Three Years of Pardes Learning
I am currently on an airplane flying from Israel to the US. Last night I somehow stuffed all my belongings (less the boxes and boxes of books I had sent via ship last month) into three overweight suitcases. At some point during the packing process it finally hit me what I'm leaving behind in Jerusalem: everything. However, the subject of this email is specifically about Pardes, my school these past three years.
Pardes is an open, co-ed place for the learning of Jewish texts. There are many more words that could be used to describe it, but none of them are perfect. Pardes is a place where students from diverse backgrounds and practices, going in any number of directions, take time out of their adult lives to learn traditional Jewish texts in the traditional method – paired study in a beit midrash which is, for lack of a better way of describing it, a really loud library. The teachers at Pardes are phenomenal; the students incredible.
My first year, my primary chevruta (learning partner) was a man more than twice my age who had spent years of his life meditating on a mountain top in India before his path eventually led him to learning Talmud in Jerusalem. My second year, my main chevruta had come to Pardes straight out of undergrad in New York City. My third year, my main chevruta got married two weeks before the school year started, and had a baby boy two weeks after the school year ended. These chevrutas will always be a part of my life, along with the entire Pardes experience.
This year, at the end of the school year, we had a short panel discussion about the various movements in Judaism. Now, this is something that I have been to many many times before. There are usually three or four rabbis who sit behind a table and repeat the party line of the movement of Judaism they represent, be it Conservative, Reform, Orthodox, and occasionally Reconstructionist. However, this panel was slightly different for a few reasons.
The first difference was that six "movements" were represented: Reform, Reconstructionist, Orthodox, Renewal, Non-Denominational, and Conservative. The next difference was that not all of the representatives had actually finished their rabbinic training, about half of them were still in school to become rabbis. However, the true reason I'm writing about this panel is because every one of the people on the panel had been a student at Pardes for the previous ten months. It's hard to understand what a Jewish, non-denominational beit midrash would look like, but Pardes has somehow figured it out. Pardes is a place where a newly ordained Orthodox rabbi can learn Talmud with a student in the program for Renewal rabbinate training, while a Reform rabbi on sabbatical can learn Prophets with a student taking a year off from Conservative rabbinical school.
Sure, there were a few points of awkwardness during the panel, primarily because for the past year of learning, no one ever mentioned what sort of Jewish anyone else identified as. But that is what makes Pardes so amazing in my mind. We're all incredibly different, we all learn together, we all learn from each other. I am so lucky to have been able to spend three years in this incredibly special environment.
And yet Pardes is not primarily about the community that forms there, though that's definitely a large part of the Pardes experience. People come to Pardes to learn Jewish texts, and learn they do. I have learned so much in my time there that, when sitting down to write my speech for graduation from the Pardes Educators Program a few weeks ago, that was what I knew I needed to focus on. Below is a copy of my graduation speech. [I know that there are some Jew-y terms in it, but I think it be probably understood without knowing every word. If not, of course just ask me what something means.]
Three years ago I walked into Pardes, having taken some Hebrew classes over the years, but never having studied Jewish texts in depth. I was placed in Meesh's Gimmel Talmud class I was shocked that someone thought I could survive in a class at that level. It was Elul and the first text we learned was the third perek of Mishna Rosh HaShanah. This perek mentions briefly the idea of outsiders, a theme I wasn't expecting to find in a chapter dealing with what sort of shofar should be used when.
מי שהיה עובר אחורי בית הכנסת,
Someone who is passing behind a synagogue,
או שהיה ביתו סמוך לבית הכנסת,
or his house is next to a synagogue,
ושמע קול שופר...
and he hears the shofar…
Then what? Does he fulfill his obligation? Did it "count" for him, even though he wasn't standing there within the community?
As I thought about this question without a clear answer, I looked back at the beginning of that particular mishna. It reads:
התוקע לתוך הבור או לתוך הדות או לתוך הפיטם
If you blow a shofar into a pit or a cistern or a really big barrel,
אם קול שופר שמע, יצא,
If you hear the sound of the shofar itself, you have fulfilled your obligation,
אם קול הברה שמע, לא יצא.
But if you hear the echo, you have not fulfilled your obligation.
This week, when going back to some of the very first mishnayot I'd ever learned, three years ago in this beit midrash, this particular line spoke to me very deeply. I've always wanted to work in Jewish education, and that's not just a line I've said in my interviews though I have, both to get into this program and more recently, to actually get a job, it's really true. I've always wanted to work in Jewish education. But four years ago, when I found myself teaching in a day school, I realized how little I actually knew. What I did know was that to be the teacher I wanted to be, I would need to spend years working on acquiring text skills for myself. And now, three years later, I think I am a lot closer to that goal.
אם קול שופר שמע, יצא; אם קול הברה שמע, לא יצא
If you hear the sound of the shofar itself, you have fulfilled your obligation, but if you hear the echo, you haven't.
Before Pardes, although I was an active member of the Jewish community and a teacher in a day school, I only heard the echo. Three years later, thanks to the help and support from all my teachers here, and the patience of all my chevrutas I think I am finally beginning to hear the קול שופר, the sound of the shofar itself. Thank you for helping me become a learner of text and soon, a fellow teacher of Torah.
And on that note I am going to close my computer for flight attendants to come around and serve us breakfast. Once again, thanks for traveling on this journey with me.
