Last Friday I had to leave school thirty minutes early. Over the years I have developed my sense of worth to be able to withstand the positive reaction to announcements of my upcoming absence. Who doesn’t enjoy the break that a substitute brings to the normal routine and expectations? This is why I was so taken aback when a student reacted to my announcement that he was sad that I would not be teaching parsha. Then another talmid made the following statement with the confidence that only an adolescent can muster. “I have been a student for over ten years and have never had a parsha shuir that I have enjoyed as much as yours.”
Certainly such positive feedback is cause for reflection. I have never had such a strong reaction to any trip I planned, extra credit opportunity or complex explanation to a Talmudic dispute. I can also be safe in saying that the ideas that I share in this weekly parsha class do not represent deep and profound insights that come to me after hours of hard work and research. What then is the secret to the success of this class? Why was it so compelling that a student would actually miss having the experience?
When I first started teaching parsha I saw the goal of the instruction was to give the bachurim something they can say over at the shabbos table. The highest achievement would be for the listeners to be so impressed that they would associate me, the source of these pearls, with great torah scholarship and respect. In short time, these goals dissipated. I found most of these “choppy” divrei torah to be devoid of serous and meaningful messages for life. Around that time I started my deep relationship with the Alter of Slabodka’s sefer Ohr Hatzafon. I found his words to be simplistic but undeniably relevant. I began to adapt his life lessons into questions that relate to the personal experiences of the students. Before long I had a new format for this time.
The classroom was turned into a semi-circle with me in the middle. I distribute blank index cards and ask the bachurim to anonymously answer a few questions that touch upon a real life scenario or relevant moral dilemma. After they write their answers, I collect the cards and read the answers aloud. The students are instructed not to comment or inquire about the author of the replies. After reflecting on the collective thinking, I respond with a simple insight about the issue from the Parsha (often the Alter’s take in Ohr Haztofon). Hardly fodder for an impressive shabbos table speech.
The primary feature of this class is not anything I say, but rather what the students say. Allowing teenagers a format for expressing their views about meaningful topics is empowering. As adolescents struggle to find themselves and their own voice as adults, they thrive when expressing this new personality and resolve. These parsha classes provide a powerful opportunity for them to be respected for their new found sense of right and wrong. Without sounding sacrilegious, the success of this class does not reflect the power or relevance of the Torah messages, but rather the format in which these discussions take place. In the end however, I find that after our discussion about the topic in which the students have been able to explore both sides of the issue, the students are more impressed and accepting of the message being taught from the parsha.
Not every lesson allows for these opportunities of expression that parsha does, but whenever possible, allowing teenagers to speak their minds may allow the teacher to more effectively speak his.
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