in a PBL environment? Project-Based Learning's entire framework is focused on seeing the learning unit as a whole, determining the Driving Questions which underlie and will thus drive the entire unit, and more or less assumes that students will be able to take the necessary steps to find the materials that they need to satisfactorily answer the Driving Question. Where in all of that is there room for searching out word roots, acquiring the key vocabulary necessary to follow the give-and-take of the Talmud, or deciphering the strange script in which Rashi and other commentaries are printed?
It's a difficult question. Without face-to-face instruction and without the endless worksheets that most of us remember from the days when we were acquiring reading skills, how is a teacher to ensure that his or her students are gaining the basic skills that will serve as the foundation for all of their future learning? To that query, I have at least two suggestions:
1) Separate reading skills from PBL units. There is no command from on high that every lesson that a person ever teaches has to be part of a PBL unit. Given the amount of work that goes into creating and managing such a unit, any normal person will likely need a bit of a break between PBL units, and there is a good chance that the students will appreciate a few solid days of gold old, traditional, whole-class learning. Use those times for skill-building.
2) On the other hand, PBL units could be a wonderful time to reinforce skills (I am not so sure that I would teach basic reading skills from scratch within PBL, but strengthening those skills for students in grades 5 and above could work). Inevitably, there are students who pick up the skills very quickly and those who need more practice. In a traditional setting, those students who have quickly mastered the material are often forced to wait until every student has learned the material to a level deemed acceptable by the teacher. Boredom ensues.
Within a PBL unit, every student, or at least every group, is free to move at their own pace. I encourage teachers who want to introduce skill-building into the curriculum to place several required exercises into the material. Have students read required texts on voicethread, ask them to punctuate a sample piece of Gemara, or provide them with a shoresh (root word) hunt/game that will yield some result that is key to their being able to complete a larger piece of the unit. In all of these ways, and countless others that people will undoubtedly devise, quick moments of skill-building can be introduced as part of the work needed for the PBL unit, and teachers can therefore identify which students might need a little extra face time with the teacher or some eventual additional instruction or activities to continue working on these all-important skills.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
The Washington Post vs. Mr. Miyagi
I recently came across this post on the Washington Post website, by Valerie Strauss but actually by Roger Schank, which explains, subject by subject, why kids hate school. The overall gist of the column is that students are not taught any knowledge that is of immediate relevance to their lives, and therefore they are bored and disillusioned with their education, simply counting off days and filling in scantron bubbles until graduation.
Anticipating the inevitable blowback, the author mentions criticism that he has received for writing similar articles in the past, most of that criticism coming from teachers, and condescendingly forgives the teachers for their ire, noting that it is not their fault, they are only teaching what they are ordered to teach by a larger and faceless system.
Well.
It seems to me that Mr. Schank has regrettably never seen the Karate Kid. If he had, perhaps he would recall how Mr. Miyagi, one of the greatest of all movie teachers, taught karate to young Daniel-San. No calisthenics, no kicks, no chops, no nothing that looks at all like karate. Rather, he had Daniel program what seemed like slave labor - paint the fence, wax the car, sand the deck - every time with a specific motion, and every time until Daniel reached theist of exhaustion. The true climax of the movie is not the final scene when Daniel defeats his nemesis (I would give a spoiler alert, but if you have not seen it yet, I take no responsibility), but rather when Mr. Miyagi demonstrates to Daniel that all of that hard labor was in fact teaching him the proper techniques that he would need in order to master karate.
(For those who prefer literature to cinema, the same thing takes place in T. H. White's The Once and Future King, as Merlin gives Wart a curious education, all of which comes into play during the climactic scene of the novel.)
Back to Mr. Schank. On one level, he is on to something. It is much easier to learn something when you can see its immediate relevance. In fact, that is a large part of my motivation behind project-based learning. However, not every thing that we learn has an immediate connection to the world around us. Many parts of our education have a slow and steady impact on us, shaping our character, molding the way that we think, broadening our horizons and the way that we view the world and the people in it. The purpose of a broad and deep liberal arts education, something that is under severe assault in our society on several fronts, is not to create future professors of liberal arts, but to create thoughtful, discerning, and sensitive citizens.
I would be interested to hear the type of curriculum that Mr. Schank would propose. But more than that, I would be interested to see the type of students and citizens that he would intend to produce. I am keeping my money on the Miyagi approach. After all, it worked the first time.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Do We Still Need Gemaras?
