V'Higad'ta L'Vincha: What Will We Teach Our Children?

It's a New Year.  As we sit here early in January of 2014, the blank calendar pages point to a year of opportunities ahead of us.  At the same time, we can look back on the past year and marvel at what happened- what we were pleased with, what we wish we could have done differently.

And as the secular calendar gives us this opportunity, so, too, does our reading of Torah.  This week, as we considered Parashat Bo, we read of the preparations for the Exodus.  The Israelites are told that in future generations, they will continue to reenact the experience of departing Egypt.  And when their children inquire about their past, the Israelites are told, "V'higad'ta l'vincha bayom hahu: You shall teach it to your child on that day."  The Torah also is asking us to reflect on the past and to use it to help shape the future.

So what will we teach our children?  How will we learn from our past and impart lessons that will help create the mensches of the future?  In looking back on the past year, we have several examples- some positive, some negative- from whom to learn.

Will we teach our children to embrace our sacred scripture in a way that encourages them to seek and celebrate the best in each individual, and to look out for the less fortunate in our communities, or will we let them hide behind scripture as an excuse for bigotry, xenophobia, homophobia, sexism, and classism?

Will we teach our children to deal compassionately with those facing the challenges of mental illness, or will we sweep it under the rug, praying that it will have no impact on our lives?

Will we teach our children to recognize that too many people are dying as a result of preventable violence, or will we continue the fetishization of guns in our culture?

Will we teach our children that women and men have equal value in our society, or will we tacitly condone the continued objectification of females in American society?

Will wze and vilify any whose opinion differs from their own?

Will we teach our children to seek peace and pursue it  or will future generations continue to engage in meaningless warfare?

Will we teach our children the art of listening, negotiation, and compromise, or will we permit them to demonize and vilify any whose opinion differs from their own?

May we learn to teach our children well, and may they be inspired to heed our lessons.

#BlogElul Learning

A paraphrase of a Chassidic story:

A rebbe noticed that one of his students had his face buried deep in a machzor (a High Holiday prayerbook) and seemed to be ignoring the lesson at hand.

"Moshe," the teacher said, "What are you studying so intensely?"

"I'm sorry, rebbe," the student replied, "But the High Holidays are approaching and I must review the machzor to be sure that I am prepared."

"The mavhzor has not changed since last year.  You have.  You would be better served if you studied yourself."

Learning and Teaching

Two of my teachers from my time at the Hebrew Union College (HUC, the Reform rabbinic seminary) passed away recently.  They could not have been more different men, but both of them shaped my life and the lives of countless other students who passed through the Cincinnati campus of HUC.

Dr. David Weisberg was a professor of Bible and Semitic languages for over 45 years at the college.  I studied with him in a pair of elective courses that looked at the megillot (scroll books) of the Hebrew Bible.  Though earlier in his career, he had acquired a reputation as a tough--occasionally cruel--teacher, by the time I studied with him the years had mellowed him.  His patient and kind demeanor even with students who were ill-prepared was a distinguishing characteristic, and he treated everyone warmly, often greeting people with "my dear friend," or later, "my esteemed colleague," without any hint of irony or condescension.

Dr. Herbert Paper was already an emeritus professor by the time I arrived in Cincinnati.  He was a scholar of Yiddish, and had been one of the first in the U.S. to teach the language at the university level.  He was at the college for 22 years, but had begun his career at the University of Michigan.

I later learned that during his tenure in Ann Arbor, Dr. Paper studied Yiddish informally with a native speaker: my great-grandfather.  It's nice to know that my family contributed to Dr. Paper's scholarship in this manner.

I never actually took a class from Dr. Paper, but I still learned a great deal from him.  He had become quite a raconteur, roaming the library and sharing his stories with students.  His most oft-told tales regarded his military service in Calcutta, India (which he compared to an unprintable body part), and his story of being one of the only modern Jews to actually celebrate the holiday of Purim in Persia.  Many HUC alumni can likely recite these stories from rote.

At a dinner reunion of classmates at the recent conference of the CCAR (Central Conference of American Rabbis), my friends and I toasted the memory of our two teachers.  From them we learned practical rabbinic matters, yes.  We learned the value of a good story.  But most of all, we learned how to be a mensch.

Y'hi zichram baruch.  May the memory of these teachers be a blessing.