Both of my parents are teachers by training, and I grew up participating in conversations around the dinner table that revolved around matters of educational policy, theory and practice. Before his decision to focus his career around preparing teenagers for bar and bat mitzvah, my father taught junior high school science in an urban public school system. For the last fifteen years, my mother has taught English literature and writing at a rigorous, college-preparatory school in the Midwest. I couldn’t help but absorb some of their passion for the exchange between teacher and student and their dedication to teaching not only the facts but also the practices of curiosity, inquiry, analysis and critical thought. I learned those habits and, at the same time, got a sense of how important it is to communicate them to the next generation. To this day, when I speak about the reader finding or making meaning through study a text, secular or religious, I draw on all those skills and strengths that were inculcated in me at home and at school – in secular and in Jewish studies.
Yet I remain al l too aware that our national standards of education don’t really address curiosity, inquiry, etc…, even though those are the leanings that enable me to gather and process the information I use every day. So I count myself fortunate that I am an adept test-taker. I learn easily through reading, lecture and discussion and can memorize facts and formulae to transcribe them quickly or to fill in the correct oval with a number-two pencil. I honed “life-skills” like psyching out a multiple choice exam based on the scoring rubric because I had to in order to advance through my education. Although mandatory standardized testing (as opposed to college exams, which have been ubiquitous for several decades) was just taking off as I was graduating high school, I understood what it took to get scores that were high enough to not interfere with my prospects. The irony was particularly apparent the day in eleventh grade that I was compelled to miss most of a class on bond angles in advanced placement chemistry in order to take a multiple-choice state freshman proficiency exam in science. Perhaps the tests motivate some students to learn, but that was not true for me. I learned to learn, despite the tests, and have brought that thirst for knowledge and understanding to bear on every aspect of my life – academic, interpersonal, Jewish, spiritual.
I can’t help but notice that our conversations about education in the congregation have started to adopt the language of the national discussion about testing. “Communicate the information.” “Read and drill.” And I wonder whether we’re selling ourselves short by using those terms to think about Jewish education. Is it desirable, or even possible, to teach to the test in this context? Has bar mitzvah become the Jewish MCAS? Is there a Jewish MCAS? How do we know when we’ve experienced success in our lifelong Jewish and journeys?
If we look at this week’s Torah reading, Toldot, we see that the main characters Isaac, Rebecca, Jacob and Esau are constantly testing each other. Who passes? Who fails? Who overcomes disadvantage? Who loses everything? And why?
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