When I was first learning Gemara, before the advent of Artscroll, if you wanted a text that could help you out, you basically had two choices. The old-school choice was the Soncino translation, an English version of the Gemara that was written in a vocabulary almost as difficult as the Hebrew/Aramaic original. Alternatively, there was the Steinsaltz Gemara, a new and new-fangled version that was quite intriguing. Rather than maintain the classic "Vilna" layout of the page, Steinsaltz broke the text into topical paragraphs, added punctuation, and included his own running commentary/explanation alongside those of Rashi and Tosafot, the two "big guns" on the standard page. For making all of these seemingly helpful changes to the page (not to the text, which remained the same), Steinsaltz was widely excoriated and shunned, and by the time he finally got around to completing his massive work, the Artscroll revolution was upon us.
You can read more about the controversy over Steinsaltz's Gemara at this post by my friend David Zinberg. The main issue that he raises is one that is bubbling up right now for Jewish educators - do we even need to hand our students actual Gemaras (or Chumashing or Mishnayot or Neviim) anymore? I am speaking specifically about schools that are trying out iPads for all students - there are several apps, some of them free, that contain the complete text of many classic Jewish texts. Why not just have the students reference that version of the text on the same device that they are using to take notes? It would avoid having students forget their books, and would provide opportunities for all sorts of innovative ways to learn and study.
One issue that Zinberg points out is the veneration of the classic Vilna layout of the page, completed between 1880 and 1886 by the Romm publishing house. In truth, the basic layout goes even further back and the Romm edition is merely the latest one to gain near-total acceptance. Steinsaltz took heat for breaking that down. Meanwhile, versions of the Gemara that add vowels to the Vilna page are seen perhaps as a crutch, but not as a threat, and the Artscroll Gemara, which severely reduces the need for the learner to put in all that much effort, has been heralded as the greatest thing to happen to Torah learning since Sinai. The Artscroll iPad app, for all of its innovation, kept the standard page layout, and thus has received many of the same accolades as the print edition.
But should any of that matter? Ask any Gemara teacher in Middle School or High School to list the skills that he or she is teaching, and "knowing how to navigate the standard page of Gemara" will certainly be on the list, but will likely be something to which only a small amount of time is devoted. Vocabulary, key words, identifying whether a Tanna or an Amora is speaking, learning the different parts of the Gemara's argument - these are the key skills which occupy our time in the classroom, and they can all be learned regardless of the page layout. By contrast, no such insistence on a page layout is required or even desired in any of the other text-based Judaic subjects - we tend to look for the edition that will work best for the students.
I am not saying that using a running text of the Gemara using the U'v'lechtecha BaDerech app is necessarily the best way to go. Perhaps the sugya-based iBooks currently being crowdsourced through an effort of Rabbi Mordechai Smolarcik will be the wave of the future. On the other hand, I can think of a variety of reasons why I might prefer an old-school paper edition of the Gemara in my classroom. However, it is an issue whose time has come and that we should be prepared to explain to ourselves and our students why we are using whichever version of the text that we have decided to use.
What are your thoughts on the matter? Please share in the comments section.
You can read more about the controversy over Steinsaltz's Gemara at this post by my friend David Zinberg. The main issue that he raises is one that is bubbling up right now for Jewish educators - do we even need to hand our students actual Gemaras (or Chumashing or Mishnayot or Neviim) anymore? I am speaking specifically about schools that are trying out iPads for all students - there are several apps, some of them free, that contain the complete text of many classic Jewish texts. Why not just have the students reference that version of the text on the same device that they are using to take notes? It would avoid having students forget their books, and would provide opportunities for all sorts of innovative ways to learn and study.
One issue that Zinberg points out is the veneration of the classic Vilna layout of the page, completed between 1880 and 1886 by the Romm publishing house. In truth, the basic layout goes even further back and the Romm edition is merely the latest one to gain near-total acceptance. Steinsaltz took heat for breaking that down. Meanwhile, versions of the Gemara that add vowels to the Vilna page are seen perhaps as a crutch, but not as a threat, and the Artscroll Gemara, which severely reduces the need for the learner to put in all that much effort, has been heralded as the greatest thing to happen to Torah learning since Sinai. The Artscroll iPad app, for all of its innovation, kept the standard page layout, and thus has received many of the same accolades as the print edition.
