2008 Woodie Awards
Two Outstanding Educators
Yitzchak Blau
Issue date: 12/27/04 Section: YUdaica
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My three years at Yeshiva College (87-90) were a period of tremendous personal growth. I found the dual curriculum exhilarating, rather than frustrating, as productive thinking in a variety of disciplines went on all day. Each day included a high quality gemara shiur (given by Rabbi Michael Rosensweig), excellent morning and evening chavrutot and afternoons studying the humanities with Dr. Will Lee, Rabbi Shalom Carmy and Dr. David Berger (in Revel courses). Additionally, I had the pleasure of watching my father's unique ability to get along with everyone in the YU world, irrespective of outlook and personality, while maintaining his fine integrity.
Rabbi Rosensweig's shiur followed up nicely on the shiurim I had heard in Israel from Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein. Rabbi Lichtenstein's shiur employs Brisker conceptual analysis on the page being learned and the central rishonim. Rabbi Rosensweig utilizes the same analysis but widens the scope considerably. This extended reach included such difficult tasks as mining the Shakh for relevant lines as well as placing each sugyah within a broader network of sugyot in an attempt to conceptualize the totality of shas. Thus, we often began the year with an introduction to the topic that lasted anywhere from one month to two and only then began to learn pages consecutively. As I feel that Rabbi Lichtenstein's more narrow focus provides an easier route to learning the method, I was happy to have that experience fist before proceeding on to Rabbi Rosensweig's tour de force.
I very much enjoyed both writing for and participating on the staff of Hamevaser. This provided a forum for students interested in thinking intensively about a broad range of Torah issues to discuss these ideas with others similarly inclined and to learn how to express them in writing. Of course, we made some youthful errors but that too became part of the learning process. Occasionally, students and rabbeim objected to something written and this also, at times, enhanced our education. Indeed, one of the best aspects of YU is the variety of ideologies present under one roof. Although the challenges of keeping the debate respectful and maintaining a feeling of common institutional identity were not always met successfully, the general ability of different groups to function together in one beit midrash was quite impressive.
Rabbi Carmy and Dr. Lee transcend the most common shortcomings of academic culture. Academic culture prizes research and writing far more than teaching. "Publish or perish" goes the academic mantra, not "teach more effectively or perish." No professor has been overheard in recent memory saying "I am up for tenure and need to improve my classroom management." Unfortunately, this sometimes, though certainly not always, leads to a situation in which professors teach poorly, pay little attention to the educational needs of the students and fail to give the students the time of day outside of the classroom.
Dr. Lee exemplifies the opposite model. Committed to teaching much more than publishing, he dedicates countless hours to grading student papers, commenting on how to improve almost every sentence on both the first and second drafts of papers, even in literature courses and not only in writing courses. I failed to truly appreciate his dedication until I took another English professor for a course on Milton and received as feedback for a hard-worked paper the grand total of a solitary check on the opening page. When I actually became a teacher and struggled to motivate myself to grade student papers, my appreciation grew even stronger.
His pedagogic excellence was manifest in the classroom as well. Employing the "Socratic method," he encouraged much student input in the analysis but without the class discussion losing direction and purpose. The norm was for us to read the poems but he occasionally graced us with a reading of his own. In particular, I recall a Dr. Lee rendition of W. B. Yeats' The Lake Isle of Innisfree that left me longing for the quiet of a rustic cabin by the lake.
My initial approach to English literature focused exclusively on content with an indifference to style. Dr. Lee taught me, and it took a while for the message to seep through, that the means of expression also mattered, both on its own terms and a reflection of content. As Rav Hayyim Brisker realized, clarity of expression and clarity of thought bear a reciprocal relationship. Internalizing this message enabled me to read poems more deeply and to attempt to improve the poor quality of my own writing.
During my second year of semikha, Dov Fogel, Benjie Samuels and I asked Dr. Lee if he would still meet with us to discuss literature. He agreed to meet with us once a month on early Friday morning and he even brought muffins and coffee to the first meeting. In this forum, he introduced us to Garcia Marquez and Borges, for the latter of which I am particularly in his debt. Few professors would agree to such an arrangement.
Rabbi Carmy's dedication to students mirrors that of Dr. Lee. The endless hours he spends taking to students on the fifth floor of the library and in the cafeteria (he somehow only needs a doughnut and hot water to stay energetic) testify eloquently to that effect. Students often begin these conversations wondering if they can add a point of value unrealized by their erudite and brilliant teacher. Rabbi Carmy takes each student's ideas seriously and the students discover that they truly can contribute to the ongoing search for edification.