Happy Summer,
Sarah
PS – A few people have asked me to write about the adventures of moving to New York City and eventually, becoming a middle school teacher. I give no promises that I'll actually write at all regularly, but if you're interested in hearing about it, let me know.
Pardes is an open, co-ed place for the learning of Jewish texts. There are many more words that could be used to describe it, but none of them are perfect. Pardes is a place where students from diverse backgrounds and practices, going in any number of directions, take time out of their adult lives to learn traditional Jewish texts in the traditional method – paired study in a beit midrash which is, for lack of a better way of describing it, a really loud library. The teachers at Pardes are phenomenal; the students incredible.
My first year, my primary chevruta (learning partner) was a man more than twice my age who had spent years of his life meditating on a mountain top in India before his path eventually led him to learning Talmud in Jerusalem. My second year, my main chevruta had come to Pardes straight out of undergrad in New York City. My third year, my main chevruta got married two weeks before the school year started, and had a baby boy two weeks after the school year ended. These chevrutas will always be a part of my life, along with the entire Pardes experience.
This year, at the end of the school year, we had a short panel discussion about the various movements in Judaism. Now, this is something that I have been to many many times before. There are usually three or four rabbis who sit behind a table and repeat the party line of the movement of Judaism they represent, be it Conservative, Reform, Orthodox, and occasionally Reconstructionist. However, this panel was slightly different for a few reasons.
The first difference was that six "movements" were represented: Reform, Reconstructionist, Orthodox, Renewal, Non-Denominational, and Conservative. The next difference was that not all of the representatives had actually finished their rabbinic training, about half of them were still in school to become rabbis. However, the true reason I'm writing about this panel is because every one of the people on the panel had been a student at Pardes for the previous ten months. It's hard to understand what a Jewish, non-denominational beit midrash would look like, but Pardes has somehow figured it out. Pardes is a place where a newly ordained Orthodox rabbi can learn Talmud with a student in the program for Renewal rabbinate training, while a Reform rabbi on sabbatical can learn Prophets with a student taking a year off from Conservative rabbinical school.
Sure, there were a few points of awkwardness during the panel, primarily because for the past year of learning, no one ever mentioned what sort of Jewish anyone else identified as. But that is what makes Pardes so amazing in my mind. We're all incredibly different, we all learn together, we all learn from each other. I am so lucky to have been able to spend three years in this incredibly special environment.
And yet Pardes is not primarily about the community that forms there, though that's definitely a large part of the Pardes experience. People come to Pardes to learn Jewish texts, and learn they do. I have learned so much in my time there that, when sitting down to write my speech for graduation from the Pardes Educators Program a few weeks ago, that was what I knew I needed to focus on. Below is a copy of my graduation speech. [I know that there are some Jew-y terms in it, but I think it be probably understood without knowing every word. If not, of course just ask me what something means.]
Three years ago I walked into Pardes, having taken some Hebrew classes over the years, but never having studied Jewish texts in depth. I was placed in Meesh's Gimmel Talmud class I was shocked that someone thought I could survive in a class at that level. It was Elul and the first text we learned was the third perek of Mishna Rosh HaShanah. This perek mentions briefly the idea of outsiders, a theme I wasn't expecting to find in a chapter dealing with what sort of shofar should be used when.
מי שהיה עובר אחורי בית הכנסת,
Someone who is passing behind a synagogue,
או שהיה ביתו סמוך לבית הכנסת,
or his house is next to a synagogue,
ושמע קול שופר...
and he hears the shofar…
Then what? Does he fulfill his obligation? Did it "count" for him, even though he wasn't standing there within the community?
As I thought about this question without a clear answer, I looked back at the beginning of that particular mishna. It reads:
התוקע לתוך הבור או לתוך הדות או לתוך הפיטם
If you blow a shofar into a pit or a cistern or a really big barrel,
אם קול שופר שמע, יצא,
If you hear the sound of the shofar itself, you have fulfilled your obligation,
אם קול הברה שמע, לא יצא.
But if you hear the echo, you have not fulfilled your obligation.
This week, when going back to some of the very first mishnayot I'd ever learned, three years ago in this beit midrash, this particular line spoke to me very deeply. I've always wanted to work in Jewish education, and that's not just a line I've said in my interviews though I have, both to get into this program and more recently, to actually get a job, it's really true. I've always wanted to work in Jewish education. But four years ago, when I found myself teaching in a day school, I realized how little I actually knew. What I did know was that to be the teacher I wanted to be, I would need to spend years working on acquiring text skills for myself. And now, three years later, I think I am a lot closer to that goal.
אם קול שופר שמע, יצא; אם קול הברה שמע, לא יצא
If you hear the sound of the shofar itself, you have fulfilled your obligation, but if you hear the echo, you haven't.
Before Pardes, although I was an active member of the Jewish community and a teacher in a day school, I only heard the echo. Three years later, thanks to the help and support from all my teachers here, and the patience of all my chevrutas I think I am finally beginning to hear the קול שופר, the sound of the shofar itself. Thank you for helping me become a learner of text and soon, a fellow teacher of Torah.
And on that note I am going to close my computer for flight attendants to come around and serve us breakfast. Once again, thanks for traveling on this journey with me.
Happy Summer,
Sarah
PS – A few people have asked me to write about the adventures of moving to New York City and eventually, becoming a middle school teacher. I give no promises that I'll actually write at all regularly, but if you're interested in hearing about it, let me know.
posted by sarah @ 2:57 PM
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