But should any of that matter? Ask any Gemara teacher in Middle School or High School to list the skills that he or she is teaching, and "knowing how to navigate the standard page of Gemara" will certainly be on the list, but will likely be something to which only a small amount of time is devoted. Vocabulary, key words, identifying whether a Tanna or an Amora is speaking, learning the different parts of the Gemara's argument - these are the key skills which occupy our time in the classroom, and they can all be learned regardless of the page layout. By contrast, no such insistence on a page layout is required or even desired in any of the other text-based Judaic subjects - we tend to look for the edition that will work best for the students.
I am not saying that using a running text of the Gemara using the U'v'lechtecha BaDerech app is necessarily the best way to go. Perhaps the sugya-based iBooks currently being crowdsourced through an effort of Rabbi Mordechai Smolarcik will be the wave of the future. On the other hand, I can think of a variety of reasons why I might prefer an old-school paper edition of the Gemara in my classroom. However, it is an issue whose time has come and that we should be prepared to explain to ourselves and our students why we are using whichever version of the text that we have decided to use.
What are your thoughts on the matter? Please share in the comments section.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Reflections on ISTE 2013 (Which I didn't Attend)
ISTE 2013 - The International Society for Technology in Education's annual four-day confab, held this year in beautiful and broiler-hot San Antonio, Texas - ended last Wednesday afternoon with a rousing closing keynote address by Adam Bellow, encouraging all of us innovative and forward-thinking educators to do what we can to change the world. Coming at the conclusion of four days of networking, learning, and peering into the future of technology, education, and the confluence of the two, Bellow's at times emotional, at time humorous speech was the pitch-perfect conclusion, sending the almost 20,000 attendees home energized and ready to make a real difference in their schools and to their students.
As I wrote about last year, the ISTE conference is an amazing and overwhelming experience. Session range from discussing specific apps for the iPad to brainstorming new ways to demonstrate leadership within one's school. The conference presents one with the chance to have those long conversations with colleagues that the school year leaves no time for, to connect with one's personal learning network in person, and to meet people from literally all over the world who bring a ridiculously wide range of experiences, ideas, and dreams and to work to help each other make those dreams a reality. As ISTE came to a close, I was full of ideas and suggestions that I am eager to try out in the upcoming school year. Just like last year
With one difference. I was not at ISTE this year.
Nope. For a variety of reasons, I was not able to make it down to Texas (will have to get to the Alamo another time). However, that did not mean that I was left out of ISTE. True, I did not get the face-to-face interaction that I would have had had I been there in person. And I was not able to follow up every session that I attended with a schmooze with the presenter or with the person sitting next to me. However, one of the true strengths of ISTE is that it exists within the various networks that all of its attendees have worked so hard to create over the past few year. And, like and strong and solid network, not everyone has to participate in an activity in order for everyone to benefit.
Readers of this blog will not be shocked to hear that Twitter played a major role in my ISTE experience this year. My good friend and frequent collaborator Rabbi Tzvi Pittinsky took copious notes at his sessions on Evernote, tweeted them out, and made sure to mention me in the tweet if the topic was one that he felt was of particular interest to me. The incomparable Suzie Boss kept up a constant twitter stream on PBL issues, and responded to many of many queries and comments throughout the week. An untold number of people alerted me to which sessions were going on, allowing me to put out feelers for quotes, comments, and notes. Several of these sets of notes have been added to my Evernote notebook for future reference as I plan for next year.
There is no question that attending ISTE in person is infinitely more enjoyable and beneficial than living it vicariously through one's friends and network-mates. By the same token, it is important to realize that while four intense days provides a nice charge, it is the other 361 days of the year that we have to take that charge and run with it. My thanks to my network for sharing their excitement and learning with me - I hope to reciprocate from Atlanta next year.
As I wrote about last year, the ISTE conference is an amazing and overwhelming experience. Session range from discussing specific apps for the iPad to brainstorming new ways to demonstrate leadership within one's school. The conference presents one with the chance to have those long conversations with colleagues that the school year leaves no time for, to connect with one's personal learning network in person, and to meet people from literally all over the world who bring a ridiculously wide range of experiences, ideas, and dreams and to work to help each other make those dreams a reality. As ISTE came to a close, I was full of ideas and suggestions that I am eager to try out in the upcoming school year. Just like last year
With one difference. I was not at ISTE this year.