This last phrase brings me to a second fault found in academic culture. Professors tend to approach their fields of knowledge from the objective standpoint of the spectator, conveying no sense that these subjects should truly impact on how we live our lives. William Barrett noted that the Greeks philosophized to discover how to live the good life while contemporary professors of philosophy discuss Hegel and Schopenhauer without a clear sense of whether it matters. In Rabbi Carmy's class, it was clear that we searched the gamut of Jewish and Western thought as part of a quest for the true and the good. On this topic, he likes to cite the Kierkegaardian maxim: "The truth that matters is the truth that edifies."
Beginning from this standpoint generates a study that avoids the overly sharp bifurcation between disciplines often found in academia. A student taking Rabbi Carmy for Bible would discover that Auden could help illuminate a chapter of Tanakh, notwithstanding the complaints of more technically minded scholars. Any work that grants insight into the human condition can ultimately make us better at understanding Torah. Additionally, the student of Rabbi Carmy discovers that asking theological questions about Tanakh not only does not distract from the business of learning, it is an indispensable component of the endeavor. While not every chapter of Tanakh should be reduced to a mussar schmooze, these prophetic texts do attempt to convey religious meaning.
This seriousness of purpose did not mean a dearth of light moments in class. From Rabbi Carmy's beginning to teach while removing his sweater on the way in, to his penchant for odd bits of medical knowledge, to his references to the Police Philosopher -- the class did incorporate its share of smiles. These were not the smiles of coarseness or frivolity but the joy that accompanies integrity and accomplishment. In a related vein, G. K. Chesterton points out that saints, contrary to popular imagination, often radiate a particular joy.
When I compare my college experiences to that of peers at secular universities, I often find that these two individuals (with help from Dr. Berger) provided me with a better education. To this day, Yeshiva College includes the opportunities for a glorious learning dynamic if only one selects the best courses. It is a shame that this great opportunity finds itself under siege from a three-pronged attack. The move to the right of some at Yeshiva leads to an unnecessary narrowing of vision regarding which aspects of human endeavor have Jewish value. The growing utilitarian pragmatism of America has students interested solely in GPA and the most lucrative jobs. Finally, the bugbears of relativism, historicism and deconstructionism promote an environment in which nihilism and power politics replace the search for "the best that has been thought and said in the world." Reducing all ideas to responses to the socio-economic reality of their time, and thinking that texts mean whatever we want them to, do not inspire the thought that great books and ideas matter.
When I encounter students who fail to take advantage of the best courses available at Yeshiva College, I am reminded of the well-known legend about a person who ignores his allotted time to pick up and acquire diamonds in the mistaken belief that such gems are worthless. The afternoons at YC offer the chance to collect precious materials. Pick up the gems.
Rabbi Yitzchak Blau, YC '90, BRGS '93, RIETS '94, is currently a rebbe at Yeshivat Hamivtar and previously taught at the Yeshivah of Flatbush High School. He frequently contributes articles to periodicals such as the Torah u-Madda Journal and Tradition. He lives in Alon Shevut with his wife and four children.
Rabbi Rosensweig's shiur followed up nicely on the shiurim I had heard in Israel from Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein. Rabbi Lichtenstein's shiur employs Brisker conceptual analysis on the page being learned and the central rishonim. Rabbi Rosensweig utilizes the same analysis but widens the scope considerably. This extended reach included such difficult tasks as mining the Shakh for relevant lines as well as placing each sugyah within a broader network of sugyot in an attempt to conceptualize the totality of shas. Thus, we often began the year with an introduction to the topic that lasted anywhere from one month to two and only then began to learn pages consecutively. As I feel that Rabbi Lichtenstein's more narrow focus provides an easier route to learning the method, I was happy to have that experience fist before proceeding on to Rabbi Rosensweig's tour de force.
I very much enjoyed both writing for and participating on the staff of Hamevaser. This provided a forum for students interested in thinking intensively about a broad range of Torah issues to discuss these ideas with others similarly inclined and to learn how to express them in writing. Of course, we made some youthful errors but that too became part of the learning process. Occasionally, students and rabbeim objected to something written and this also, at times, enhanced our education. Indeed, one of the best aspects of YU is the variety of ideologies present under one roof. Although the challenges of keeping the debate respectful and maintaining a feeling of common institutional identity were not always met successfully, the general ability of different groups to function together in one beit midrash was quite impressive.
Rabbi Carmy and Dr. Lee transcend the most common shortcomings of academic culture. Academic culture prizes research and writing far more than teaching. "Publish or perish" goes the academic mantra, not "teach more effectively or perish." No professor has been overheard in recent memory saying "I am up for tenure and need to improve my classroom management." Unfortunately, this sometimes, though certainly not always, leads to a situation in which professors teach poorly, pay little attention to the educational needs of the students and fail to give the students the time of day outside of the classroom.
Dr. Lee exemplifies the opposite model. Committed to teaching much more than publishing, he dedicates countless hours to grading student papers, commenting on how to improve almost every sentence on both the first and second drafts of papers, even in literature courses and not only in writing courses. I failed to truly appreciate his dedication until I took another English professor for a course on Milton and received as feedback for a hard-worked paper the grand total of a solitary check on the opening page. When I actually became a teacher and struggled to motivate myself to grade student papers, my appreciation grew even stronger.
