Rabbi Mark Fasman

Tikkun Leil Shavuot

We all know how important education is to Jews.  How far back does this go?  Beginning with our Exodus from Egypt, our survival as a people has depended upon our success in transmitting culture, history, and behavioral norms to the next generation.  Torah commands us to teach our children.  For example, we are obligated to respond to our children’s questions about the Passover seder.  And the most explicit commandment to teach our children is found in the first paragraph of Shema [Deut. 6:6-7]:

Take to heart these instructions with which I charge you this day.

Impress them upon your children….

“Impress them upon your children” – if Torah is our eitz chayim (our tree of life) then the Jewish people will continue to live only as long as we transmit Torah to the next generation.  But notice that before we are commanded to teach, we are commanded to learn – “Take to heart these instructions.”

As important as it is to teach our children, it is also our obligation to learn.  How else will we know what to teach our children?  How else will we be able to impress upon our children the importance of teaching their children?  In his last oratory [Deut. 32:7], Moses charges us:

“Remember the days of old, consider the years of ages past;

ask your father, he will inform you, your elders, they will tell you.”

Again, we are enjoined to learn – “ask your father” – and we are also enjoined to teach – “he will inform you.”

Teaching is a relationship; it requires both teacher and student.  We teach in various ways – as mentors, as role models, as authors, as artists.  Of course, we can be unintentional teachers and learners, but the intention to teach is about transmission of knowledge from one person to another.

Many years ago, I participated in a program designed to teach professors how to teach our students to write.  At the beginning of the first session, we were told to write a couple of paragraphs in answer to the question, ‘Why can’t our students write?’  It was a logical way to begin, and we all began writing our answer.  I had written about half a sentence when the instructor said, “Oh, we will be reading these aloud.”  My writing changed mid-word.  Suddenly, I was writing to someone.  I had an audience.  I had “students.”  My ideas were now framed within the context of a relationship.

A couple of years ago, I purchased an outdoor grill.  It came with instructions.  I read it as a simple list of parts, steps for assembly, and diagrams that are addressed: “To whom it may concern.”  The “author” is both invisible and irrelevant.  The “author” is no longer connected to the teaching.  We don’t know anything about the author; we don’t care to know anything.  The author isn’t speaking to us.

“Torah” means instruction.  But it is not a simple instruction manual.  It is a conversation.  It is a relationship.  Torah wasn’t given; Torah is given – the blessing before and after a Torah reading concludes with identifying God as Notein HaTorah – “the One who gives Torah.”  This is not accidental.  The blessing could have been written Natan HaTorah – “the One who gave Torah.”  That would have been fine if we Jews read our Torah as a historical document, an ancient text, a set of stories and rules written for our ancestors.  Even if we believe that there are important lessons to be learned from this ancient text, it is still just an instruction book – a book we read and interpret without any thought of being in relationship with the Author.

On Shavuot, we commemorate the giving of Torah (the festival is referred to as z’man matan Torateinu – the season of the giving of our Torah).  Why is the festival that is arguably the most important festival of the Jewish year the least observed major festival?  It isn’t even on many of our calendars – or else it carries the same weight as Tu B’Shevat.  If Torah is our lifeline, shouldn’t this festival be more important than Pesach or Sukkot?

If Torah is just an instruction manual, it doesn’t make much sense to devote much energy to celebrating its “date of publication.”  If Torah is just a historical document – and if Torah is at the center of Judaism – then Judaism belongs in a museum or in a library.

But Torah is not just an instruction manual or a historical artifact.  The Torah, as read by Jews, is a living document, a living curriculum in which we engage with a living Teacher (God) or “living” teachers (the Sages who have interpreted this text though the ages).  Let’s get back to reading Torah as a conversation – a living, dynamic conversation in which we engage seriously and joyously in learning with our teachers.

Now that is worth celebrating.

And celebrate we did, with a wonderful night of learning at our annual Tikkun Leil Shavuot.  Thanks to Sydney Farber and Karen Rader for coordinating an event co-sponsored by nine institutions, with fourteen different classes.  These were in addition to our dairy dinner and our annual “staged” reading of the Book of Ruth (with a Powerpoint presentation updated by Mark Weinstein).  We learned, all told, from 6:30 until 3:00 AM!

Of course, serious Jewish learning is not limited to one day a year.  We are bright enough to know that the “pediatric education” of our youth – through Bar/Bat Mitzvah or Confirmation – was just that: kid’s stuff.  Judaism has so many exciting and stimulating things to learn.  Forget about the kid’s stuff.  Judaism is for adults.  If you have any ideas for classes or programs, talk to Sydney Farber (chair of Adult Education) … better yet, come to me directly.  That’s what I’m here for!  Let’s learn something together in the coming year.