Nope. For a variety of reasons, I was not able to make it down to Texas (will have to get to the Alamo another time). However, that did not mean that I was left out of ISTE. True, I did not get the face-to-face interaction that I would have had had I been there in person. And I was not able to follow up every session that I attended with a schmooze with the presenter or with the person sitting next to me. However, one of the true strengths of ISTE is that it exists within the various networks that all of its attendees have worked so hard to create over the past few year. And, like and strong and solid network, not everyone has to participate in an activity in order for everyone to benefit.
Readers of this blog will not be shocked to hear that Twitter played a major role in my ISTE experience this year. My good friend and frequent collaborator Rabbi Tzvi Pittinsky took copious notes at his sessions on Evernote, tweeted them out, and made sure to mention me in the tweet if the topic was one that he felt was of particular interest to me. The incomparable Suzie Boss kept up a constant twitter stream on PBL issues, and responded to many of many queries and comments throughout the week. An untold number of people alerted me to which sessions were going on, allowing me to put out feelers for quotes, comments, and notes. Several of these sets of notes have been added to my Evernote notebook for future reference as I plan for next year.
There is no question that attending ISTE in person is infinitely more enjoyable and beneficial than living it vicariously through one's friends and network-mates. By the same token, it is important to realize that while four intense days provides a nice charge, it is the other 361 days of the year that we have to take that charge and run with it. My thanks to my network for sharing their excitement and learning with me - I hope to reciprocate from Atlanta next year.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
"What are you doing for the summer?"
"What are you doing for the summer?"
I get that question almost daily this time of year. Well-meaning and well-intentioned friends and neighbors, presumably expecting that I will be taking a well-deserved couple of months in some tropical paradise, inevitably inquire about which utopian getaway I will be frequenting from the moment that my students leave the school building until the moment they return at the end of vacation.
Of course, my answer is always something along the lines of:
"Same thing I do the rest of the year - going to work."
A response which is often greeted with:
"Over the summer?! You work?!"
Now, I don't think that anyone means to be rude or demeaning. But, in all honesty, it is somewhat baffling to me that people believe that teachers or administrators simply disappear for the summer, giving nary a thought to their career for two months, then somehow return days before school begins, put posters up in their classrooms, check their rosters, and are magically all ready to go. Such a mindset seems of a piece of the thinking that "Those who can't - teach", that teaching is somehow the domain of those who lack "real-world" skills and is populated mainly by people looking for good vacations and tuition breaks (yes, we have those as well, but they are not the reason that most people enter the field).
For the benefit of those who are surprised at my annual response, a quick sampling of the many and varied professional activities that take up an educator's summer in this day and age:
I get that question almost daily this time of year. Well-meaning and well-intentioned friends and neighbors, presumably expecting that I will be taking a well-deserved couple of months in some tropical paradise, inevitably inquire about which utopian getaway I will be frequenting from the moment that my students leave the school building until the moment they return at the end of vacation.
Of course, my answer is always something along the lines of:
"Same thing I do the rest of the year - going to work."
A response which is often greeted with:
"Over the summer?! You work?!"
Now, I don't think that anyone means to be rude or demeaning. But, in all honesty, it is somewhat baffling to me that people believe that teachers or administrators simply disappear for the summer, giving nary a thought to their career for two months, then somehow return days before school begins, put posters up in their classrooms, check their rosters, and are magically all ready to go. Such a mindset seems of a piece of the thinking that "Those who can't - teach", that teaching is somehow the domain of those who lack "real-world" skills and is populated mainly by people looking for good vacations and tuition breaks (yes, we have those as well, but they are not the reason that most people enter the field).
For the benefit of those who are surprised at my annual response, a quick sampling of the many and varied professional activities that take up an educator's summer in this day and age:
- Preparing classes. This is number one on the list for virtually everyone. Well-constructed lessons, the type that you want your child to receive, are exactly that - constructed. And construction takes time, time that does not really exist during the school year. Summer allows a teacher the time to reflect on what he or she has done, what needs tweaking, what needs reinventing, and what needs to be scrapped. Thinking about ways to differentiate, enrich, and remediate classes so as to reach all learning, and creating ample materials for all situations, all takes time.
- Innovating. As education moves more and more into a digital existence, teachers have to take what they have been doing and re-imagine them through the prism of technology. Taking time to learn several new iPad apps or online sites and then figuring how to integrate them into the classroom is a task that requires the time to experiment, evaluate, revise, and experiment again.