His pedagogic excellence was manifest in the classroom as well. Employing the "Socratic method," he encouraged much student input in the analysis but without the class discussion losing direction and purpose. The norm was for us to read the poems but he occasionally graced us with a reading of his own. In particular, I recall a Dr. Lee rendition of W. B. Yeats' The Lake Isle of Innisfree that left me longing for the quiet of a rustic cabin by the lake.
My initial approach to English literature focused exclusively on content with an indifference to style. Dr. Lee taught me, and it took a while for the message to seep through, that the means of expression also mattered, both on its own terms and a reflection of content. As Rav Hayyim Brisker realized, clarity of expression and clarity of thought bear a reciprocal relationship. Internalizing this message enabled me to read poems more deeply and to attempt to improve the poor quality of my own writing.
During my second year of semikha, Dov Fogel, Benjie Samuels and I asked Dr. Lee if he would still meet with us to discuss literature. He agreed to meet with us once a month on early Friday morning and he even brought muffins and coffee to the first meeting. In this forum, he introduced us to Garcia Marquez and Borges, for the latter of which I am particularly in his debt. Few professors would agree to such an arrangement.
Rabbi Carmy's dedication to students mirrors that of Dr. Lee. The endless hours he spends taking to students on the fifth floor of the library and in the cafeteria (he somehow only needs a doughnut and hot water to stay energetic) testify eloquently to that effect. Students often begin these conversations wondering if they can add a point of value unrealized by their erudite and brilliant teacher. Rabbi Carmy takes each student's ideas seriously and the students discover that they truly can contribute to the ongoing search for edification.
This last phrase brings me to a second fault found in academic culture. Professors tend to approach their fields of knowledge from the objective standpoint of the spectator, conveying no sense that these subjects should truly impact on how we live our lives. William Barrett noted that the Greeks philosophized to discover how to live the good life while contemporary professors of philosophy discuss Hegel and Schopenhauer without a clear sense of whether it matters. In Rabbi Carmy's class, it was clear that we searched the gamut of Jewish and Western thought as part of a quest for the true and the good. On this topic, he likes to cite the Kierkegaardian maxim: "The truth that matters is the truth that edifies."
Beginning from this standpoint generates a study that avoids the overly sharp bifurcation between disciplines often found in academia. A student taking Rabbi Carmy for Bible would discover that Auden could help illuminate a chapter of Tanakh, notwithstanding the complaints of more technically minded scholars. Any work that grants insight into the human condition can ultimately make us better at understanding Torah. Additionally, the student of Rabbi Carmy discovers that asking theological questions about Tanakh not only does not distract from the business of learning, it is an indispensable component of the endeavor. While not every chapter of Tanakh should be reduced to a mussar schmooze, these prophetic texts do attempt to convey religious meaning.
This seriousness of purpose did not mean a dearth of light moments in class. From Rabbi Carmy's beginning to teach while removing his sweater on the way in, to his penchant for odd bits of medical knowledge, to his references to the Police Philosopher -- the class did incorporate its share of smiles. These were not the smiles of coarseness or frivolity but the joy that accompanies integrity and accomplishment. In a related vein, G. K. Chesterton points out that saints, contrary to popular imagination, often radiate a particular joy.
When I compare my college experiences to that of peers at secular universities, I often find that these two individuals (with help from Dr. Berger) provided me with a better education. To this day, Yeshiva College includes the opportunities for a glorious learning dynamic if only one selects the best courses. It is a shame that this great opportunity finds itself under siege from a three-pronged attack. The move to the right of some at Yeshiva leads to an unnecessary narrowing of vision regarding which aspects of human endeavor have Jewish value. The growing utilitarian pragmatism of America has students interested solely in GPA and the most lucrative jobs. Finally, the bugbears of relativism, historicism and deconstructionism promote an environment in which nihilism and power politics replace the search for "the best that has been thought and said in the world." Reducing all ideas to responses to the socio-economic reality of their time, and thinking that texts mean whatever we want them to, do not inspire the thought that great books and ideas matter.
When I encounter students who fail to take advantage of the best courses available at Yeshiva College, I am reminded of the well-known legend about a person who ignores his allotted time to pick up and acquire diamonds in the mistaken belief that such gems are worthless. The afternoons at YC offer the chance to collect precious materials. Pick up the gems.
Rabbi Yitzchak Blau, YC '90, BRGS '93, RIETS '94, is currently a rebbe at Yeshivat Hamivtar and previously taught at the Yeshivah of Flatbush High School. He frequently contributes articles to periodicals such as the Torah u-Madda Journal and Tradition. He lives in Alon Shevut with his wife and four children.