- Professional Development. Don't you hate it when your kids have the day off because the teachers have "Professional Development days"? In other jobs, that is called going to conferences, and it is common and expected in most fields. Thankfully, many such conferences in education, from one-day seminars to week-long confabs (such as the just concluded PBL World and ISTE 2013) take place over the summer, allowing for maximum participation with minimum classroom disruption.
- Nuts and bolts. When your child returns to school in late summer, chances are he will have a schedule fully laid out for him. You will probably also receive all sorts of communication from the school over the summer about a wide range of small and not-so-small details that need attention. A full slate of activities, events, and programs will likely unfold as the year goes on. One guess when all of that gets planned.
There is no question that the summer is more relaxing for teachers. There are no classes, we set our own schedules (more or less), and the stress level is way down. To gain some perspective, think about students as clients and compare teachers to lawyers. A lawyer prepares and researches countless hours when working on a case, but only spends part of that time working directly with the clients. A teacher needs to do the same thing, but also needs to spend most hours during the day working directly with her clients. So when does the research time come? Right now, in one long stretch. We do not have the luxury of meeting with our clients only once a week and spending the rest of the week preparing for those meetings.
Every industry has its own calendrical cadences, and ours calls for ten frenetic months, followed by a two month period where we can collect ourselves, reflect, and plan for the future. Is summer relatively restful for educators? No question about it. Are we on vacation for all of that time? Not at all. It's time for people to stop being surprised about that.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Is Yeshiva Education Failing - from the pages of Lookjed
The other day, the Lookjed (Lookstein Center for Jewish Education in the Diaspora) educators list had the following anonymous post:
I went to a class reunion a few years ago. My 8th grade class reunion. Of the 30 or so in the grade from my Orthodox day school, about 20 showed up. I was one of 2 males wearing a kippah. One of 3 who had any concern over kashrus at the event.Some, it seemed, were sending their kids to some flavor of day school. A bunch weren't. We had graduated 25 years earlier supposedly as full-fledged and committed members of klal yisroel and I felt out of place saying that I was still actively involved in the Orthodox Jewish community.
I also am friends with a number of friends (elementary and yeshiva high school) via facebook. To complain about posts onshabbos, posts about treif restaurants they go to or about their travel to exotic (and decidedly lacking in Judaism) places for work or play would only scratch the surface. What I have surmised (based on the number of intermarriages and lack of any affiliation with Judaism) is that of the 30 or so from 8th grade and the 100 or so from yeshiva HS, I am in the minority. Yes, some have maintained and strengthened their connection to their religion, but a huge number have moved away. Some went to Israel for a year to various programs, some didn't. Even some who live there now do so on secular terms.
I go into school every day and daven with a large number of yeshiva high school students. I can already see a lack of affiliation. They simply don't care. Davening is an inconvenience, tefillin are optional, tzniyut rules are ignored, learning is devalued. This is all despite incredible faculty, a clear mission and a variety of attempts to help students explore their bond with their religion. I look around in the school minyan and see barely a minyan of students davening. I can see that so many of these ostensibly Orthodox Jewish High School students will take the kippah off when the bell rings (both literally at the end of the day, and metaphorically, upon graduation). At their 5, 10 and 25 year reunions I predict that most, if they show up, will be leading wonderfully productive lives with little or no connection to Judaism unless they find it later in life on their own.
But every time I think about how much we are failing our students, how many we are losing, I stop and think about my own graduating classes. Maybe yeshiva education has been failing for 25 years. Maybe it can't succeed. Is it possible that we are fighting a losing fight just to reach the 10% of students who have any interest in being reached and the 5% who can be brought in to the fold against their will? Are there any long term and consistently updated studies on religiosity and yeshiva education which can reassure me that our failure today isn't unique nor does it spell the demise of Orthodoxy any more than a similar failure did 25 years ago. Are there studies that show that we are doing a worse job than in years past?
Optimist that I am about Jewish education, despite all of the challenges that we face on a daily basis, I felt that a response was needed, on two levels. First, this post is purely anecdotal and such "evidence", while a nice way to start a discussion, is no way to make policy or decisions. Second, I felt that the author was drawing one set of conclusions when there were others to be drawn. Hence, my response:
I am not sure what type of feathers "Throw Away" was hoping to ruffle with his post, but mine have been ruffled insofar as I see the post as the typical anecdotal and emotional lament that usually leads into the "Yeshiva Day School education is broken" trope, which often moves into the call for some sort of nebulous radical reform of the schools.
Leaving aside the anecdotal and emotional nature of the post, by remaining anonymous and, more importantly, by not naming the school, the writer makes it impossible to know the nature and makeup of his class. Twenty five years ago, many Modern Orthodox schools had several if not many students who came from nonreligious homes, who continued on to public high schools, and probably on to lives where religion played a minor role, if that much. Why the parents of such students chose an Orthodox school for ten years is difficult to say, but I suppose that that choice certainly increased the chances that their child would have some Jewish connection in life. Sometimes that worked, and I suppose sometimes it did not. Is it fair or logical to condemn a school because it failed to make a nonreligious student religious despite his or her growing up in a nonreligious home? Hardly.
The anonymous writer also laments that he sees the beginnings of lack of religion among his high school students. Of course, the problems of lack of religious inspiration, failure to observe standards of tzniut, and other such challenges are present in probably all Modern Orthodox Middle and High Schools, and have been for years. Are they warning signs of abandoning religion? In some cases, perhaps, but in many other cases they are symptomatic of students who are struggling to find their place as Modern Orthodox Jews in a secular and confusing world, not to mention a little bit of teenage rebellion. I also have many students who present these challenges - and most that I know of go on to remain Orthodox Jews. The fact that they forget to put their kippa back on after walking ten feet after going on a roller coaster is disturbing to me, and I am not thrilled about physical contact between the sexes, and I wish that they cared more about davening. However, our job as educators is to understand each student and see what are red flags and what are genuine struggles and to address each student appropriately.
Furthermore, I fail to see how one can conclude that Jewish Day Schools have been reaching only a small percent of their constituencies. How then do we explain the growth of Modern Orthodox communities over the past 20 years? I have lived most of my life in Teaneck, NJ and have watched it double and then double again in that time, and surrounding communities and communities around the country have grown as well. Where are all of those people coming from if not from Jewish Day Schools? Yes, some of the people are ba'alei teshuva, but solid majorities have come up "through the system". While I agree that we have lost people and continue to do so, I would question whether the losses are as dramatic as Anonymous would imply or if those losses can be laid entirely or even primarily at the feet of the schools and the educators who toil in them.
Being an educator is a tricky business. What inspires one student can turn off another student, or perhaps can turn off the same student on a different day. We are called upon to constantly be sensitive to the characters and needs of our students and to do all that we can to ensure that they both learn something concrete and have positive Jewish experiences along the way. To my mind, one of the most positive changes in the field in the past few decades has been the push the professionalize it. More teachers in more schools are more connected with the world of general education and with their colleagues in other schools than ever before. That has led to a growing culture of sharing, trying new ideas and approaches, and learning from experts about how complex our students are. We may never succeed in reaching every child, but I am optimistic that we are taking steps in the right direction.
What do you think? Are we failing? Are we succeeding? How would we measure one or the other?
I went to a class reunion a few years ago. My 8th grade class reunion. Of the 30 or so in the grade from my Orthodox day school, about 20 showed up. I was one of 2 males wearing a kippah. One of 3 who had any concern over kashrus at the event.Some, it seemed, were sending their kids to some flavor of day school. A bunch weren't. We had graduated 25 years earlier supposedly as full-fledged and committed members of klal yisroel and I felt out of place saying that I was still actively involved in the Orthodox Jewish community.
I also am friends with a number of friends (elementary and yeshiva high school) via facebook. To complain about posts onshabbos, posts about treif restaurants they go to or about their travel to exotic (and decidedly lacking in Judaism) places for work or play would only scratch the surface. What I have surmised (based on the number of intermarriages and lack of any affiliation with Judaism) is that of the 30 or so from 8th grade and the 100 or so from yeshiva HS, I am in the minority. Yes, some have maintained and strengthened their connection to their religion, but a huge number have moved away. Some went to Israel for a year to various programs, some didn't. Even some who live there now do so on secular terms.
I go into school every day and daven with a large number of yeshiva high school students. I can already see a lack of affiliation. They simply don't care. Davening is an inconvenience, tefillin are optional, tzniyut rules are ignored, learning is devalued. This is all despite incredible faculty, a clear mission and a variety of attempts to help students explore their bond with their religion. I look around in the school minyan and see barely a minyan of students davening. I can see that so many of these ostensibly Orthodox Jewish High School students will take the kippah off when the bell rings (both literally at the end of the day, and metaphorically, upon graduation). At their 5, 10 and 25 year reunions I predict that most, if they show up, will be leading wonderfully productive lives with little or no connection to Judaism unless they find it later in life on their own.
But every time I think about how much we are failing our students, how many we are losing, I stop and think about my own graduating classes. Maybe yeshiva education has been failing for 25 years. Maybe it can't succeed. Is it possible that we are fighting a losing fight just to reach the 10% of students who have any interest in being reached and the 5% who can be brought in to the fold against their will? Are there any long term and consistently updated studies on religiosity and yeshiva education which can reassure me that our failure today isn't unique nor does it spell the demise of Orthodoxy any more than a similar failure did 25 years ago. Are there studies that show that we are doing a worse job than in years past?
Optimist that I am about Jewish education, despite all of the challenges that we face on a daily basis, I felt that a response was needed, on two levels. First, this post is purely anecdotal and such "evidence", while a nice way to start a discussion, is no way to make policy or decisions. Second, I felt that the author was drawing one set of conclusions when there were others to be drawn. Hence, my response:
I am not sure what type of feathers "Throw Away" was hoping to ruffle with his post, but mine have been ruffled insofar as I see the post as the typical anecdotal and emotional lament that usually leads into the "Yeshiva Day School education is broken" trope, which often moves into the call for some sort of nebulous radical reform of the schools.
Leaving aside the anecdotal and emotional nature of the post, by remaining anonymous and, more importantly, by not naming the school, the writer makes it impossible to know the nature and makeup of his class. Twenty five years ago, many Modern Orthodox schools had several if not many students who came from nonreligious homes, who continued on to public high schools, and probably on to lives where religion played a minor role, if that much. Why the parents of such students chose an Orthodox school for ten years is difficult to say, but I suppose that that choice certainly increased the chances that their child would have some Jewish connection in life. Sometimes that worked, and I suppose sometimes it did not. Is it fair or logical to condemn a school because it failed to make a nonreligious student religious despite his or her growing up in a nonreligious home? Hardly.
The anonymous writer also laments that he sees the beginnings of lack of religion among his high school students. Of course, the problems of lack of religious inspiration, failure to observe standards of tzniut, and other such challenges are present in probably all Modern Orthodox Middle and High Schools, and have been for years. Are they warning signs of abandoning religion? In some cases, perhaps, but in many other cases they are symptomatic of students who are struggling to find their place as Modern Orthodox Jews in a secular and confusing world, not to mention a little bit of teenage rebellion. I also have many students who present these challenges - and most that I know of go on to remain Orthodox Jews. The fact that they forget to put their kippa back on after walking ten feet after going on a roller coaster is disturbing to me, and I am not thrilled about physical contact between the sexes, and I wish that they cared more about davening. However, our job as educators is to understand each student and see what are red flags and what are genuine struggles and to address each student appropriately.
Furthermore, I fail to see how one can conclude that Jewish Day Schools have been reaching only a small percent of their constituencies. How then do we explain the growth of Modern Orthodox communities over the past 20 years? I have lived most of my life in Teaneck, NJ and have watched it double and then double again in that time, and surrounding communities and communities around the country have grown as well. Where are all of those people coming from if not from Jewish Day Schools? Yes, some of the people are ba'alei teshuva, but solid majorities have come up "through the system". While I agree that we have lost people and continue to do so, I would question whether the losses are as dramatic as Anonymous would imply or if those losses can be laid entirely or even primarily at the feet of the schools and the educators who toil in them.
Being an educator is a tricky business. What inspires one student can turn off another student, or perhaps can turn off the same student on a different day. We are called upon to constantly be sensitive to the characters and needs of our students and to do all that we can to ensure that they both learn something concrete and have positive Jewish experiences along the way. To my mind, one of the most positive changes in the field in the past few decades has been the push the professionalize it. More teachers in more schools are more connected with the world of general education and with their colleagues in other schools than ever before. That has led to a growing culture of sharing, trying new ideas and approaches, and learning from experts about how complex our students are. We may never succeed in reaching every child, but I am optimistic that we are taking steps in the right direction.
What do you think? Are we failing? Are we succeeding? How would we measure one or the other?
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